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?

37. Chapter 37: Road to Reconcilliation IV

A/N: First off, sorry about the wait. The worlds been crazy, and both MasterPrince and Hybrid had IRL crap to deal with while we were trying to get this chapter done. The fact that this mini-arc fills a space that canon RWBY timeskipped past, and is more tying off old plotlines that are now resolved and setting up new ones for the next major arc/the Tournament and what's happening on earth/in Kuoh town doesnt help matters. Breezing past this bit would be easy/is tempting, but would hurt the story more than help it overall. Honestly? I had expected to be here around chapter 20 or so, not damn near at 40, heh.

TLDR: One more chapter then the tournament starts.

Also, holy shit over 1k followers! seriously, you guys rock and thanks for sticking with me!

So, yea, as usual I dont own RWBY or Highschool DxD and dont make any cash (or any other form of currency) off of this. Now lets get on with the story already.

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Weiss lets out a content hum as Coco strides past the common room, tossing a half-dozen envelopes onto the end-table next to the couch Team RWBY had spent most of the evening on, before turning down the hallway to distribute the rest of the small stack of letters tucked under her right arm to the rest of the dorm rooms on their floors.

Ruby reaches over to collect the small stack, tossing two of the letters across the couch to Blake, keeping one and handing the last to Weiss. The evening had been quite pleasant, and–most importantly–an almost subtle 'we're sorry' from her other two teammates.

After they'd finished up the small amount of coursework they had to finish by Monday–none of the professors have been assigning much with the Tournament so close–Blake had suggested they watch a movie in the common room. Abnormal for the bookish girl, but not entirely unheard of. Then Ruby had interjected that they should let Weiss pick.

Ruby, who usually found the dramas, romances and historical pieces the Schnee heiress leans towards boring at best.

Later in the evening, Yang–who usually finds most of Weiss' favorite restaurants' healthier, lighter options bland and inadequate compared to her hearty, red-meat-heavy preferences–had suggested they order delivery from Weiss' favorite local restaurant that offers the service.

The fact that literally every other student on their floor had seen the food freely on offer and movie playing on the common room's big-screen and decided to head out for the night, or spend it in their own dorm room hadn't dampened her mood in the slightest.

Blake and Yang might not have outright apologized for how they had treated her for most of the month, but they had gone out of their way to make it up to her. Weiss slips a finger under the seam of the envelope addressed to her–with no return address–and opens it. Crisp white parchment creased neatly in a proper tri-fold. Something from home! And…From the handwriting–And process of elimination, she doesn't receive quite enough written missives to recognize all of her family or friends handwriting by–the letter is from–

Even better.

Blake grumbles something about 'Cheshire' and 'junk mail,' but Weiss is more caught up in her own letter.

Snowflake,

I hope that this letter finds you in good health and better spirits. I am writing to inform you that Lady Schnee has decided to take a personal retreat to her father's winter hunting lodge in the southern tundras here on Solitas. She is well, and I believe that the fair weather and clean air will help her convalesce greatly. Her entire personal staff, both household and security will be joining her there. If you have not yet heard, she split her staff off from Jacques' own, as well as the general Schnee Manor staff. We are all quite well, and wholly loyal to Lady Schnee, I have personally verified that, so you need not worry, and can continue to focus on your studies. We will have departed from the Family Manor and Atlas by the time you receive this. I trust that you remember where the Lodge is, and sent this missive so that, should you wish to contact myself or Lady Schnee, you will not need to bother your father or anyone still with your family in the city to do so.

Hoping you are well

The letter isn't signed. Instead, bearing a simple icon at the bottom of the sheet, an eye with the color-wheel in place of its pupil. Not that she needs to be a genius to identify the written work of her family's head butler–the man who had been the closest thing she had to an actual father figure–Klein. The Emblem having been his during the short career he had as a Huntsman before Grandfather had recruited him to serve as Mother's personal butler and bodyguard.

Before Weiss can even begin to unpack the letters' implications, the elevator door slides open again and a veritable crowd of more-or-less well-dressed teens pile out of it.

Well-dressed teens that she is either quite familiar–and friendly–with, or at least aware of.

And every last one of them are Devils.

Not that they have their wings out, or are visually flaring their magic or dismissing illusions–Jaune, Rias and their respective Peerages are smarter than that. Or at least Weiss would like to believe and has been informed.

Rather, her and Ruby's training with the Hero Faction to sense a person's passive aura has finally borne fruit, placing both of them "On par with the weakest of the Angels' brainwashed attack dogs,'' as Siegfried had put it. Having been apprised of some of the Three Factions' inner workings by then, they had been able to infer that the 'attack dogs' in question are Exorcists–all of whom are trained to sense a person's aura from their first day of training for that profession onwards. According to Siegfried–who had made it abundantly clear that he is not bitter or vindictive despite appearances–Ruby and herself had learned the ability considerably more swiftly than Earth-born humans. Le Fay and Georg had been instructed to look into that matter more deeply, before both Ruby and Weiss had been ushered back over to the battered patch of dirt in the Heroes' Valean safehouse's backyard that had become their sparring field. Weiss winces and rubs at some of her fresher bruises–her and Ruby's training had remained the priority over more academic endeavors for the bulk of their time with the Heroes all month..

Hearing a small, sharp breath intake, Weiss turns to see Ruby having gone rigid in her seat, letting out a long but quiet 'Ohhhh' of understanding. The best way Weiss can describe the look on her best friend's face is that of a person who had finally been given the last few pieces they need to put a puzzle together.

Yes, the Vacuo cover story is growing almost insultingly thin as Weiss–and her teammates–learn more and more.

Resting a hand on Ruby's shoulder, Weiss gives her a stern Look to keep her from over-reacting. Now is definitely not the time to be telling Yang or Blake, let alone Jaune, Rias and their Peerages, about the time the two of them have been spending with Cao Cao and his inner circle.

Ruby nods, still rigid and awkward, but hopefully not so bad as to alert her sister or Blake that she'd noticed something and reacted poorly to it.

"Honestly, Jaune, I still don't know why you spent half of the ball talking to that idiot." A voice that Weiss is fairly certain belongs to her fellow Heiress gripes. She would turn around fully, but… right now, she needs to focus on her team and how to navigate whatever's coming next without it turning into an unmitigated disaster.

"I mean, yeah, he's kind of an ass. But between what the Old Satanists did to his family during the Civil War, and what the Great King faction did to the girl he was going to marry because she was a reincarnated Devil, you'd have to try pretty hard to find someone who hates either group more. And finding people who won't sell out Remnant to those two groups is kind of one of the bigger points your brother made damn clear when we talked about who I should help get set up here before I got sent home." Reassuring, but she's pretty sure that she's crossed from 'overhearing' into straight up eavesdropping at this point. Not that the rest of the team look like they're being much better.

"Surely you could offer Sona territory? Seekvaira, maybe, or even–"

"Heya, Team Ruby! Long time no talk!" Nora all but shouts, having strode over to the couch Weiss' team is sat on, her right hand planted firmly on its back, left dragging Ren behind her. The ginger hammer-maiden is wearing a nice enough looking peach-colored dress that ends just below her knees, white filigree tracing its hem, and white stockings going up past the dress' bottom. A navy blue strip of fabric is tightly wrapped just under and accentuating her breasts, a polished steel medallion carved into the shape of her emblem dangling off of its right side. Rounding out her outfit is a light brown half-jacket Weiss is almost positive came from the same boutique she bought hers at.

Ren, conversely, is clad in a simple black suit, his cuff-links and tie in a tarnished-silver patina and undershirt plain white and clean. Behind them, Jaune is dressed in a similar suit–though he has his jacket off and neatly folded under his left arm–his cuff-links are in his own emblem, as is his belt-buckle, with hanging on Pyrrha on his right arm, face slightly flushed and a girl who looks, for all intents and purposes, like Yang but with neater red hair, walking on their left side. The Invincible Girl's high collared, backless cheongsam is a few shades darker than her hair, and traced with green-to-purple flames up the side that isn't split by an almost scandalously high slit.

Rias' ankle-length dress is a few shades darker than that, and has a plunging v that shows more bust than Weiss thinks she would ever be comfortable with were she that well-endowed enough to pull that particular look off. Her piercing blue eyes take in Weiss' team-all dressed down for a comfortable evening in–and smiles. Weiss turns to glance at Yang after noticing that the blonde had gone as rigged as her sister. For a moment Weiss wonders if Yang knows the truth as well, but it becomes clear to Weiss that Yang's focus is pinging between the raven haired girl behind the trio at the front of the well-dressed group, and the crimson-haired bombshell. Yang is a confident girl, and not one for idle jealousy but Rias' dress leaves little question as to which of them has the fuller figure, and Weiss can all but hear Yangs ego deflating from that blow.

If the slightly amused look on Rias' face is any indicator, she noticed that as well.

Behind them is a petite girl Weiss thinks is about Ruby's age–they really need to sit down together and get everyone's ages squared for sure, the uncertainty is annoying–with white hair and pale skin in a fairly basic knee-length pale green spaghetti-strap dress, a bored expression on her face, plain tan flats on her feet, and a pair of what are probably elbow-length white gloves looped through one of her dress's straps. She is carrying what is probably a pilfered tray of hors'd'vors on her left hand, her right busy shoveling snacks towards her face.

To her right is a black-haired girl as unfairly full-figured–If not more so–than Pyrrha, Nora, Rias and Yang is confidently following the rest of the group sporting a long pony-tail and clad in a shimmery form-hugging, slinky long-sleeved black dress with an amused expression on her face.

She strides over to Nora and pulls her back from where she had planted herself over Weiss' teammates and the couch they are still sitting on. Valkyrie, for some reason, goes absolutely crimson in the face when the taller girl's single un-gloved hand catches her by the scruff to do so. "Let's not go trying to start any more fights tonight, Nora." She simpers, a wide grin on her face and voice cheerily bouncy while her body language threatens pain.

"I'm not trying to start a fight though. And I wasn't before either..." The bombastic ginger grumbles, crossing her arms and looking off to her left, down the hallway and at no one in particular.

A voice from the back of the group interrupts the brewing squabble, "Umm, Nora, you totally cold-cocked that Zephydouche asshole. That's kinda-sorta literally how you start fights." Weiss' gaze darts to the noise's source to find the scruffy-looking ape who had developed a technique to strip girls naked, then used it during a live broadcast Rating Game.

And on one of Weiss' closest friends, no less!

