Remnant DxD

by Dessel Ordo

When an 11 year old Jaune Arc wandered out into Forever Fall hoping to become Remnants youngest huntsman, that should have been it for the foolish kid. Luckily a passing devil saw potential in him and re-incarnated him. Now, 6 years later House Bael has sent him to attend Beacon Academy to learn more about his homeworld, and establish his own peerage. What could possibly go wrong?

36. Chapter 36: Road to Reconcilliation III

Right, so, umm, this one ran away on me. That and holiday stuff hit like a ton of bricks. So, to start, sorry for the delay/late chapter, and happy new year to all of you wonderful motherfuckers. Just gonna out and say that this fic isn't going into any sort of hiatus and the one chapter a month pace is one I am bound and determined to keep up. That said, between work trying to kill me and other real life crap to deal with it'll be a bit before we get to the point that two updates a month and returning to last week of the month chapters is possible. But me and my amazing Betas MasterPrince and HybridTheory are shooting for that.

Now, as I'm sure you all know by now I don't own RWBY or Highschool DxD, and don't make a damn penny off of this. Now, enjoy what I'm pretty sure is the longest chapter of this fic so far!

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Blake knows that Sun is probably sad that she'd been all but silent for almost the entire ride back up to campus, but she has a lot to think over right now. Old decisions to second guess, nightmares and worst-case scenarios to mentally beat back with a stick, guilt to wrestle with.

Fun stuff, really; makes for great conversation and high spirits, honest.

At the end of her Friday evening shift acting as the VSPRD's adviser on the White Fang and their investigation into and operations against the terrorist group turned cult. Chief Drak had politely asked her to see if Ruby noticed anything strange during her–admittedly brief–captivity at the hands of the now defunct Mt. Glenn White Fang base. So, after her date on Saturday, she had asked her abnormally drained Team Leader exactly that after getting back from her date Saturday night.

And Ruby had answered, but only after Blake had promised the younger girl that she won't "go crazy" again.

Honestly, the cat Faunus has a feeling that she'll be paying for that weekend of attempted vigilantism for the rest of her team's years working together.

At least her Team understood that it was part of the lifestyle and only harangued her over the irresponsibility of her actions. Cheshire had nearly twisted her ear–her feline ear–off over all the worry and stress she'd caused Mom and Dad to go through staying with the Fang and not even bothering to let them know she wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere. After her–thankfully brief–lecture, Ruby had proceeded to inform her that she had woken up to a pair of robe-clad Faunus in extremely ornate masks debating on whether or not they should offer her up as a sacrifice to their god. Blake's terse, nearly horrified request for clarification had been met with a shockingly calm refutation that, no, Ruby really does think they were getting ready to tie her down on an alter before murdering her, and that both of them had had belts, bracelets, anklets and a few other 'accessories' that seemed to be made from different animal parts, or at least had some hanging from them.

Blake had wanted to argue that that isn't what the White Fang does, but held her peace, as it has become increasingly clear to her that things have gotten markedly worse in the White Fang after she left. Brothers, Ilia of all people, risking arrest, as well as accusations of treachery within the Fang to warn her of exactly that months ago should have been more than enough to open her eyes. In hindsight at least.

Instead of whipping herself into another anxious frenzy that would just have resulted in another… misadventure for Team RWBY, she had reminded herself that she now has mostly-competent adults to rely on. So, when the Chief had just sighed, and commented that they would need to widen the net searching for their undercover agents that had gone dark to badly mutilated human 'John Does' at the second-hand report she'd delivered on Ruby's experiences, Blake had been less shocked than she was dismayed.

Then Blake Belladonna had been shocked a second time when General Ironwood had been in the usual debriefing room, along with a handful of his officers in addition to the analysts she'd more-or-less gotten onto a first name basis with over the last few weeks. The Atlesian officer had played a series of clips from the Breach, and asked the open-ended question: 'What does it appear that the White Fang's goal is here?'

The clips showed Faunus doffing their masks and uniforms as they sprinted through the streets. Were blake more optimistic she'd say that watching the terrorists ignoring otherwise defenseless or trapped humans, several known discriminatory businesses including SDC subsidiaries as they scattered deeper into the city before eventually disappearing was a reassuring change of heart or reform. However, she knows better, and them actively ignoring what they would normally see as targets of opportunity has her both nervous and uncertain.

It hadn't taken long for the gathered officers–both military and civic–to agree on inserting fighters into the city. When Ironwood had looked her clean in the eye and asked her which members of the Fang's current leadership would be most likely to use such a tactic, she only had one answer to give. After all, she is the one that had floated that exact idea multiple times brainstorming with Adam for raids on the SDC and Atlas Military Bases before seeing reason. Nothing so black-hearted as to instigate the attack, but if one happened with fortuitous timing…

So, yeah, her life outside of Beacon has been pretty damn stressful lately. And training to become a Huntress isn't exactly a low-stress starting point to compare to. Add to that the love life she had thought she'd put on hold when she left the White Fang for Beacon seeking to make up for her past, and, well…

While she does feel guilty for not really responding to her maybe-boyfriend's not-so-subtle compliments on how well she wears the suit she'd bought, or his attempts to draw her into the boisterous chatter and teasing of his Team after another long evening for the group of guys tailing detectives working cases. She had bigger, more dire revelations to parse, and couldn't exactly share the facts she had been wrestling with to anyone outside a very select group of officers, licensed Huntsmen and Beacon faculty.

She'll make it up to him. Sooner if she does decide to drop that 'maybe' and admit they're official, later if not.

Maybe.

Probably.

Brothers, can nothing just go the way she'd hoped it would starting out?

She gives Sun a light hug and a lame apology at the door to her dorm-hall and makes her way up to her team's room, to find it abandoned save for an agitated, pacing Yang. "Heya, Blakey!" The blonde chirps almost as soon as the door clicks shut. "How was your night playing rent-a-cop?"

Blake shoots her a dull glare, and shrugs out of her suit-jacket. She knows she looks good in it–Sun's compliments and not-so-subtle eyeballing of her had made that much clear at least–She'd be lying if she said it wasn't flattering, especially given Cheshire and Yang's antics during their date the other night–and bends over to pull the plain flats off of her feet. "Acting as an advisory liaison is not 'playing rent-a-cop,' Yang."

The blonde lets out a disbelieving snort at that, and stops striding back and forth. "Yeah, sure, okay." She pauses as Blake starts digging through her dresser for something less stifling to wear for the rest of the evening.

Thankfully that menace, Zwei–Seriously, who the hell unlocks their dog's Aura!?–Is currently with Coco's team. Most of the other teams living on their floor of the building were putty in the mutt's paws, but the little corgi only returned that affection for his owners' team and their R.A.'s. Blake doesn't know much about dogs, but she's pretty sure that the model turned Huntress-in-Training's status as the half-sisters go-to choice for dog sitter for every training mission they'd been on since the disaster at Mountain Glenn probably has something to do with that.

Yang falls silent for a moment before hesitantly speaking up again. "So... now that we've had a few weeks… whaddaya think about Arc's team and all the crazy shit they were keeping secret?"

Blake pauses to look over her shoulder at the blonde, a decently comfy oversized t-shirt held in her hands. The Faunus lets out a sigh. "I think that we overreacted and judged them a bit too harshly, all things considered." She pauses for a moment to turn that thought over in her head a bit. Then winces as she recalls their teammate's downtrodden attitude and solitary nature before Ruby started going off with her in those intensive training sessions they'd started recently. "We probably painted Weiss with the same brush too, now that I think about it."

The blonde brawler nods haltingly at Blake's assessment. "Yeah…" She takes in a big breath before pressing onwards. "Sounds about right. All of it." The blonde takes a deep breath, then looks back at Blake purposefully. "We can do something special for Weiss later, just the four of us. As for Team Juniper… Well, I took a walk around downtown, trawled some of the forums that Ice Queen said she'd seen Pyr trying to get caught browsing by other students, you know..."

"Yang, what are you getting at?" Blake asks slowly, turning around to properly face her partner.

Yang offers an exaggerated shrug, probably trying to look casual and unconcerned but not quite managing it, "I mean, turnabout is fair play and all. Since Weiss went and summoned a Devil behind our backs, I figured we could summon one too, ya know? Ask a few questions of our own, see if what Weiss and Jaune told us after The Breach lines up. Maybe even see about getting a sparring match in." Driving her freshly formed right fist into her open left palm to drive the point home.

Blake stares at Yang for a long, drawn out moment, pretty sure there's a ridiculous, incredulous look on her face right now. Has Yang lost her Brothers-damned mind? "Sparring? You were paying attention the other weekend, right? How could one of us possibly hope to come even close to the level Team Juniper and those psychopaths were fighting at? Or worse, whoever was behind the Barrage?" Blake shoots back, perfectly aware that she probably sounds pretty scared as along with the shock and incredulity she's trying to get across, and not really caring about that.

Another shrug, this one actually casual somehow. "Eh, it was honestly kinda like how Uncle Qrow gets when he starts fighting seriously." The waver to her voice and awkward set of her feet betray Yang's false confidence. To Blake at least, she's pretty sure anyone outside the Team or Yang's family would be fooled. "They'd still be me doing a favor–"

"A favor?! I'm sorry, but how is getting pulverized in a sparring ring a favor?"

Yang lazily–LAZILY waves Blake off. "Hey, then I'd know that Jaune and Pyr weren't actually holding back and trying to save my pride or some other stupidity that those oversized puppy-dogs are likely to have gotten stuck in their heads. I wanna at least know they were playing it straight when they whooped my ass too."

Blake narrows her eyes at the blonde. "When did you spar with those two?" Seriously, all this bravado is starting to piss Blake off. She knows her partner–her best friend–as impossible as she thought the chances of that being how things turned out when the semester started are, there it is–is smarter than this.

Yang bats her eyes playfully at Blake, utterly unrepentant. "Oh, I cornered them after their date over the weekend."

What.

Before Blake can even begin to muster a response to that, Yang spreads out a half-dozen different sheets of paper. Well, four pamphlets or flyers, and two printed off sheets of paper. Each with a slightly different sigil at the center of a twisting, arching and elaborate colored circle. "So! These are–" she snags a notecard out of her pocket for a brief moment, reads it, then stuffs it back into her skirt "–simple summoning circles, apparently. I got the directions on how to use 'em printed off, too." The hand pulls back out of her pocket, a folded up sheet of printer paper held a bit tightly in it, and quickly spread out for Blake to read.

Blake arches an eyebrow at her teammate. "You do realize that if they were easy to find you probably just have the ones for Team Juniper plus a few of Jaune's Underworld buddies, right?"

"They might be... I'm pretty sure Nora slipped at least one of'em into my pocket when we were on our way back from your date the other night." Yang quips before waving her partner off. "Don't worry, I checked with Coco to make sure that none of these will drop off someone from across the hallway, and none of them have Arc's emblem in the middle, so we're good." Blake goes to question that new bombshell, only to have Yang cut her off quickly, holding up her hand in a 'stop' gesture. "I'll explain that too. I just-I wasn't really sure if this was a good idea or not and we really don't need any new secrets and I didn't want to do this alone so..." she trails off to take a deep breath. "Do ya think that maybe you could pick which one we're gonna use, Blake? Please?"

Blake sighs, and looks over the circles.

One is the same shade of yellow as Jaune's emblem, and has a weird sweeping double-crested rune looking thing at its center. Two are in nearly the same shade of red as Ruby's cloak or Pyrrha's hair and have a series of concentric rings around a broken, sweeping pictogram that almost makes her think of a snake or river. The fourth is in a rich shade of blue with an equally weird hourglass-like image at its core. The last two are in a brilliant, burning shade of orange with a sweeping, spikey, almost flame-like image at their cores.

Not really having anything to go on beside that, she taps one of the orange circles after pausing for a moment to consider breaking out a D6 to leave it up to fate, and rejecting the idea as patently ridiculous.

"Alright!" Yang exclaims, clapping her hands together before trotting over to the table to grab the sheet of paper Blake had pointed at. "Let's do this."

"Just let me finish changing before we get started, please." Blake deadpans, not bothering to look over her shoulder at her partner as she starts unbuttoning her blouse and walking back to her dresser.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Jaune shifts around nervously in the elevator.

Wearing track pants and a Pumpkin Pete's t-shirt–the special edition one they released just days after announcing their deal with Pyrrha, easily the rarest and most sought after by collectors–isn't ideal for meeting with the Headmaster, but he doesn't think he's in trouble so it should be fine. The elevator isn't even going all the way to the top floor of the tower and Headmaster Ozpin's office, it's going close to the top, just under the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress's condos, so one of the administration levels, he thinks.

With a dull ding and smooth clicking slide of well-oiled machinery Jaune steps out into the well-lit hallway, cramming his hands into his pockets as he does so. He'd figured the intentionally casual gesture would make him seem calm to anyone watching him on the security cameras. Unfortunately he's pretty sure it had come off as forced and robotic. Ergh…

Seriously, he has two essays to write, a Peerage to run, needs to work out which Devils his age would be good fits to let set up operations in and around Vale–never mind the rest of Remnant–and Contracts of his own to form. Why did the Headmaster have to pick today of all days for this mysterious, non-disciplinary meeting that none of the other Freshman Leaders seem to have to attend?

Of course, that's assuming that the Headmaster wants to talk with Jaune about purely mundane matters. Jaune, along with the rest of his Team-turned-Peerage have been working their collective asses off improving their Aura-sensing and magical presence-sensing in the weeks since the Breach and subsequent Barrage. Professor Goodwitch's offhand comment that Ozpin had held her back from beginning clean-up duty until after the Angel's intervention hadn't gone unnoticed by Jaune, and the implications have since made him more than a little nervous.

Fallen or Pure, the Headmaster being in league with one could easily spell disaster for him and his. Hell, the Headmaster of Beacon even being aware of the supernatural at all is a massive potential headache. So, on top of homework, and training, on top of forming pacts and slaying Grimm and mulling over Underworld politics, Jaune also had to start digging deep into the headmaster's background. He hasn't run across any red flags yet, but just as conspicuously he hasn't run across anything like what you'd expect to find in the history of such a powerful and influential man's past. He's probably going to have to call in a few favors to go deeper into what is readily accessible public records soon.

His left hand pulls out the scrap of paper with the number of the conference room Ozpin had told him to report to, his right sandwiched between his wallet and the summoning circles for the rest of his team. They all have their weapons–along with his–in the dorm room. Ostensibly for their nightly training, Grimm hunt and scheduled summonings, of course.

If this is an ambush dreamt up by the Fallen…The Headmasters, potentially all four Headmasters having been made their puppets–No, down that path lies insanity. Even the surface level consequences and ramifications are almost enough to give him a migraine even as a purely hypothetical scenario.

Jaune takes a deep breath, and girds himself. He silently counts off the closed doors as he walks, until he gets to the only one with light spilling out from under it–most of the Academy's staff having already gone home for the night–and confidently strides in. It's... a conference room.

Plain taupe low-pile carpet, off-white walls, a pair of round grey plastic or particle board tables with cheap black trim lining them centered in the room with a projector screen on the wall opposite one, and the projector hanging down from the ceiling over the other. A dozen office chairs in moderate, but still functional disrepair are split evenly between the two.

Headmaster Ozpin and General Ironwood are both sitting at the right-hand one under the projector, the former dressed in one of his usual suits, armed with a steaming mug of what is either coffee or hot cocoa and the latter in his uniform, a clear glass of water sitting in front of him–presumably from the platter with a pitcher of ice water and a stack of glasses identical to the General's on it–More people still to come.

Great.

Upon closer inspection of Beacon's Headmaster, it's pretty clear to Jaune that the man is some sort of mage. Damned if he can tell much more than that, however. Ren or Pyrrha would be able to get more than Jaune can passively, but that alone isn't the end of the world. Sloppy of him to not have picked up on that sooner.

Again, what's more damning is that he isn't just a Magician, but one who has an open and presumably friendly line of communication with at least one powerful Angel–not that he could tell what sort from what little he saw during the Breach and Barrage. Life would be so much easier if someone in his peerage had fine enough sensory abilities to discern whether a Blade of Light was made by a Fallen or Pure Angel, but none of them were at the time, so here he is.

"Mr. Arc, thank you for your time. Please–" Ozpin gestures at one of the seats at the table he is sharing with the General, "Take a seat. You are welcome to help yourself to a glass, of course." Lacking any other reasonable options, or reasons to not accept the offer, Jaune does so. Deciding the contents weren't poisonous after a quick, passive check, the blond Devil pours himself a glass of water while he waits for an explanation.

After a sip from his mug, Ozpin starts the actual conversation off. "There has been a good deal of dishonesty between the three of us, Mr. Arc, and I thought that now was the best time to rectify that. Things will become a great deal more… hectic and perhaps convoluted once the Vytal Tournament begins, and it would be in all of our best interests that we clear the air before then."

Just like that? Jaune had thought he'd need to be more aggressive to acquire answers on his way to this meeting, and now they're being offered up for free? He feels like he's missing a fairly massive piece of the picture, and will need to walk a fairly fine line to get his answers.

The two headmasters seem to misconstrue his incredulous silence for confusion. "Namely, in how aware of your situation and exploits we are." Ironwood continues, still perfectly calm and smiling gently. "This isn't a disciplinary or hostile action against you and yours, Mr. Arc. Like Headmaster Ozpin mentioned, we all just want to be on the same page. If you've been paying attention at all to Professor Oobleck's lectures, I'm sure you know the damage that allies working towards the same goal with conflicting orders or priorities can cause. Especially during a time of war." So much for reassurances…Though, from what little he's seen of the General, Ironwood does seem like the sort of man who can turn serious matters comedic when the reality of life begins to border on the absurd. All he has to do to relieve the tension is call the Goliath in the room exactly what it is with a straight face.

