Notice: Due to an awards ceremony that I have to organise, foot questions over and chair in September, I'm going to be taking the week starting Monday 12th – Sunday 18th September off. I'll be back Monday 19th.
Cover Art: GWBrex
Chapter 14
Jacques Schnee donates fifty million to charity in wake of board's resurrection; the families of those who missed out say it isn't enough and call for clarity on why their children were left to perish.
Atlas Times
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Honeymoon period ending: Jaune Arc faces criticism by ungrateful Atlas citizens
Vale Daily Tribune
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Pyrrha Nikos makes history by claiming third championship title
The Mistral Review
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Council of Atlas rejects calls for new diplomatic visit citing security concerns
Vacuo Today
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Blow against EVIL Schnee Dust Company UNDONE by "unbiased" Jaune Arc
Kuo Kuana Express
.
"How did your son die?"
"He was rushing along the poolside at the swimming centre and slipped."
Idiots. The child, the parents, the helpless lifeguards and those who should have intervened to tell the child off; Jaune took a moment to silently curse and despise each and every one of them before he turned away, activated his Semblance and began to process of bringing him back. The boy had been wrapped up in a dressing gown but had swimming trunks on underneath. He spluttered and rose, and his parents surged forward to embrace him, sobbing and crying and telling him it would all be okay.
Jaune hid his scowl, knowing the watching doctors would only gossip about it later and then that news would get out and reflect poorly on him. It had been weeks since his ill-fated comment to the news crews, and even after four or five weeks they were still going on about it. They were going on about the Schnee family too, and how he'd brought them back ignoring the coveted list that so many people longed to be placed on. It was harsh to think it, but he was grateful that Weiss' father was getting as much stick as he. Not that he deserved it either – the decision to go had been made by General Ironwood and the Council – but misery shared was misery lessened.
"That's the last one," said Jaune, to Vine. The pale man nodded and informed the doctors, who were quick to try and usher the parents out the room.
The father called out before they could: "Thank you! Thank you so much! I think you're doing great – no matter what everyone else is saying."
"Thank you," said Jaune, smile as plastic as his words. "Please keep an eye on your son in the future, or teach him not to ignore warning signs."
And save me having to waste time bringing him back. It was a sharp, cruel and pitiless sentiment that he could no less pretend he didn't feel. People talked about how the SDC board being brought back was unfair, but at least their deaths were sudden and unstoppable – other than catching the White Fang. The ones he cured in the hospital today were all easily preventable. He had asked the cause of each and every one, always to the parents, and left some squirming as they said out loud what had happened and realised just how pathetic they were. Some did anyway, and he supposed those were the good ones. More than half didn't even realise they were at fault.
Strangulation with clothing catching on a door handle; drowning in a lake because no one stopped the girl going out too far or noticed her struggling; not holding a boy's hand so he ran out into traffic without waiting for the lights to change; leaving medication within reach of a curious toddler. Very few of them were the fault of the children, but very few of them were faultless at all. One or two were, and he grudgingly accepted that, but about fifteen of his lot today had been pointless deaths that were less tragic accidents and more tragic negligence.
"Ready to go?" asked Elm, smiling brightly, as she had been the last week or so. He wasn't sure what she had to smile at, but she kept nudging and trying to tease him. "You going to meet with your girlfriend and have a little private time, hmmm?"
"Weiss is busy." He was too, to be honest, and he didn't want to spend time with her now, when he was in such a bad mood. It'd only show and drag the mood down. "I'm going to go ask General Ironwood why it's taken however many weeks it's been since Vacuo to get my personal trainer."
"Are Vine and I not enough?" asked Elm.
They'd been great, actually, and he said so honestly, earning a relieved look. He didn't want to attribute blame where it didn't exist, especially not when his words – innocent or not – apparently had the power needed to dictate headlines. "It's just that you both have other responsibilities like looking making sure I'm safe, and I don't want to make you have to work evenings as well."
"I don't mind," said Elm.
"No." Jaune shook his head firmly. He knew what it was like to be dragged out at all hours, and he wasn't going to make the Arc-Ops go through it. "You don't use a sword either – neither of you do. I want to learn to use a weapon."
"Fair enough. Shall we brave the hordes outside?"
He sighed, picked up his coat and pulled it on. "I guess…"
It was colder now, approaching winter, and Atlas was a chilly country to be in, with ice-capped mountains and some pretty harsh storms that could come in out of nowhere. Mantle was ironically a little warmer, with Atlas acting as a windbreaker to some parts of it, but he still had to wear a grey and white coat with a fur-lined hood and big puffy sleeves. Jaune tucked his hands into his pockets rather than wearing his gloves, nodded and followed Elm and Vine out the hospital doors, out into the cold air and the throng of journalists, protesters and – a new addition – hecklers.
