Yang felt powerful. Her hair was immaculate, her lips were colored a bright red, and the sleeveless yellow cheongsam showed off the slight pump she'd worked up before getting ready. She was hyped beyond belief for her date with Blake, and she couldn't keep the bright smile off her face. Shit, was she shaking? Her Scroll buzzed, a message from her date appearing on the screen. Just seeing her name made Yang smile. According to her message, she was on her way to the docks.

The way the click-clack of her yellow heels resonated through the halls of Beacon made her feel like a star, and she had to fight the urge to run. She did speed her pace up, though.

Not immediately seeing Blake at the docks set off alarm bells in her head. Was Blake standing her up? No, she wouldn't do that. Blake was better than that. Was Blake in trouble? A small flame— one she hadn't felt at all since she'd started prepping— began to flare up inside of her. If that bastard had come back for her, she would—

"Hey." Blake's voice made Yang jump out of her skin and almost trip as she whirled around to see her date. She was going to give her an earful on sneaking up on her, but seeing Blake's date ensemble gave her pause. In fact, it gave her more than pause, it damn near gave her a heart attack. One, she was wearing a slim turtleneck, which was great, but not the kicker. She was wearing leather pants. Leather fucking pants! Blake! Wait, was she talking? Shit, Yang had been too focused on the leather fucking pants to listen. "... before the commercials start, and they've got proper food service, so we can eat there or go to a restaurant after."

Yang found herself nodding dumbly. Really, could she be expected to focus on their nightly plans while Blake was standing in all her leather pants-clad glory? Not like it mattered, right? Surely, Blake would lead her through the night, arm-in-arm, before bringing her to some romantic spot that she kept secret to everyone except Yang where she read and thought about all the roman— Dust, not even Ruby rambles like this. Damn, those boots were nice too, and Yang could see the muscles of her calves straining against the tight leather as she walked. Wait, when had they started walking?

"Are you alright, Yang?" Blake asked, and it was only then that Yang realized she had been guiding her to the next airship by the hand. "You're awfully quiet."

Yang shook her head, bringing her attention back to the present. "Y-yeah, just a little zoned out." She chuckled nervously.

Blake gave her an odd look as they boarded the airship. "Zoned out? That's not like you."

Yang blushed. Like a schoolgirl. Dust, she was smitten. "Uh, yeah, you just look… really nice." Really nice? That all you got, Xiao Long?

Blake's lips turned up into a lovely smile that Yang wished she could non-creepily take a picture of. Wait, would that be creepy? Maybe later… "I could never look as gorgeous as you, though." Blake stated like it was a simple, undeniable fact of life. Fuck, how is she so much better at this? Apparently erotic fiction makes you some kind of charm-savant.

Yang wanted to respond in any way other than just blushing, but how could she? Blake was charming the pants off her! Dust, the way Blake was looking at her made her want to cry. In a good way! She looked so genuine… Those amber eyes like lighthouses in a storm. Yang felt like she was falling into them, enclosed on all sides by them. Still blushing!

Blake's smile turned into a slightly nervous smirk. "I must be doing a good job if you're blushing this much."

Yang turned and hid her face in her partner's shoulder. "Please don't make fun of me." She mumbled, her voice muffled against the fabric of the sweater.

She felt a hand ruffling her hair— and really, she should be angry that someone would touch her hair, but the fact that it was Blake made it feel… incredibly comforting. Yang leaned into it. "Sorry." Blake whispered.

Yang hummed and pulled back, leaving her head to rest on Blake's shoulder. "You're good." She affirmed.

Dust, she felt comfortable. The airship hummed quietly, and a couple people were muttering in their own conversations. The air was cool and crisp, and tasted faintly artificial. Blake was warm, though. And she was still running her hand through her hair.

The ride ended too quick for Yang, she could've stayed like that forever. The airship shook as it landed, the voice of the pilot releasing the crowd of passengers into the docks of Vale proper. The walk from the docks to the commercial district was a short one, but it was nonetheless pleasant. Vale was, as always, immaculate. The streets somehow had a perpetual freshly-paved quality to them, and the sidewalks very rarely had any kind of trash. Having her arm around Blake's made the walk even better of course.

Pedestrian traffic was minimal, given the late hour. Dim street lights kept the path well-lit in conjunction with the reflections from the shattered moon; It was quiet, too, the only background sound being the dull roar of cars on distant roads.