They want to be on the same page as him, fine. Great, even. Just in case though, Jaune needs to see if they're even in the same book. Time to fall back on the fine art of politics and wordplay. Which he is, of course totally an expert at and definitely not trying to get his bearings in still.

Perfect. Great.

Nothing can possibly go wrong here. At all.

He forces a chuckle as his right hand jams back down into his pocket and fingers his peerages summoning circles for reassurance, and dives in head-first. "Not to seem like I'm being purposely difficult or contrary, Headmasters, but what exactly do you think I'm hiding? Everyone's got their own secrets or skeletons in their closets, don't they?" He counters as casually as he can manage.

Ozpin and Ironwood share a glance before the Beacon Headmaster settles a knowing gaze back to him. Jaune does his best not to squirm. How the hell is Ozpin making him feel like he's standing in front of one of the Devil Kings or older Underworld nobles, not an old Huntsman in his, what, fifties? Sixties?

"Speaking plainly, Mr. Arc, we are referring to the supernatural world and your status as a reincarnated Devil. We are aware of the numerous clandestine battles and dealings you have been engaged in over the past few months. That includes the small war you waged on this very campus." Ozpin declares perfectly calmly. Like he's ordering a coffee, or assigning an out-of-line student detention, hands clasped and rested passively on the table.

Well, fuck, if that is what they meant by getting on the same page, Jaune figures it's time for him to lay a few cards on the proverbial-and literal-table as well. He purses his lips, nods, flares his wings–Ironwood flinches, either in startlement or suppressing the reflexes of a veteran soldier at the sudden movement–Ozpin however seems unimpressed and examines the new appendages clinically–as Jaune announces. "And you're a mage."

Ironwood's eyebrows nearly reach his hairline in surprise, but Ozpin simply offers a nod before responding. "Correct, Mr. Arc. If you would like context, are you familiar with the tale of the Infinite Man?"

Jaune's mind blanks out for a moment. Then another before he starts dredging up the fairy tales Mom and Saphron had read him and his other sisters as kids. After one final moment of going over everything layed out in front of him in his head, he lets out a low groan. "This is the part where you tell me that was a true story, and that that was you, isn't it?" The silver-haired Headmaster nods tiredly back at him, his eyes gazing impossibly far away as he does so. An expression he quickly recognizes as kin to the one worn by the Devils who had fought in and survived the Great War and Devil Civil War. "And this–" He waves idly at the now incredibly weary looking man "is your most recent incarnation, then?"

Ozpin nods, an appreciative twinkle in his eye. "Very shrewd."

Jaunes eyes narrow. "How many of Remnant's fairy tales were first told by or kept alive by you, Headmaster?" It seems like an inadequate title at this point, but it's the safest to afford him, and erring on the side of caution is in his best interest still.

Ozpin lets out a soft chuckle, "Only the ones that carry a grain of truth within them." He mildly sips from his hot cocoa, and Jaune is prepared to groan aloud again because that was not an– "Truly, with a mind like that, you are Solus' son." Jaune blinks dumbly, most of the frustration drained right out of him by that simple statement.

This is incredible luck, though Jaune isn't sure which sort yet. The Infinite Man–now that Jaune knows he is real–is most likely one of the most ancient beings on Remnant. And one of the less hostile ones, assuming he hasn't been hyping himself up in the legends. The amount of knowledge he'd likely amassed and the following he could be in possession of is massive. The amount of knowledge about whatever supernatural forces and powers lie hidden on Remnant in that man's mind must be staggering. And with the weight of time and experience, he has in addition to the knowledge he has to barter, there's no question in Jaune's mind as to who the best possible representative for Remnant to Earth's own paranormal societies is.

A smaller, more easily distracted and less respectful corner of Jaune's mind points out that so many of the Headmaster's idiosyncrasies and odd habits make so much more sense now. He's had as much time as the current Lords and Ladies ruling the Pillars have to go strange in the head by now. Probably. Hopefully not? 'Cause what's that gonna say about him in a few thousand years? Ugh…

For a long moment Jaune digests that, both the General and… immortal reincarnating wizard waiting for him with patient expressions on their faces. Almost like they… ah crap. "You noticed the spike in Devil paraphernalia, lore and media at the start of the semester, didn't you?"

Ozpin takes on a look of actual, honest surprise at that revelation. "Oh, bold of you to have started moving that soon, though I will admit that, to my shame, I had assumed that I had the monopoly on knowledge of shadowy deals on our fair world before your, unique, situation was brought to my attention." He smiles self-deprecatingly before going somber. "I did not notice that anything was out of place or happening behind the scenes until Mr. Lark's unfortunate and untimely demise."

Jaune grimaces and opens his mouth, but he's cut off, "I understand that you did what you felt you must to survive, and that it was not you who drew first blood. However, the fact that something that grave happened to so many of the bright young souls under my care sits poorly with me, Mr. Arc." He sighs sadly, takes a sip from his mug, and elaborates. "The role of Headmaster and educator is one I have been in off-and-on for several generations now, it has come to suit me and I take its responsibilities quite seriously. A failure of that magnitude…"

Jaune nods understandingly. Again, now that he has the Devil Kings and their former contemporaries still leading Clans as a point of reference it is easy to see where the old man is coming from. More than a few of the most senior Devils have picked a role or set of traits to throw themselves wholly into to stave off the crushing ennui that apparently becomes a risk for someone that has been alive that long, with the end nowhere in sight. "So you said this meeting was to clear up any misunderstandings?"

Ironwood offers a nod, and folds his hands in on themselves where they are resting on the table. "That is correct, however we are still short two individuals before the conversation can begin in earnest."

"Who?" Jaune prompts with narrowed eyes. He knows that Professor Goodwitch is busy running detentions still, and Ironwood-as far as he is aware–didn't bring any aides of high enough rank to bring in on something this big. He thinks.

Ozpin glances around the room, entirely too calm before he idly replies, "Representatives from the Fallen Angels."

It's definitely a good thing Jaune hadn't been taking a drink when Ozpin had dropped that bombshell. Hard to come across as someone who should be taken seriously after doing a spit-take. Before he can formulate an actual reply the sound of the door opening grabs his attention. He is able to snake his right hand into his pocket to grab his summoning circles and hide the motion by twisting in his seat to look at the newcomer.

Professor Port…?

"Mr. Arc. You certainly have some explaining to do, young man." He drawls in his usual bombastic and bouncing melodramatic timbre. Jaune can only stare dumbly before his eyes widen in realization and a small amount of horror as Port winks at him.

As the telltale heat-haze of dispelling illusion magic begins, Jaune shoves himself to his feet. When it dissipates enough to reveal a far younger, more fit man with jet black hair falling to his shoulders, shot through with dark purple highlights, and a drooping fu manchu that ends in well oiled tips at his chin-line Jaune is pulsing his own Demonic Power into the circles in his pocket..

A trio of Transportation Circles flare to life around him. The tarnished silver patina that his magic circles have been since his 'promotion' to King casting a mad wash of color across the room, the space directly around the circles looking decrepit and decayed before the circles flare out of existence, revealing the rest of his peerage, all armed. Nora tosses him Crocea Mors, and he has it drawn and his shield deployed a moment later.

By that time, 'Port's' illusion has fully faded, revealing a smartly fit crismon suit and two pairs of splendid black-feathered wings extending from his shoulder-blades. "Well, then. I'll see your four Devils, and I'll raise you four more wings." If this weren't such a nightmare scenario, Jaune is pretty sure the fact that Port is as much of a ham out of disguise as he is in. As things stand however, Port unfurling the rest of his eight wings only deepens the sense of dread welling up in Jaune's gut.

Jaune's Peerage recoils, taking a few steps back.

Eight wings. Fuck. Still that's… Manageable. Hopefully.

Without any of his usual fanfare or flashieness, he reveals Crocea Mors' true form, making none of his usual efforts to tamp down on the blade's malevolent aura. He's been told more than enough stories of what sort of fate befell the Devils who tried that crap during the Great War to know better.

To his right he can hear the reassuring shrieking hiss of Pyrrha's Sacred Gear flaring to life as impossibly colored flames flare to life along her shoulders and arms, hoarfrost beginning to spread from Nora's feet to his left. His team forms a wall of flesh facing the Fallen Angel and headmasters equally, slowly backing away from what will probably be their death towards the wall he'd entered the room through. He opens his mouth to order his team–

Only to be interrupted by harsh, cackling male laughter. Who…

"Are you actually having a dick measuring contest right now Phanuel? With the little Devils at that?" A loud, boisterous voice cuts through the tension. A second man–Fallen Angel– had just walked into the room behind Port, one of average height, fit build and short-cut black hair with a bleached fringe. His suit is easily the most expensive between the crimson one the other Fallen is wearing, Ozpin and himself, "I always knew you had it in ya!"

.

Port–Phanuel turns back to the other Fallen, disgruntledly pouting. "You just had to ruin my moment, didn't you, Azazel?"

…Azazel? THE Azazel!? Jaune lets out a whimper. You'd have to be living under a rock for the last few decades or have just been reincarnated to not instantly recognize the name of the Governor-General of the Grigori.

They're fucked.

Totally. Fucked.

All four of them, no two ways about it, or any recourse but to go down swinging and hope that whoever the Bael send to investigate his disappearance figures things out and gets the traitorous bastard back. Woulda been nice to go a bit further with Pyrrha but it hasn't been a bad run for seventeen years, he figures as he adjusts his grip and Crocea Mors, savoring one last moment of peace before the end.

Phanuel withdraws his wings, stance still perfectly casual and relaxed. Azazel doesn't break stride until he is stood next to his fellow-subordinate?-Fallen. He doesn't even bother to take his hands out of his pockets. Not that a powerhouse like him needs to to finish four Devils that don't even have a decade spent as Devils between them.

Azazel calmly takes in his fledgling Peerage, ready to fight for their lives, the utterly gobsmacked Headmaster and General, and still grumbling Phanuel before letting out a light chuckle. "Lemme guess, Oz, mentioned Fallen Angels but spent too long playing the 'mysterious headmaster' angle. He has no clue which faction we're with or why we're here, does he?" Azazel asks rhetorically, eliciting an eye twitch and glare shot his way from the Headmaster.

"And here I was under the impression the truce was more stable than to provoke this sort of fight or flight response, gentlemen." The rebuke from Beacon's Headmaster actually managing to make the two incredibly powerful Fallen Angels look sheepish.

Jaune looks over his shoulder to see that the General had pushed himself halfway out of his seat, right hand halfway to one of his holsters. Right, lots of sudden movements and weapons flashing in front of a combat veteran. Definitely not a good thing to have overlooked. The General grimaces over at his Beacon counterpart as he settles back into his seat and shifts the hand that had been going for one of his guns to collect his glass of water instead. Ozpin, lets out a breath Jaune hadn't noticed he'd been holding then wipes his brow with a handkerchief from his coat pocket before taking what is likely a calming sip from his cocoa, steely eyes still pinning a stern glare on the two Fallen Angels.

Groaning, Jaune reseals his magic sword and slams it home into its scabbard as soon as it's collapsed back down from its shield form. His Peerage glances at him with varying degrees of confused wildness in their eyes. "One of you was behind the Barrage." He accuses, err, states. Probably not smart to take a very confrontational tone right now.

Azazel offers Jaune a conspiratorial wink and shallow bow for his efforts. "You're welcome." At that, Pyrrha's flames gutter out.

Phanuel gives his fellow Leader-class Fallen the stink-eye at his prideful nonchalance. "For what, the paperwork? Or spooking half of the Weary into thinking that we're getting press-ganged back into the War?"

Azazel pouts, pouts at his eight-winged counterpart. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

"Not in this century." Phanuel grumps, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "Some of my people still go to therapy for the hell we went through back then, you know."

Jaune is too caught up in calming his raging emotions and slowing his frantically beating heart back to a state of calm to pay the byplay much attention. Pyrrha's shaking, Nora is actually stock-still and Ren's eyes have gone gray too. Great, his whole Peerage is on the edge of falling apart at the seams. Again.

Wait... "Weary? You're not with the Myriad?" He prompts, looking straight at Port. He knows he should address the Governor-freaking-General of the Grigori being here as well, but…

He can work with this, if he takes it in small bites. Nora finds her calm next and, with amused disbelief, mouths 'Weary' at Ren who shakes his head before nudging Nora with his elbow as he holsters his StormFlower to get her focus back on the task at hand. Or, rather, the two insanely out-of-their-league Fallen Angels and literal mythical reincarnating wizard from their homeworlds ancient folklore.

"Certainly not." Phanuel answers with the same earnest vehemence Jaune has grown used to hearing in his lectures in Grimm Studies. The long-haired Fallen then gestures towards the table. "Let's all have a seat, and talk like the civilized people we are, not at weapon-point?"

Ren glances warily back and forth between the Headmasters and Fallen Angels. "Would it be safe to assume that the reason Jaune had a meeting here tonight was to inform him that the Headmasters are aware of the Supernatural world?"

Ironwood nods, still perfectly calm, though there is a hint of respect in his gaze as he assesses Jaune and his team. Well, there's that at least. "Among other things. We also know the gist of what has been happening on that front since the year began, but believe it would be for the best to debrief the four of you directly. Acting on assumptions and incomplete information is never wise, especially when additional information can be easily attained."

Nora glances uneasily at the pair of Cadre-class Fallen, squinting in cautious confusion as Jaune, and the rest of his team slowly take some of the available seats. "Not that I'm not glad we're talking, not getting killed right now–" It's good she has no delusions of them winning against opponents of this caliber yet, Jaune supposes. "But… are we even supposed to be talking with you?" She asks Azazel. "I mean, Jaune said there was a ceasefire and all but things are supposed to be super-tense. Like one wrong word can restart the war tense."

Azazel holds up a placatory hand. "I can't say much–this is definitely above your paygrade, kiddos–but things should be changing for the better pretty soon." He pulls a chair from the opposite table, spinning it around before sitting backwards in it facing the nearly full table. "For now though, let's trade notes, everything we've got on the Myriad of Destruction in exchange for you kids filling in the details on what happened between you four and Winchester's team."

Phanuel takes the last seat, nodding in agreement. "The four of you performed commendably in a less than ideal resolving that threat to the Kingdom, by the way." Pyrrha, Ren and Nora all shift to look at Jaune, clearly waiting for him to take the lead. Great.

At least the Headmasters and their Fallen allies aren't acting confrontational, or like he is the bad guy here this time.

_-*R-DxD*-_

The APC–well, armored truck that had had considerable illegal aftermarket mechashift modifications made to it–trundles and bounces down the narrow trail that they had crushed just a bit wider on the drive out to the staging site earlier today.

Roman had let Lacey lie low in the safe-house for a week and a half after the giant debacle that had taken place in Vale while he had her out scouting spots to transfer his people and supplies to his payday for his part in whatever nefarious plot that's been unfolding behind the scenes in Vale for the last few months.

Well, less behind the scenes for her now. The rumble of the transport's engine, along with those of the pair of transport trucks they'd spent the day escorting, drowned out any of the sounds that the thick, old growth forest surrounding them could produce. Still, it's nice to get out of the safe-house, feel the wind on her skin, touch grass, talk with people other than Old Lady Aech. The transport drops out from beneath her and with a near-deafening clang slams over the pothole, or dip or rut or whatever they had just drove over.

Moments later her tailbone slams into the unforgiving metal. She shifts a bit to try to rub her abused butt, but can't really get at the sore spot without dangerously destabilizing her perch on her unstable, jostling ride.

"How ya holding out over there kid?" The other Matchstick that had volunteered to ride topside and watch for Grimm for the trip back shouts over at her. Clad in low-rise acid faded and purposely frayed blue jeans and a midriff-baring Blue Day t-shirt, she has the suit-jacket the rest of Roman's people-well the ones he keeps around for muscle anyways-all wear draped over her shoulders like a cape, the cuff-links twined together to hold the collar around her throat and keep it from falling off.

"Just great, Celese!" She hollers back, offering a shaky thumbs-up over the rise on the APC that puts the turret more or less above the makeshift jump-seats formed by the stepped layout the vehicle takes on when its in its APC configuration.

The older girl shoves herself up just enough that Lacey can see her head and shoulders across the transport. Mostly bleach blonde,shoulder length hair with neon pink highlights, and some of her-probably natural- black hair underneath the layers of dye to serve as underlights framing a soft 'classical beauty' face, gray eyes boring a judgmental glare across the gray and white steel plates at her. "Kid, as important as keeping up appearances and looking tough is in this life, if you don't trust someone, you're gonna die young."

Lacey rolls her eyes but makes an exaggerated nod. Celese–the one Roman had left in charge of this supply run–has been like that the entire job. Offering her friendly advice, setting herself up where she can watch or talk with her. "Okay, fine!" Lacey shouts, taking the older girl's hint. "My ass hurts like hell and I'm starting to regret volunteering to ride out here. I'm gonna be numb or sore all over by the time we make it back to Vale!"

The older girl clambers up over the rise on her side of the APC, scrambles behind the turret and plops herself down next to Lacey, a wry grin on her face now. "I know, right?" she reaches over and ruffles her hair. "Still, it's nice to get out of the safe-house for once and catch some fresh air and nature, right?"

Lacey nods in agreement, before casting her gaze out into the forest again. She can barely see anything past the trail they are following. Between the thick foliage and dim lighting afforded by the narrow band of sunlight that is able to filter through to the forest floor she just barely doesn't need a flashlight. Celese actually has one clipped to her belt next to the bowler hat most of Roman's other followers would be wearing on their heads. "Besides, out here we don't have to smell what Vest and Carmine didn't manage to get aired out after they finished up."