Face a bit flush, suit-jacket slung over his shoulder, undershirt untucked and unbuttoned at its top and sleeves rolled up past his elbows, crimson tie hanging so loose that it's liable to fall from his neck at the slightest provocation the teen is the definition of 'scruffy'. Supporting him and latched to his right arm is a girl about Nora's height and Weiss' build–though admittedly that could be the cut of her dress understating certain, assets–with long blonde hair who is clad in a conservative, short sleeved navy-blue dress, a slight pink tinge dusting her cheeks. The green-eyed girl looks to Ruby and gives her a cheerful if shy wave which is tentatively returned.

On the buffoon's other side is a slightly taller boy who's suit is still in perfect order, and nearly identical to the other boys with kind, noble features and gentle light blue eyes that just look so caring and–

"Can't say I blame her. Didn't you hear what he said to her before she retaliated, Issei? You were standing right there." The gorgeous man asks not quite condescendingly, but there is definitely a hint of knowing judgment. "Unleeess…your thoughts were elsewhere?" he drawls after a pause, the judgment in his voice mostly drowned out by the clear mirth.

He should NOT be amused by that deviant's depraved antics! Let alone all but encouraging them like that!

The brown haired boy shrugs. "I, umm, well, I know she'd been dancing with Ren and her jacket wasn't on and he just kinda walked up to her and shoved Ren off to the side, and, umm..." His free hand goes up to scratch at the back of his head as his narrative trails off, and eyes wander to Nora's chest.

Of course.

Rias rolls her eyes, either at her subordinate's clear–current-and-past distraction–or whatever antics had, and are likely to follow. "I believe his exact words were 'when you're done playing around with that sissy twink and want a real man, come find me, gorgeous.' at which point..." She trails off, not really needing to continue the story any further.

Jaune really, really wants to bash his head into the wall right now. Trust Nora to charge into a delicate situation like this with all the subtlety of a hand grenade. Yang, clad in her uniform skirt and a bright red and yellow Wakasuki t-shirt, which he's pretty sure is Bumblebee's manufacturer–it'd make sense at least–shoves off of the couch and saunters over to where Nora and Akeno are standing. "First off, we talked on Thursday, Nora, that stupid report for Oobleck's class, remember?" Nora's blush deepens a bit, and her grin shifts a bit towards a scowl, her blush further deepening as she grumbles something about not having meant Yang.

Much to Jaune's surprise, Yang then rests her elbow on the shorter girl's shoulder and leans into her with a friendly grin. "Second, way to stand up for your man, girl! And third, what's with all the fancy duds? You guys just get back from somewhere… special, or are you still getting ready to head out?" She tacks on pointedly as she looks at Jaune with a raised brow.

"Yang…" Blake–again to his surprise–makes an honest, albeit half-hearted effort to get her partner to back off, shifting to stretch her purple yoga-pant clad legs out across the space her partner had vacated and tugging her loose-fitting black tank-top down and straightening it out. The blonde brawler shrugs, taking a few more steps to put herself directly between Issei and her sister, glaring daggers at him the entire time.

"It is almost midnight, Yang." Ren adds, as if that settles the entire issue without actually addressing the blonde's initial question. If Yang were anything less like a dog with a bone when it comes to going after things that bother her, the deflection might even have worked.

Issei points a pout at Yang, and Kiba nudges him in the back with a knowing smirk. Yang rolls her eyes at the exchange, before replying. "Night's still young, and that is the best time of the day as far as most Devils are concerned, or so I've heard." She looks pointedly to Jaune, but there is only the smallest bit of censure in her gaze.

Okay. She's... calm. He can work with this. This is good, he hopes. This is progress.

But before he answers the blonde bruiser… he turns to glance at Rias who offers him a supportive smile and nod in response to his silent question. Returning the gesture he turns back to his Peerage's sister team to answer their brawler's question. "We're actually just getting back from the Young Devil's Ball. Well, the most recent one, anyhow. It's kind of an every-other-month type thing." Thankfully, there aren't any outbursts at that confirmation, just an increase in the intensity of the scrutiny that Team RWBY is directing towards Rias' peerage. From Blake and Yang at least.

Weiss seems far calmer as well, now that he's paying more attention to the moods of his friends. The hangdog expression of someone who's in trouble with close friends or family is–finally–gone from her face, her usual prim and proper confidence restored to the fore; and Ruby looks more curious than anything. The foreign Devils bear the scrutiny well enough, though Issei does seem a bit put-off by it. From how Rias described his reputation at Kuoh Academy, the less than charitable extra attention and scrutiny is probably something he was hoping to leave behind.

While part of Jaune wants to feel sorry for the guy, especially considering that most people could consider a world entirely apart from the one you were born on ideal for a fresh start away from any stigma that may have been following you around or prior reputations, he'd more or less done this to himself. Talking about porn openly in public with your skeevy friends? Developing a technique that strips girls naked and using it? Yeah, sorry-not-sorry bud, that's gonna be a hard rep to shake. Ravel's reclusive nieces had mentioned having plans to work on that when they came to Jaune to ask about potentially setting up shop in Remnant, but it's just that right now. The lucky little bastard doesn't even know what Old Man Phoenix has planned for him and his heir apparent's youngest children yet.

"Gremory… Right…" Yang mutters under her breath, her tone either as low as she can get it, or she'd underestimated just how much better than human's senses Devils' are as she glances sidelong at Blake.

"That... sounds like fun?" Ruby offers more loudly, shifting around to fully face the group of Devils, tone sheepish but expression open, her black sweat-pants and uniform blouse both catching on the couch's coarse fabric and twisting awkwardly on her body as she does so.

Ren shrugs. "It isn't wholly enjoyable. While the food is–" he reaches for the platter of snacks Koneko had brazenly stolen when they left, only to have it jerked away from him, while the diminutive Rook pouts–glares–up at him for his attempt. He lets the sentence die at that, his apparent intended examples having been denied to him.

"That's… hardly a vote of confidence." Blake points out as Weiss, wearing an oversized t-shirt and probably some shorts under it, hair let down which–Wow, she really is–Dude, quit staring. You already have Pyrrha, who is more than enough woman! No need to ruin things trying for some massive harem like half the other guys in the Underworld. Even if the idea of both Pyrrha and Weiss sauntering towards him as bits and pieces of clothing drop towards the floor...

Jaune shakes his head to clear it and return his focus to Weiss' face as she walks around the couch to stand by Yang, Akeno and Nora. "It's normally entertaining at the very least. Shoving that many pent up balls of ego, power, hormones and personality quirks into one room with nothing to distract them but alcohol, snacks and dancing is certainly something."

Akeno snickers to herself. "Huge understatement. If it isn't Zephydor nearly starting fights by being the cad he is, it's Nora getting tipsy and dancing on the TA–" She cuts herself off with a shriek, leaping away from Nora, whose left foot is now frosted to the ground not to far from where Akeno's right had been, a small patch of ice radiating out from it, and a trail of it just barely visible running up the inside of the girl's thigh.

The twitching, forced smile that shudders across Akeno's face is, unsettling, to say the least. Jaune is honestly a bit afraid for Nora's life, those two have been trading pranks for a while now, but this is a new level. "Heheheh, oh Nora, Nora, Noraaa…" She purrs almost seductively. "I've never met a girl so tired of being alive." Golden sparks flicker across her right arm and hand as she makes a 'come hither' sort of gesture and her smile goes from forced to deceptively beatific. Nora just cocks her hips, crosses her arms and shoots a toothy, devil-may-care grin and challenging look at the taller girl.

Yeah, nope. He is not getting involved in that unless it becomes an actual fight, not… whatever it is the two girls have going on.

Blake rolls her eyes at the childish display Nora and Akeno are putting on, nose twitching a bit as the scent of glorious seafood makes its way to her from the tray the white haired girl–Koneko, wasn't it?–makes its way over to her. A shame that little display with Ren had make it clear she doesn't plan to share any of it. "Not to sound rude, but did you think that maybe you could go over introductions for us again, Jaune? It's been a few months, and I'm positive you left a few things out last time." Blake emphasizes that by raising an eyebrow.

The blond Remnant-born Devil lets out a sheepish laugh at that, nodding his head, before his Scroll goes off, the ringtone a bouncy rock beat about some guy who was supposedly the Queen of a country she'd never heard of's lover that Blake hasn't heard before. "Ah, crap. Pyr, can you handle that for me? I've really gotta take this." He receives an affirmative from his partner, before stalking off to the far side of the room. Curiosity piqued, Blake loosens her bow up just enough to make hearing him a bit easier without revealing her ears–Jaune might trust these people, but she doesn't know them well enough yet to decide if she does–she does her best to pay attention to both conversations.

Whoever Jaune is talking to sounds frantic and panicked, and Jaune's exasperated tone is a stark contrast. As Pyrrha works through Rias, the redheaded King and heiress to one of the most powerful Clans in the Underworld, Akeno her black-haired Queen and Koneko the surprisingly diminutive Rook, Jaune cuts his caller off. "Ivan, stop right there. You're a Russian, even if you didn't pay attention at all in history class you should have known how bad that was going to go. No, I don't care what..." She tunes back as Pyrrha finishes off at the cute blonde Bishop, Asia, the captivating Knight, Kiba and Issei, the Pawn who–

Blake's focus shifts fully back to Pyrrha as she finishes the re-introductions and stern, concerned gaze bouncing back and forth between the Pawn in question that had decided to 'correct' her, and Blake who had just to cut her off by asking "Wait, he took up all eight of Rias' pawns? How does that even work?!"

When no one from Rias' peerage corrects him, Issei starts preening like an idiot, and Pyrrha loses a bit of the confidence and certainty she'd had on display moments ago, and starts casting leery glances the pervert's way. Blake can't blame her, she caught him giving a few less than appropriate once-overs to all three of her teammates when he thought they weren't looking.

Rias sighs, looks over towards Jaune, who looks like he's trying to process having heard something beyond moronic, his face shifting from shock, to awe to what Blake thinks might be anger, fear or a combination of both. With a shake of her head, the redhead then turns back to Team RWBY to pick up on the explanation. The mechanics can be rather complicated from how Rias describes it. The amount of Pieces required is proportional to a King's power. The individual in question's personal potential, any other abilities they may already have and their personality all must–or should when possible in the case of the last metric–be factored in when determining how many pieces will be used for reincarnation, which must also be like pieces. She tries to keep her explanation simple, but it is abundantly clear to Blake that the process is anything but.