He had faunus hecklers skirting the law by shouting he should have let the Schnee die; he had anti-faunus hecklers heckling the first and calling for them to be sent back to Menagerie; he even had those shouting for him to spend time going around more wards, serving a third period in the hospital to really leave him a vegetable.
Jaune ignored them. It was easier now, practiced, and he walked past their shouting voices and also past the newscasters and journalists who tried to stab him with microphones and piercing questions.
"-calls for the Schnee to submit a full year's earnings in restitution-"
"-White Fang announced you a public enemy-"
"-marriage with Weiss Schnee?"
"Jaune Arc!" shouted one. "What do you say to claims that the aid package to Ansel is too large and should be scaled back for more pressing and immediate investment in Atlas-? Mr Arc? Mr Arc, a word please!"
The mic buffeted against his chest as he walked through it, eyes locked ahead and narrowed against the biting wind. There were more questions, all blurring together, but he walked past and through them, climbed into the back of the APC and let Vine close the door behind him. He sat, strapped himself in and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.
"Are you… okay…?" asked Elm.
"I'm fine."
/-/
"I apologise," said General Ironwood. "I have been searching for the correct tutor for you. It hasn't been easy-"
"Why?" At Ironwood's surprised expression, surprise at the question or that he would answer back at all, Jaune explained, "I'd like to know why it's difficult."
"There is a question of trust. A tutor will have easy access to both you and your family and could abuse that. They might not necessarily harm you, but they could feed anything you say to the media or sell access to you – even sell information, belongings or interview material to newspapers. Finding someone who won't commit treason and harm you is easy; finding someone who will in no way be tempted by a large bribe to hide a recording device on their person is harder. I thought I'd found the perfect one…"
"But?"
"It's… complex…"
"Confidential?" asked Jaune.
Ironwood closed his eyes, sighed and set down his pen. Jaune did not enjoy interrupting him, but it had been months since Vacuo and he still didn't have his tutor. Maybe it was rude and impatient of him, but those months had felt like years, and he needed the distraction of training to keep him away from things like newspapers, the television or Weiss. All three would just make things worse.
"The one I found would have been ideal," said Ironwood. "She is a skilled combatant, an experienced fencer and loyal beyond a doubt. The issue… The issue is that she is Winter Schnee."
Jaune had not met her but he'd heard Weiss talk of her. "Weiss' sister."
"Yes. That wouldn't have been a problem before, but after bringing back the SDC Board I'm not sure if you having a Schnee for a personal tutor will be taken well. It's liable to lead to further accusations of favouritism."
"That's happening anyway."
"Yes," accepted Ironwood, "but we're hoping that will stop."
"Why bother?" asked Jaune caustically. "Let them think what they want. If you pick a faunus, I'll be virtue signalling. If you pick a Schnee, I'll be corrupt. You could pick a nine year old child innocent of every crime but existence and someone would assume I'm grooming them. Haven't you been telling me to just ignore what the media says?"
"I have, but I didn't want to add more to your plate."
"My plate is full. Let it overflow for all I care. I'll take Winter."
General Ironwood watched him carefully and then, after a long pause, said, "Dr Seng tells me you haven't visited him for a while."
"I've been busy. As you know."
"I do, and I apologise for all the work, but it might do you good to talk with him and get things off your mind."
"I'm fine," said Jaune, repeating what he'd told Elm. "I don't need more therapy. What I need is something I can throw myself into to forget about the healing and the media and all those idiots. That's healthy, isn't it? Everyone always says working out is a healthy way to deal with stress."
"You admit that you feel stress, then?" Jaune fixed him with a flat glare, and Ironwood chuckled. "Right. My apologies. Well, if you are certain then I will instruct Specialist Schnee to make herself available to you this afternoon. Are there any instructions you would like me to give her in advance? Anything you would feel more comfortable I tell her than you?"
He was about to say no, then thought about it, then winced and thought about it some more before saying, "Can you ask her not to bring up me and Weiss? Like, at all."
Ironwood smiled. "Worried her big sister instincts will make things difficult?"
"Yes." The lie came easily. "I want to learn to fight and train, not talk about my relationship."
"I'll make sure she knows." He picked up his pen and glanced down at his work. "If that is all?"
"One last thing. My next diplomatic visit. When is that?"