Lacey lets out a giggle that the dull thrum of the engines probably drowns out. "Did they have to be so blatant about it though? The rest of us were all unloading the trucks while they were..."

"Having a quicky in the APCs cabin?" Celese finishes utterly nonplused. She shrugs "I mean, as far as ways to make sure you don't get jumped by Grimm, getting laid is pretty far up there on the 'avoiding negativity outside the kingdom' scale. Half the reason I let those two have at it while the rest of us were working."

Lacey looks over at the older girl, who's idly playing with one of the many hair ties and armbands strapped around her left forearm, the tattoo of a pair of stretched wings made up of binary code on the inside of her right just visible from this angle. "Only half of the reason?"

Celese nods. "Like I said before, its nice to get out of the safehouse. All I need is direct skin contact with my scroll, and someone setting me up a network connection and my Semblance makes me one of the best hackers in the game."

"Wait, you're I.T.?"

The bleach-blonde snorts a laugh, the stud piercings in her left ear and nostril glinting through the gloom as her body heaves a bit. "Yea, that's what they call me out on jobs. Don't wanna tie my Handle or actual name to the Matchsticks if we can help it."

Lacey is about to thank the girl for keeping her name out of Vales criminal registry, but the APC chooses that moment to slam up and over a vine or root or rut or some grimmshit, once again jostling her around before slamming her back and ass into cold, unforgiving steel. Lacey lets out a groan "I could be inside the transport, sitting on a seat, playing poker right now."

Celese pats her on the shoulder. "And smelling the last whiffs of the driver and navigator boning. Besides, all the good players were the fences, forgers and info-brokers we left back at the camp with the supplies. Roman's muscle make for shit opponents."

Lacey crosses her arms. "Yeah, well, I need the lien so I'll take a boring game just fine."

Celese laughs before launching into some wild story from her past, and Lacey lets it wash over her. The only alternative is to dwell on, well, panic over just how much she's been hearing about White Fang activity over the police scanner in her safehouses living room for the last few weeks. Between the two, she knows which she'd rather while away the hours with. Sure, each story has some little gem 'hidden' in it about how to make it living on the wrong side of the law, or a more-or-less subtle recruitment pitch, but that's fine.

By the time they get back to Vale, the armored truck is in its base form and their inside it, the sun having long set. They hadn't seen a single grimm from leaving the kingdom before sunrise right up to Celese sliding the garage door they had stowed the three trucks in. A wide grin plastered across her face, with one slowly tugging at the corner of Laceys mouth as well. She reaches into her back pocket to pull out a wad of stacks of lien, giving one to each of the thoroughly bored thugs, drivers and another, slightly thicker stack to Lacey as well.

"So," the taller girl asks, draping an arm across Lacey's shoulder. "I know you need to save up your cash and all that, but the rest of us are gonna catch a few drinks to celebrate a job gone off perfectly. Care to join us?"

Lacey hesitates for, maybe a half of a second. What the hell, why not?

_-*R-DxD*-_

Between unlocking the power behind Ruby's eyes and Weiss' new abilities with the Schnee family Semblance the two of them have, finally, earned themselves a stretch of time dedicated to rest and relaxation.

From their training with the Heroes at least.

Ruby has been… thoughtful and somber since that eventful day. Weiss decided that Ruby needs the time off, which Cao Cao had agreed with, citing that overexertion is a good way to cause yourself permanent harm, especially for individuals as young as themselves. As things stand her partner has yet to do anything more than think on…whatever it is that's been eating at her, and Weiss is happy to respect her privacy on that.

Speaking for herself, however, Weiss is beyond giddy to have discovered a variation on the family Semblance that not even Winter has displayed, as far as Weiss knows. She'd said as much to Arthur during one of their many talks. Crushing filial expectations having made for a better starting point for friendship than either of them would like to openly admit, but neither willing to pass on the chance to vent to someone who gets it.

With their friendship reaffirmed and Ruby having apologized for giving Weiss the cold shoulder, she has zero desire to press her friend for answers on any topic she isn't willing to broach herself right now. If Weiss were a betting girl she'd guess that her partner's 'funk' has something to do with the power that had laid dormant inside her eyes since before all the madness surrounding Devils, Fallen Angels and self-styled Heroes had come to Remnant and into their lives–which implies something personal. Which, to repeat herself to herself, is not something Weiss is willing to stick her nose into unless invited.

Instead, Weiss has focussed on finally arranging an introduction that she feels is long overdue.

Weiss and Ruby are currently standing in one of the many alleyways that cut through the older districts of Vale, maybe a block away from their final destination, but still short one member of the group for their little outing.

"Are you sure, Ruby? I know you still have reservations about Devils, and what we've been told about them by the Heroes hasn't exactly been encouraging…" She trails off, suppressing the urge to cringe.

Yes, the Heroes had certainly been telling them of the dark side of so-called Three Factions, as well as some of the other more prominent or noteworthy supernatural groups. In contrast to the more benign image Jaune had been painting, Cao Cao had told tales of monstrous individuals that eat humans, manipulate and prey upon them in more ways than Weiss cares to dwell on with frightening frequency. To say that most supernatural beings don't operate on the same morals as humans and were quick to resort to actions that most humans would find questionable at best would be an understatement to say the least. Siegfried's creation to for the sole purpose of better wielding a sword-by a human faction of the Supernatural world of all things-brought up questions as to the Church's priorities–

"Yes, Weiss." Ruby cuts her off, resting a hand on her shoulder with a smile. Right, focus. Two sides to every story and both of the sources she has access to have pretty clear biases. "We've talked about this. I might still be a little upset with Jaune and his team, but that isn't an excuse for me to keep you away from your friends either. Besides, it's high time I get to know a, erm… non-reincarnated Devil and who better to meet than a friend of my BFF?"

Unable to stop herself, Weiss gives her partner a quick hug, eliciting a cute squeak from the prodigy before stepping over to a clear, clean space in the alleyway. A few passes with burn, wind and freeze Dust had cleaned it well enough after Ravel had commented on the mess and smell back here after the first few times she'd used this spot to summon her. All without any scrubbing or 'elbow grease' thankfully.

Weiss can't remember whether it had been the third or fourth time Ravel had given her the permanent circle she now uses to summon her friend, but that had been the evening she had cemented herself as one of Ravel's 'regulars'. It's just nice looking enough that someone more 'into' the occult could pass it off as a room decoration, which is considerate of Ravel. Parchment can't be cheap, even for a fellow heiress. People just don't make that anymore.

Weiss sets the sheet of parchment down at the center and backs away, sending Ravel a quick text that the circle is ready on her end. A lot less mortifying this way, than going through the whole song-and-dance that made first time clients feel like they are actually summoning a supernatural being. For a moment Weiss considers not warning Ruby of what is to come–at least when summoning a member of Clan Phenex–before discarding the idea as one that may have been entertaining to go through with before their inter-team dynamic had become so tense. Maybe another time, with something that is less of a sore-spot. Provided their team isn't broken up by tragedy, the four of them probably have at least a decade or two before they start splitting off to form families or find jobs less likely to end with them all dying young. With only that thought on her mind, she reaches over and pulls Ruby back to her side and away from the summoning circle now resting on the ground.

A bright orange magic circle-a larger copy of the one painted onto the sheet of parchment-flares to life before immediately erupting into a veritable bonfire, heat and light washing over both of them, earning a startled yelp from Ruby, Weiss resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder and offering her a warm smile before she can trip or make a fool of herself. A bird's cry resonates from the epicenter of the flames hanging in the air for a moment before it all fades away. As the last few tongues of flame flicker out they reveal Ravel, hands outstretched, spiral twin-tails rustling in the light breeze and thankfully not wearing that frilly pink abomination of a dress.

There's a short moment of silence during which Weiss notes that Ruby is eying Ravel curiously.

"Hello, Weiss." Ravel tentatively greets the blanchette.

"Ravel." Weiss replies warmly.

""It's been too long. I…" The blonde Devil appears to be nervous for a moment, and Weiss realizes with a pang that the look on her face is the same one she had worn when interacting with Ruby up until last weekend. Taking a leap of faith, Weiss holds out her arms, slowly and hesitantly.

After a brief pause Ravel smiles in open relief and closes the gap between them to wrap her up in a quick hug, which Weiss gratefully returns. Weiss will pretend that she hadn't heard Ruby's soft cooing.

Ravel notices the third party shortly after they release each other. "Ah, yes." Weiss quickly steps between them. She'd been equally anticipating and dreading this meeting since the moment she had come to count both girls as friends. She will not bungle it. "Ruby Rose." She gestures at her partner while looking at Ravel. "Ravel Phenex." She finishes, inverting the gesture.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Miss Rose." Ravel offers Ruby a quick, clean curtsey, which the Dolt returns with one of her stupid inspired-by-movies-and-cartoons abominations. Weiss really does have to show her partner how to do that properly if she's going to continue to insist on trying to use them. Thankfully, the blonde decides to ignore it, smiling politely. "Both Jaune and Weiss speak very highly of you."

"O-oh…" Ruby's face goes a bit flush at the open compliment, and she glances over at Weiss who clears her throat before glancing away. The leader of Team RWBY quickly returns her focus to Ravel, recovering most of her composure as well. "I'm glad to meet you too. Erm, do you prefer Ms. Phenex or Lady, or maybe–"

"Please, just Ravel will do." The blonde Devil cuts the Dolts rambling short with a good natured smile and wave of her hand.

"Okay, Ravel. Weiss, erm… had plenty of good things to say about you, too." Ruby answers for once, finally managing to trade niceties the way most people from high society expect introductory platitudes to flow when meeting someone who notices things like that.

"Has she? Well, then, I am honored." So far so good. Between the three of them, Weiss had figured that their ability to hold a conversation would be a bit of a coin toss. Ruby's social awkwardness, Ravel having openly confessed to Weiss that she's not very experienced in chatting with people from outside the Underworld's upper-class, let alone humans in general. A weakness Weiss shares. Well, the High-society part, as a human herself it would be awkward, were she bad at conversing with them.

What a trio they make…

Ravel returns the transportation circle she'd picked up off the ground to Weiss. Granted, the dark purple knee-length gown and stockings she'd opted for will still stand out a little, but no more than Weiss or Ruby's Combat outfits will–And that's ignoring the three birdlike hanging from the back of its hem. The Devil casts a rueful look down at the sheet of parchment as Weiss accepts it. "It's going to be such a bother to visit with you once Remnant is properly connected to the other worlds. That the excuse of contracting has lasted so long is a stroke of luck."

Ruby tilts her head at that, clearly confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"Teleportation between worlds is generally considered illegal for anyone who isn't a ruler. So, once Jaune has finished establishing himself and the Devil Kings are ready to reveal your world to the rest of the Underworld, how we meet will need to change." Ravel explains without breaking her stride, or taking her eyes off of the sidewalk in front of her. No need to risk finding a tripping hazard the hard way in a dirty back-alley like this.

"I suppose that makes sense." Weiss replies, before moving to lead the trio out of the alleyway.

Ravel hums in agreement, "That said, it's more of a formality than a necessity. Aside from those Grimm creatures, there haven't been any signs of native supernatural elements–Besides Jaune," She snickers a bit at the technicality of Jaune's birth and current status as part of the supernatural community. "At least according to what House Bael's survey teams have reported, that I have heard of, anyhow." Weiss and Ruby share a quick glance that, thankfully, goes unnoticed by Ravel. "I certainly didn't face any repercussions for teleporting here to meet up with Jaune for the first time after he returned to Remnant, though I nearly had a heart attack once I realized what I'd done."

Trying not to think of the God of Darkness looming over Ravel, Weiss clears her throat, before offering a noncommittal shrug. One mode of transit is as good as any other if it works, at the end of the day. Although…"Meeting you at the Airship docks or train station will be no less of an irritation than going through all the steps of activating a Transportation Circle. We probably won't be able to meet as frequently either."

Ravel sighs morosely but nods in agreement, falling in on Weiss' left, Ruby standing a few steps off to her right, not quite trailing them, but close. "Right then, Weiss. Wednesdays were for massages, correct?"

Weiss sighs at that, shrugging. "Yes, but with Ruby wanting to meet you as well, plans needed to change. A bar might accept the technicality of Ruby's enrollment at Beacon making her 'of age' but the Palace would most certainly not. They do have standards there."

Ruby makes a confused noise, and takes a step closer to them. "Why would a massage parlor not let me in? Why would they even need to check ID's?"

Weiss fondly rolls her eyes. "The Decadent Palace is open twenty-four seven and also offers 'happy endings' along with other… more direct services."

Ruby blinks owlishly at the older girl. "They… read you a story while you get a massage?"

Weiss resists the urge to sigh. There is no way her partner is that clueless. Though, to be fair Ravel hadn't known what a 'happy ending' was until Weiss explained it to her either. She could harangue on the Underworld's more debauched culture all she wants, but she would never be able to say that they keep their children shielded from it until they are old enough.

Ravel, bless her heart, takes Ruby's confusion in stride and throws the prodigy a bone. Clearing her throat to get Ruby's attention, she elaborates, "It's a euphemism, Ms. Rose. The working staff are professional, clean, discreet and most importantly licensed massage therapists. We go there to unwind, not be groped by gigolo's. It isn't our fault that the only place offering a proper massage during the hours Weiss and I are both free happens to be a den of iniquity."

Weiss would point out that the sort of establishments that operate within Vale's laws hardly qualify as a 'dens of iniquity' but the distinction isn't one worth mincing words over, so she lets it slide. "Since Ruby doesn't have a fake ID, however, I decided that we can share dinner and, perhaps, a drink or two while we catch up."

"O-or get to know each other." Ruby inserts, looking at Ravel closely before quickly glancing away again.

"Yes, Ms. Rose?" Ravel asks in a polite, neutral tone.

Is this it? Is this the part where everything falls apart and Weiss will have to pick between one friend or the other?

Ruby's face goes red before she half-covers her face with the hand closer to Weiss and Ravel than the wall. "Sorry… I, umm, I hope that this isn't rude or anything, but is this your real form?"

Groaning, Weiss presses a palm to her brow as Ravel blinks in honest, innocent confusion. "Real form? My wings are retracted, but besides that, I have nothing to hide."

Ruby turns away with a quiet, almost disappointed 'Oh.' Ravel looks more curious than insulted, thankfully. "Is… that a problem?"

"No, no! You just weren't what I was expecting from a 'pure' Devil. You're just a girl, like me and Weiss. Like… Jaune and the rest of Team Juniper." Thankfully, Ruby isn't speaking of them with conflicted emotions anymore, just wistfulness. Now Weiss just needs to find some way to get the teams talking with each other again and they can put this terrible month behind them.

A blush dusting Ravel's cheeks, the blonde turns away. "Oh. That's kind of you to say, Ms. Rose."

"And Ravel?" After getting the young Devil looks back at Ruby, confirming that the prodigy has her attention, she smiles and replies. "You can just call me 'Ruby.'" Ravel smiles back, Weiss turning away to hide her own.

So far, so good. Well, aside from the other people walking down the sidewalk staring at them like they're a trio of crazy people and giving them the wide berth that civilians tend to afford Huntresses.

A fine trio of fools indeed…

_-*R-DxD*-_

"Shit!" Yang shouts, leaping away from the towering inferno that had just sprung to life in the middle of their dorm room.

Yang had said this was safe. She had said each one of those damn things was custom-prepared and designed for clueless, bored first-timers to be able to successfully use more-or-less accidentally.

She hadn't said a Brothers-damned thing about them burning your home down!

"Is this supposed to happen!?" Blake at least has the self-control to not curse as she bounds away from the flames, landing cleanly on her bunk both feet and her left hand planted firmly on the mattress, right hand flared out behind her for balance. Eyes darting around the room at a frenzied pace in search of something to put the blaze out with, her panic more-or-less kept in check by having an immediate task to busy her mind and body with.

"The forums didn't say anything about–" Yang pauses, looking around the room in confusion as the magic continues to flare, the fire growing even larger, heat and light washing across Blake's skin as a distant Nevermore's shriek reaches her ears just as the tallest tongue of flame grazes the dorm rooms ceiling. The distant Grimm's cry fades, and Blake realizes that the sound had come from the magic circle at the base of the conflagration; and that the fires aren't burning anything. When Yang turns back to the flames, she wipes at her eyes in clear confusion upon noticing the incredibly tall figure slowly materializing in the heart of the conflagration. "Umm, Blake?"

"I'm fine." She replies tersely gazing down at her partner, who is still backing away from the shrouded figure.

The figure that is still growing out of the flames. It has to be some trick or an optical illusion or something that is more easy to come to terms with than a singular being that is just, powerful enough to make the laws of physics their bitch. Something Blake can wrap her head around and understand instead of something she just has to accept and deal with.

Blake hops back down to stand next to her partner just in time to have her impression go from entirely unimpressed to utterly gobsmacked, and can feel hers doing the same as the flames recede, and, in a flurry of golden, orange and crimson feathers the formerly shrouded and indistinct silhouette is brought into full view. Yang's jaw drops while both of their gazes travel up and up and up.

It's a girl who is probably about their age, except…

Professor Goodwitch is tall for a woman. Coco's teammate, Yatsuhashi, is just plain tall in general. This Devil's head is nearly touching the ceiling, something that neither of the two tallest people Blake has ever met have had happen that she's seen.

"Um, whoa..." Yang dumbly mumbles as her gaze bounces up and down the Devil's impressive form. Clad in a vibrant red high-collared, long sleeved evening gown that is trimmed in gold with strips of orange worked into the pleated skirt just enough to imply flames without going so far as to be an actual print. The voluminous dress doing little to hide the towering girl's admittedly gorgeous figure, emphasizing it without sacrificing class. Provided that the dress isn't 'enhancing' her figure, Blake would describe the young woman as a classical beauty with voluptuous hips and a bust that, much like Cheshire, edges out Yang and just about every other girl Blake has met, topped off with a heart shaped face. Her light blonde hair is pulled back into a neat bun extending back from the crown of her skull save for a wispy fringe partially shielding her eyes, as well as a pair of equally drill-like tresses framing her face from her brow to her shoulder.