It looks like Weiss is about to ask something when Jaune whisper-shouts "I don't care that you just got yelled at and slapped by a skeleton, not a straight answer. You didn't just exhume and reanimate Catherine the fucking Great, but you did it to ask her if a rumor spread by her enemies had any merit, you absolute DUMBASS!" The room, and the other side of the line, are silent. Blake can't quite make out what the small, scared voice on the other side of the line eventually replies, but every Devil present winces. "I didn't say that, Ivan." Jaune replies, voice suddenly far gentler and a touch apologetic–but still stern and exasperated–before he instructs the man on the other side of the line to, "Keep on the move so you get yourself lynched, and be ready to do some work when you get here-" he pauses for a beat as the still panicked sounding voice interjects something. "Yes, I'm positive you'll be safe where I'll be bringing you to, and no, I don't think anyone should be able to follow you–at least not cheaply, quickly or easily–but I am cashing in all those IOUs you've been racking up. I need something built."

Grumbling, he shoves his Scroll back in his pocket–after hearing what was probably an affirmative and biting out a terse farewell–and stalks back towards the rest of the still quiet group. "Umm, what was that all about?" Ruby asks, sounding more curious than worried. Which makes sense, Blake supposes, she probably does know Jaune best of anyone on their team. Still, seeing him lose his cool like that is rare. And kind of scary she'll admit after having gotten the whole story of how Yang's secret spar against him had gone out of her partner.

"That, was a massive wrench getting thrown in our plans for the night." He looks over to Rias, who offers him a sympathetic and understanding one back. His teammates look like they think they understand as well, but Blake, and her team are clueless and probably look it. Issei and Asia look just as lost, so there's that at least. "Short version, making a contract with a mage is kind-of a big deal for a Devil. Before you do, you're still seen as a fledgling or a kid at best. It's a mutually beneficial relationship, and one of the biggest perks on the mage's end is usually protection. Unfortunately for me, Ivan has more curiosity than common sense, doesn't always think things through and none of the natural charm of his ancestor, and barely inherited his talent for mentalism. Don't get me wrong, a necromancer can be useful to have on call, but..." He sighs "Ren, come on, you and I need to go set up an emergency Transportation Circle, and I don't think anything short of our big anchor out in the Emerald Forest is going to be safe to use for this end of it. Rias, I hate to ask you to wait, but..."

Before Jaune's fellow King can reply, Pyrrha cuts in, "The rest of us should be able to figure out which guest dorms are empty and set up the spells they'll need to pass as transfers–for the duration of the tournament at least–without your help, Jaune."

Rias nods, and gestures to Akeno, "Provided no one we come across asks questions that are too complicated, Akeno, Pyrrha and myself should be more than capable of taking care of that bit of business."

"What about the rest of us?" Issei asks, a bit dumbly, but he has a point, Blake supposes. Not that the extra-Remnantian human turned Devil is the only one currently wearing an idiot hat. Yang had managed to start a glare-off with Koneko at some point while everyone else was trying to act like they weren't eavesdropping on Jaune's scroll-call. Koneko looks almost interested in the unspoken challenge the blonde is offering her. Either that or she can smell the leftovers sitting on the table just past Yang's spot on the couch.

Between what Jaune had told them about what Rooks can do, and what happened during Yang's 'spar' with Ruse the only conclusion Blake can come to is that her best friend is a glutton for a punishment.

Jaune shrugs, "I was hoping that all of us could hang out some during the tournament, maybe, and I know it's kind of awkward and I totally get it if you girls" he glances at Blake and the rest of her team "don't wanna stick around tonight. But it's called a common room for a reason, I guess."

Blake heaves a sigh. Jaune and his team are friends, after all. "Pyrrha, I can show you, Rias and Akeno which dorms are empty over in the Freshman transfer dormhall. And... know a few good ways to get from here to there without getting noticed."

Yang's head snaps over to look at Blake, her eyebrows waggling suggestively. "Ooh, been sneaking out to suck-face with lover-boy, have we?" She hasn't been, but no one looks like they'd believe a denial so she doesn't bother with one. After the chatter dies down, Yang adds, "I wanna tag along with Jaune and Ren. I've been hoping to see some spellery in action since I found out about it, and have a few questions I wanna ask too." Blake nods in agreement, and when none of the Devils with things to do for the night object, she can feel a small smile tug across her face.

All eyes fall on Weiss and Ruby, both of whom are–understandably–casting nervous looks at Issei. Ruby lets out an almost convincing yawn before announcing, "I'm, umm, actually kind of tired. Gonna call it a night if you guys don't mind." She pauses, looking between the openly hurt expression on Asia and Nora's face, Ren's carefully neutral expression, and the resigned expressions of acceptance scrawled across Jaune and Pyrrha's faces as the former of the two visibly suppresses a wince. "But, umm, yeah! Hanging out with all of you during the tournament? Sounds like fun!" Ruby's expression is tentative but hopeful and Weiss' nod of agreement looks honest.

Team JNPR and the blonde Bishop's expressions perk up at that. Asia had hit it off pretty well with Ruby when they'd all first met back towards the start of the school-year, now that she thinks about it. The pair of girls don't wait around after Ruby's response, moving to head back towards their dorm room as soon as the other teens non-verbal responses are clear to them.

Nora, grinning up at Yang and waggling her eyes announces that "I can still hang." Before making a 'bottle' with the hand not connected to the shoulder Yang is still leaning on and tilting it back towards her mouth. Yang nods enthusiastically at the shorter girls declaration.

Jaune sighs, pinching his brow. "Don't give Coco a reason to bust us or burn the place down, please. And everyone with something to do yet is using the dorm room to change before you grab the bottle. Let's get to work, guys."

Yang shoots a shameless grin Nora's way, making it clear as day that she intends to join them later, before playfully pushing off of the ginger girl to bonelessly flop back down on the couch to wait for the now over-dressed teenage Devils to finish changing.

_-*R-DxD*-_

He can hear the thrumming thump and hum of bass and people dancing through the walls.

Smell the acrid tang of cigars left out the humidor just a bit too long is thick on the air, mingling with sweat and booze wafting in every time the door opens mixing with the faded-but-never-gone iron tang of blood.

The low whir of Chroma's respirator and prosthetics, just barely edging out the sounds of the open-to-the-public parts of The Club, and intermixed with the tinny crackling of the earbud Celese has out so that she can still hear the rest of them from one ear and participate in the conversation just barely recognizable as 'classic' old Punk Rock–Not that Roman can tell the difference between that and 'mainstream crap' but when one of your top people is passionate about something, you take note–and the occasional clinks of Neo's spoon scraping her bowl of sherbert almost making its own beat. She's probably doing that on purpose. Just like he knows she has a bowl of his favorite instead of her namesake on purpose.

Brothers, some kids on the Dust-net probably would turn it into a song just to prove that they can.

At least he'd like to think he can still smell Junior's bar and feel the reverberations of the sound system and the cushy chair he'd paid extra to have the chubby bastard put in his personal back room there against his back. Handling all this crap via Scroll from the hacked port in his cell is annoying. And Neo–the little brat–is playing up the fact that she knows that sprawled out across his chair eating the treat that no one else knows is his secret guilty pleasure, her eyes twinkling in barely hidden mirth at the camera and daring him to call her out on it.

Nope. Here he is, stuck in the 'waiting' part of the plan, everything taken care of except for actually making off with his payment. With damn near everything lined up for that and still lost for how the hell he's going to get free of that golden-eyed psychopath's clutches and he still can't see a path clear to that ideal endgame with the clock running down uncaring of his plight.

It's enough to make a man want to smash his head into his desk.

Repeatedly.

Okay, it'd actually have to be a bulkhead, but still. The sentiment stands.

{The last of the leftover Dust sold last night boss.} Chroma's monotone electronic text-to-speech voice breaks him out of his reverie. Right, just because he's feeling trapped and at a loss for where his plan can break cleanly from hers doesn't give him an excuse to let the minutiae slide.

He looks over to, in Roman's opinion at least, the best guy in Vale's underworld when it comes to hammering out the little things in big plans, as well as crowd control during heists. His tophat is sitting on the table he's seated at, suit jacket hanging off the back of his chair, making just how pale, short and scarred he is really stand out. Especially in the dim light of the private room in The Club that they're set up in. Though to be fair, all of them have their jackets off–Junior keeps the heat turned up just a little more than is necessary–or reasonable during summertime–on the weekends, claiming that the extra heat gets his clients buying more drinks.

Roman's pretty sure it's just to get the girls more stripped down on the dance floor, but calling the info-broker and drink-slinger out on that would just be petty and counter-productive.

Roman nods, this is where he'd normally puff out a breath of smoke from his cigar, but it's been weeks since he had one of those. "Good. Now we just need to buy the last of the supplies and it's down to getting our last few people out of the city and figuring out how the hell you hide the planet's biggest airship until the heat dies down."

Pewter rolls his eyes. "Why're we buyin'th' supplies, anyways? We're thieves." For now, at least.

Only a few weeks now until they get to retire from risking their necks running heists, rackets and whatever other jobs crop up for Lien to facilitating the younger generation doing that from the comfort of Romans very own airship. Never thought he'd go international growing up, but he never thought he'd actually get out of the trailer-park either.

Neo shoves the Faunus' shoulder hard with her foot before signing, "The same reason we work from Junior's, you dumb-dumb." Right, hard to tell just how close of attention Neo is paying with that Semblance of hers. Half the time when they got back to the condo the brat shatters to reveal she'd spent the entire night wearing baggy sweatpants and a poofy down sweater not her typical 'Huntress' getup.'

The skunk Faunus blinks dumbly, looking at Neo like she'd just grown a second head. Which it actually might look for him if she'd decided that'd be a fun thing to make him see for—

Roman cuts that line of thought off. All this time locked up and more or less alone is making him go strange in the head. "No, you moron. It's because everyone that does their business at Junior's is a 'clean' criminal." Celese bites out, half-playfully. Without the suitjacket draped across her shoulders or ToneDeaf strapped to her waist she looks like she belongs at a concert somewhere, or bored as hell behind the cash register of some store reminiscing about her wasted youth rather than planning a heist, but that makes keeping his hacker hidden easier, so he's fine with that. "You know? The sort of crook that doesn't kill for fun, diddle kids, cut their drugs with rat poison or sell people?"

Pewter still looks lost. To be honest, Roman is pretty sure that his brain never fully recovered from that last overdose before he'd personally forced the Faunus to clean up. Bastard was, and is, still too useful to let die like that.

