Ilia held her rain-slicked bare arms and shivered slightly as she moved into the dimly-lit main room of the tavern. The constant pattering of rain fell out of earshot as the door swung closed behind her and was immediately replaced by an overwhelming chorus of clinking glasses, scraping stools, and the soft sound of a badly-tuned radio sitting atop the edge of the bar. Ilia avoided the eyes of the patrons that turned to look her over as she made her way toward the bar itself. She knew that most of the faces would be familiar, and she also knew that she no longer had anything to say to any of them.

The bartender, a large, burly man with a pair of goat horns, looked up at Ilia from his station as he cleaned a glass with a dingy rag.

"Amitola. Thought you'd left by now."

"I wanted to, but… the storm's keeping me in town," she said with a grimace as she leaned forward against the bar, her fingers splayed out across the wooden surface. "I need a room, for one more night. The usual, if it's still available."

The barkeep shrugged and shook his head. "It's taken, doll."

Ilia's stomach sank as she feared the worst. "So kick them out," Ilia stated with a sneer. "I'm soaked, tired, and in no mood for bullshit right now." She gestured her hand down over the counter in a sweeping motion over the pools of water forming beneath her as more and more droplets fell from her face and shoulders. A few patrons turned to give her some quizzical looks, and one moved his stool slightly farther away after the display.

"Well, sweetheart, normally I would, but I'm not looking to get my ass kicked, tonight."

"I'm going to kick your ass if you stick me in some little corner room," Ilia threatened. The bartender merely rolled his eyes, and Ilia's scowl worsened as she leaned forward. "I've got a spot pretty high up on Adam's list, and he's not going to be happy if you treat me like some common grunt. Sleeping in a storm is bad enough, without being shoved into some second-rate li-"

Ilia sputtered as a fluffy white towel impacted the back of her head and draped itself over her face. Several fibers worked their way into her mouth and she made a sort of gagging sound as she worked to spit out the fabric before angrily clutching the cloth. The bartender howled with laughter as Ilia whirled, and she froze up as every muscle in her body tensed at the sight before her.

"Don't try to pull rank when bigger fish could be in the same pond, Ilia," Cinnamon lilted as she approached and mimicked the smaller girl's pose to lean on the bar. She cupped her chin in a hand with a bored look while the bartender tensed as well. Cinnamon blinked and shifted her eyes sideways to look at Ilia as she smirked. "Saw you come in, looking like a wet dog. Towel off, and maybe we can share the bed."

Ilia said nothing as she brought the towel back up over her face to hide her worried expression. She took several steadying breaths under the cover of the fabric as she listened in and tried to get a feel for Cinnamon's mood.

"So, uh, ma'am, I take it you w-want your usual?" the bartender stammered as he set down the clean glass.

"…the usual would be nice… though I forgot my card in my room," Cinnamon replied as she drummed her nails against the wooden counter with a rhythm of soft clicks.

"Not a problem, ma'am. It's on the house tonight, on account of the inconvenience."

"Mm," Cinnamon mused. "It is inconvenient being laid over in town for another night. Probably inconvenient for my friend, too," she added as the clicking stopped. Ilia ran the towel down over her ponytail and began to work at drying the sopping mass as she watched the remainder of the exchange with a worried look.

"…right," the bartender replied after a moment's hesitation. "Isn't she a little… you know, young?" he inquired as he let his eyes dart over to meet Ilia's. She said nothing, and the man let his eyes move back to Cinnamon as she stopped tapping her nails. One of the long, pointed spines jutting from Cinnamon's triceps twitched dangerously as she stopped drumming, and she narrowed her eyes. The bartender swallowed hard and turned as he began to work on the order.

Ilia rolled the towel into a small ball as she tried to process the interaction, and licked her lips. "…I'm okay, really…"

"Nonsense," Cinnamon replied with a wave of her hand. She brought the limb back down to the counter and began to tap her nails once again, eyes fixed on the bartender's back as she waited. "You need something to warm up, and you're right- you don't need more stress, right now. It seems to me like the situation here is getting to you," Cinnamon finished with a small smirk. Ilia shivered, and unrolled the towel to drape it over her shoulders.

"…I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Shoal."

"Cin," she corrected as she fixed Ilia with a pointed look. "When I said not to pull rank, I didn't just mean yours." Cinnamon turned to face Ilia fully, and leaned sideways against the counter as she narrowed her eyes. "And as far as what I meant… not here."