The movie theater was tucked sneakily between a jewelry store and a much more affordable clothing two walked in, flashed their tickets, and found their way to the appropriate screening room. Yang didn't actually know which movie Blake was taking her too, she'd let the latter do all the planning, but the poster outside the room told her that it would probably be boring. It was artsy, a few scant geometrical shapes slightly transparent over a reptilian Faunus' slit pupil. Yang didn't get it, but Blake looked at it as if she were appraising a contemporary art piece.

They sat in the back row of the relatively empty room. The other moviegoers mostly came in couples, but there were a few that came in alone. As the commercials ran, Yang found herself leaning as closely towards Blake as she could. She rested her head on her partner's shoulder, and slowly laced their fingers together.

They had opted to order a small pizza— one half pepperoni, the other half with anchovies— which was delivered around ten minutes into the movie. Yang had a really hard time paying attention to the movie, but she thought it was cool that it was in black and white. She wasn't sure if it was one of those artistic dialogue-less films, though, since she'd spent most of the time focusing on Blake's breathing rather than paying much attention to whether the characters were speaking or not. "Yang." Blake whispered.

"Mhmm?" Yang replied, trying her best not to doze off against her partner.

"The movie is over."

Yang scanned the room. Yep. Empty. "Just us." Yang murmured.

Yang felt her nod in agreement.

"All alone in a theater." Yang drawled.

Yang felt Blake sigh. Too much? Blake muttered something that Yang couldn't hear, and when Yang looked at her, she found her lips being taken by Blake's.

In eighteen years, Yang had kissed many people. Boys, girls, a couple on the in-between. Some were good, some were bad. Now, in terms of technical ability, Blake was by no means her best; She had approached too quickly, mashing their lips together and causing a little discomfort, her hands were firmly not on Yang, and she didn't seem to realize that she can breathe while kissing. All in all, an okay kisser. Beyond the technical basis, though, Blake was easily her favorite. The moment their lips touched, Yang felt reinvigorated, the fire of what was once rage alighting anew with passion. The feeling of Blake on her lips. Yang found herself clutching Blake's sweater to keep herself grounded.

Bad move.

The moment Yang got a fistful of sweater, Blake seized up, taking a sharp inhale as she froze. Yang felt a weight of dread drop into her stomach immediately, and she pulled back quickly. "Blake? Are you okay? I'm sorry." Yang breathed out, her voice still husky.

Blake seemed to be lost, her eyes looking at something far beyond what Yang could see. Yang gingerly reached out to her, but Blake returned before she could touch her. Her amber eyes were wide with panic, her pupils having narrowed into slits. Thankfully, she wasn't scrambling to get away, but by the way she was breathing and shaking she was clearly on the edge of doing so.

"Blake," Yang called slowly, trying her best to keep her voice low and calm, like how she used to talk to Ruby. "Blake, it's okay. You're with me, we're in a movie theater, we were kissing."

For a few moments, Blake looked at her like she was about to pounce, and not in a good way either; more like a cornered animal about to fight. Her jaw was clenched and set forward, her ears standing tall and twitching about, and she was gripping the upholstery of the armrests so hard that the material was ripping. Yang was, quite frankly, horrified, but she tried her best to keep a calm expression.

When it looked like Blake was just about to bolt, her eyes zeroes in on Yang's and she let out a long, shaky exhale, her muscles relaxing as she breathed. "Y-Yang," Her look of fear was turning into embarrassment, her face was turning red. "Dust, I'm so sorry, I—"

"No, no, no," Yang cooed. "Don't be sorry, it's okay. It's not your fault, Blake."

Dust, Blake was crying, now. She hid her face in her palms and cried silently, her sobs wracking her body as her muffled voice came through. "We were having such— I wasn't even having a bad time! I was happy! Why?"

"Can I hug you?" Yang asked, afraid to do it on her own and set her off again.

Blake nodded, and Yang gently took her in her arms. The position was uncomfortable, and Yang had to separate to raise the arm rest before embracing her again, but it seemed to be calming Blake down. Blake was babbling apologies, and it was all Yang could do to rub her back and mumble sweet words. A server came walking down their row towards them, but Yang kept him away with a fierce glare. "It's okay, Blake," Yang said softly, her gaze still boring a hole in the retreating server's back. "Come on, let's get up slowly and get home." Home felt like a better word to use than our dorm.

Blake nodded against her chest and got up on shaky legs, careful to keep some hold on Yang at all times. "I'm so sorry, Yang, I…" She trailed off into a sniffle and a sob. Yang just frowned and pulled her closer, making the walk a little more difficult but worth it if it made her partner feel safer.

"Do you think you can make it back to Beacon?" Yang asked. "I can pay for a hotel."