Roman decides to enunciate the point further. "And by proving that we aren't any of those things, any Huntsmen we run across will be more inclined to just let us go if we look like we're gonna get away clean instead of chasing." Damned crazy idealistic brats aside, that is. "So, when it comes to buying field supplies, we do just that. Buy them. Huntsmen get testy when their favorite Outfitter goes under because some asshole made off with its entire stock."

Understanding finally dawns on the Faunus face, and he nods. "Right. Guessin' it's gonna be me doin'tha buyin' then?" Roman nods–Brothers what he wouldn't do for a good cigar to puff on right now. It's down right inhumane of IronDick to have made him go cold-turkey like this.–not really needing to justify that with a vocal response. "Celese or Chroma makin tha run't'tha rendezvous point once I got it all?"

Celese shrugs, "Another supply run with the kid might get her to finally come around and join up with us. But she seems pretty hell-bent on Beacon, so I don't know if another long, uncomfortable ride out into the stix and back with a heart-to-heart mixed in will change much." Pity that, the kid has real potential. "Her aside, I think I have maybe another half-dozen of Junior's thugs ready to turn, and a few desperate Beacon dropouts ready to meet-up in person later this week."

Roman leans back on his cot–Hoping that it looks close enough to his 'boss' chair from the angle of the Scroll they have him set up on to get the same effect. Everything is coming together after all. Everything except for the most important part of the plan, that is, damnitall. "Right, Chroma, you're on that run, and stay out there once you make the delivery."

{Why do I have to stay, boss? You know that nature and I don't mix well.} The scarred, prosthetic-laden crook asks. Sure, the monotone text-to-speech can't really do inflection, but the guy's body language makes it pretty damn clear that he isn't happy. Between the furrowed brow, flexing of his flesh-and-blood bicep and his leaning towards Roman–well, the scroll he's using to talk to them with that is–he'd have to be blind and stupid not to notice Chromas mood and clear thoughts on that plan.

Roman holds his hands up, being sure to keep his voice conversationally calm. Not just for the sake of his reputation, but to keep one of his top Lieutenants from losing his shit and walking off or going to the Kingdom with all of this. "Semblance. I need you out there to run damage control when the Huntsmen finally bumble across our little camp, keep 'em under control and from finding out too much."

"Whadaya mean, 'when'? Not 'if'?" Pewter asks, starting to get keyed up himself now. The tanned Faunus takes a drink from his glass after the little outburst, then runs his hand through his greasy mullet. He pauses to look at his hand before actually grabbing a napkin to wipe the hand with.

Roman shifts his gaze over to the Faunus–normally this is where he'd take a slow sip from his gin and tonic for effect–before letting out a disappointed, and clearly forced sigh. "Pewt, we have nearly every fence, forger, info broker–not any that are affiliated with Junior or the Malachites, mind you–chop shop mechanic and back-alley doc that the four of us actually trust out there waiting for our prize-"

"Don't forget all the goons we poached from Junior!" Neo gleefully signs after slamming her now empty bowl down on his desk to grab their attention and cut him off. Right, he'd almost forgotten that tidbit, not to mention how pissed Junior is about it.

Maybe he'll need to check out that club Snakesnack's been taking his boys to after the jobs he hires her for. Well, have someone walk a scroll around it so he can at least say he tried. A bit of separation from the rest of Vale's criminals before whatever it is Cinders got planned hits might be a good thing. Hard to get crooks in trouble paying you for a safe place to bolt to and passage to another kingdom when they're all dead or locked up or dead for treason.

"It's only a matter of time before some of those do-gooders find our little camp and start asking questions. Questions I'd rather they not get answers to before we cut them loose with a ride to get back to the Kingdom, a pat on the ass and a 'thanks for your service' before we fly off into the sunset."

"Care to share what you'll be doing with this fine ship once our work in Vale is done, Torchwick?" The all-too familiar–not to mention real and close–falsetto of Cinder's pet street rat shocks him back to his actual present, not the dingy, sweaty, stinking nightclub back-room he desperately wishes he was physically, not just electronically in right now.

He rolls his eyes expressively at the green haired brat, who's been his only 'positive' point of human interaction since Ozpin paid him a visit right after he got caught. "No can do, kiddo. I was serious when I said I'm only with Cinder for this one job. Two ships in the night and all that." The brat scowls at that, her jealousy plain as day on her face. He hadn't actually gotten with the bitch–and is honestly torn between wanting too, and knowing that the old adage 'don't stick your dick in crazy' exists for a reason–but if a lie that easy to pass can get under the pickpockets skin why shouldn't he use it when the devil herself isn't around to take punishment for the implication out of his hide personally?

The girl forces an uncaring shrug thats fooling no one as she tries to recover her calm. After taking a moment to fail at that, her voice dripping with barely repressed resentment and jealousy she replies "Well, you impressed her, that's for sure. She wanted me to let you know that you've been… invited to meet with her benefactor after our success."

So, Lil' Miss Megalomaniac is dancing to someone else's tune then? Well, fuck.

Not that he's letting even a hint of what he's thinking show to the bitch's pet urchin. "And you had to come all the way up here yourself to tell me this, because…?" He can't say he's surprised by that revelation, but it sure as hell does raise the already ridiculous stakes even higher, and makes him want to bail the fuck out twice as badly as he had before that particular bombshell had been dropped on him.

The girl lets one a predatory grin slide across her face, and unholsters one of her sickles to run it across the bars of his cell. "As a reminder. To let you know that this isn't the sort of invitation you can refuse." She croons in a confident, knowing falsetto that's almost close to what Cinder usually sounds like. It's pure bluster of course. He can tell she's as clueless as to who Fall is working for as he is, and desperate to both hide that fact and find out for herself. Brat probably hadn't even known herself before Cinder sent her up here on this little errand. "And, maybe, to warn you that Atlas' people are starting to get suspicious of these little conference calls you've been having. Might want to cut them short, or at least be more careful." Ah, there's the threat. If Cinder's brat can get onto this ship to deliver a message, the dragon lady herself can do it to eliminate a liability as well.

Roman wants to quip, or threaten back, but the brat, well, Cinder more likely, has a point.

The girl waves daintily with her fingers at that, before turning to saunter away, her usual getup melting away into an Atlesian uniform, his dinner sitting on its tray just outside his reach.

The little bitch.

If it weren't for that Semblance of hers she'd probably still be picking pockets or working a corner to keep from starving in whatever back-alley Cinder hauled her out of…

Oh.

Oh.

Well, that's just brilliant, and he can't believe he didn't think of it sooner. "Neo, you're going to need to make a few doses of Aura-Amp tuned to your body disappear while you're undercover as Cinder's fourth." Neo tilts her head and raises an eyebrow for a beat before nodding her consent, then making a questioning gesture. Roman can feel the small, devilish grin slide across his face, and doesn't do a thing to hide or suppress it.

"I just figured out how we're going to make our prize disappear."

_-*R-DxD*-_

Jaune wants to grumble.

He wants to bitch, whine, complain and scream.

Instead he bites down on his tongue, and focuses on not escalating things.

Because his Fallen Angel professor–and that's a revelation that he's still desperately trying to wrap his head around–Peter Port's T.A., Rojoa Karat, unfortunately, had a point.

His and Cardin's Teams had made a mess of the passive protection spells the Weary had set up around Beacon during the lethal game of cat and mouse disguised as a prank war and the subsequent bitter rivalry up until a few weeks ago.

So, yeah, Rojoa instructing them to start helping to clean up the mess they'd made really is only fair.

Well, fair for all of them save for the two new members of Team CRDL, which, up until a few weeks ago he would have issues with Cardin having brought along tonight. That said, with things, nearly a month after the Breach having barely started returning to some semblance of what was normal before his indecisive, uncertain actions had nearly tanked more friendships than he feels like actually counting, because it hadn't just affected him.

So, Jaune is striding across the Academy green stood between Cardin and Nora, doing his best to avoid antagonizing the former and ride herd on the latter if she decides the feud is back on for some reason. Behind them, Dun, the rooster Faunus, is nervously plucking away at his guitar. His Semblance makes him a great fighter, but his magical potential is less than zero, so he's really only here because Cardin is still working on building up trust in his new subordinates. Louis, however, has a small tome on the basics of magic, the occasional flicker of part of a magic circle in a light pine-needle green flickering to life in the hand not holding the tome.

In front of them, Ren, Russel and Pyrrha are walking in a loose wedge, Pyrrha at the front, Ren to Pyrrhas right and Russel to her left. All three have Magic Circles in front of them, the three most magically powerful in the group are focused on inspecting the complex weave of protective wards, passive sensory circles and other magical early warning or protective spells that had been built into the Academy when it was first founded, and regularly built upon and improved since then.

Needless to say, as skilled as they are for their age and the time they've spent practicing magic, the two teams are only out here tonight to find any inconsistencies or malign additions. Rojoa had been clear enough about that, before begging off as already late for the weekly T.A.'s night out with Professors Shang and Shiffon. It wasn't quite a detention, but Rojoa hadn't exactly been subtle about the two teams being sent out like this as a way to force them all to bury the hatchet either.

The stoney, awkward silence speaks volumes for what both parties think of the idea.

At least the quiet is giving him an opportunity to properly process the revelations he'd been hit with over the last week. First and foremost, that the Headmaster is actually the reincarnating wizard that Jaune, along with the rest of Remnant, thought was just one of his homeworld's many folk stories. That he is, and has been working with an offshoot faction of the Fallen Angels that had left Earth centuries ago, but have been active on Remnant for several millennia, and very recently found out that they have been in their own cold war–albeit unknowingly–with another rogue Fallen Angel faction that most of the supernatural world had thought were wiped out as Pure Angels at the same time Phanuel's 'Weary' had fled the fighting.

The fact that a non-zero amount of Remnant's many Fairy tales are actually true stories purposely preserved and propagated by the reincarnating wizard currently running the planet's most prestigious Huntsman Academy–who unfortunately is the sort to prefer cryptic idioms and partial truths to strate answers–almost feels like an afterthought to all of that.

To cap it all off, the Governor General of the main Fallen Angel faction had just, waltzed into the meeting that Jaune had learned all of that and hinted with his tongue so deeply in his cheek it may as well have been sticking through it that peace between the Three Factions may very well be on the horizon but to keep it under his hoodie for now. Which makes sense, Remnant is neutral ground–skirmishes with the Myriad aside–and may very well be one of the sites chosen to host the talks to make that peace a reality.