"Order's up, ladies," the bartender informed as he slid two highball glasses across the counter. Ilia caught them both, and flinched at the heat of the muted brown liquid radiating through the glass into her ungloved hand. She passed the glass over to Cinnamon almost immediately, and the older woman accepted it before taking the lemon wedge off the rim and sucking it dry.

Ilia furrowed her brows in confusion as she inhaled deeply, and tried to figure out the contents of the glass. An odd, yet familiar and heady aroma filled her nostrils as she sniffed, and let out a contented sigh.

"…spiced, spiked cider," Cinnamon informed as she pushed off the counter and tossed the dried lemon wedge into a nearby trashcan. She made a beckoning motion and began to walk, as Ilia followed. "Let's get back to the room, and have a little chat."

"Sure," Ilia replied as she fell in to walk beside Cinnamon. The pair made their way toward a hallway at the back of the main room, and the conversations at tables around them lowered in volume each time they passed a new group of faunus.

Cinnamon smirked and shot a young couple a wink as they walked by, only for both of the strangers to immediately look away. She rolled her eyes and gently nudged Ilia's elbow with her own in response.

"Tell me something. Why do you think we make such an impact in an otherwise lively room, Ilia?"

Ilia looked over at her companion, only to find her expression unreadable. "I… think it's mostly you, Cin. And I think it's fear."

"Fear," Cinnamon repeated as they reached the hall. She stopped walking and made a gesture for Ilia to take the lead, only to earn a confused look. "You go first. If you walk behind me, you're liable to get a spine to the throat."

"…right. Sorry," Ilia offered as she quickly moved to take the lead. "And I don't mean anything bad by that. I think the grunts are afraid of you."

"Maybe," Cinnamon replied as she followed along. "But I don't think I'm the only one. You and I have something in common, in their eyes. We're both seen alongside Adam."

Ilia bit her lip, suddenly thankful that Cinnamon couldn't see her face. "And… what does that mean?"

"You're a smart girl, as far as I can tell. Or, at the very least, a bold one."

Ilia felt that she could sense Cinnamon's smirk from behind her, and shivered slightly as she held the door to her usual room open to let her superior pass. "…I try my best, for the Fang."

"Of course you do," Cinnamon stated plainly as she moved into the small room. Ilia joined her, and stood uncomfortably by the door after shutting it behind herself. "So, what do you think it means?"

Ilia watched as Cinnamon sat upon the queen bed and began to sip at her cider. Ilia finally dared to take a drink of her own, and used the borrowed time to look briefly around the room. Everything was as she had left it- a small desk and chair, deep blue comforter atop the bed, a free-standing lamp, space heater, and projector bar for a holographic television atop a small wooden display cabinet.

"I… guess, because people are intimidated by Adam, they think we'll say something to him if they don't show us enough respect? Or they think we're as bad as he is." Ilia's hand spasmed and she nearly dropped her glass to the floor as she realized what she had said. "I-I… I don't mean 'bad' as in bad, I mean, in terms of being intimidating, like in a way that…"

Ilia's stammering ramble ended abruptly as Cinnamon raised a brow. Her facial expression and tone remained neutral as she spoke, though the fact did nothing to stem Ilia's fear.

"I know exactly what you meant. Calm down, would you? I'm not going to bite your head off," Cinnamon stated as she rolled her eyes. "The reason I'm asking is because I'd like to know what you think of it. Their reactions to us, I mean. Be honest. We're friends, after all."

Ilia took a deep breath, and an equally deep drink as she placed her back against the wood of the door. "…you've never called me 'friend' before. Or told me to call you 'Cin'. What's going on?"

Cinnamon shook her head with a devilish smile, and planted her free hand down into the comforter as she leaned slightly to one side. "Do people usually call each other 'friends', while the other person is standing right there? We've known each other for a few years, now, and we've never had any issues. Relax, would you? Unless you'd rather I order you to answer me."

Ilia's stomach twisted into knots, and she considered the option of simply turning and leaving. "You're asking me what I think about how your boyfriend emanates fear among the White Fang itself. How do you expect me to act?"

"Honestly," Cinnamon replied. "If I was out to get you, I would have told him that you went after the Belladonna girl and her little beau and botched the attempt, already. I haven't, and I don't plan to. It's honestly none of my business why you bothered."

Because you already know, Ilia thought to herself as she gripped her glass with both hands and stared into the dark liquid. "…fine. If this is really 'between friends', then I think it's… I think it's a shitty way to go about things, and I wish he would stop lashing out and making everyone hesitant to even approach him. It's counterproductive and makes him look bad... and it's clearly creating tension among the lower ranks, even toward us."