Blake shook her head. "No, I'll be fine, I just… I'm so sorry, Yang, I ruined our date with my—"

"You didn't ruin our date," Yang insisted, interrupting Blake before she could insult herself. "I had a wonderful time, and we can have another. If you want."

"Another?" Blake asked, still not able to look up and meet Yang's eyes.

Yang nodded. "We can have another."

"But I might—"

"No buts." Yang stated. "We can have another."

It seemed like Blake wanted to say more, but Yang cut her off by humming. She hummed the lullaby Summer used to sing for Ruby, the one she had to sing for Ruby once her mother was gone. Thankfully, it seemed to captivate Blake, who remained silent for the rest of the trip to the Vale docks.

They drew a few stares on the ship, but the majority of passengers didn't care much about the Faunus who buried her face in the blonde's shoulder. To Yang, it felt like Blake was whispering something against her skin, but she very well may have drifted off to sleep. Crying does make one tired.

Yang would carry her back if she had to. Hopefully Ruby and Weiss were still out.


James Ironwood looked in the mirror, a frown creasing his features as he saw his reflection. Hair greying at the sides, a ghost of a beard, once-blue eyes faded almost to grey. Seemingly permanent dark rings made his eyes look sunken, and his cheeks were almost gaunt. His bare body bore the signs of wars fought, especially with… James hated it. He hated to see that part of himself. He should have died that day… with everyone else. That was the day Jay died, the boy with a bright, fresh face and a whole body. The boy who called his revolver Pantheon and said the bullets in it were his gods. He remembered when Madeline would laugh at that. Madeline. Remus. Lucas. They never got to be specialists…

The mirror was broken. He'd shattered it, the cuts on his knuckles told him, but he didn't remember breaking it. They were bleeding quite a bit.. He didn't care. Blood dripped onto the dark carpet below him, soaking into the threads for a few moments before his Aura healed the wound. He turned his back to the mirror, his eyes sweeping over the rest of the captain's quarters. It smelled faintly of aftershave, and the rumbling hum of the ANV Eisschwert filled the room with white noise. The restroom door was wide open, a small amount of steam still pouring out of it, and one could easily track Ironwood's movements via the wet footprints tracked across the carpet from the bathroom to the wardrobe.

It didn't take him long to suit up, but it always felt like ages. He hated the monkey suit he was meant to parade around in. He missed the Specialist armor, the head-to-toe state-of-the-art suit used to make him feel like he was born and raised on the battlefield. Now, though, he felt like a child. A pawn in the Council's games, the dog to fetch Jacques' stick, Ozpin's laughingstock… General James Ironwood. He scoffed. He never should've left the Specialists.

Briefly, as he was buttoning his jacket, he caught something familiar in the back of the closet. Filled with a sweet nostalgia, he pulled it out and felt the soft material in his fingers. His old Specialist beret. He slowly brought it up to his face. He knew it didn't smell like it used to, but some part of his mind told him that it did. A little comfort. He wanly fitted it onto his head, reveling in the feeling of wearing it again.

Almost absentmindedly, he reached into his closet again, his hand retrieving Panthe— Due Process from the hidden panel. He felt its weight in his hand. Heavy, full cylinder. For a few long, silent moments, he simply stood there, eyes closed, trying to remember who Jay had been.

Nothing came.

He felt nothing. Jay was gone. Just James, now. An old man, standing like a fool in his quarters, beret on his head like he was trying to relive his glory days. Dust, what a pity. Before he realized it, he felt the cool metal of the revolver nuzzled gently against his temple. Just a little pressure was all it needed. It was his bionic half, too, so there would be no mistake. General James Ironwood found dead in his quarters, wearing his Specialist beret and sporting a brand new bullet wound. He inhaled deeply, feeling the revolver's trigger give resistance against his finger. Just—

A pair of sharp knocks rapped against his door. Winter, judging by the spacing. He sighed, dropping the revolver into its appropriate holster and tossing the beret deep into his closet. He cleared his throat, trying to make it seem like he hadn't almost killed himself. "Specialist Schnee?"

Her voice came muffled through the door. "Permission to enter?"

"Granted."

Winter pushed the door open and waited inside the threshold. When Ironwood gave her his attention, she bowed to a sharp 45 degree angle, her left foot slightly behind her right. The formal Atlesian salute, something Ironwood used to do for his superiors. Not many of those, now. "At ease." Ironwood insisted.

Winter stood up straight again, ramrod straight, of course, as Schnees do. "I would like to thank you for allowing me to see my sis—" Winter paused, her expression shifting (only in miniscule amounts, of course, as Schnees do) to something that might resemble concern. "Are you okay, General?"