Plus, the addition of another world into the political landscape could easily disrupt the status quo allowing that peace to even be a potential outcome and spark off a handful of civil wars across the Supernatural world as every minor and dissident faction makes a rush to get a foothold in the mostly unclaimed territory in a bid for legitimacy. Spilling a thousands-of-years-old war of extinction onto another world and re-igniting a dozen different rebellions long gone cold or unviable–in his homeland at that–would be, bad, to put it lightly.

He can really sympathize with Team RWBY now. Having the metaphorical rug snatched from underneath your feet like that sucks. They probably still had had it worse than him, but the sentiment is there.

Of course, the first thing he'd done after getting back to his dorm after that meeting had been to call Sairaorg to get Jaune in touch with Lord Bael to report. Lord Bael had, of course, passed him on to Lady Serafall who had proceeded to grill him on the situation for nearly an hour before asking him to put her in touch with Ozpin and Phanuel. So he'd gotten the pleasure of slinking across campus an hour after curfew to ride up to Ozpin's still lit office to explain the situation to him, General Ironwood and Lord Phanuel only for them to grill him as well, though not as intensely or for as long on Serafall's mood and disposition, before accepting the contact information and dismissing him with a light scolding on breaking curfew of all things.

So, yeah. The opportunity to just, amble and get his head straight is appreciated.

"This is such bullshit." Cardin grumbles, kicking a rock off the path and towards the distant greenhouse.

Jaune doesn't exactly disagree with the sentiment, but feeding into the bulky bully's foul mood won't exactly help their situation either. Nora, however, is always one for a quick quip, consequences be damned. "I mean, it sucks but the fact that someone even needs to check the Headmaster's protective work is kind of our fault."

One of the guys tailing behind them grumbles something about speaking for herself, to which she throws a playful raspberry over her shoulder. Childish, but that is quite literally what she'd just done. Not that there was any real heat in her tone or words, just Nora being Nora. Pretty much everyone at Beacon knows what that entails by now.

The guy actually has a good reason to be salty, though. He hadn't nothing to do with why the eight of them are out here. HAdn't even been on campus for it to potentially calm things down or escalate them.

At least they don't need to worry too much about being seen and having to explain shit. This late in the evening on a Wednesday, anyone still awake will be in their dorm working on homework or maybe slacking off. Eight AM and the first class of the day comes awfully fast after all.

Pyrrha pauses, and the whole group stops behind her. Both Ren and Russel shift to point their magic circles in the direction she's looking. Russel squints at his magic circle before shaking his head. "Looks like more crap that Suriel set up. Ren or me could probably patch up the damage, but I don't think that'd go over too well with the professors." Ren nods at the slightly shorter mohawked teen's assessment, and both of them pull out their Scrolls to mark the spot down on the map app Rojoa had instructed them to use.

They carry on, more or less having fallen silent again.

A few more spots where Suriel had been up to something turn up, but they'd all been expecting that. "Hey, Arc." Cardin interjects after nearly an hour of awkward near-silence as the most magically inclined members of the two teams continue to chip away at their assigned task. Jaune grunts at the taller teen. "Think you could get me in touch with that wolf-chick on your older sister's team?"

"Why?" He shoots back, not quite tersely enough to be rude, but not exactly politely either.

Cardin looks over his shoulder at his newer teammates. "Look, I just–back during the Breach she had me hold onto something. Family heirloom of hers from the Great War 'get this to my old man, if we don't come back' type deal. Used my Semblance on it on a whim and... what I saw didn't add up."

"Devil disturbed the defensive network this time. In a big way." Ren reports from in front of them. Jaune winces, then, noticing that their right along the edge of the cliffs at the campus edge suppresses a second wince.

He turns back to the other Team Leader. "Think you can elaborate a bit? I don't have a clue what your Semblance is."

Cardin's face shifts halfway to a sneer, before he pulls back, and looks away from the rest of the teenagers. "Psychokinesis. If an object was on a person when something made them feel strong enough emotions, I can catch a vision of it. Sometimes a thing has a few, sometimes nothing, always descending order of how strongly the other person was feeling. I hit that knife–one from the Great War remember–with my semblance. The first four visions I got from it weren't of anything related to that."

Jaune stops as the implications of that roll around in his head. "That's... weird."

"No shit. And I'm pretty sure it's this kind of weird," He bites back, gesturing around them at nothing in particular, but getting his point across. "And since we're all on Team 'Not getting suckered into a war of extinction' now, I dont think a chance for a second look at something like that is too big of a favor to ask for."

Fair. While he has plenty of other responsibilities and priorities to consider, working with other Huntsman to keep Remnant safe is pretty close to the top of his list of life and professional goals. Hell, if he didn't want to do exactly that since he was a kid he'd probably never have wound up being reincarnated as a Devil in the first place. "Aurora's team's in the kingdom for the Vytal Festival." And her wedding, but that really isn't related to this or any of Winchester's business. "I'll see what I can do." And he will. He'll let her know and leave it at that.

They cross over from the tree-lined dirt path they'd been walking on back over to pavement. No one else is talking still, so the sound of seven sets of shoes–and one pair of rooster talons–striking the pavement is all that can be heard for a few moments.

"That's it, you'll 'see what you can do'?"

"I'm sorry, but just because you stopped working for the genocidal maniacs and got brow-beaten into not being such an asshole all the time doesn't mean I have to help you." Jaune growls back. Is he being petty? Probably. But Pyrrha, Ren and Nora were nearly permanent casualties in fights Cardins cronies and late boss started. And he isn't too ashamed to admit–to himself at least–that he still has the occasional flashback or nightmare from some of the more lethal 'pranks' and closer calls Cardin had aimed at him during their so-called Prank War.

Jaune half expected Cardin to start lobbing expletives or lunge at him for that outburst. Maybe threaten someone on his team or stomp off. Not go quiet for a stretch. Did the brute actually grow up some since the last time he'd had to deal with him? Small miracles never cease, he supposes.

The taller youth eventually speaks up again, his voice very measured and tight. "So, the Arc family's been training Huntsmen for a long time, right? Same as mine; like, back to when Vale was still a monarchy?" Jaune nods, acutely aware that everyone is paying attention to them, and not their job now. "And you've got a family tree somewhere? Big one with the emblem and weapon of all the different Huntsmen or Huntresses that were part of the family marked down next to the names?" Again, Jaune nods. "Does yours have any holes in it?"

What? "What?"

Cardin scoffs. "You know, holes. Big gaps a few generations deep, and then, boom, there's your Great Uncle Linen. Or Great great grand-uncle Sky and his wife had five kids, but there's only two of them still on the tree; the others are just, not there? Lines to nothing that pick up a while later with a different name?" Jaune, and the rest of the gathered teenagers, don't really have anything to say to that. "So, yeah, this isn't me making a power-play or some other bullshit. It's only a matter of time before my family realizes that I'm not okay being one of the Myriad's disposable little pawns anymore and starts sending relatives or family friends I grew up treating like relatives to kill me. So, yeah, I'd like something fucking better than 'I'll see what I can do' when I'm working on another angle to get these genocidal fucks out of our kingdom."

Right. Fuck, that's... Jaune starts walking again, and motions for the others to follow suit. "I'll talk to Cobalt for you, but she can be kind of..."

Cardin forces a laugh. "Yeah, my team's worked with her a few times on training missions. I get it." The group falls into silence again. A bit less tense, but still not really happy or companionable by any means.

They find a few more spots where Suriel had been up to something, one or two spots out by the outdoor sparring rings where someone on his Peerage must have went a bit overboard, but nothing much or serious after that.

At least until they get to the overflow storage units.

The big snarl of Demonic and Fallen Angel magical residue from where he and Suriel had had their first big dust-up had been expected, if incredibly uncomfortable for Pyrrha. The second major discrepancy they come across however–"The hell am I looking at?" Russel asks no one in particular, squinting into his magic circle.

Ren looks over at Jaune, a bit nervous looking. "It, whatever it is, it looks likes some of the samples of Earth-native magic Akeno and Kuisha showed us, Jaune." Well, that's just all sorts of ominous and foreboding.

He looks over to Cardin. "Top of the list?"

The taller, broader-shouldered team leader nods. "Yeah, we were expecting the rest of the shit we ran into wasting our time tonight. This shit's something new."

Jaune nods as the two teams start splitting off, their circuit of the campus complete for this week. "Well, let Rojoa know we'll be available to answer any questions on our end for a few more hours yet."

"Still think it's bullshit they get to just fuck off to do whatever and we gotta go report still." Dun grouses as he slings his guitar over his back by its strap.

Cardin rolls his eyes. "Rojoa's drunk as a skunk in a nightclub by now. We'll drop the Scrolls off in Port's office and fuck off ourselves. Arc and his cronies still have crap to do tonight." He probably meant that as a dig of some sort, but honestly, the nightly sparring and Grimm hunts aren't that bad. Great for blowing off steam.

"Oh, what's that?" Louis prompts, hands stuffed into his cargo-pants pockets instead of holding a tome and practicing now.

Jaune catches Cardin's eye, and is almost immediately waved off. So he motions for his team to follow and starts heading for the dormhalls. "Devil shit, I'll explain later." He's just barely able to make out before they get too far from the other team to hear them.

"So, that was lame." Nora grouses after a few more minutes of walking in silence.

Ren shrugs calmly. "It was maintenance work that probably needs doing every now and then anyways. Professor Port is rather fond of walking the grounds." Nora waves him off before burrowing into his side, trapping Rens right arm in between both of hers and her chest as Pyrrha laces her fingers into Jaune's. Sure, they have a few more hours of training to go, but the night is starting to wind down at least.

They make it up to their dorm room quickly enough and open the door to find a very bored looking Yang swiping away on her Scroll, and clad in her combat outfit, the same as Jaune's team. "Took you guys long enough. How was detention?" She asks as a greeting.

"It wasn't a detention?" Pyrrha offers as she pulls the door shut behind her.

Nora shrugs and walks over to the rug in the room's middle, sliding it up against a clear spot on the wall so that Jaune can check the transportation circle underneath it. "You just keep telling yourselves that." The blonde brawler drawls back, eyeing the circle a bit nervously. Travel by teleportation hadn't exactly sat well with her.

Jaune tweaks a few marks on it, he'd set it up with only Devils in mind, and that was probably part of the reason Yang had nearly thrown up when she'd accompanied him and Ren out to the Emerald Forest to watch him bail Ivan out. Satisfied with his modifications, he motions for Yang to join him in the circles center. "The rest of you follow us, but wait a minute or two." Yang shoots a dull glare his way for the not-so-subtly implied jibe. Before she can say anything, or get any real heat behind her glare her eyes screw shut as Jaune activates the transportation circle.