Cinnamon let out a small chuckle and drained her glass in a long, labored chug before putting it onto the desk and returning to her casual leaning posture. "…I agree."

"…oh," was all Ilia could manage to say.

"Adam is acting more and more like a petulant child as the days go by, for any number of reasons. Unlike a child, however, he carries a sword at all times and isn't afraid to use it to make a statement. It's only a matter of time before he slips, and I'm not putting myself between that blade and whoever sends him over the edge. I've told him that it needs to stop, but he isn't listening."

"No, he isn't," Ilia agreed. "I mean, I wouldn't dare to tell him to stop, but if you have, it isn't working. No offense."

"None taken," Cinnamon stated with a small wave of her glass.

"But," Ilia began, only to fall silent. Cinnamon gave her a curious look, and rotated a pointed finger to try to draw out the rest of Ilia's statement.

"But…?"

"I-it's nothing," Ilia stammered as she folded her arms and looked over to the side.

"…it's clearly not nothing," Cinnamon said. Ilia looked back over as Cinnamon's tone changed significantly- all hints of amusement and playfulness had left her voice, and she spoke in a pointed, serious way that Ilia seldom heard. "What happened?"

Ilia wrinkled her nose and sucked in a breath, before blowing it out between her lips in an effort at calming herself. "…the last time I was there, I found a body. One of ours, I mean. White Fang legs sticking out from beneath the flaps of Adam's tent, and a pool of blood. I don't know what happened, but he killed one of our own. That can't have been the only one."

Cinnamon's usual smirk turned down into a scowl as she spoke, her voice heavy and harsh. "Fear is a useful tool, but one that should be reserved for enemies. You understand tools pretty well in your job of tactical entry, don't you? Things to be used to finish what you can't, alone," Cinnamon mused.

Ilia swallowed, and merely took another sip.

"If the wrong tool is used for the wrong job, it just makes things harder… or, in some cases, ends up hurting you. Adam is just pulling the first thing he finds and forcing a fit, every time, for all jobs in and outside of the Fang. Real respect isn't built on fear, and without respect, the White Fang isn't going to grow or succeed beyond our current sphere of influence. Turning to humans isn't the answer, and neither is crushing dissent under a boot heel. If what you're saying is true, he's digging his own grave… and I'm not surprised. The future of the White Fang lies within a tactical mind," Cinnamon finished.

"So why bring me into this? Why tell me anything about your thoughts, or… criticize Adam's methods in front of me? Do you think I can do something to help fix this?" Ilia asked, afraid of the answer she might receive.

"Not just yet, and not directly, no. For the most part, I wanted to know if we're thinking along the same lines. I'm glad that we are," Cinnamon said. "It's good to see that someone with their head on straight is among the higher-ups."

Ilia tried to recall all of the things that Blake had told her about her encounters with Cinnamon as she nodded her head, unsure. "…I could say the same. It seems to me like you really care about the Fang as a whole, functioning unit, and the faunus in general. I feel like some people lose sight of that while they're with us, and just focus on retaliatory anger."

"So, you're saying that Adam is one of those people," Cinnamon stated plainly. Ilia wrinkled her nose as she looked back down into her glass to avoid Cinnamon's burning orange eyes. The older woman chuckled and rose into a stretch, raising her arms above her head as she flexed her finned spines up and outward to their limits.

"Well, Ilia, I think it's a good idea that we get some rest. Take the room. I've got plenty of places I can head off to, and you've been on edge, lately," Cinnamon said as she moved toward the door. Ilia stepped out of the way and watched as the other faunus twisted the handle and took a step into the hallway. "I think it's time I take a more direct approach to do what's right for us, instead of letting things continue as they are. I'll be expecting your support, Amitola."

"What do you see in him?" Ilia blurted before she could stop herself. Cinnamon paused mid-stride as the question lingered uncomfortably in the air. She turned her head to look at Ilia over her shoulder, and smirked.

"…opportunity," Cinnamon said vaguely before making her way off into the hall.

Ilia downed the rest of her cider as she began to feel the gentle buzz inside of her skull. She closed her eyes and shook her head as she made her way to the bed and flopped down atop it.

"…what the hell have I gotten myself into…"

Sun groaned and squirmed as he slowly opened his eyes, only to find his field of vision taken up almost entirely by a pillowcase. He shifted his weight as he gradually pushed up from the mattress to find both that he was laying upon his stomach, and that he seemed heavier than he was used to.