Quickly glancing downward, Blake confirms that, no, she isn't wearing heels. Or cleverly hidden stilts. Merciless Brothers… She really is that tall.

A pair of deep, practically glowing indigo eyes open as the giant scans the room, taking in her surroundings fully before turning her gaze down at the Huntresses-in-training that had summoned her with a cool, assessing expression. The Faunus resists the urge to swallow. This…This is a supernatural creature. Something from beyond the veil. She gives off an air that Jaune's group just doesn't. Maybe it's because Blake's used to being around them, or maybe it's because Team Juniper have been trying to blend in, or not show off or–

Be careful what you wish for. They'd hoped to summon a pure-blooded Devil, and they got one.

The question is what will this Devil do now? A number of different scenarios, each slightly worse than the last play out in Blake's mind as a small, scared voice in the back of her mind screams about how bad of an idea this had been and–

"Greetings." Blake blinks. Or she'll just politely greet them, the Faunus muses. She also notes that while the Devil's voice isn't as loud or booming as she'd have expect from someone so large. Rather there is an even almost monotone cadance to its soft, cultured tone that is as calmly soothing as it is powerful.

"Rusora Phenex, of the House of Phenex, at your service." The towering Devil introduces herself with a picture-perfect curtsy that Blake is positive Weiss would be unable to fault–or mimc, for that matter. Neither she, nor her partner get the chance to reply to the towering blonde's greeting as two pillars of flame shoot out from her upper back, skimming the ceiling, startling them.

Oh, yes, this first impression will certainly be a lasting one. Part of her wonders what she'd think of Jaune and his Team if her first time meeting them had been like this. What sort of act–because that's what this has to be–do they put on when being summoned for the first time by someone? Blake can't keep her mind from wandering as much as it hyper-focuses on the strange new Devil in her dorm room as Rusora begins straightening back up, and retracts her… flaming wings? She distantly notes again that the flames haven't set anything on fire, which is honestly a big plus. She likes her books whole, not as a pile of ashes thank-you-very-much.

Smoothening her gown's lengthy skirt in a slow, graceful manner that belies her size as she rights herself, Rusora continues. "I have been summoned to fulfill your contract. To whom do I owe this pleasure?" Blake blinks dumbly at the prompt while Yang merely continues staring, her eye twitching in disbelief.

The Faunus in disguise quickly realizes how rude they're being, gawking like this and quickly offers introductions. "I'm Blake Belladonna and this is Yang Xiao-Long."

Yang, blunt and straightforward as ever, asks, "How the hell are you so–" Blake cuts her off with a swift elbow to the gut, hopefully reminding her that manners exist, but a fraction of a second too late to keep her from potentially shoving her foot down her own throat.

Rusora doesn't even blink, probably having had more than a few summonings start with that exact question, Blake guesses. "My height? It's something I come by as honestly as I do the flames and feathers, from Mother's side of the family." She glances at Blake. "Though it wasn't necessary, I thank you for your attempt at thoughtfulness."

Blake offers a nod, and Yang at least has the decency to look sheepish.

Rusora gestures towards the beds. "Now then, shall we proceed?" Yang shrugs at Blake, the pair walking over to sit on Weiss' bed while the towering blonde sedately saunters towards Blake and Yang's makeshift bunk-beds. The Devil pauses in front of them and idly takes in their handiwork, gaze travelling over it from top to bottom, an easy task for her considering that Yang's bunk barely comes up to her chest. Whatever her thoughts are, Rusora keeps them to herself and turns back to face her summoners. "May I?" The giant requests, gesturing at the lower bed. Her intent is obvious, though Blake doesn't have the faintest idea how–

"Sure!" Yang chirps before Blake can express her own uncertainty. Yang seems more interested in how the Devil will take a seat with how large she is than anything else at the moment. Or is looking to have a laugh.

Rusora's body glows bright orange, and within moments the Devil in the room's body slowly… deflates, for lack of a better term until, with a flash of flaming sparks, the shift stops. The pair dumbly looking back into a pair of flat indigo eyes that aren't positioned quite as high as they had been before. The Devil raises a calm eyebrow. "I trust you'll find my presence less overwhelming this way?"

Rusora had… shrunk. Not by much, now only standing as tall as Professor Goodwitch, but at least she isn't nearly touching the ceiling just by standing upright anymore. As Blake's mind rallies a bit and she remembers that magic had factored rather heavily into Jaune and his teams explanation of the wider supernatural world a wry, snarky voice in the back of her head–one that Adam had always hated her voicing out loud and Sun seems to try to egg out at every chance he gets–notes that one of the amazonian Devil's ancestors had probably developed that technique to cut down on the number of door-jamb-related concussions they suffered.

Yang shakes herself out of her stupor first, chuckling awkwardly. "Heh, yeah… Nice trick. Can all Devils change their size?"

Rusora primly takes a seat, settling her hands neatly into her lap then replies, "A simple spell taught to my sisters and I when we came of age by our Mother."

"Cool." Yang quips, honest excitement on her face for a flash, before it shifts back to a more dour, serious expression. "First things first, do you know where you are? I mean, what world?"

"Remnant," Rusora replies promptly. "You see, my twin sister and I only recently started forming pacts." She pauses to straighten her dress and brush her cheek-framing ringlets away from her line of sight. "We felt that Remnant has the best potential returns for the two of us. With its current status as unexplored and unexploited territory there are no preconceptions for us to work against, nor would there be any of the repercussions we would face elsewhere from trying something new."

Yang and Blake chew on that for a moment before glancing at each other and shrugging. "Appreciate the honesty. That said: do Devils do client confidentiality, or are we gonna hafta watch our words if we don't want personal shit getting out?" Subtle as a brick, Yang.

Blake rolls her eyes and barely resists the urge to bury her face in her hands and groan, but Rusora's placid expression, thankfully, holds. "If that is your preference, I am more than capable of accommodating that request."

"Great." Yang chirps back before pausing a bit awkwardly to collect her thoughts. "We're… kind of curious about the supernatural world. Just learned about what all is out there, from a different Devil we know, and well..." Yang trails off, again trying to order her words. No puns, no jokes, she really is taking this seriously. "We aren't exactly on speaking terms right now–his fault as much as ours–and we wanna check if what he told us was on the up-and-up or not, considering how long he kept it a secret from us."

"From an unbiased third party. Sensible." Rusora opines, calm and monotone, clearly keeping her thoughts on their situation with Jaune off her face.

"Glad you think so! So why don't the three of us have a little 'Q & A' session for now and we can figure out payment later. Sound good?" Yang replies in an eager rapid-fire after getting the Devil's initial approval of her plan.

Blake grabs her attention with a poke, before leaning over to whisper, "Hold on, I thought you wanted to have a sparring session?"

"I mean, yeah, but it doesn't exactly look like she's dressed for it." Yang whispers back without letting her grin falter or breaking eye contact with the Devil. Okay, she's less calm about this all than she's letting on. That's… reassuring. "Plus, she doesn't strike me as the sort of person who'd enjoy a good scrap."

Rusora smoothly inserts. "If I may interject. First, I can easily modify my attire for combat. Second, I will confess that I am curious as to the capabilities of this world's warrior culture myself. A light spar with a trainee is as good a place as any to start and as such I would be happy to indulge your request." Both Blake and Yang stare dumbly at the taller girl for a moment. Well, at least that confirms what Jaune told them about enhanced senses.

"Oh." Yang replies once her wits start to come back to her. A clever turn of phrase that was not. "That's, umm, great. I kinda wanna see how I stack up against Devils." Yang chirps after a pause, her good cheer returning as quickly as it had fled her.

Rusora raises an eyebrow. "Seeking to summon a Devil for a sparring partner? Most people would find that unwise. Even my own. Though for different reasons."

"You mentioned wanting to know more about Huntsmen and Huntresses. Which means you should already know that we're trained to fight literal nightmare monsters. It'd be stupid to not try to find the toughest sparring partners you can if you wanna have a long life in our profession." Yang retorts, a cheeky grin plastered across her face.

The Devil's lips tug into a small smile. The first smile she's shown since arriving. "Merely an observation. We shall find out for ourselves whether or not you are overreaching yourself soon enough, won't we?"

Yang's typical friendly grin gives way to the toothy predatory one Blake recognizes from Combat Class for a moment as she locks eyes with the Devil, before she continues, "So, how 'bout it? Ask some questions here, a few more on the way down to the practice rings then top it all off by blowing off some steam?" Yang's smile drops to a suspicious frown. "And you'll be sticking to what's legal payment for you people despite this being 'the frontier,' right?"

"Yang!" Blake hisses at her partner. So much for no preconceptions to work against….

Rusora meets the thinly-veiled accusation coolly. "If you're implying I would demand your souls as payment, Ms. Xiao-Long, you needn't worry. Even if the practice provided some benefit over more tangible payments, it is quite ancient and has fallen out of style. Your request may be an unorthodox one, I'll admit, but not outside the realm of possibility, and I am certain we can come to an agreement. Though, if you prefer…" She pulls a slender, mirror-looking device from one of her dress's pockets. She then flips the finely carved, engraved silver piece around to reveal that it has a screen on the face that had been pointed towards her initially. "We Devils have the means to compare an individual's desire to the necessary compensation for the sake of forming a pact when payment is in question. The devices are quite intuitive that way."

What.

Once again, both Blake and her partner fall silent, staring dumbly at the Devil's tool as their brains play catch-up with what they'd just been told. Jaune never mentioned that that is how contracts are settled when prices are unclear. A treacherous voice in the back of her head points out that she had never asked, but that is quickly quashed.

Rusora stares at the confused duo as the silence drags on, before her stoic gaze shifts to something more deadpan as she tilts her head. "I sincerely apologize if I've somehow ruined a cherished archetype or work of fantasy with that piece of information."

Yang coughs awkwardly as Ruse returns the gadget to the folds of her dress, "No, no cherished whatevers, just, well, that looked like a plain old mirror. Ya know, ordinary." Yang pauses again looking around the room, like the words she's looking for will be written on the walls or something. Ruse's dry stare doesn't give an inch. "Ordinary's, umm, great though. We can work with ordinary!" She looks over to her partner. "Sound good to you, Blakey?" She just nods in response as her mind continues to wrestle that not only does every person actually have an intrinsic value, but at least one supernatural race has found a way, apparently, to measure that and compare it to their desire on demand. At that Yang shifts back to the Devil, shooting her friendliest smile at the taller girl. "Okay, so let's start again from the top, yeah?" Yang pauses for just barely long enough to say she had before pressing on. "I'm Yang Xiao-Long and this is my partner, Blake Belladonna, we make up half of Team Ruby, still on track to be one of the few that graduate the way we formed, best of our class and generation! Nice to meet ya!"

"Well met." Rusora replies, brushing out her skirt as she settles herself in. "As I said before, my name is Rusora of the Phenex Clan. Though 'Ruse' will suffice if you find my full name too cumbersome. What would you like to know?"

_-*R-DxD*-_

This is a stupid idea. Damn near suicidal, she's pretty sure. She also can't bring herself to care.

[["Where's Crimm at, tonight?" Lacey chirps, slapping what she hopes will be enough to cover the first round for the motley crew of criminals she had led to the nightclub that had served as her home for a month or so.

"Who's askin'?" the burly boar-tusked bartender asks, his suit straining to hold together against the force of the burly man's muscles.

Lacey looks behind her, and after confirming that none of the thugs she's just met are paying too close of attention replies "A chunk of tusk that got chipped off, who owes your boss an apology. I fucked up." She twitches her vole ears for good measure.

The bartender heaves a sigh, grabs a highball glass from behind him, runs it through a trough of ice and slams it on the bar. "What's your pleasure?"

"Rum?" Lacey replies dumbly. With a grunt the boar Faunus grabs a second glass, fills it with ice, then both with equal measures of what she thinks is ginger beer and rum, before skewering a slice of lime on both glasses.

The bartender slides one of the drinks across the bar to her. "Never told my brother back in Menagerie to get bent when he went cultish. You?"

Lacey hides her whimper in the glass of booze. "Got pissed and went to a rally while I was... staying downstairs. I was gonna snap the damned mask and huck it, but Crimm opened the door a half-second before I could introduce the piece of shit to my knee."

The bartender nods, and raises his glass, holding it until Lacey knocks hers into it. "Most of us have been there. Ya stepped back from the edge and that makes you better than most."

Lacey chokes back on her cough while Celese cries out that the first rounds on Lacey 'for anyone who knows how to start a fire'. "I fucked up, and Crimm deserves better than whatever I dragged into his house. He around to talk to?"

The barkeep heaves a sigh. "He's around and free, but not tending." The older Faunus reaches under the table and pulls out the old picture of Crimm posing outside the front of his club that has been on display front and center behind the bar since the first time Lacey had climbed the stairs into the club proper since she started sleeping in the bolt-holes beneath it. The older Faunus flicks his finger under a deep crease, and opens the photo to reveal that Crimm had been standing beside a second Faunus when the picture was taken.

A second Faunus, whose face had been nearly carved out of the picture, streaks of dry blood, fingernail and wood splinters forming a prominent x where the mans face had been. "Old friend of the boss's stopped in a couple weeks ago, and a barkeep who can only talk through text to speech or a couple days worth of learning sign language isn't much good."

"What did they–"

"Good news is, there was enough hard stuff and tools lying around to sterilize and cauterize Crimm's throat-stump." the bartender grumps. "Bad news is that there's still plenty of those psychotic masked fucks sulking around our fair Kingdom. Drop off enough masks and Lien and I'm sure Crimm'll forgive ya. Everyone has bad days."]]

Sure, she'd downed more than a few rounds with Roman's thugs. Yeah, she probably should have taken things a bit easier, but, deep down, Lacey is pissed.

Not that she can do anything about that right now. Her first, and hopefully only goal for now is to make her way through the back-alleys she'd learned living out the back of Club Fahrenheit. So, yeah, she'd done her best to leave Roman's thugs a mess. And, yeah she picked this circuitous back-alley route between the club and the safe-house Roman's putting her up in on purpose.

She hadn't expected her painfully obvious ploy to work so flawlessly when her slightly more drunk self had decided on it. But here she is 'stumbling' down the alleyway, a pair of masked thugs following her, at least one of them putting intimidation above stealth, and slamming his weapon-probably some sort of club or bludgeon-against the brick wall hemming this particular shortcut in.

She slows to a halt, and tosses the bottle Berry had given her for a 'road soda' at the dumpster off to her left. She's trained for shit like this. Practiced, drilled, even fought actual grimm. All she has to do is stay focused.

Which would be a lot easier if the dumb-asses following her around so they can lop her ears off weren't so damn LOUD!

"So" she grumps at the pair, spinning on her heels and dropping into a ready stance. "Since you've already wasted your chance to be the legitimate two to hit first, can you at least make it count?" Shit, she shouldn't be out to pick a fight when she's like this. But, Brothers damn it, will a good old-fashioned beat-down feel good right now. Maybe she's more buzzed than she thought she had been leaving the club?

Whatever.

Her whole Brothers-damned life is already a mess, why not roll the bones on making it official?

Moron one sprints at her, right fist cocked back like he's the second coming of the Infinite Man. Half a step to the left and a bit of a lean is enough to have him swinging wide.

Foot, meet back. Idiot, meet dumpster.

The second dumb-ass actually punches the dumpster she'd put his buddy into the hard way. Before he can properly recover from that fuck-up her heel is buried in his back just a hair above the backside of his waist, and his head-well, his entire upper body, but who's keeping score-rebounds off of the dirty, stinking steel construct with a loud, echoing thwump. The cultists fall still, and Lacey dusts her unsullied palms off.

Right, problem solved. Time to go–

"Are you really gonna leave those schmucks alive?" A low, sarcastic rumbling voice cuts her train of thought off. It doesn't take her much of an effort to trace the sound to a guy whose maybe somewhere around her age in a gray and black tracksuit crouched on a fire-escape overlooking the alleyway, both hands crammed into his pockets.

Lacey shrugs at the mystery interloper. "A dead body is just another problem." She recites out of reflex. Sure, she's had better, and knows that sensei was just showboating when he dropped that line, but right now it works and will–hopefully–cow the pest.

The gray-haired bastard's response is preceded by a derisive snort. "They might have been drunken fuck-ups, but they were sent out to either bring you back to the Fang, or punish you for turning traitor." He shrugs, not standing up, or leaving his perch on the fire escape at the top of the alley. "Though, I'm more interested in where you learned that sissified, less-than-lethal take on the Assassin's Talon you used than finishing the idiots I got sent to babysit's job."

Lacey had been ready to just keep on walking, but what the guy had said has her curious. "Don't you mean the Way of the Assassin?"

The brooding gray haired teen nearly falls from his perch as he starts laughing. "Oh, oh that's fucking rich. I thought the Old Man was just on a drunken rant when he started going on about a 'traitor' who ran off to fight in tournaments." He wipes at his face, probably having. "God, old Marcus must be spinning in his grave over this."

Lacey blinks dumbly up at the foul-mouthed teenager. "What…?"

The guy sighs, shaking his head. "Since, apparently, all that crap about every generation having two scions of the school we were trained in, I think I'll do you a favor, if only because whatever it is you got taught would piss Dad off so much." His arm flashes, and a moment later, both White Fang grunts have a slender throwing dagger embedded in their throats. "If you wanna know any more about the crap we're both caught up in, I'd recommend asking whoever it was that taught you about the real history of your combat school, or dojo or whatever the hell it is he's calling it." With a rattle of loose metal her mysterious, unwanted and entirely too fucking cryptic savior is gone.