"Two months from now," said Ironwood. "Mistral. We'll be staying there for three weeks before the Vytal Festival begins, then attending that for a week and leaving afterwards. You will be safer there than Vacuo. Mistral is taking their security seriously, and you'll be surrounded by an entire delegation at all times, not to mention all our students who will be competing."
"That's fine. I was just wondering." Jaune stepped back to the door. "Thank you for your time, sir."
"It's fine. And Jaune," called out Ironwood, right before he could leave. "Put some thought into visiting Dr Seng. Even if you believe you don't need to, even if you're fine, sometimes having someone to talk candidly to can help more than you realise."
"I'll think about it," lied Jaune.
/-/
Coming home was the hardest part of the day. It wasn't because his parents were a pain or that his sisters were obnoxious – the opposite in both regards. Seeing his sisters being happy about having normal lives was, without question, the best part of being in Atlas. He loved nothing more than to sit there and listen to them talk about making friends, getting into trouble, dealing with bullies and embarrassing themselves in class. He loved it because it let him live vicariously and pretend it was him in those situations instead of being shuttled from hospital to hospital to public media appearance and then back again. It was a relief after a hard day.
So, no, that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was taking a deep breath, plastering a dumbass smile on his face, flinging the door open and saying, "Mom! Dad! I'm home!"
Nicholas was in, a rare occurrence, but he wanted to stay and come to the Vytal Festival to keep an eye on them during it. He looked up from where he was reading a cookery book at the table and chatting with Juniper. "Hey there." He smiled, grinned and set the book down. "You seem to be in a good mood today. Something good happen?"
"I was texting Weiss."
"That's sweet." Mom was looking the other way and trying, by the looks of things, to figure out how to make some complicated Atlas dish using an app. That explained the book in dad's hands. "Things are going well between you?"
"No complaints that I've been told. I'm not sure Weiss would tell me if there were any problems though."
"She would if she was a good communicator."
"Which no one is at their age," said Nicholas. He sent Jaune a reassuring smile and said, "Just keep an eye out for if she looks bored or sounds like she'd rather be anywhere else. That's the usual sign that something is going wrong. When one person isn't enjoying themselves, it's time to see if you can't improve it or if there is a deeper problem."
"Right." Jaune looked around. "The girls still at school?"
"Yeah, but I'm happy to keep you com-"
"You are helping me work this blasted recipe, Nicky!" growled Juniper. Nicholas winced, shot Jaune an apologetic look and picked up the cookery book again. "Damn it all! How hard can this be? It's a stew for crying out loud. They're supposed to be simple!"
Jaune felt his smile become just a little less pretend as he watched Nicholas stand and croon and try to calm Juniper down. It didn't work, and she only got angrier because she thought he was patronising her, and then it ended, as it always did, with her shouting and him rubbing her shoulders and kissing her neck until Jaune hurriedly fled to his room. He never knew what happened next, but, like his sisters, he knew he didn't want to find out.
Inside his room, he let his smile fall and let loose an agitated sigh. He felt better than he had before at the hospital, but even the cheer from seeing his parents so happy couldn't quite erase the frustration from before. It was hard to fully understand where the anger came from. A part of him felt it was from the manner of the deaths and the way in which he was used.
The SDC Board, no matter what the public said, was a horrific attack by terrorists, so bringing them back felt like he'd made a real difference. They had been murdered in an event that was entirely not their fault, and that wouldn't have happened if not for the actions of one bad person. He had essentially righted a wrong by going there.
The hospital… It was different. He wouldn't say those children didn't deserve to live or did deserve to die, because that wasn't true, but with the SDC he knew that when he brought them back they wouldn't die again. Not unless another terrorist came. Bringing those children back, well, they might wander into traffic again or run at the pool or play too hard on the swings. Why not? They hadn't suffered any real consequences the first time, at least from their point of view. A few of those parents would hopefully take more care and look after their kids now that they'd experienced the grief of losing them for even a few hours, but most would shrug and carry on their lives, assuming – and being right to do so – that the first instance had been an accident.
He hadn't righted a wrong in those cases. He had fixed a stupid mistake. It was, he imagined, like the difference between a police officer handing out a parking ticket and putting a dangerous criminal away. Both were parts of the job, but one was much more fulfilling than the other.
He had been healing in Atlas now for over six months, and that was six months of thirty-six people a day. The maths wasn't his strongest suit, but he pulled out his scroll and put in the numbers quickly. Assuming exactly half a year, and thirty-six people per day, that meant he'd resurrected…
"Six thousand five hundred and seventy people…"
That… That was a lot. Jaune let his scroll fall, and dropped back onto his bed, stunned. He hadn't kept count obviously, but he hadn't thought it was quite that many. Before Atlas, and with Ansel, he'd probably healed at least another thousand, if not more, so he'd helped over seven and a half thousand people since unlocking his Semblance.