After the usual light-show, Jaune ambles off the aged-looking stone plinth at the heart of the Desecrated Ground that will, fairly soon now, be the center of power for what he hopes will be his Clan in a few years, not just a Peerage serving one of the remaining Pillars.

Yang stumbles off the raised platform, hacking and coughing. It's bad, but not so bad as she'd been the other day-–on her hands and knees dry-heaving–so he made some sort of improvement at least. Or it's just Yang getting more accustomed to travel by transportation circle.

The rest of his peerage flare into existence in a single group, Ren immediately setting off into the Emerald Forest–it is his night to secure those easy contracts killing grimm after all–and Jaune makes his way over towards the set of construction lights and the generator they're hooked up to. Normally they wouldn't bother with lighting, but Yang would be more or less blind in the late night gloom of the dense woods without it.

As Pyrrha and Nora start stretching Yang straightens up and loudly grouses "So, what's–" Jaune powers up the Dust generator, the lights blaze to life, and Yang goes rigid. "The FUCK?!" She cuts herself off, her face having shifted from its usual casual confidence to wide-eyed shock at the sight of the undead work-crew currently digging out what will eventually be an elevator shaft down to an inter-world subway terminal.

Nora tilts her head over to cast a cheeky, teasing look in Yang's direction "You were listening when Jaune said his mage contract was with a necromancer, weren't ya?"

Yang blinks slowly as her eyes dart about to take in the scene before her. "Yeah… but I kinda figured that was just a title or something, not that he actually..."

Jaune shrugs easily. "It's a bit of a gray area, but if all you're doing is getting skeletons moving around and doing stuff for you, most pantheons are willing to let things slide. It's when you start bringing souls back to this side of the afterlife that things get... yeah. So, an undead work crew? Great, don't have to feed 'em or pay room and board and they work nonstop provided you've got someone around to keep them on task."

Yang shakes her head, looking around the clearing before noticing that they're already down one person. "Hey, wait, where'd Ren go?"

Grinning, and maybe a bit too eager to talk him up, Pyrrha pulls out one of the 'talismans' that their Familiars are still spreading across the kingdom to explain Jaune's scheme. Deciding to let her handle that, he announces, "Well, you girls may as well get to sparring, I've gotta go see how well my personal descendant of the Mad Monk's settling in, then it's off Grimm-hunting with the boys tonight."

The busty blonde holds up a hand to stall Pyrrha's explanation and her head snaps over to glare down Jaune, again. "Your personal what now?"

"Ehh, slapping the epithet of a famous ancestor on someone who's been making waves in the supernatural world is kind of a thing. And, even with you having heard maybe half of the conversation I had before we came out here to bail him out, you've gotta know that I have that moron by the short and curlies right now." Jaune explains as he ambles over towards what will eventually be an elevator shaft or staircase–probably both, if only for safety reasons. Yang nods dumbly in response, pretty clearly trying to calm herself down and process what she's looking at.

He chuckles a bit when he realizes that maybe half of his contracted mages undead work-crew are actually wearing high-viz vests or hard-hats. "So, how are we doing this?" He can hear Yang cautiously asking as he shoulders a few of the skeletons away from the ladder to start climbing down to where Ivan is most likely holed up.

He is just barely able to hear Pyrrha suggest, "Well, Nora and I have been working on acclimating to fighting in the air, so you could just make the spar a three-way free-for-all and try to hit either of us as best you can?" Jaune shakes his head, he doesn't even need to be in earshot, or able to see his fellow blonde to know she'd made a dirty joke out of that comment. For a few minutes, his only distraction from the plain dirt tunnel surrounding the ladder he's climbing down are skeletons using the ladder behind him, and the rickety wood and rope lift pulling loads of dirt up out of the growing pit, or easing logs, buckets of water and bags of cement down it.

About halfway down the shaft–by his estimation at least–he finally comes to a shallow cut-out that forms a wide platform, and steps off of the ladder. He pushes the rough-hewn log door open after knocking on it. It's a bit warmer on the doors other side, early autumns bite kept at bay by a decent sized Dust heater, the big chamber lit by a dozen or so hanging Dust-lamps as much as the array of pale-green magic circles being manipulated by the mage currently hiding out in this–literal–bolt-hole. The walls are all unstained, planed timber, and the floor is the same. There's a bed in one corner, and a small kitchenette set up in another. There are two other doors, one probably leading to either a closet or pantry, and the other a bathroom.

Ivan Grigori Rasputin is tall, maybe half a head taller than Jaune, and in decent shape, though his muscles are the puffy for-show sort you see on gym rats rather than the more wiry, sinewy ones found on Huntsmen, farmers and factory workers. His long black hair is a bit stringy, but decently groomed, as is his long pointed goatee, though the streaks of green in the facial hair make him look less like a traditional necromancer and more his–their–age.

The eerily piercing green eyes of the Russian mage meet Jaunes blue, and all five magic circles wink out of existence, before the mage throws himself onto the cheap futon pressed up along the rooms back wall. "Jaune! You said you were going to save me, show me your world! Not shove me into a literal hole in the ground and force me to slave away like this!" His rumbling, wheezing voice is heavily accented, but Jaune's been able to decipher it just fine for well over a year now.

Jaune rolls his eyes and walks over to the only chair in the now far more dimly lit room. Everything is cast in a wan yellow light now. "I did, and getting the air and escape shaft and a start on the actual platform is the down payment you owe me. I'll have everything you need to explore Vale set up along with some friends of mine's credentials, so in time for the Vytal Tournament."

The necromancer waves him off. "Bah. You're a heartless slave-driver, Arc." The grumpiness is only there on the surface. There's an undertone of honest gratitude beneath the bluster.

"Of course I am. It's one of us Devil's many core traits." Jaune quips, doing his best to sound as snobby as possible. "Now, you said you'd need to get in touch with a few colleagues to set this place up the way I want it?"

Ivan nods. "Da. The trans-world metro-station and line aren't too much trouble. It's linking your station with Vale's main metro hub in a way that doesn't make things obvious that I need help with. I am a necromancer, not some, reality bending miracle-worker."

"There's plenty of side-hallways at Vale Central you could work a door into, Ivan." Jaune deadpans at the mage, casting a glance at the floorplan of the station in question that is pinned to the wall off to his right, right next to the rough blueprints for the interworld station currently being built.

"Bah! You over-simplify things. Finishing an already half-way naturally formed link between worlds? Any mage worthy of the name can do this, no matter what they specialize in. A door with a permanent, discreet transportation circle worked into it? One that needs to have its opposite either, still work for those who don't know about our worlds, or added to the busiest station in your Kingdom without the wrong people seeing it added and asking wrong questions?" He spits on the floor. The drama-queen always gets like this when he's nervous or riled up. "I am necromancer, Jaune, not an illusionist, logistician or transit mage!" Jaune sighs and nods at the boisterous Russian, conceding the point. "And you said your world is one of great beauties and mighty warriors, not holes in the ground and snippy skeletons!"

"I couldn't have told you a thing about the nature of the remains of the dead here, seeing as I don't know a thing about your specialty." Jaune dryly points out. "And you'll have plenty of time to try to cement your place as 'Rasputin's Second Coming' after I've taken all the necessary precautions to properly insert you into Remnant's information network and Vale's public records. Not like you'll have much luck there, anyways."

"Bah. And you are one to talk on matters of love and lust?" He shoots back, easing into their usual playful back-and-forth banter.

Jaune can feel a downright devilish grin creep across his face. "More than you when it comes to the former now, I'd wager." Ivan sputters at that, glaring at Jaune in mock affront. He waves the necromancer off. "Enough small-talk now. What about the second half of my payment?"

Grumbling, the Russian shoves himself up off of the couch, and makes his way over to the small table near the kitchen unit. "Yes yes, the stupid resort bunker you want hidden under an inter-world transit line…"

"Two miles beneath the point of connection. That's not 'just' beneath it, Ivan."

Ivan shrugs and waves his hand dismissively. "I still don't see why you want this. House Bael probably has just as good set up for you in the Underworld by now. And you should be able to build a proper manor of your own here on Remnant before too long as well."

Jaune stands as well, and as soon as he is standing next to his contracted mage, the blueprints he'd rolled out are readily apparent. And pretty much exactly what he'd asked for. A 'master' suite for himself, with a bedroom, bathroom kitchen, dining room, study and drawing room. Arrayed around that are fifteen identical, albeit scaled down versions of the Master Suite-sans the drawing room, each with easy access to the storage and training facilities he'd requested, as well as the larger ballroom and formal dining hall. Two floors above and below each had a variety of forms of entertainment and methods of training accommodated, as well as a pair of even more scaled down replicas of the set of Suites set aside for his eventual peerage. There are three floors planned above the central living space all given over entirely to defenses, and the three planned floors below the living space similarly devoted to storage.

If everything goes to hell, his Team–and Peerage eventually–along with those of up to eight of his closest friends and allies, as well as some of their families could hole up here for years once the construction was complete. "Looking good. And don't forget, aside from a handful of my most trusted allies, you'll be one of the only people who'll know about this place. Next time you need to lay low for a while, all you'll have to do is get to an inter-world transit hub, then not give away any of the entrances."

"Do you have any idea how much labor, how many resources this monstrosity is going to require?" Ivan exasperatedly and rhetorically asks.

Jaune rolls his eyes. "Remnant has plenty of raw materials just sitting unexploited outside the kingdoms' walls. That includes–" he grimaces at what he's about to suggest, "extra work-force for you. I'd recommend that you stay away from Huntsmen and Huntresses, but there are enough settlements that were utterly wiped out by Grimm scattered across the planet to keep construction efforts quick and inexpensive."

"Yes yes, fine. We still need to go over some of the fine details before I start trying to hide this side-project of yours under the actual inter-world connection you have me openly working on." Jaune nods and leans over the blueprints a bit further as Ivan pulls a list from his pocket and rolls it out onto the already crowded table.

By the time Jaune emerges from the underground chamber, it's nearly two in the morning, his eyes are aching, fingers chapped from leafing through blueprints in the dry air, and throat dry as hell from the extended conversation without so much as a bottle of water to sip from.