Heaving a sigh, she pulls the dagger from the throat of both thugs and jogs down the alleyway.

No need to screw the other guy over after he saved her, irregardless of whether or not she asked for or actually needed the help. She'll probably need to stop by Serpent Strike to talk with Jaundice one of these nights. She doesn't really want to be tied up in, whatever it was, that guy was getting at.

But if experience has taught her anything, it's that she won't have a choice in it either.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Weiss hums contentedly, pleased with how impressed both Ruby and Ravel had been by her find.

A twenty-four seven diner that primarily offers the tacos, burritos and all the other other regional delights that grew up in the smaller settlements between Vacuo and Vale, including margaritas. So, after a scrumptious meal–one that would show fiscally responsibility without making it seem like she had been 'slumming it' when Jacques inevitably checks her card–the three of them are sat in their booth with a delectable looking tray of cookies and cakes that the diner buys fresh from the bakery across the street, apparently.

Ruby takes a sip from her half-finished neon blue drink, nervously glancing back and forth between Weiss and Ravel. "So, umm, not that I'm judging you two for going to one of those places, since I know you aren't, you know, using any of the, umm, other things they'll do for money. But, like, how is it that Weiss can even go inside the building without having the paparazzi going crazy and her dad flying down from Atlas to drag her back home?"

Weiss smirks, and looks over to Ravel. "Care to give a demonstration?"

The blonde girl's face shifts from content neutrality to a small pout as she grumbles out, "I thought we were just hanging out today." Ruby winces, and Ravel grabs a cookie from the tray to nibble on.

Weiss rolls her eyes when Ruby grabs one of the same, eyes lighting up in contentment as she takes her first bite of it. "You told me yourself you need the practice with illusions when we started to do more than just gossip in my dorm room for our appointments."

Still grumbling, Ravel reaches across the table to tap Weiss on the shoulder while she is in the middle of taking a sip from her second and probably-final-margarita of the night. No need to be excessive. She waits patiently as her vision shimmers, before glancing over to the mirror on the wall opposite their booth, where she is greeted by the sight of a girl with her exact figure, but dark brown skin, and a beauty mark under her left eye instead of a scar across it. The girl in the mirrors hair is a mass of box braids pulled into a quick bun then braided into a more solid side-ponytail, her right nostril bears a silver stud piercing, and she's clad in the same dress and jacket Weiss is, though in a deep navy blue, the frilly combat skirt replaced with a more simple pencil skirt slit just enough on either hip to allow her to walk without it riding up.

For a brief moment Ruby stares at her like some slack-jawed fool, before she snorts out a giggle around her half-eaten cookie. "So, Weiss makes everything about training or studying to get better with you, too?"

Hypocrite.

Ravel raises her eyebrow before shaking her head. "No, that 'honor' goes to my nieces, Rune and Ruse. If Ruse isn't pushing for me to get more physical, Rune is encouraging me to strengthen my magical abilities. They mean well, and I love them for it, but they're overachievers, I just can't keep up with them. I need to start smaller if I want to have even a snowball's chance of catching up with them. Physically, at least..." Ruby arches an eyebrow at the younger girl in what Weiss hopes isn't an imitation of herself, it looks incredibly judgmental, and that's with Ruby's innocent face. "Don't look at me like that! I tried to convince your partner to help me train a little, but she's insistent that your current regimen is far too strenuous to add in any additional sparring sessions. All I want is someone who is less of a training junkee to work with who will respect my desire to start slow and keep up on my other pastimes."

Ruby's face scrunches up in an awkward, conflicted look at that. Idly, Weiss notes that Ravel is reaching for another of the cookies that she and Ruby had both already had one of from the sample platter. She reaches out to grab the last one before they're all gone only to have Ruby's hand dart under hers to snag it for herself, Ravel and Ruby sharing a smile while Weiss playfully fakes a pout at the both of them.

"We both know how a spar between us would go, Ravel. I'd rather you have something more proactive than memory modification and hacking keeping you safe from rogue Fallen Angels and unhinged racists that would kill you for having been born. We can start sparring once I'm good enough that we'd both stand to gain something from it." Weiss interjects as her vision again flickers as Ravel dismisses the illusion surrounding her. Hopefully that had been enough to keep things moving in a positive direction. Ruby had aggressively avoided any conversation on the supernatural the entire time they'd been eating their dinners, focusing instead on more mundane 'getting to know you' topics.

"Weiss, please don't start. I get enough of that from the Twins. And while I appreciate the sentiment, I am quite capable of defending myself. Besides, the natural power disparity between us just might be enough to simulate the life or death experience you probably need to make a proper breakthrough with your family's Semblance." At that, she wolfs down the cookie she had snagged, polishes off her drink, and signals to their waiter for a refill.

Right, but by Ravel's own admission, she didn't train all that much, simply focusing on her raw power, Devil senses and cunning. As a Huntress-in-Training, hearing Ravel say that is a touch aggravating. Cultural differences being what they are, it's probably for the best that Weiss avoid the topic as much as she can. For now, at least. With a build like her's adding a baselard or a long knife or even something more esoteric like a karambit or set of chakram would go a long way for the blonde devils combat effectiveness in rating games and more serious altercations.

No, Ruby hasn't been rubbing off on her.

After the young Devil's drink had been replaced with a fresh one, and the three of them had each put one of the slices of a small cake that had come with the platter on their plates, Ruby glances around to make sure no one would overhear her before looking back to Ravel. "So, are illusions one of Clan Phenex's specialties, then?"

Ravel shakes her head, "Fire, wind, immortality and the ability to produce the healing elixir known as Phoenix Tears, as befitting of the Clan named after the Immortal Birds."

Smirking around a bite of her cake, Weiss interjects, quoting Ravel almost word for word: "However, as a Bishop it is somewhat expected of her to have more than the most basic level of competency in illusory magic." Ravel sticks her tongue out at Weiss playfully, as Ruby lets out a small 'oh' of understanding, before reaching across the table to steal a bite of the Devil's cake.

As much as Weiss wants to grill Ravel about the fact that her family has a monopoly on one of if not the most sought after healing elixirs known to the supernatural world, a fact that Ravel hadn't so much as hinted at during their weeks of friendship, she keeps her peace. Running the risk of bringing Ravel's attention to the Heroes, and the multitude of ways that could potentially turn what has so far been a pleasant introductory meeting into an unmitigated disaster that could have her right back to where Weiss had been after the rest of her Team saw JNPR locked in a fight to the death with a group of Fallen Angels. So she will be patient.

The conversation trickles to a halt as Weiss starts blanking on what available, safe topics there are, and Ruby's awkward nature begins to rear its head. Luckily, Weiss notices that Ravel is currently sitting in almost the exact same pose as she had been in the photo of her and her nieces she'd sent Weiss the other day. "By the way, Ravel," Weiss shoots a glare at the Devil who flinches back after noticing the stern expression Weiss had just fixed her with. "I got the picture of you and those 'nieces' of yours."

The impish smirk Weiss had expected to slide across Ravel's face when she confronted her about this quickly becomes reality. "Impressive, aren't they?" she all but purrs back at Weiss.

Weiss crosses her arms, doing her best to control her expression. Now is not the time to pout. "Impressive? Try impossible."

"They were really, really…" Ruby trails off, clearly at a loss for words to describe the Twins just thinking about them. Ravel snickers into her glass as she takes a sip. Brat!

Weiss' self-control falters and a scowl crosses her face for a moment before she clamps down on it to affect a more nonchalant demeanor. "I'll confess, when I first saw the photo I found myself wondering if you were just short for a Phenex." Ravel coughs into her drink and glares daggers at the unrepentant Schnee heiress as she sips from it. "Then you mentioned they got their size from their mother, and I remembered that not everyone wins the metaphorical genetic lottery."

Ravel rolls her eyes at Weiss' teasing, pausing halfway through the expression when she notices that the back corner of her cake is missing. Shooting the crimson-fringed girl a scowl, she snaps up her fork and starts trying to steal a back corner off Ruby's cake in retaliation. Ruby blocks the first three attempts with her own fork, smirk shifting to a grin. "First of all, I'll have you know that I'm of perfectly average size for my family, let alone a Devil of my age."

Not able to help herself, Weiss continues to needle the youngest girl at the table a bit more. "Are you sure? The pictures and footage I've seen of Riser and some of the other members of his… Peerage showed that most of them are quite a bit taller than you, as well."

Ravel gives Weiss the stink eye. "And you are two years older than me, Weiss Schnee, and only barely taller than I am when you're wearing heels." That got Weiss to shut up, and Ruby snickering at them both. The traitor. "No, Raenella and Rusora and their elder sister, Regina, are as… Sizable as they are thanks to their mother, Adelaide, having been born to the Focalor Clan."

Not bothering to slow their adorably improper little fork-duel, Ruby adds, "So who are the Focalors? Devils who are famous for being stupidly tall?"

With a very unladylike grunt, Ravel bats Ruby's fork aside, claims a corner of the Remnantian girl's cake for herself, and shovels it into her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she primly dabs the corners of her mouth as if the entire exchange hadn't happened. "No, the Focalor were one of several Clans who served primarily as the Underworld's soldiers before the Great War ravaged our numbers, and the Civil War wiped out half of the Pillars who survived that war. To be specific, the Focalors served as the Shock Infantry of the old Devil army, complimenting the Balam's role as Heavy Infantry."

Ruby and Weiss blink in surprise before the former asks, "So wait, they're like Devil super-soldiers for the Underworld?"

Ravel shakes her head, her eyes darkening. "They used to be. Adelaide is the sole surviving member of the main filial line after the Underworld Civil War ended. The rest either perished fighting on the side of the Devils who are now known as the Old Satan Faction or were executed for their crimes after the war."

"Oh." Ruby gasps at Ravel's clinical statement. "That's… Awful." Ruby's face falls, and Weiss herself feels, unsure, of how to proceed. It's one thing to understand that just over half of the Underworld's nobility has been wiped out. Cold math makes it a simple enough mental exercise to accept that those who weren't part of the ruling class had likely suffered the same fate or worse. Hearing that a dear friend's sister-in-law's family being reduced to just another statistic, however...

Weiss isn't really sure how to proceed after that revelation. Ruby, thankfully, is not, and quickly fills the growing quiescence. "So, how'd she survive then? Is she, like, a super-awesome warrior or something? A Super-Mom!?"

"Addy, a Super-Mom?" Ravel lets out a short laugh, smiling fondly. "Maybe. But not in the way you'd expect. She's gentle, warm, friendly, supportive and caring; everything you'd expect to find in an ideal mother's personality." A blush crosses the young Devil's face, presumably as some memory of the woman in question crosses her mind. "And she can be very huggy. I almost fell asleep, one ti–" Ravel clears her throat at Ruby's snickering, but the implications weren't lost on Weiss who returns to her drink, pushing images of a bouncy, unfairly proportioned giant firmly from her mind.

Ruby has a complex expression on her face. She's probably trying to reconcile what she's already been told of Devils with the picture Ravel is painting. And that's on top of what little Weiss knows about her best friend's mother. And that's… a lot to work through. On a good day.

Weiss will confess she wishes her own mother was–Lopping that thought at the knees.

Just, no. She is not letting her mind go there today.

"That's… not what I'd expect from an 'evil' Devil." Ruby half-mumbles, half-prompts in response to the younger Devil's description.

"The Focalor clan wasn't happy about it either." Ravel tactfully replies to Ruby's less-than-polite observation. "And she's actually quite small for a Focalor family member. Just under ten feet as opposed to the typical thirteen or so."

"Ten‽" "Small‽" Ruby and Weiss squawk over each other. Weiss can't imagine a person being that much taller than what she's used to seeing. The Twins–The giants deserving the capital 't'–had already redefined her definition of a person being larger than life, and apparently their mother stands considerably higher than either of them. Now Ravel is saying that all three hail from a family once famous for standing even taller than that.

"Mm-hmm. The Focalor were infamous for their size and bulk; several more historically inclined individuals go so far as to posit that it was their clan's actions that earned Devils' reputation as inhuman monsters who took pleasure in terrorizing the weak. But in Addy? You'd be hard-pressed to find a more staunch pacifist. Ironic, considering that she has none of the bloodlust, anger or brutality her brothers were, apparently, infamous for. I can only remember a single time that she looked ready to actually throw a punch in anger, and that was… a dark time for the Phenex Family." Ravel scowls to herself before shaking her head.

Weiss knows she needs to tread carefully here. This is a golden opportunity to get Ruby looking at Devils-and the other supernatural races she supposes-in shades of gray instead of the solid black that their other new friends prefer to paint them in; however, she can very easily put Ravel in a bad place and mood if she rushes in like Yang. "The kidnapping?"

Ravel bites her lip and scowls, though not at either Weiss or Ruby. "Yes." She tersely bites out.

Ruby looks spooked by the sudden tension, which is good. Being Weiss' team leader means she'll likely need to deal with this, less glamorous, side of having friends born to high society eventually anyways. Better a story now than having it thrust upon her with no warning. "Um, what–Oh, your niece?" Apparently, Ruby remembered Weiss' explanation of what had moved Weiss and Ravel from professional acquaintances to proper friends.

Ravel takes a deep–though not visually calming–breath before she answers Ruby. "Yes." Ravel's voice is calmer than it had been moments ago, though it has also taken on a more morose tone. "Anyway, during the war–" She quickly presses on, like a girl ripping off a bandage. "Her father left her and his eldest son to hold the family's demesne while he took the rest of the Clan and their troops off to fight the Anti-Satan rebellion.

"From how Addy tells it, when she was sent out she tended to embarrass herself more often than not. And those battles were the good ones for her." She sips from her drink, and helps herself to a pair of cookies from the platter to replace her now finished cake. "Eventually, her lower than average skill led to Ruval capturing her. Father then assigned Ruval to oversee any high profile prisoners instead of risking his heir fighting in a civil war. Adelaide, naturally was one of the first captives left in Clan Phenex' care, and Ruval was quite smitten by her and vice-versa."

"So, what, was it like one of those schmoozy romance movies where they fell in love despite being enemies?" Ruby quips, still clearly not entirely believing the story Ravel is trying to tell.

Weiss lets out a snort, "Or was it more like one of Blake's trashy novels where they were doing all sorts of lascivious things with each other despite being captive and captor?"

Ravel reaches across the table to playfully bop Weiss on the head, and–probably–kick Ruby's shin, as the prodigy Huntress-in-training draws her left leg up to her chest with a shocked half-squeal. "That's enough, both of you!" Ravel grumps at them, crossing her arms and glaring out the window, a light blush on her face. "But, yes. Both my brother and Addy hated the war, hated what it was doing to Devilkind and hated what it did to their families. A few years after the Anti-Satan Faction won, they married and had their firstborn, Regina Phenex. Apparently it was quite the scandal. Thankfully, Lord Lucifer gave his full support, though Ruval still had to spend every bit of goodwill Father had for him, along with most of his political clout at the time to make it happen. Marrying a weak, disgraced traitor from the Old Satan Faction was bad enough. But in addition to being small for a Focalor scion, she didn't inherit the Focalor Clan's family ability. To top it all off, Addy was required to revoke all claims to the Focalor's holdings, wealth and titles as a condition of her pardon. A price she paid gladly, from how she and Ruval tell the story."

Put in the woman's position Weiss would have preferred to rebuild her Clan from the ashes, and restore their reputation and honor. "Did she really hate her family that much?" Weiss can't keep herself from asking.

"No, quite the opposite." Ravel replies calmly. "She was highly devoted to them, but also aware that she could never be what they wanted her to be. So setting aside her family's name, titles, pride and the rest was the cleanest and best way for her to let what little was left of them go."

Weiss unable to say anything more to that lets it rest. That said, she is also willing to admit that she has something of a bias and a blindspot in that regard. "That sounds about as close to happily ever after as someone in her position could hope for to me." Ruby interjects, her voice just hopeful and loud enough, to startle Weiss out of her inner monologue.

Ravel nods silently, sliding her drink between one hand and the other for a minute or two before responding, "For the first few centuries, it was. At least until the scraps of her old extended family who took exception to the decisions she made had recovered enough to make their move a few years ago." Weiss is glad that Ravel seems to be warming up to Ruby so quickly, and desperately hopes her partner doesn't do something to make the younger Devil regret extending Ruby her trust. "My niece, Rusora, was kidnapped, by a group of Old Satan holdouts following the head of one of the Focalor's lesser branch families who had escaped death at the Civil War's end. He wanted to punish Addy for her 'betrayal', and hoped to regain the Focalor family's special ability, if not through her than her children. Ruse was eight." Ravel spits the last sentence out with a considerable amount of venom and vitriol.

Ravel looks away from the other girls, face pained as Ruby gasps in horror while Weiss takes in a completely un-panicked breath through her nose. Her friend mentioned the kidnapping–in passing–once or twice, but never the girl's age at the time. That puts a darker spin on the tale. "Ruse's health was, poor for a long while after that. A side-effect of having had her Devil Power siphoned off. They… experimented on her as well. The only reason she isn't terribly scarred is thanks to her Phenex family regeneration. She didn't fully recover until after Ruval paid for an experimental procedure to reverse the harm that had been done. Physical harm, that is. She's been… subdued, ever since. Getting better, but…" Ravel trails off, clearly not wanting to go too deep into her niece's struggle, but feeling it important to at least mention her state.

"Rune blamed herself for it all, she'd been a few rooms over when her sister was taken. I'm… pretty sure she still does to a certain extent. Reggie ran off after her parents when they left to get Ruse back, and she must have caught up with them at some point, because all four came back together. None of them will say exactly what happened or where they caught the bastards, just that that threat has been taken care of. Only our parents and the Devil Kings are aware of the specifics." Ravel falls silent at that. Right, sealed by the crown as it were. The heady sort of courtly adventures and feudal intrigue that seem so exciting in books and movies definitely seems far more frightening when it's a friend's family caught up in it.