Ironwood stared straight into her eyes, his expression deadpan. "No, Specialist Schnee, I am not. In fact, I was just about to kill myself when you came in."

There was a snort, a single highly undignified snort from Winter, and James watched her go a little red faced as she held back a bark of laughter. Specialist humor. He allowed himself a little smirk. He used to laugh at the same shit.

Winter took a fair few moments to recompose before speaking again. Couldn't have a Schnee slipping up and almost sounding human while speaking, that would be unthinkable. Ironwood mentally slapped himself. Can't blame the poor girl, blame Jacques… "As I was saying," Winter continued. "I wanted to thank you for giving me time to see Weiss. I am in your debt."

Great. It's not like she's under his employ or anything. "Excellent." Ironwood said. "You may consider your debt erased if you go down to the mess and get me some coffee. Hazelnut, two sugars."

Winter nodded, completely serious. "I will return shortly." And with that, she left the room.

He was left alone again. James enjoyed having her around. The overly serious attitude could be endearing at times. If only the poor girl had been raised better, she wouldn't have to be a Specialist. Ugh, thinking about fatherhood made his chest hurt. The gun felt heavy in its holster. He missed them.

Winter returned quickly, a steaming paper cup of coffee in her hands. Ironwood took it, giving her a grateful nod. She lingered. Schnees do that. Lingering until the room's atmosphere is just a little uncomfortable, and only then do they keep talking. At least it was good coffee.

When the atmosphere of the room was sufficiently unbalanced, Winter spoke up. "I do have a more serious report."

Ironwood scowled into his cup. "Go on."

Winter looked around a little awkwardly. She wanted to sit, but the only chair Ironwood had in his room was in front of his desk. She did this every time she had to give him a report in his quarters. He motioned politely to the bed, which Winter took as adequate permission to take a seat at its edge. "The Vacuan ambassador to Menagerie was assassinated."

Ironwood frowned even more deeply. "Marital?"

Winter nodded. "Larun Marital, yes."

That was the one who waffled on about Ozpin and his 'plans', as if he was the only one who knew. Oz is always up to something. "Culprit?"

Winter cleared her throat. "He was a Hunter from Vale. That's what the embassy guards said, and it's what the camera footage shows. He escaped in a cargo airship, but it disappeared after it took off. No one knows where it landed."

If he'd been holding his mug in his bionic hand, it would've been crushed. "A Hunter from Vale?"

"Ozpin and the Vale Council have vehemently denied sending any kind of agent."

"Vacuo's response?"

"They are insisting that Ozpin is hiding the assassin, and they are demanding that he be handed over to them."

"Is that all?"

"There are riots around the Vale embassy in Vacuo, and the Vacuan Council have threatened compliance with the rioters."

Ironwood raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure that no one knows where the culprit is?"

"The airship he took to escape was identified, but it disappeared between Vale and Menagerie."

"Assuming it was going to Vale." Ironwood added.

Winter hummed in agreement. "Yes, assuming it was going to Vale. Unfortunately, there have been no reports of a ship matching its description docking anywhere. They could have landed on an uncharted island and swapped to a boat, they could have scuttled the airship overseas, they could have—"

"I understand. We have no clue where the perpetrator is." Ironwood cut in.

Winter had no response, seemingly having said everything she needed to say. She stood from the bed, and offered him one more statement before moving to the door. "Thank you again, General, for letting me see Weiss."

Ironwood waved it off. "It's not that serious. You work too hard, anyways; I won't begrudge you time off to see an injured family member."

It looked like Winter wanted to object to that, but she opted to stay silent as she moved to exit.

Before she left, though, she turned to Ironwood, her face suddenly awash with conviction. Her hand smacked against the center of her chest, right over the heart. She gripped it powerfully, leaving creases in her uniform. The other Atlesian salute. The one that someone would only give to their fellow soldier, someone they trusted with their life, something Ironwood used to do. Not something that anyone would do unless they meant it. It was the last thing Remus did…

And for a second, James saw them. One of them. All of them. Where Winter was, their silhouette, each one saluting to him. Each wore their death mask. Madeline's jaw unhinged, her face broken and covered with blood, Remus' hand covering the hole in his chest, Lucas with his lower half missing. Their presence called to James. Some part of him wanted to be with them. The gun felt heavy in its holster.

Just like that, they disappeared as Winter shot straight up again, her heels clicking together as she spun around and left the room. Thankfully, she had left before she could see the tears welling up in James' eyes. He wiped them away quickly. He still had work to do.