Maybe that's it, thought Jaune. Maybe I'm just bored…
The same thing, over and over, unchanging and without any nuance on his part. At least a surgeon or a doctor had to contend with different illnesses and conditions, learn how to do various different surgeries and then perform them. He just rocked up, activated his Semblance and did his job, then left and repeat. Over and over, for half a year now, and quite likely for the next half a century as well. Fifty years, if not more, of repeating this day after day, week after week, month after month and year after year.
Normal people got to change their careers and mix things up. He never would. Even if he tried, even if he could deal with all the hate and the condemnation from those who would curse his name for refusing to use the gift he'd been given, it wouldn't stop people trying to force him. This wasn't an Atlas problem, nor even an Ansel problem. Wherever he went, whatever kingdom he settled into, it would all be the same.
He'd never be anything more than a slave to his Semblance.
/-/
Winter Schnee was not used to feeling nervous, but she had been on being summoned to General Ironwood's office and informed that she was, contrary to prior instructions, being instated as Jaune Arc's personal combat tutor. It was a position she had been proud to earn prior, then disappointed to learn she'd lost. It hadn't been due to any issues on her end however, more outside forces, so there had been no stigma about it.
To reclaim it again at what was apparently the boy's request had left her at first confused, and then concerned, especially when General Ironwood made it clear she was not to bring up her sister around him. Winter hadn't exactly planned to, but having it said made her wonder if there was a reason she should not, and that left her wondering what Jaune Arc wanted of her. He was dating her sister, had resurrected her father's Board of Directors and even a few of her uncles and cousins, and now she was waiting in a training room for his arrival, dressed up to the nines with a freshly pressed uniform, her hair more meticulously brushed than usual and her mind awhirl.
Would he be a good student? Bad? The results of this could dictate the course of her career, and he had influence to control that. One bad word to General Ironwood could have her stripped of her post and her image forever tainted in his mind. This was an opportunity for sure, as good words could further her career, but it all depended on how much Jaune Arc enjoyed her tutelage. It also opened the troubling door of possible bribery and blackmail, both of which she was determined to rise above if needs be.
When she eventually saw him, escorted by Elm and Vine – two experienced Specialists that she had great respect for – the first thing that Winter thought was that he looked worn. He was tired, slouching and dragging his sword with him. Not literally dragging it along the floor, but more than the scabbard was hanging low and he wasn't controlling it with his hand, so it kept slipping back and threatening to trip him.
Elm and Vine explained that they would be staying – to watch her, no doubt; Winter hid her discomfort at the implication she was untrustworthy – and then she was left with the boy. He looked up at her, introduced himself with a quiet "Hello" and then waited.
"Hello," said Winter, shaking his hand. "I am Winter Schnee. I am a Specialist of Atlas, huntress-trained and proficient in the sword." She brought hers up, disconnecting the knife from the sabre so he could see it. "Fencing is a little different to using a longsword like yourself, but many of the fundamental steps are the same. Enough that I can help build your foundations. Before we start, can I ask exactly what it is you want from this? Not to judge," she assured him, "but so that I know what to focus on."
He seemed to understand, which he was grateful for. "I want to be more self-reliant, and I want to have something I can dedicate my time to and improve on."
The latter was strange, especially for him to stress it so, but she understood more than she imagined many others would. As the former heiress to the SDC, she had once felt like her life was laid out for her and that she had little to feel proud about. Training for her had also been an escape, and a hobby she could indulge in and call her own. That she'd loved it enough to leave her family and strike out on her own was something more, and she wasn't sure Jaune Arc would have that opportunity. If he wanted to have something his own that he could feel proud of however, then she could give him that.
"That's fine. Let's begin with some basic steps and footwork. Draw your sword."
The next hour was spent inching him into position, changing his grip and teaching him how to move. Winter could remember her own training being a little more forceful, and after the sixth time of her trying to gently prod him into the right spot, he lost his patience and said, "Just show me then! You can touch me, you know. I won't explode."
Idiot. Winter cursed herself and quickly moved, taking hold of him and forcing him into the right position. It wasn't fair to expect him to flounder about with unclear directions when she could just show him what she meant, and she'd obviously annoyed him by treating him like he was made of glass. I'd have hated that as well at his age, thought Winter, annoyed at herself for forgetting it.