Weiss is holding on to her nerves with both hands at this point. Change a few names around and it would sound like what would happen if the White Fang captured Whitley or Mother. "That's partly why Father was so insistent on the arrangement between Riser and Rias." Ravel continues, voice still even and grim. "The Phenex family has notoriety for our Tears and regenerative powers, but that alone isn't enough. Our Clan needs a strong alliance to recover some of the standing we lost among the Pillars and to deter the vultures who think Ruval and Addy's union makes us weak, an easy target." Ravel all but spits the last word out, and takes a long drag from her drink afterwards. "Not that Reggie, Ruse and Rune aren't powerful young Devils in their own right, or to say that my brothers and I are weak." Ravel puffs up with pride for a moment. "We just need something to remind the rest of the Underworld that House Phenex is not one to be trifled with." She slowly deflates with a sigh. "And with Riser having turned his engagement into a scandalous public debacle…"

Ravel lets out a weary sigh and shakes her head, then gives the two Huntresses-in-Training a beaming smile. "I'm not in the least bit afraid or ashamed to admit that Remnant has given me, given us exactly the opportunity we need to recover. Ruse and Rune have been… shut-ins ever since the Incident, something that their parents made no effort to discourage. Addy, wasn't much better if I'm being honest, at least until Father started sharing more details about Remnant's discovery with the family. It's been quite a hot topic to those in the know. Both of our homeworlds are changing, and we all need to adapt with them." She offers a silent toast to which Ruby and Weiss, swept up in her energy, can't help but accept.

The trio fall silent, Weiss and Ruby mulling over everything Ravel had told them, Ravel taking the pause in conversation to ease herself out of her passionate state she'd worked herself into. "So…What does your sister-in-law do now?" Ruby curiously queries.

"Addy has fashioned herself into quite the entertainer in the years since the Civil War. Performative dance, to be specific. She's the Senior Principle in the ballet troupe Father started as a…begrudging, wedding gift for her, and is generally considered one of the foremost dancers of her generation in several styles. Lady Leviathan has even tried recruiting her on several occasions, but Addy's too camera shy." Ravel is all but gushing as she talks about her sister-in-law, her previous poor mood having thankfully melted away.

Ruby lets out a snorting giggle, "Ballet?" Clearly picturing a ten foot tall woman spinning and dipping across a stage like some sort of insane top.

"And yoga." Ravel interjects before Ruby can get too lost in her imagination. "She's isn't too proud to admit to just how clumsy she was in her youth." As Ruby calms down, Ravel takes another sip from her glass. "She's since taught Raenella, Rusora and Regina a series of exercises based on a combination of her own prowess as a dancer, the martial training she received growing up as a Focalor, as well as the yoga exercises she learned later in life to not only assist them in acclimating to their… considerable physical forms, but further their own personal goals and desires. She also taught them a spell Lord Sirzechs' Rook uses to shrink one's size that he taught her. The more traditional Focalors, from what I've read, would have found concealing their form and 'pride' inconceivable."

Ruby, still mostly snorting and giggling, interjects that, "Weiss's sword style kinda looks like a battle-ballerina, maybe she can help out." Weiss glares at her partner for that, though Ruby seems mostly unaffected by the gesture.

"Hmph, you can stand to be a bit more coordinated, Ruby Rose. One of these days those so-called curtsies you perform will land you flat on your face." Ruby's mouth snaps shut at that, though she does pout at Weiss over what was honestly just a playful jibe.

Ravel cuts a quick glance across the table at Ruby at that. "Speaking of fighting styles, I heard from Weiss that yours revolves around speed." Ravel pauses until Ruby nods an affirmative. "You know, I've seen quite a few techniques utilized either by Knight pieces or those who rely on swiftness in battle while I was still participating in Rating Games as part of Riser's Peerage, and from watching Ruval's matches. If you're interested, maybe I could tell you about some of them?"

From there Weiss goes silent and watches as Ravel and Ruby chatter excitedly about tactics and battle techniques, eventually their conversation migrates over to the wide range of weapons that Devils wield in fights, not just Sacred Gears. Eventually Demonic Weapons, swords specifically–mostly thanks to the veritable encyclopedia on them that Siegfried had filled Ruby's head with–and from there Mechashift weapons enter the fray, which Ravel seems apathetic about. At least until Ruby starts picking her brain for different ways to work magical effects into them, what is and isn't possible and very unsubtly hints that forging weapons is as much her passion as playing armchair tactician is Ravel's. It takes a few moments for Ravel to connect all of the disparate dots, before she dives into how Ruby's passion could very easily lead to a multitude of profitable–as well as fun and personally fulfilling–possibilities. At that point, the two younger girls are off to the metaphorical races, ideas and imaginations feeding off of each other in a seemingly endless loop.

Even if Weiss could fit a word in edgewise, that would actually contribute to the incredibly technical geekery, she wouldn't. Why would she get in the way of two friends' first meeting going this improbably well? Instead, she simply basks in the company of the two of them, letting the sound of their chatter wash over her. At some point after she had ordered one last drink, the younger girls both not only having a lower tolerance for alcohol than she does but are too distracted to drink anything currently, they started talking about sweets. Specifically cakes and Ravel's second passion: baking. Weiss properly tunes back into the conversation just in time to hear Ravel offer to bring by the most recent version of a strawberry-vanilla cookie cake recipe she's been working on next time. Ruby looks about ready to launch herself at the younger Devil, wrap her up in a hug, and declare her as a 'second bestie' or something equally scatterbrained. Thankfully, she manages to restrict herself to a too-wide-to-be-polite smile, a half-hearted attempt to straighten out her clothes and offer a simple but heartfelt, "That sounds great Ravel. I'm sure it'll be delicious." Ravel's cheeks flush a bit pink, and Weiss coughs into her hand to hide another smile, silently glad to see that her favorite Dolt learned from the debacle that was the start to their friendship.

The girls' sweets-centered conversation tapers off from there, with Ruby suggesting, "Maybe we could go to the Bakery this Diner gets their desserts from the next time we decide to go out on the town?" Ravel nods excitedly in response with an eager smile plastered across her face. Cavities. Both of them will have nothing but cavities for teeth before they hit thirty if Weiss leaves them to their own devices.

… That said, will Ravel even be able to get cavities by thirty or will it take centuries for her to do a comparable amount of dental damage?

Before any further conversation can be had, the Waitress flits up to their table and offers to clear their table and ask how the bill will be split. Weiss informs her that it's on her, Ruby finishes her drink–reducing herself to a red-faced, coughing wreck for a few moments–and adds her glass to the other two empty ones resting on the tray.

After the waitress leaves their table for the kitchen, Weiss offers a hopeful, "Same time next week?"

"Sounds good to me." Ravel chirps in response.

Out of the corner of her eye, Weiss does notice Ruby's expression going pensive as the three of them stand up, Weiss armed with a receipt to present to the register, and Ravel laying out a generous tip on the table-probably payment she'd accepted from other Pacts she'd formed on Remnant. "But, umm, Ravel, we didn't give you anything for, well, you know..."

"Officially, I have her on the contract equivalent of a tab. Unofficially, I stopped keeping tr payments weeks ago." Ravel waves her off, giving her a bright smile. "I got to keep one good friend, and am in the process of making another. That's more than enough to make the trip worth it."

_-*R-DxD*-_

Just over an hour has passed and Blake and Yang are closing in on the nearest sparring center on Beacon's campus, with Rusora–Ruse–easily keeping pace. She's tall enough to have turned a few heads, but fit enough that most of the other students probably just wrote her off as another transfer student and left it at that. Being able to shrink down to a more 'normal' height is useful like that, apparently.

Ruse had been quite informative and patient with both human girls as they bombarded her with question after question. That isn't to say Jaune had lied or kept information from them, rather, it would seem that Ruse not only has more academic knowledge in regards to both Underworld politics, and the wider supernatural worlds than Jaune, and is a more polished and eloquent speaker, as well. Blake's initial assessment of the girl is that she is a highly intelligent, level-headed, and collected girl. A bit aloof maybe, with a dry, witty turn of phrase, but polite enough that neither quality is too agitating. Topping all that off, she's only Ruby's age, already stands at just under eight and a half feet, and most likely has another growth spurt or two left to go still. Blake is honestly getting kind of desensitized to shock by the amount of surprises she's had in the last few weeks, which probably isn't a good thing.

Ruse had told them what is considered 'common knowledge' for the specialties and abilities of the Phenex Clan–Hell Fire, immortality and wind–and the now-extinct Focalor Clan–Enhanced physique and incredible size. From there, she went on to expand upon that to tell them of the Gremory, Sitri, Bael and most of the other 'major' players amongst the Pillars. From there she'd given them a more actionable summary on what Sacred Gears are and can do than Jaune's ominous, less than helpful description. She had then went on to explain magical artifacts and items in broad strokes as well as her family's Phoenix Tears. A healing elixir so potent that a single dose–a few drops–can cleanly reattach severed limbs. Provided you still have the limb in question on hand, which says subtly ominous things about the level Devils and the other supernatural races are capable of fighting on. When Yang had half-jokingly asked Ruse if she could 'hook them up,' Ruse had flatly put both of their jaws nearly on the floor with what the going rate for a single vial is. After they'd figured out the exchange rate between some of the more common forms of currency used in the Underworld and which one Lien most evenly matches with, that is.

To Ruse's credit there wasn't a trace of arrogance in her voice while she described the medicinal elixir her family is famous for. Just cold, clinical facts, and deflections of any insinuation that Phoenix Tears are a cure-all; as well as any lines of questioning that could lead to either of the Remnanti girls gleaning even the barest hint of how they are produced. Weiss could honestly learn a thing or two from her.

Finding out that Remnant is a recently rediscovered world from beyond the 'Dimensional Gap' had been an interesting topic–though it is something she will need to ask the younger Devil about the next time they summon her. Ruse then explained that House Bael–Jaune's sponsors and direct superiors–had laid claim to the entrance, with the Houses of Phenex and Gremory having won the bidding to be the first two Clans to establish holdings once Jaune and his patrons have formalized the first connection between Remnant and the Underworld.

Yang had then asked about what the different classes look like when they start throwing around their power. Ruse's completely and unrepentantly blunt description had still sent chills down Blake's spine. Especially the Ultimate, Satan and rumored Super-classes. Remnant's map would need to be more than slightly reworked if any of them ever was given a reason to cut loose on her homeworld.

Blake has so many more questions that she wants to ask Ruse–or any Devil that isn't in one of the two supposedly extremist factions–next time she gets a chance to. Or for books, history books would be good too. But she can accept that not only do they not want to be caught by Weiss and Ruby with a Devil in their dorm room with so much tension still unresolved, but Yang wanting a spar and the fact that it is a school night put a damper on her curiosity.

She can write a list of everything she wants to ask at some later point. She should probably keep it in her pocket, just in case.

Blake follows in her partner's wake as she leads the three of them into one of Beacon's many indoor sparring rings, Ember Celica affixed to her wrists and a confident swagger worked into her gait as she slams the doors open before her.

Automatic lighting clicking on, the old 'not broken yet' projector whirring to life and flickering, the equally ancient computer it's linked to letting out an ominous grunt as one of its cooling fans rubs against its casing. Ignoring all of the little distractions as she saunters over to the sparring ring proper, Ember Celica expanding and contracting as she stretches. "So!" Yang exclaims, turning around to face the other girls, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "How d'ya wanna do this?" She blinks in surprise at the visibly disapproving look on the tall Devil's face as she takes in the room. "What?"

"I had been led to believe that Beacon was the best Huntsman Academy on Remnant. State of the art training facilities, cutting edge methodology and such, not…" Ruse trails off, gesturing at the old equipment, crooked towel rack and dripping water fountain in clear disappointment. "I suppose I expected Beacon to at least try to live up to its own standards."

Blake offers a shrug. "Just because Beacon prides itself on being the best doesn't mean it, or any school really, can afford to be wasteful. If it still works..." Blake trails off, and the blonde Devil sighs, shakes her head, and lets the matter drop.

The blonde bombshell–err, sorry, Yang–approaches the mat across from where Blake's partner is already waiting when neither local girl comments any further. "How, exactly, is it that Huntresses typically spar?"

"Matches usually go by Tournament Standard Rules, so until one person's Aura hits the red, or ring out." Blake sets up Yang's data in the terminal as her partner explains.

"And yet I am without Aura." Ruse states plainly, eyes still more focused on the other blonde than anything else in the room,

"No biggie." Yang shrugs as she starts stretching and bouncing from one foot to the other. "Easy enough to cry 'uncle' once you know you're beat, isn't it?" Yang taunts, seemingly unphased when the other blonde fails to rise to the bait.

"Very well." Ruse closes her eyes as a wave of flame washes across her body, leaving her covered in a dress of literal fire after a few seconds. Much like when they had summoned her, the flames don't so much as singe her skin, let alone cause any harm. For a moment she stands motionless, her arms spread out before a vibrant orange energy coruscates across from her form.

When the flames fade, Ruse is once again her full, ceiling-scraping height and, wait–Blake can feel her face starting to heat go red as she looks over the giant girl's form to see that she's now clad in–

In…

The Faunus swallows. Hard. No, no. Ruse has to be joking. Blake refuses to believe that a nobly born girl would willingly choose to wear such blatant–She can practically hear Weiss' scandalized screeching in her head despite her teammate being nowhere near their room.

Yang rapidly blinks in surprise for a moment, before shaking her shoulders out and starting to hop from one foot to the other. "Huh. That w–" She blinks again and does a double take as she glances over Ruse's new attire. "What the hell are you wearing…?"

Bloomers. Navy blue bloomers that barely make it past Ruse's upper thighs before ending, with a low waist on top of that. The only real reason Blake didn't just call them booty shorts–And what a booty it is, nostopshutup–is the weird crest and matching navy blue trimmed–but still too tight-fitting–white t-shirt that is tucked into them with a golden crest of some sort on the left side of her admittedly voluminous bosom–Seriously, firstCheshirenowthis–Right. It's like an academy PE uniform from Ninjas of Love, but not cheap cosplay.

She can deal with that.

She can compartmentalize that for later because the way Ruse's… thick and toned, creamy white legs and general poise as she stretches is distracting.

Kind of like how Yang's legs stand out when they're in their combat, except with more, padding seems like such a crass way to describe it, and feels unfair as there's no way the girl isn't in shape, but no other word seems to fit aside from just leaving the description to hang at 'more'. Having the body of a giant makes Ruse's everything seem oversized, in a desirable way any–wait–no, no. You're doing this to learn more about things that can and will kill you, Blake.

Right.

Ruse laces her fingers above her head, leans to her right and stretches, the tucked in, form hugging, bust-accentuating t-shirt sliding up past the waistband it had been tucked into to reveal a sliver of abs that look not-quite-as-muscular-but-close-enough to Sun'sandshereallyneedstofindoneofthoseold-timeybasketballuniformstoputhiminand–

No. No.

Okay, so your type is apparently 'Tall Fit Blonde.' Cool. Great. Personal epiphany achieved or whatever. Pull yourself together, Belladonna. Right. Looking at her, Blake can say Ruse is… Healthy, to put it mildly. The Devil striking a balance between great, natural beauty most girls would kill for, with visible muscles making it clear she exercises regularly. Those muscles especially apparent in those mile-long, meaty legs–

She really needs to stop letting herself get distracted.

Yang arches an eyebrow as–Blake takes a measure of relief to see she isn't the only one distracted–she trails her eyes up and down Ruse's figure before drawling, "Umm, are we getting ready to spar or start streaming on the CCTN?" And wouldn't that be someth–No, this isn't the time or place to think about what Yang would look like if she only went with the jacket or the tube-top. Focus on your Scroll, getting the match started and keeping both of them from killing each other.

"I did mention that I can adjust my garb." Ruse points out dryly as she resumes working through her pre-match stretches. If Devils really don't put as much work into physical training, there are a lot of poor, deprived individuals who don't know what they're missing out on, in Blake's humble opinion, at least.

Yang rolls her eyes at that, and her shoulders as well as she continues to limber up. "Figured ya meant zippers, breakaway tabs and layered clothes, maybe a bag stashed on ya or to pull out of thin air. Not a freaking magical girl transformation sequence." Blake almost lets out a snort at her best friend's slip-up. She'll get her friend to be more open about her–apparent–closet geekery someday.

"My apologies for the confusion…" Ruse replies dryly as she ceases her stretching and begins to pace, muscles visibly rippling with every smooth, controlled step. Among other places, Blake can't help but note before shaking her head to clear those thoughts away, and hopefully her blush as well. "As for the attire, it was my twin's idea. This is the Physical Education uniform of the establishment that my sister and I suspect we will be relocated to in the near future. She thought it would be for the best if we break these in prior to our attendance." Ruse raises an eyebrow as Yang just stares back wordlessly before the Devil nods to herself. "Granted, we will be spending most of our time there in our more typical human size, but fortune favors the prepared when it comes to custom clothing, especially in the supernatural world."

"And you picked today, here and now to try it…?" Yang questions dubiously.

Ruse stares back blankly. "As I had assumed that sparring constitutes a sizeable portion of this Academy's curriculum, I had thought it seemed appropriate and Rune's intent was for us to use these outfits whenever possible.." Her hands go to her–ahem–admittedly voluptuous hips, as she inspects her uniform, unintentionally(?) showing herself off some more–And awakening more feelings to swim around in Blake's head. "Tell me, do either of you see any signs of wear and tear?" Clearly this is someone who isn't ashamed of herself or insecure about her body in the least. Or simply lacked the inhibitions to be ashamed. Blake… doesn't feel like she's unbiased enough to answer clinically, and will also admit that it could just be a cultural thing she simply doesn't know about.