The trio of sparring girls look, almost, as rough as he feels. Though Yang is definitely the worst off of the three, with mud in her hair, singed and disheveled clothes and more scrapes and bruises than Jaune feels like trying to count. Ten, maybe fifteen feet above her Nora and Pyrrha are faced off, the former with an ugly clump of ice that almost looks like Magnhild clasped in one hand, the latter with her arms from the shoulders down wreathed in the flames of the Sacred Gear. Nora tilts forward, streaking towards Pyrrha as Ember Celica barks out, forcing the shorter ginger to rotate mid-flight to swat away the buckshot. Nearly half of the 'hammer head' of Nora's lump of ice is blasted away by the blonde's pot-shot.

Nora finishes her spin just in time for a tongue of flame to melt away everything of Nora's ice-weapon above the fist clasping its 'haft'. With a frustrated growl, and a twirling evasive corkscrew she slams her fists together, a second hammer-like mass of ice forming in her right hand, and a shield looking lump forming over her left arm. Below her, Yang rolls away from Pyrrha's attack and the follow-up, launching herself skywards with a blast from her shot-gauntlets. Her attempt at a flying haymaker is turned into an ineffectual swat by Nora streaking back towards Pyrrha, and all three of the shots Yang takes at Nora as she falls back to the ground are caught on the ginger girl's impromptu shield.

"No weapons?" Jaune asks Ren, who is currently camped out by the cooler of water and Potentiade bottles they'd brought down for the night's training.

The taciturn teen nods. "The girls were, less than happy with the implications of the Young Devil's Ball having a weapons check at the entrances." Yang lands, and is immediately forced to dive away from another blast of green and purple flames courtesy of Pyrrhas offhand, the red-headed champions right hand having caught Nora's ice-hammer, either her status as a Queen currently matches Nora's enhanced strength, or the girls mutual lack of experience at aerial combat has negated most of both of their physical power.

"Between what we did at Riser's Engagement Party, and me RSVPing for the Ball like we're supposed to, they do realize that we're probably why the weapons check got added, right?" Jaune points out, getting a nod and noncommittal grunt from his teammate and Bishop.

"Still a good idea." Ren replies as their girlfriends clash mid-air once again.

Yang fires off two more shots at the pair dueling in the air, getting a distracted backflip of a dodge from Pyrrha, and the shards of the remnants of Nora's ice shield thrown at her when the second shot hits the protective lump of ice dead center. While Nora once again slams her fists together, forming a new, slightly less club-like ice-shield and glaring at the half melted hammer as she attempts to get it closer to her actual weapon, Pyrrha swoops low to strafe Yang. The blonde handily sidesteps Pyrrha's flame-wreathed swipe at her head, but once again fails to connect with a counter-blow as Pyrrha darts back up towards the re-armed glowing and teeth grinding hard enough they look about ready to crack, the blonde shoves herself back to her feet. Ren shifts his attention over to the blonde brawler, a strange expression on his face as she trembles in an attempt to reign in her infamous temper. An attempt that fails as Yang lets out a frustrated shriek, yellow flames erupting around her in a subconscious application of her semblance and a minute tongue of golden flame streaking out of her mouth up towards Pyrrha and Nora.

What!?

All four members of Team JNPR and Yang freeze.

The hell?

The baffled pause hangs for a moment as Yang doubles over, planting her hands on her knees and panting. Nora and Pyrrha both land, curiosity and concern scrawled across their faces in equal measure. Eventually, Jaune breaks the silence by asking the question he is almost positive is at the front of everyone in his Peerage's minds. "Not to sound rude, but what the heck was that, Yang?"

The blonde stands up straight and with all the bluster she can muster, clearly and desperately trying to play whatever had just happened off as no big deal and nothing new to her begins strutting over towards the cooler, a painfully forced laugh on her lips. "I uhh, think I kind of fired off my Semblance a bit by accident. No biggie, right?" She glances around nervously at the rest of the teens in the clearing. "Just a thing that happens sometimes to people whose Semblance is tied to their emotions, right, Ren?"

Ren narrows his eyes as he looks over at the human. "That's it? Just your Semblance going off?"

"No, you know, breathing flames or anything?" Nora adds, instantly figuring out and leaning into the angle her partner turned boyfriend is playing.

Yang sags a bit. "Psh, nah. I may talk a big Yang about being all fire-y, but they're all just for show. No cheating and skipping on the hair-dryer like some lucky girls or coughing a campfire to life for me." Great, whatever craziness Yang has going on she's completely clueless about it.

After a brief pause Nora takes it upon herself to interject with her own brand of personal randomness. "I mean, your name does translate to 'Sunny Little Dragon', doesn't it? You breathing fire makes perfect sense if you look at it from that angle."

Yang heaves a long sigh and shakes her head at that, muttering something about her dad, nicknames and regret before standing up more or less straight and turning to face the shorter girl. The busty blonde lets out a nervous, exasperated chuckle before replying. "Good one, Nora! But I think I'd know if I were a dragon. Thats just a joke my dad decided to make after I was born not anything serious though"

Jaune can feel the eyes of his entire Peerage fall on him as Yang opens a pair of water bottles and starts slamming them. He taps the pocket his scroll is in, before making a quick, subtle nod at Ren and Yang. He'll make some calls, but the two of them should still keep their eyes peeled.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Blake is as grumpy as she is comfy, curled up in a blanket nest with the most recent issue of Ninjas of Love in her hands, and pointedly ignoring the frequent but irregular rumbling of her scroll. She has it set to silent and the damned thing is still making just enough noise to annoy her. At least it's a distraction from how abnormally silent and empty the dorm room is for two in the morning on a Thursday. Friday.

Whatever.

At least Yang had honestly told her that she was heading off with Team JNPR to train again.

Not like Ruby and Weiss, acting like they're 'just training' when every single sparring ring in the academy gets locked down and put under surveillance when lights-out hits at eleven each night. She's also pretty sure that the new friends they talk about whenever they forget her hearing is better than theirs are a bit more foreign than the people in Vale for the Vytal Festival.

The door swings open, and Yang shuffles in from across the hallway, the left half of her face a big, angry purple and black bruise, her left leg stiff and dragging behind her by a bit, and the t-shirt and training shorts she'd worn out for her nightly beating–err, sparring match and Grimm hunt–a tattered, torn and slashed mess. Not quite as bad as Ruse's weird uniform had been, Yang has Huntress-grade clothes after all, but still.

She looks like hell.

Blake cocks an eyebrow at her partner. "You need to stop letting Devils beat you up and calling it training."

Her scroll buzzes on her nightstand, rattling across the cheap particle-board surface to clatter against her glass of water before falling still and silent again. Yang looks over towards Blake and the sound as she slumps over to her dresser, already halfway peeled out of her tattered workout clothes. "And you need to stop ignoring Loverboy. It's mean and you'll wind up losing him that way."

"It's not Sun." Blake bites out, turning a page. She gets a few sentences in before dog-earing it and setting the book aside to read later, by herself.

Yang's top and sports-bra tumble into her hamper as she stretches, still facing away from Blake but offering up a generous helping of side-boob and toned muscles shifting pleasantly as she does so, before wrapping a towel around herself. "Oh, so it's the sister you never brought up then?"

"I told you. Cheshire isn't my sister. But, yeah. She wants to meet up again before I get too busy after the tournament starts." Blake corrects Yang, doing her best to stay calm in the face of her partner's snippish ire over what is an honest misunderstanding.

Yang pauses for a moment to glare at Blake, then her scroll, then the bed above her. Then she sniffs her arm, wrinkles her nose and grabs her shower caddy. "Coulda fooled me."

Blake shrugs, exaggerating the motion to make sure Yang catches it. "I don't really blame you, but it's the truth. She just, sort of turned up by my family's house a few years ago looking half drowned and half-starved and my mom, well..." Blake trails off, not really sure how to best describe the whirlwind of events that had led to the older faunus becoming as good as her older sister.

"Your mom what?" Yang prompts after a few moments, paused by the door with a pair of clean towels slung over the shoulder of the arm holding her arsenal of body washes and hair-care products.

Blake can feel a soft smile crossing her face. "It's... you'll get it when you meet my mom."

The blonde's face shifts to something ugly for a moment, before going forlorn then suspiciously neutral. "You shouldn't take family for granted, Blake. It's pretty clear she cares about you that way, blood relations be damned."

The Faunus girl winces from the sharp stab of shame that comment has her feeling. She may not have intended to give Yang the wrong impression the way she did, but she had chose to run off on her parents, and still hasn't reached out to them to apologize or even catch up yet. And she knows that they know where she is and what she's doing now, and are probably proud as hell under the hurt she's putting them through. The reminder of Yang's family history, especially after the girl all but bared her heart to Blake on that issue back at the start of the school year... She turns away from her partner guiltily, and takes a deep, calming breath. When she goes to look back at the blonde she offers the girl a slow nod. "I'll let her know we'll meet up in Vale this weekend before we leave for our next training mission then."

Thankfully, Blake's overgrown child of a partner accepts the olive branch with a nod before sticks her tongue out at Blake playfully. "Sounds like a good time, Blakey. It'll be a real–"

"Yang, it's entirely too late for your puns." Blake cuts her off, earning herself an exaggerated pout from the more outgoing girl. Whatever. Her team has been causing her entirely too much stress lately for her to care about how well they take her calling them out on their grimmshit.

The pout gives way to a sigh. "It's not late Blake, it's early." Bake fixes her with a look. "Fine. Also, Jaune's Peerage isn't beating me up or forcing me to do this. I'm just doing what I have to to close the gap between me and them, and this–" she gestures at her already less bruised, but still battered looking form with her free hand, trusting the knot she'd tied in the towel to keep her decent for the short time it takes her to use the arm for the gesture "is just how big the gap is."

"You almost broke your wrist test-firing Ember Celica after you messed with it yesterday." Blake deadpans back.

Yang waves her off with her free hand. "That was me messing up my math tweaking the Dust load and misremembering how much recoil absorbance I built into'em. Weiss-cream and Rubes helped me out with that and now I can actually hit a Devil when they're going full speed." There's an unspoken 'sometimes' or 'usually' in there somewhere and just because Yang didn't say it doesn't mean Blake didn't hear it.

Neither of them says anything for a beat, Blake's cat ears pulled tight against her skull as she directs a judgmental gaze at her partner for how abnormally reckless she's been acting lately. "You… you should come with me one of these nights." Yang adds after the pregnant pause. "World's a lot more dangerous of a place than we thought it was when Oz launched us off that cliff." Yang finishes, her voice that same small, worried tone she'd used back before the Dance when she'd convinced Blake to slow down.