She decided to make up for it by being more practical with showing him the consequences of poor footing, rushing him and shoving him down with a guard break. He flew back, hit training mats with a grunt and rubbed his back. "That's what bad footwork leads to," said Winter, a little worried he might despise her, but pleased to see that while he did scowl, it was more competitive. He rose to his feet and tried again. This time, he was pushed back but stayed on his feet.
"Better. Footwork is something you'll always be improving on. I can teach you to stand still perfectly, and I will, but once you learn to move and attack it'll all fall apart again." Winter slowly made a show of moving forward and striking. "Watch my legs. I stamp down with my swing, using the movement to add force to the blow – but if you intercept before then, then your opponent has to adapt, and that can lead to disaster. This is why fighting in uneven or treacherous terrain is such a problem."
He took the lesson well, and Winter found some comfort in that, moving onto having him run, stop, and start again, basically getting used to quickly reacting and changing his footing. He's rough, she thought, but he's got some prior training, and he's putting the effort in. That's a relief.
Winter would never admit that the news stories about him had coloured her view of him, even if she knew it was inevitable. It really didn't matter how much you knew and accepted that headlines were exaggerated; you would still be affected by them. When twenty different newspapers on ten different days were all calling a person lazy, you started to wonder if maybe they couldn't all be wrong.
There was no smoke without fire, right?
Except there was. All the time. She knew that from her time as heiress, and after, when the media had been running in a frenzy trying to figure out if they admired or despised her for striking out on her own and being disinherited. There had been such terrible accusations and theories at the time, some painting her father as abusive and even having touched her inappropriately. Winter recalled shouting at a journalist that such had never happened, only it to be called a temper tantrum the next day. There was no winning.
To be in the public eye was to be a source of entertainment for people. Your job, whether you wanted it or not, was to be seen and admired and judged. People would support you one day and condemn you the next, and things like privacy didn't factor into it. You saw that every time a famous couple divorced. No one cared to give them space, let them be or stay out of it. Everyone wanted to have an opinion, a say, and to pick their favourite out of the two. That was probably why famous people so often married other famous people. It was hard for a non-famous partner to truly understand what it was like, and a relationship without equality was never going to work out.
Winter came back to reality in time to catch Jaune's sloppy swing, slide her sabre down to the cross guard then flick it down and up. The fencing move, deemed illegal in sport, caused his sword to fly out his grip and clatter a distance away.
"Don't lock blades with someone without purpose," said Winter. "If you had been pushing to cut through me then when I slid my weapon down, you would have cut my hand off. You didn't. You left your sword there defensively and let me decide what happens next." He was panting, sweating, but – and to her surprise – he looked happy. Hell, he looked positively thrilled, and she wasn't entirely sure why. Winter, in her confusion, defaulted to an icy tone and said, "Pick up your sword. We go again and again until you get this right."
"Yes Winter!" said Jaune.
/-/
"How was your training?" asked his dad, later, when Jaune was slumped out on the sofa.
"It was amazing."
"Really?" He set his scroll down, a bemused smile on his face. "And how is the tutor?"
"I think she hates me."
"Is that a joke or…?"
"She's cold, sharp, demands I pay more attention and knocked me on my ass every time I did something wrong." said Jaune. Nicholas looked like he was about to get up, find Winter and give her a piece of his mind, only to pause when Jaune sighed, blissfully, and said, "It's great."
"You… like her then…?"
Jaune's muscles were in agony. He felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder and squeezed into little strips. His body hurt, his lungs burned and his muscles were rigidly hard and aching with a near constant, dull, panging feeling. It was so painful that he could hardly think, barely move, and that he certainly couldn't worry about anything else. There was just no room for it. He couldn't even read the headline on dad's newspaper because his vision was blurry.
"It's perfect," whispered Jaune. "I love it."
Healthy coping mechanism or self-destructive avoidance strategy. You decide.
Jaune coming to hate his semblance and hate having to heal people over and over is something I wanted to gradually introduce into this from the start, playing on the idea of how doing the same thing over and over would get dull, but it would be worse if you were all but forced by societal expectation to keep doing it, with no room for change or freedom. The rewards are great, but if it comes with him literally having to submit his whole life to this one task then you can see why it would grate away at a person.
Even normal work, like what most of us do, is at least a little different. Slight variations in each job on a day-by-day basis, plus the chance to progress up the career ladder or quit and get a job somewhere else. Jaune doesn't have that, and he likely never will.
Next Chapter: 20th September (THREE WEEKS)
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