Grinding her teeth, Yang visibly halts her twitching brow before waving the giant off. Clearly not happy at looking like a twig in comparison. Join the club, Yang. "You're fine! Enough showing off, Ladder Legs, let's get started already." Yang replies as she slides into her typical boxer stance, and wild grin. With a flick of her wrists, both of her shot-gauntlets slide into their fully deployed mode.

"Just you?" The Devil prompts, glancing at Blake and apparently deciding to forgo tucking her t-shirt back in.

"Yup." Yang shoots back, tone light but impatient. "Blakey's had a hell of a week."

Ruse doesn't reply, simply humming before gracefully sliding her left leg forward as she settles into what looks like a defensive kick-boxer's stance. Blake hasn't seen anything even approaching similar to the stance before. If she hadn't spent most of her life fighting and training, she doubts she'd be able to even make that much of a guess. "Whenever you're ready." The blonde Devil drawls, eyes lazily tracking Yang as she bounces from one foot to the other.

With a wordless cry, Yang rushes the much taller girl. Her initial right-cross is handily sidestepped. Ruse proving to be faster than either Remnant girl had expected in the first exchange, given her sheer size. The follow-up left-right-left combo, she shifts away from and the explosive haymaker Yang likes to end most of her assaults with is simply hopped clear of. Ruse's face an impassive mask for the entire exchange.

Blake had thought her partner had at least a chance of making a good showing of herself going into this farce. Now she's pretty sure even that much is beyond Team Ruby's heavy-hitter's capacity.

Growling, Yang fires off a pair of shots from Ember Celica, both of which Ruse adroitly dodges, with a pair of twirling steps putting her back into Yang's range. The shorter brawler then launches into an explosive upper-cut–Well, it would have been a punch right in the boob if it had landed–only for the freakishly tall Devil to flexibly lean clear of it, before shifting her weight to the side, stepping clear of Yang and letting her carry on in a predictable ballistic trajectory, simply watching Yang sail through the sky and land on her face with an impassive look on her face.

Blake's uncertainty for her best friend's chances escalate into full-fledged fear for her well-being as she watches the giant continue to dance around Yang's attacks, and pointedly avoid taking advantage of any of the resultant openings. She really, really wants to look away, but it's like watching two trains headed straight for each other. She can't. Maybe it's the ease that Ruse is handling the fight with, maybe it's finally sinking in that the world opened up to her after the Breach is one that far outsrips any expectations she had had for what is possible, let alone probable or even likely, growing up.

The fact that she, as well as nearly all of those near and dear to her barely count as insects in that wider, more terrifying world definitely isn't helping her process that realization she desperately wants to deny.

Ruse continues to dodge and avoid Yang for nearly five more minutes, the Blonde brawer getting increasingly furious with every missed punch and ignored opening.

The leggy Devil's cold, analytical demeanor finally and terrifyingly shifts to a mask of cold derision as Yang gathers herself and rushes the giant Devil again. "I've seen enough." The towering Devil proclaims as time seems to slow, Yang charging headlong at her.

Like a switch had been flicked; Ruse isn't simply dodging Yang's attacks anymore. She's predicting and outpacing them with speed that would make Ruby green with envy. As Yang leaps up high overhead, rearing back for a harsh downward blow, Ruse is in the air faster than the smaller blonde can react. Before Yang knows it, a large hand grabs her face and the giant dives down to the mat, smashing the Huntress-in-Training into the floor. Blake winces as Yang gives a shocked grunt. Ruse, with another uncanny showing of agility for someone so large, somersaults off of then over Yang's prone body.

Yang springs back to her feet with a growl and twists around to continue, but Ruse is already on her again. Yang throws her haymaker anyways, which Ruse dodges before catching Yang in a shoulder lock. With a yelp, the smaller blonde again finds herself swung about and slammed face-first into the mat. Moments later Yang lets out a loud wheeze as Ruse's greater frame lands on top of her, calves snaking around to squeeze the human girl's comparatively tiny head. The giant Devil smoothly slips off her opponent when her face starts going blue. Yang, however, isn't anywhere near calm, and she scrambles back to her feet and immediately throws herself at the Devil, with by now predictable results.

Blake really, really wishes she could find it into herself to look away right now. Evidently, Ruse's talent for wrestling moves and holds makes sense, as they allow her to use her exceptional size to her advantage. Not to mention all the cushioning and padding provided–noshutup–That said, the multitude of compromising positions some of those holds put Ruse and Yang into makes Blake thankful it's just the three of them present.

Blake can't help but recall what had seemed like a passing comment in the conversation as the three of them had walked from the dorm room to the sparring ring. That among the Devils who bothered to spar and train, she is–in Blake's own opinion falsely–considered a light hand. She winces as Yang is once again body-slammed, wondering if Ruse is holding back to the point that she's just using the mat, gravity and her body weight to chip away at Yang's Aura. After all, the Devil is nearly three times as big as Yang, not exactly petite.

Yang had clearly given up any pretenses of holding back or treating this fight as something light-hearted or for fun, if the red eyes tracking the large pale leg passing over her as Ruse once more slinks off and away are any indicator. "Hey, Mommy Long Legs, this isn't a wrestling meet, it's a spar." Yang seethes as she stumbles back into her battle stance, trying to shake off the obvious soreness of her abused body. To say that Yang looks fed up with getting so easily and repeatedly manhandled would be a massive understatement.

Leaning on her left hip with her arms crossed under her large bust, Ruse skewers Yang with a look of utter of dismissal. Her expression is almost bored, and certainly disapproving. Yang narrows her eyes and bares her teeth before going on the offensive. Again.

Sidestepping another lightning-fast jab from Yang, Ruse repeats what she'd said during their previous conversation. "Pure-blooded Devils are not instructed to train our abilities," She casually slaps Yang's follow-up right cross aside, "We are not encouraged to train, but to instead be content with what we have and to wait for our powers to mature naturally." With a hop she avoids a flurry of blows from Yang with barely any effort. "There are few amongst us who are actually willing to put in any effort to refine our physical prowess as well as any secondary abilities we may discover or develop."

Ruse shifts sideways just enough for Yang to go barreling past her, and in a move faster than either Huntress-in-training could react to, Ruse extends a palm into Yang's short ribs–"I am not like my peers."–and pushes.

The strike folds Yang in half around it, her breath exploding from her lungs in a single wheezing cough, and Blake is pretty sure she can hear her partner's short ribs groaning in protest. The smaller blonde is launched backwards into the far wall like a shot from a cannon. Yang, somehow, lands on her feet, Aura flashing in protest and near to breaking.

Wheezing, and completely ignoring the multiple 'end of match' sirens blaring, Yang shoves herself away from the wall, holding her left arm tight to her abused ribs. Yang stares wide-eyed at the Devil she'd been sparring with, awe and at least a little fear plain on her face. It's the same face Blake is sure she's making.

"That's the match, then." Ruse muses with disappointment. She has dropped out of her combat stance, and is calmly walking towards Yang, hands clasped behind her back. "Your technique is decent, for a human your age. Aside from favoring your fists, you remind me of my Uncle's Rook, Xuelan. Hm. Or perhaps his former Rook, Isabela, who does." She lets out a huff, and tucks the strands of her bangs that had swung loose dodging and darting about the arena back into place. "That said, I had been hoping to face a warrior in training, not a golden gorilla swinging her fists with all of the artistry to be expected of one."

Yang's eyes widen and flare red, her hair glowing and burning with signs of her Semblance. "The fuck did you just–Okay, you overgrown bitch, how 'bout this!?" Yang then hurls herself towards the larger, more powerful blonde. Ruse lets out another sigh, and raises her left calf to catch the blow and holds fast on one leg. Blake blinks in surprise, not believing anyone could just block Yang's Semblance like that. Yang isn't deterred, hammering away like a woman possessed, each strike adroitly blocked by the same calf by the giant girl in a great display of flexibility. After maybe a dozen blows on Yang's end, Ruse gracefully twirls around another blow, placing herself behind Yang. In a flash she drops down to the mat, planting a hand beneath her and once again pushing with her raised leg, planting her toes in-between Yang's shoulder blades, once again sending Team RWBY's brawler back and away into the wall opposite the one she had been launched into mere moments ago, to the tone of gasping pain and groaning bones.

Blake's feelings of irrational fear return, but Ruse hasn't started doing anything especially violent so far, so she won't interfere. Not yet.

It takes nearly a minute for Yang to return to her feet, Ruse waiting calmly the whole time, hands clasped behind her back, utterly silent and calm.

Switching tactics, the temperamental brawler lobs a pair of projectiles at Ruse who deflects the shots with a swipe of her arm. Either undaunted or enraged beyond reason, Yang lets loose more explosive ammunition at her seemingly indomitable foe, determined to topple or at least push her back. Instead of parrying or deflecting Ember Celica's barrage, Ruse makes use of her uncanny speed to dodge each shot, a blurry afterimage that reminds Blake of her Semblance a bit trailing behind the Devil.

Clearly having had enough, Yang uses the recoil of Ember Celica to launch herself at the enormous girl with a wordless shriek of fury on her lips, blonde hair again flickering to golden fire as she cocks back her fist and launches it into the sizable Devil's exposed gut.

Blake had been expecting many things from that blow: Ruse sent flying across the room; Ruse knocked backward, perhaps recovering in midair; Ruse bent over in pain from the shorter blonde's fist, maybe; hell, there was a non-zero chance of the towering Devil at least staggering from the blow.

Blake can only stare in disbelief at the results of Yang's effort.

Wide-eyed, Yang's previously crimson eyes flicker, then revert back to their typical violet. For a moment she looks in sheer disbelief from her fist against Ruse's formerly covered belly–the blow having succeeded in blowing away the white fabric, but otherwise leaving Ruse unharmed in a tattered white t-shirt–Blake can't help but note her previous assessment was accurate, Ruse's stomach has the beginnings of a six pack, but nowhere near the same level of tone or definition that Yang or Dun have. Yang's eyes then slowly trail up past the giant's voluminous, black sports-bra-clad bosom, into the same impassive, unimpressed dark blue eyes.

With the same seeming deliberate intent of every move she's made since the 'spar' had begun, Ruse slowly arches her left eyebrow, silent and unmoved without a hint of pain in her otherwise stonelike expression.

Wide eyed, Yang's Semblance is relit by the silent taunt and she unleashes a flurry of punches at the Devil, to the same effect. Frantic, Yang hops back and starts mixing in kicks with her blows, striking at every weak-spot or target she can reach, all to no avail. Ruse's stoic expression has something that might be pity mixed into it now as she wordlessly looks down at her opponent. It isn't that Yang's strikes are weak–Blake can feel the vibrations from some of the hits from where she's standing–Ruse is just that much stronger.

Blake is watching so intently that she flinches when a scrap of torn fabric hits her in the face. Where did… The Faunus snaps her head back up to where Yang may as well be beating on a brick wall. An unnaturally tall human shaped brick wall–

"Yang…YANG!" Blake shouts, desperate to get her partner's attention and, hopefully, end this bad idea with embarrassment instead of grievous injuries.

Yang halts, red eyes blazing as she turns to shout, "WHAT!?" at Blake. Red faced, the Faunus just just points back at Ruse, Yang turns back towards her 'sparring partner' and actually looks at her. Yang's face goes just as red as Blake's is. Ruse, stoic and unashamed, is just standing there in the scraps of her demolished outfit, the scraps of both her top and bottom having fallen to the floor, giving the both of them a clear view of her matched sports bra and panties. Blake knows that she's ogling the taller girl's full figured form, and that it's rude, and probably making a bad first impression but she just can't bring herself to look away either.

"Certainly not combat grade then. An oversight. I'll have to inform Rune." Ruse sighs to herself as she looks down at her state of undress, not appearing overly bothered as she brushes off the remaining shreds from her person. She'd taken being reduced to the sort of barebones sparring attire that only the most daring of Huntresses-in-Training would consider choosing while in a public place or for their significant other only, with surprising dignity. Once done, she simply stands in the middle of the ring staring down at the perpetrator responsible for demolishing her clothes, unamused but otherwise unfaltering. "Are you quite finished?" Ruse's tone is so dry, Blake is tempted to rush to the water fountain. Despite the incredible damage to her clothes, there isn't a single blemish on Ruse's pale skin. Blake idly notes her shoes, socks and gloves are still intact.

Ruse watches as Yang's mouth opens and closes–given the Devil's lack of damage, Blake can't blame her partner's speechlessness–before going on the offensive again. "I'd rather not be accused of bullying. Or poaching. Some are rather vocal in their arguments that lesser apes have rights, the same as humans and Devils." Ruse dismissively drawls, not even looking in Yang's general direction. Between her tone and posture Blake would expect her to be talking about the weather, not taunting her opponent mid-spar after having most of her clothes literally punched off of her.

Blake can see Yang's mortification burn away into absolute fury at Ruse's remark. "Stop mocking me, and take this seriously, damnit!" She howls as she, once again, buries her right fist in Ruse's stomach, all of her weight and power behind the strike.

The result is the same as every other blow Yang has landed on the towering girl, causing the blonde bruiser to pull back for another blow with a growl of almost desperate frustration–Ruse swiftly brings her left leg up to deliver a casual push-kick to Yang's chest, launching the older girl backwards like a ragdoll. Before Yang can land, Ruse is above her, seemingly floating in the air for a moment. Again, in a blur of moment almost too fast to track she hurls herself into a forward roll, before delivering a wicked axe-kick to Yang's stomach, slamming her into the mat.

Blake's heart is pounding in her throat. She desperately wants to look away, but can't for the life of her do so. To see Yang, who–Semblance and teamwork aside–had demolished an Atlesian Paladin, ignored several times… Between the wrestling holds effortlessly slipped into and broken free from, sending Yang flying with a push and now this, it's painfully the two of them were fighting for real, Ruse would have killed Yang handily by now. And Yang wouldn't have been able to so much as scratch her in retaliation. Blake wonders with a regretful pang if perhaps she should've joined in to help Yang, after all. They, probably–definitely–would've still been demolished, but then Yang wouldn't have suffered this alone. She can only be grateful for Ruse's restraint.

The Devil in question flares her enormous wings of fire for just a moment, landing lightly on top of Yang, her right planted on Yang's sternum, her left planted squarely on the mat beside the prone brawler in what's probably more of a matter of course than a mark of superiority. Maybe?

Ruse looks down at Yang with pity and disappointment writ large across her face. The novelty of the fight–if she had even found that in the anticlimactic exchange–having already worn-off. "Submit." She commands softly.

Yang squirms and struggles under what appears to be a light touch. "Fucking get off, Thunder Thighs!" Yang shrieks up at the giant pinning her, eyes flaring back to a baleful crimson. "This ain't over!" As if to illustrate the point she punches at Ruse's ankle.

Ruse doesn't even blink. "It is." She retorts simply. With only a disappointed sigh to show for Yang's continued, admittedly bullheaded efforts, Ruse responds by slowly grinding the tip of her sizable navy sneaker into Yang's chest to further accentuate her point as she continues, "I said I wanted to begin my analysis of Remnant's warriors with a Huntsman-in-training, and you are exactly that. Perhaps in a decade you will prove a proper challenge."

Yang surges upwards, all but spitting, "A decade!? I'll send you into the next–" Her right foot slides up further to press its tip into Yang's chin before firmly pressing her back downward, into the mat. The action also forcing Yang's red eyes to remain locked onto Ruse's indigo.

Ruse monotonically corrects herself, idly brushing at her bangs again. "A decade and a half, then. You need to learn discipline first." She then lowers the arm to rest on her spacious thigh, as she placidly waits for Yang to burn herself out.

Yang spits a wad of blood off to her left–At least she didn't spit on Ruse, so she still has that much self-control, at least–before shifting to glare back up at the Devil. She resentfully slurs out, "Gonna make ya feel one'a my punches for running practice katas on me today."

Ruse smirks at that promise, bending at the waist to cast her shadow over the comparatively diminutive blonde. "Oh? So I'm not the only one in the room who can analyze her foe's style mid-battle… A shame that you can't apply that knowledge yet." The smirk drops into an unimpressed frown. "Or perhaps, you just don't wish to?"

Yang snarls up at the looming Devil, "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ruse's cold, judgemental expression remains unwavering. "The golden burning of your hair and red eyes are the outward signs of your Semblance, I take it? Something that allows you to store the energy of whatever blows you receive to return to your foes later?" Blake shouldn't be surprised at how close to the mark the younger Devil is. With how long they'd talked before coming here, she knows how smart Ruse is. Yang only glowers back wordlessly. "Unfortunately for you however, the amount of force I've been bringing to bear throughout this," she pauses, a ghost of derision crossing her face, "'spar' barely qualify as love taps. Then there's the issue of your temper… It holds you back." She continues to critically pick apart the pinned Huntress-in-training. Her next words: "You have the heart of a naturally born Devil, Ms. Xiao-Long." That assessment brings both Yang and Blake up short. "While I have no doubt that you train, you are quite clearly content with yourself as you are."

Blake wishes she were recording this, not to repeat her best friend's humiliation, but to study how the younger girl had turned what would normally be a compliment into such a scathing, calmly delivered insult.

"Considering how powerful of a trump card that Semblance of yours can be, it is understandable but hardly excusable. In fact, you remind me of my uncle, Riser. Prideful of his naturally born abilities to the point of arrogance, and confident that they meant every battle was predetermined to go to in his favor. His confidence was proven poorly placed by a younger Devil who had yet to truly develop any of his own natural talents was willing to think and adapt over the course of their battles." Ruse glances away with a faint, impish smile of admiration on her face. Huh… It's soon gone almost as soon as it had formed however, and she looks back down at Yang just as swiftly. "The most succinct advice I can offer? Hold the stored energy for a singular, crushing strike at your foe's weakest point. If that change in style proves too much for you, at least stop strictly relying on your Semblance and seek out new advantages to add to your battle style. It alone won't be enough to carry you through life. Not unscathed."