But not seeing what's actually going on around you is just as dangerous as not being able to stack up to your stronger allies and whatever enemies they could be attracting. "I'll think about it." And Blake has been learning a lot about observation, investigation and reading between the lines during her time with the VSPRD. Enough that her head is probably just as sore as the rest of her team's muscles by the time she goes to bed most nights.

_-*R-DxD*-_

Misery, as the old adage goes, does in fact love company.

Which is what has both General Ironwood and the immortal, reincarnating wizard currently known as Ozpin sat at a pair of desks in the latter's office overlooking Beacon Academy on what is a lovely early fall evening doing paperwork as opposed to enjoying the weather.

Both men usually would be, despite the fact that the world's largest festival's main event is beginning soon, neither of them are novices at organizing the event or the torrent of political and business activity that surrounds the single largest event of the year. Politicians and business magnates had been wined and dined, private boxers set up, hotel suites secured, even the addition of rulers from an entirely different world had proven little more than a ripple to the pair of experienced hands. Though meeting Lady Leviathan–indirectly via scroll-call only so far–had certainly changed the mental image he has of the Grimm with which she shares a namesake.

No, Ozpin muses, what has the two of them deskbound tonight is solely the collection of complications and headaches that come with their role as two of the central figures in the cabal of leaders, fighters and researchers fighting a secret, generational war against the immortal Witch hell-bent on wiping out humanity with her army of Grimm that also happens to be his ex-wife.

He can't even bring himself to joke about that at this point.

The first time a generation had decided marital dysfunction or dissatisfaction with one's spouse was the height of comedy he'd felt like the king of humor.

Now, though?

He'd stopped even noticing when that brand of humor returned to prevalence some time around its sixth or seventh iteration.

Off to his right, James heaves a sigh, his jacket draped over the chair Ozpin had wheeled out, and gloves laying on the glass desk that had been moved with it, metal fingers clattering across its surface as his flesh-and-blood hand pinches the bridge of his nose. Hopefully, his confidant is merely exasperated over mundane military woes. General is not a role Ozpin has played often, but it is one he knows well, and the amount of institutionalized stupidity one has to deal with in any organized military can b, aggravating, to say the least.

Ozpin glibly quips "Another addition to the list of reasons 'Weekend Safety Briefs' exist?"

James shoots a murderous glance in his direction. "No. Some of my subordinates have encountered a series of exceptionally problematic and unexpected issues."

Ozpin forces a smile, desperately clinging to hope. "So, a handful of Second Lieutenants that thought rank would save them from causality?"

James releases an incredibly forced laugh, and takes a drink from the tumbler set on his temporary desk. "No, Winter encountered a third unexpected pack of Grimm on the patrol I had assigned her to before she was to redeploy to Vale." He shakes his head and pushes his scroll away from him on the desk. "The Icicle was able to deal with them without deploying any of her troops, but the fact that she encountered as many unplotted Grimm packs out on Mantle's tundra as she has is..."

"Troublesome, to say the least." Ozpin finishes for his understandably tired friend. "It would seem that your right hand is just as tied as my left then."

"Branwen's still stuck in Pendles?" the general rhetorically prompts him.

Ozpin nods, and takes a sip from his mug. "Yes, nearly a third of the Huntsmen and Huntresses watching that settlement's perimeter were in league with the Fallen that were extorting it."

James' expression goes almost boyish after a moment. "Oh? Is that a pining for a return to monarchy I hear, Oz?"

"Hardly," he scoffs back at the man. "Especially considering that nearly every member of both the Koch and Walter families that currently reside in Vale proper fled a handful of hours before Qrow's report on that particular revelation arrived."

The mirth fades from his face almost instantly. "You don't think..."

"That two of the oldest Huntsman families in Vale, who were close allies of the Winchesters when all three were nobility and regular thorns in the side of the dynasties I either led or founded for centuries are just as in league with the Myriad as Cardin's family are?" Ozpin finishes for him, answering the unasked question in a single, dry sentence.

Ironwood shakes his head and takes another drink as Ozpin plucks his spectacles from his face to clean them-a nervous habit of this host that he suspects will follow him to his next body when that time comes. "At least Glynda is–"

The elevator at the far end of the office dings and its doors slide open, the blonde woman in question storming out of it as if summoned by James' mentioning her. She looks, to put it lightly, furious. "James. Ozpin." She all but growls at the pair as she stomps towards them, hair and cape flaring out behind her, crop in hand and all but twitching with intent. "The two of you would not believe the utterly ridiculous rumor I heard from several of our Vacuan transfer students while they were serving detention this evening."

Schoolboys. With a glare and a growl she's reduced the both of them to schoolboys caught in the act of breaking some rule they hadn't even known existed until moments ago.

"What rumor would that be, Glynda?" Ozpin asks as calmly and politely as he can manage while fixed in place under his deputy headmistress' stern gaze.

"Oh, that the two of you called Mr. Arc up to one of the conference rooms for an extended, non-disciplinary chat the other evening." She bites out as she stomps to a halt at what is roughly the midpoint between the two desks. She sniffs the air, and both his and James' drinks are whisked over to the trash bin and upended into it by her Semblance.

Ozpin is able to catch his mug when it is rocketed back towards him. James' tumbler thunks off his head. "It... it wasn't about what you think it was, Glynda." He lamely tries, casting an almost frantic look Ozpin's way.

"I take it that this mysterious new friend of yours wasn't also in attendance then, James? The one whom both of you have been taking great pains to shield from me." She piles on. James never had been good with dealing with Glynda when she gets this agitated. That, probably is why they had broken up the second time.

"Glynda, I assure you–"

"Am I, or am I not, your deputy headmistress?" She cuts him off. "The woman you hand-picked and trained to be entrusted with the responsibility to act and speak in your stead while your next incarnation is still growing and working their way up the metaphorical ladder into whatever position you feel would be the best role for you to occupy to further our battle against Salem?" Furious doesn't begin to cover how she appears. That said, Ozpin can also–just barely–detect hints of desperate despondence on her tone and in her body language. "It has been nearly two months since the day you promised me answers within a week, Headmaster."

Perhaps, too much care had been given to convenience and expedience. He made her into the woman she is, and this supposed slight seems to have brought her very near to the breaking point. "Very well. You may want to sit down.

Ironwood looks over his way, a frown on his face and welt forming on his forehead. "So, how are we going to approach this?"

Ozpin laces his fingers together and rests them on his desk as Glynda does so. "Let us start with the fact that humans and Faunus are not the only sentient race in existence, nor is Remnant the only inhabited world."

Goodwitch scoffs at that. "The theory that extraterrestrials exist is hardly a groundbreaking–"

"We have made contact with Devils, Glynda." Ozpin cuts her off.

Ironwood rolls his eyes. "No, you made contact with Fallen Angels. Arc blundered his way into getting you and Phanuel to actually take action instead of trusting that the status quo on that front would hold indefinitely."

Glynda blinks at him, anger washing across her features as the minutes tick on. "First aliens, and now the most recent fad to take hold in the entertainment industry? Have I become a joke to you, Ozpin?" She rounds on Ironwood, voice raising with each word. "And you! Young mister Arc may be exceptionally strong and skilled for a man his age, but that is hardly..." She trails off, the recovered–Ozpin really does need to thank Azazel for recovering all of the tampered with security camera footage, he has always prided himself on knowing everything taking place on the grounds of any institution he has run–recording of Miss Nikos ill-fated and one-sided with the now late Suriel playing clearly on James' scroll having immediately captured her attention. She slumps bonelessly back into the chair she had been standing in front of when she realizes how the fight is likely to end. Anger shifts to fear and worry as it becomes clear that what to her still probably looks like a Faunus of some sort is toying with Miss Nikos. With a tap on his scroll, Miss Nikos Aura level is displayed on the screen as well, and Glyndas expression becomes one of terror as the Fallen Angel cuts her through her aura time repeatedly and mercilessly.

Glynda calms some, when Jaune-wings on full display and his blade in its true, fate altering form–and the rest of his team–arrive to rescue their wounded friend. She shifts, looking ready to ask a question. Ozpin holds up his hand. James' idea is a solid one, but Glynda will need to watch the entire recording for it to have the full and desired effect on her. He has to look away when Suriel exsanguinates poor Miss Nikos to create an opening for his own escape. He had known several mages who could have developed a similar technique during his first life were their twisted minds creative enough, and the what if's borne of that knowledge are, unpleasant, to say the least. When Mr. Arc reincarnates his partner, then proceeds to teleport the both of them to safety, James closes the recording. "I... have questions." Glynda states bluntly after a long, pregnant pause. Ozpin motions for her to ask them. "First, Mr. Arc, he… resurrected, Miss Nikos?"

"Reincarnated, actually. As a Devil in his service," James clarifies, the audio on the recording was fairly spotty, to be perfectly honest. "A one time only opportunity for any sentient with a soul." He pauses, then adds, "Before you ask, no, there is no compulsion or mental manipulation tied to the process, though from what I've been told there are, other, reasons that an individual who has been reincarnated will stay loyal to their King beyond gratitude."

Glynda arches an eyebrow at that. "King?"

"A technical term that we will explain in good time Glynda." Ozpin smoothly replies.

Her expression stays harsh, and she crosses her arms under her bosom. "Oh? Would it not make more sense for the two of you to bring in someone more qualified to explain things to me?"

Ozpin shrugs noncommittally. "The essays Port and Oobleck assigned the freshmen likely has Mr. Arc's team too busy with their coursework for summoning one of them to be a reasonable course of action." He pauses, desperately wishing Glynda hadn't dumped his mug of cocoa, his throat going increasingly dry as the minutes tick on. "Furthermore, all three of the Fallen Angels present at Beacon–including both of the two that are members of the staff here–are busy with even more pressing matters. That said, I have been working with a group of refugee Fallen Angels since just before the formation of our circle, and can vouch for James' knowledge on Supernatural matters to be sufficient to aid in bringing you up to speed by now."

"By all means then." Glynda replies, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "Enlighten me."

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Loved it? Hated it? Have a large surplus supply of tactical cheese wheels you're looking to sell? Drop a review, I love that shit!

But, yea. I had planned on having the bigger meetup between Rias' peerage in this chapter as well, but didn't wanna bloat up to ~30k words again on accident, heh. So thats garunteed next chapter. Again, sorry about the wait.

Beta'd by MasterPrince713 and Hybrid Theory