"Wha…?" Sun stated groggily as he craned his neck and looked over his shoulder, only to find a sleeping Blake clinging tightly to him with her arms draped over his collarbone.

Sun let out a massive sigh of relief as he let himself flop back into the bed. A feeling of warmth and comfort rushed through his entire body at the sight of Blake, and he closed his eyes once again as his face hit the pillow.

"Mmf?" came the call from behind Sun as Blake stirred atop him. Sun remained silent, hoping to buy himself some time to simply lay there and bask in Blake's embrace.

"…Sun? Are you awake?" came the groggy question from over his shoulder.

"…yeah," he said. The hoarseness of his voice caught him off guard, and Sun blinked several times as he cleared his throat. Slowly, he shifted to lay upon his back as Blake adjusted herself to lay atop his bare chest, the pair of them beneath the blankets. It wasn't long before their eyes met; Sun's full of worry, and Blake's full of guilt.

"Sun, I am so sorry I-"

"No," Sun interrupted as he found his voice once again. "Please, don't. I get it. I'll back off. I pushed too hard, a-"

Blake arched her back and leaned up as she planted a palm firmly into Sun's chest, and the other over his mouth. "Stop. Ilia caught up to me, and she talked me down from being a bitch. I'm still not ready to talk about everything, but I shouldn't have run out, either." She leaned down and replaced her palm with her lips, and Sun gratefully accepted the exchange as he reached up and traced his hands under the veil of her nightie. He gently began to run his palms along the flesh of her back as the kiss deepened, and suddenly broke.

"Just, please never scare me like that again. I thought you were going to leave me," Sun confessed as he moved a hand up to play with Blake's hair.

"I never meant for you to think that. The only way I would leave you now is if you turned out like Adam… and you're his exact opposite. You're… different," Blake settled on, as she looked away.

"Different?" Sun asked, as Blake's cheeks flushed pink. She shook her head, causing her tresses of hair to tickle at his neck.

"…please don't. I shouldn't have said anything. It's… dumb."

"Even if it's dumb, I still want to hear it. I'd say you owe me, after last night," Sun teased. His tail extended, unseen beneath the sheets, and wound its way gently up and around Blake's thigh. Her eyes widened as she shivered, and dug her nails into his chest. Sun flicked the tip of his tail across her flesh, and Blake squeaked and quivered.

"A-alright, fine, but this stays between us, forever."

"Of course," Sun reassured as he rested his hands on her hips with a lazy smile.

Blake's eyes flicked back and forth between Sun's own and the pillow beneath his head as she began to speak, carefully choosing her words.

"You're… gentle. Your touch, your words… just, everything about you. It's a combination of gentle and subtle that's uniquely you. It's like a warm summer breeze. Comforting, all-encompassing, and unmistakable for anything else once it has its hold on you. Being with you is like having a warm, fluffy robe against my skin, at all times. It's a heavenly feeling of sanctuary that fills me with contentment. Your smile and touch are enough to make me fold in almost any situation. No one else can do that to me," Blake finished as she slipped a kiss onto Sun's jawline.

"…I wish you would show this side of yourself more often," Sun said with a soft smile. "You have such a way with words, when you want to."

"I save it for when it's important," Blake said as she wrapped her arms around Sun's back and lowered herself to rest atop him. "I don't like doing it, either. It's… embarrassing."

"Well, I'm never going to judge or say anything negative about it, and it's nice to hear. What if you did it privately? You could probably write some pretty cool poetry, or something," Sun mused as he brought his lips to hers once again.

Blake peppered Sun with kisses, and spoke hastily between a pair of them. "…I do write poetry."

Sun tilted his head back to allow room to speak, and Blake settled for kissing her way down his neck, instead. "Well, you've gotta let me read it, sometime."

"No. Absolutely not," Blake said as she finished her appreciation of his neck and let out a small yawn.

"…I'll convince ya, eventually. For now, though, how about we sleep in, and have a lazy day?"

"That sounds amazing right now," Blake admitted as she closed her eyes. Sun fought back a nervous laugh as Blake's ears tickled against his neck, and he followed up her yawn with one of his own. "Good… morning, Sun."

"…good morning, Blake. Here's to a better afternoon," he said before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep once more.

Author's Note:

Intrigue and fluff in one neat little package.

Next update is on Wednesday, April 3rd.

-RD