Yang continues glaring which Ruse matches with a stern frown, unmoved. Blake shifts uneasily but remains silent, electing to not intervene. Ruse may have been incredibly blunt, but not overly cruel, all things considered. To be frank Blake's pretty sure Yang needed to hear that, and sooner rather than later. Whether or not she actually listened to the Devil's advice however…

Yang scoffs before grumbling, "You talk too much." and moves to shove the Devil's foot from her chest. After the third attempt, a clearly unamused Ruse presses her back down into the mat firmly again, Yang looking murderous by this point. Hopefully it's just a warning and reminder to Yang that she lost. Granted, Yang had clearly broke the ring-out rule earlier and kept struggling–but there are limits to what is acceptable behavior–even in a spar that had gone as off the rails as this one–and this is frankly on the edge. Then again, Blake suspects this is tame for a Devil showing dominance. Fortunately it doesn't last long as Ruse, with one more stern look, moves her sneaker-clad foot away, so that Yang can roll over.

The battered blonde of Team RWBY returns to her feet and glares up at the giant who'd spent the whole spar toying with her. "A decade and a half, huh? To hell with that." Yang spits out another wad of blood, both parties ignoring the arena's blaring warning sirens, the shorter blonde looking like a golden strobe-light as her single percentage point's worth of Aura struggles to cover her body. "I'll follow your advice, you big ox. But mark my words: This time next year at the latest, I'm gonna make you hurt."

This… isn't like her and Cheshire's bust-off. The only thing preventing Blake from fearing for Yang is that she hadn't issued a death threat. Just a regular threat, which is pretty normal when a spar ends that poorly and one-sidedly all things considered. Then again, that fight hadn't really been one that Yang could do anything to actively influence the outcome of. Yang's anger is probably directed just as much back on herself as it is towards Ruse right now.

Yang had wanted this, after all. Even claimed it'd be doing her a favor. Either Yang hadn't thought this through, Or had expected to at least be able to make whoever they wound up summoning work for a victory. Between seeing the most proficient fighter on her team get taken apart so simply, watching the bloody end of Team JNPR's fight a few weeks ago and what Ruse and Jaune had revealed to her, Blake is pretty sure Yang is getting off easy tonight, no matter how brutal things may seem to have gone.

"And in a year's time you might have grown enough to battle my true arsenal." Yang glares up at the taller blonde, a heartbeat from lashing out at her, only for the Devil to press on "This was a spar, after all. As things stand currently, I was liable to break you in half with a single proper blow, Aura or no." Ruse replies, absently patting at one of her large thighs. Blake can't help but swallow. Again. She believes the giant girl. Ruse's stoic gaze gains a shrewd glint. "Of course, I won't just be waiting for you to 'play catch up,' you know. I've been training myself into the ground since I was nine and a half, I have no intention to stop for anything–or anyone." After letting Yang stew for a beat, the giant girl leans over to extend a hand to the shorter blonde, which is very grudgingly accepted.

"Said what I said. Worry about yourself." Yang grunts as Ruse releases her grip and sends her stumbling towards Blake.

Ruse shifts her hands behind her back. "That is well and good, but what does being able to trade blows fairly in a spar with a Devil gain you, Ms. Xiao-Long?"

"After this? I'll know I've reached a good place once I've managed to put you on your ass." Yang growls out as she staggers towards Blake and the exit.

"No." Ruse counters, her tone intense despite the soft tone she had affected, as she reveals what she had been holding in her left hand. A lock of vibrant golden hair, clearly torn on one end.

Oh shit. Blake warily glances over at a frozen Yang who's eyes have widened at the sight.

The towering Devil tosses the hairs she had torn from Yang's luxurious mane to the ground behind her. "Never settle. Never cease striving for more, for the next level, to lay an even mightier foe low. I am not even at the pinnacle of my own potential, and am fully aware that there are beings who would still treat me like an insect were we to come to blows. When you settle, you accept complacency, and mediocrity. To accept that is to embrace a slow, pathetic death." Now it is Ruse's turn to spit venom, a cold, derisive judgment burning in her eyes as she stomps forward; Blake's pretty sure that an angry Goliath would be less intimidating. "I refuse to allow one who could stand as my peer–were she to be chosen for a Peerage–settle for something so base."

Yang grinds her teeth as her blood red eyes stare at the strands of her hair on the floor before darting back up to Ruse's face. For a second, Blake thinks Yang is about to attack again. That was intentional. A dramatic declaration of war? No, Ruse is trying to get Yang to fly off the handle and lash out again. Probably trying to get Yang to take the hint about discipline and restraint, finally. Fortunately, the older brawler seems to either have caught on to the lesson the Devil's trying to teach her–or is just too tired to throw herself back at someone who outclasses her in every way now... Is that steam coming out of her nose?

Yang lets out a half-laugh, her eyes returning to calm lavender as she smirks up at Ruse, but there's something dangerous to that smirk. A silent promise of violence and pain. "Digging the passion there, Stilt-Legs." She turns to fully face the Devil again. "Really put a fire in my belly. I'm gonna whoop your ass as hard as you did mine this time next year, and I'm gonna do it as a human. Mark my FUCKING words."

The giant Devil's lips turn to a small smile. "Good." Ruse affirms calmly, though there is an almost hungry gleam in her eyes as well. "That is exactly the sort of drive you need to survive now that you are an aware citizen of the wider worlds. Never settle, Yang Xiao-Long. Ever."

Yang nods while she shakily makes her way back over to Blake–or more likely the towel rack, the girl's a mess–One arm wrapped around her abused ribs. "That's great, but did you really need so long to take me out? Arc only needed one punch to end the match." Yang looks back to give a crooked grin at the giant. "Or is he just that much stronger than you?"

Aside from an almost robotic look of stoic disappointment, Ruse ignores the taunt. "For a start, I pride myself on focused, precise strikes. That skill will be vital to avoid unintentionally killing less powerful foes in Rating Games. Furthermore, your bodies are not that much more durable than Exorcists of the same age and they lack your protective Aura." Yang and Blake grimace, Ruse gives a disapproving hum in response. "It seems that Mr. Arc either has a soft spot for you, or values your friendship more highly than your survival. Which spar will leave a more lasting mark on your mind, the one that ended with a single punch, or the one which dragged on and kicked your dignity into the gutter?" Clearly Ruse isn't one for what she perceives as coddling.

An awkward silence hangs for a moment, broken by Yang letting out a drawn-out groan. "Leave it to Jaune and Pyrrha to somehow turn one-hit beatdowns into some fucked up take on being too nice for their own good." Blake, can't help but giggle at that, and barely manages to bury her reaction in a clasped fist and lame imitation of a cough.

Closing her eyes, a flash of flame erupts around Ruse, restoring her dress and decency–Blake violently squashes her disappointment at that–but she retains her 'natural' height. Ruse approaches the pair slowly. "Am I to presume you are both satisfied?"

Yang stares neutrally up at the giant blonde, blinking owlishly. Blake can see at least half a dozen different emotions flit across her face before Yang gives a begrudging nod, face somber. "Maybe not happy, but yeah, sure, satisfied."

Ruse nods as she clasps her hands behind her back again. "I have found that when forming a new working relationship with clients, swift, mutually beneficial exchanges are for the best. You both offered information about yourselves during our earlier exchange. But as compensation for this sparring session, I would like to have my Aura unlocked."

Yang and Blake share a glance, reminded she did all that without Aura or a Semblance. The shorter blonde in the room shrugging tiredly and gesturing for her to 'go on,' Aura in no condition to carry out the deed herself. Blake steps toward Ruse, having kept mostly silent since the sparring match as the implications of just how insanely powerful most of the denizens of the supernatural world can be is still rolling around in her head.

Blake looks up at the Devil she's standing in front of, "I'll need to touch your shoulder and brow." She informs the giant who nods and, instead of shrinking down again, elegantly drops to a knee in front of Blake who almost shakes her head in numb disbelief. Even crouched down, she still towers over the pair of Huntresses-in-Training. Stepping forward, Blake reaches up to rest her right hand on Ruse's shoulder and then tentatively brings her hand towards Ruse's face.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Dessert hums to himself contentedly, things are looking up for Team DFRA. Sure, this patrol will be a long one, but... "All right guys, let's not get sloppy out here. Keep an eye open for anything that'll sell good once we get home to Patch!"

Fleur rolls her eyes, "We're in the middle of nowhere in the ass-end of Sanus, Babe. Nothing worth selling out here." He smirks, secretly glad he'd been able to convince her to take point, he'll never get tired of watching those wide hips of hers sway. He slides Verdant Edge from its scabbard and gives his shot-katana an idle slash. Hasn't been able to since they started Beacon.

"Ugh, get a room, you two." Regallia gripes from his spot at the rear of their little four person formation. "And the way you say home makes me wanna cry. Four shipping crates welded to the side of a hangar is hardly a home."

Azuli bops the tall, dark skinned Huntsman on the head. A truly impressive feat for the diminutive, brown haired, tan stoat faunas. "Speak for yourself, string-bean. I already got my bachelorette pad set up and got a couple notches in its headboard before we took this Grimm hunt." She turns to face him. "Which, dick move, Des, even if we don't find a single Grimm, we'll be out here for a month. And you know how much I hate cleaning my tail when it gets that filthy."

Des rolls his eyes, and spins on his toes to walk backwards and face the rest of his team, Azuli in her leather pants and crop top, dust-edged chakram bouncing on her hips; Regallia in his cargo pants and jet black fatigue top, his tomahawk-carbine held in his thick hands, clean-shaven skull glinting in the sun. "Hey, one or two more gravy jobs after this, and we'll be able to finally buy ourselves a Bullhead. Real freedom." He stuffs his free hand into his jeans pocket, and the little velvet covered box that's resting inside it. Yeah, the team's goal is a few more months out yet, but he's got the ring, and reservations for two at Vale's ritziest restaurant for a few weeks after when they figure this patrol will be done by. Sure, he's nervous as hell, but pretty sure Fleur loves him just as much as he does her.

"Umm, I think I see a Grimm up ahead, guys." The prettiest, sweetest and funniest girl on Remnant interrupts the rest of their team.

He turns around to see his hopefully soon-to-be-fiance pulling a pair of binoculars from her combat skirts pocket. "What do you mean you think you think you see a Grimm. It's been what, damn near seven years since we got out of Beacon? You should know all the different types of Grimm cold by now, sweet-pea." Azuli asks, flirtatiously draping herself across Dessert's girlfriend.

"I mean, it's pretty clearly a Grimm, but not like anything I've seen before." The taller, curvier woman quips, playfully pushing her away before pulling the binoculars from her face and handing them off to the too-flirty-for-her-own-good partygirl of the team.

Dessert pulls out his own binoculars to get a better look at, without them looks like a black blob in the sky. It has a big, ovoid pulsating orange body. No face that he can see, and maybe half a dozen or so weird, bulbous almost cancerous looking growths dangling down below it.

Huh.

He can hear Regallia amble to a halt next to him and rustle around in his pockets to get his own set of binoculars. "The fuck is that thing?" The taller Huntsman queries.

Des shrugs, "Something new. That does happen every now and then."

"So it's a Skraken, then." Fleur quips.

Des lowers his his binoculars to give her a confused look. "I'm sorry, a fucking what?"

The petite Huntress shrugs, licking her lips eagerly, "A Sky Kraken, ya know? Skraken. That's what I'm naming it when I submit the official report after I kill it."

Regallia shakes his head. "Yeah, that's stupid. It's clearly just a mutated Creep, a Hover Creep. We still gotta deal with it first."

"It might not even–"

"Wait, looks like it's headed down." Fleur cuts him off as he puts his binoculars back into his pack. He looks up to see what looks like a thin cloud or a vapor trail of some sort tailing the ovoid Grimm as it streaks groundward.

He suppresses a chuckle as his girlfriend draws her sniper-bo-staff, dropping the binoculars back into her pocket. Of course it'd go down like that. "All right, Team Deferral. That sweet-sweet first time kill bonus is all ours once we take that ugly bastard down. It's a new Bullhead and easy money from here out after today." He announces before setting off at a jog through the forest in the general direction the soon to be grounded Grimm was heading towards.

They hear the animals shrieking in protest and fear as the monster breaks through the canopy and plows into the ground. Moments later they break through the foliage into a freshly made ruin of a clearing. Broken and splintered trees scattered across the wound in the forest. "The hell did that thing go?" Azuli questions, both chakram drawn, half crouched as she stalks forward into the clearing.

"Everyone keep your eyes open and Aura up. I'm gonna check out the crater." Dessert orders as he grasps his blade's hilt with both hands and picks his way across the rubble towards where the monster had presumably plowed into the ground. For a few tense moments nothing happens as his team spreads across the freshly made clearing in search of any sign of the Grimm.

"What the fu–" Dessert, along with the rest of his team spin on point just in time to see Azuli chop the strangest little Grimm any of them have ever seen off of her right arm with her left-hand chakram. It's just, a little floating orb with long spindly, spike-tipped tendrils, well two halves of one.

Before any of them can comment on the strangeness of it all, another half-dozen swoop down towards Azuli.

She launches into a twisting leap, a crescent of flame arcing out from her right-hand chakram, and one of electricity from his left. She cuts them all down, bounding and slashing, but the weird little Grimm just keep coming. "Above us!" She shouts.

Fleur drops to a knee, shouldering Solemn Vow and immediately beginning to fire upwards. Des looks up, and is utterly horrified to see dozens, no, hundreds of the little Grimm slowly drifting down towards them. Before he can offer any further instruction, what feels like a constant stream of boulders start slamming into his back, launching him to the edge of the crater the bigger Grimm–it must have been carrying the little ones–had made when it landed.

He twists mid-air just in time to see five of the little bastards pull Azuli off of her feet by her left arm. "Fleur, dodge!" He shouts, but it's too late. A half dozen of the little bastards pile onto her left leg, their tentacles pinning it to the ground as they dig into the dirt. He flicks his blade as he slides along his back, cutting a trio of the balls of spite in half, slamming it into its scabbard, before pulling the entire assembly from his belt and shouldering it.

At that point, he finds himself torn. If he tries to free his girlfriend he's likely to hit her and she, all of them really–desperately–need their Auras as full as possible right now. He glances off to his right to spot Regallia shouting in defiance and swinging wildly with his tomahawk. Azuli is trying to free her left arm with her other chakram, only to miss the brace of floating Grimm that had floated up under her right leg. As one they all wrap their tentacles around the limb and start pulling. In the opposite direction that the ones wrapped around her arm are.

Fleur lets out a grunt, and Des reflexively turns to her and squeezes off a shot, pulping three of the head-sized grimm, and keeping her from being driven face-first into the ground. It doesn't stop the second wave of Grimm from pinning her other leg to the ground. He goes to adjust his aim, only to find that he'd been pinned down as well while trying to save his teammates.

Something hits Fleur hard enough to set his scroll wailing at him.

He looks over just in time to see a dozen or so of the spheroid monsters seize her by the shoulders and arms, locking her body upright, her weapon lying abandoned in the dirt. Past her, Azuli is being mobbed by the little monsters, ramming into her with their bulbous bodies and slashing at her with their talons. All four of her limbs have been immobilized, and the tiny monsters are pulling each of them in opposite directions. Hard.

He hears a pained grunt, and glances over to see a massive spiked and armor plated tendril that had burst from the ground. It slams into Regallia's chest, launching him back into a tree, his Aura flickering orange when he impacts it. Moments later dozens of little tendrils pin him to the tree. More worryingly, more tentacles than he can count wrap around the team's bruiser's neck.

Struggling against his own bonds Des lets out a desperate, furious and wordless shout. One that is joined, for a flash, by the voice of the woman he loves.

Until that too cuts out. In a desperate panic he looks over in her direction only to see a second massive tentacle burst out of the neck of the love of his life, clearly having extended up from the ground to impale her. Her head, torn from her shoulders by the now blood-and-viscera coated tentacle thumps to the ground, a rictus mask of agony frozen on it. Above the hollowed out husk of the woman who was supposed to be his wife, his kid's mom, who had been his everything, Azuli's joints give out, and both of her arms and legs are torn free from her body. Only suspended by her neck now, her torso begins to twitch as she swiftly starts bleeding out.

It's too much.

It's all too fucking much and it wasn't supposed to end like this.

Des lets his head drop back to the dirt as something breaks through his Aura and spears through his gut.

Looking down into the inverted pit, he dully notices that it's more than half-full of a roiling, ink-black sludge.

A hulking, lumbering form claws its way up out of the churning mass. The fluid dripping from the… the Ursa? As it continues trying to scramble up the side of the crater, sludge dripping from its body like oil.

Thankfully, mercifully he isn't in a position to see who had just died to the sound of a sickening squelching noise.

Moments later, the Ursa's toothy maw fills his vision, and the pain finally stops.

---

Loved it? Hated it? Somehow still hung over from last weeks libations in honor of Betty White (and the new year I guess)? Drop a review! I love those things!

Also, Ruse and Rune are mostls MasterPrince's work. When I brought him on/shared the notes and outlines with him, all I had were 'Phenex twins' and an intent to burn that bridge when I got to it, thanks to him there's some actual meat to one of the bigger butterfly effects that are starting to unfold in the story. Huge shout-out to him for all the work he did building those two into this story and setting up the background/added worldbuilding to make them fit!

Beta'd by MasterPrince713 and Hybrid Theory