Chapter 7: The One Where Blake Thinks About Meat and Touches Jaune
"Take the day off from being the better person and choose violence. You deserve it."
— 19 —
It's butcher's work either way.
Blake closed the hotel room door behind her, LaChance's words echoing through her head.
It's butcher's work either way.
She hadn't been able to speak. Hadn't been able to articulate how she felt. Her knees had gone weak at the sight of the monster she had spent a year on the frontier fighting alongside Adam, Colonel Bind, Torture, Kill himself. And then the callous way that human bastard had spoken of murdering her people. She hadn't been able to get the words out of her head. Not after they had been dismissed. Not as Jaune drove down Rue-de-Ghÿs and they made their way to her room.
"They consider them 'wild animals' out here," Adam had once told her over a campfire, deep in the frontier near Graad. "And like any wild animal, all you need is the right permit and you can kill as many as you want. The bear and boar are well within their rights to kill their hunters."
He had been so right, and so wrong. Blake knew there had to be a better way. The solution wasn't in cycles of murder and violence. The way forward was not to simply be the last man standing amidst the corpses. Killing a man was supposed to be the hardest thing anyone could do. Her father had told her that when you do it, you take away all a man has ever been, all he'll ever be, and leave nothing but orphans and grieving mothers behind. When the White Fang forgot that, she couldn't stomach it any longer.
Blake breathed heavily, leaning against the door. She felt so sweaty. Despite the cold, and the unreasonable chill that Jaune had set the AC to, she burned inside. She remembered months ago in a nameless frontier town in the region of Pays-d'Haÿ where the Royal Army had come in to fix a CCTS relay and repair local water infrastructure. Adam and his men, herself included, had slipped in on horseback to harass them. Even though most of the local denizens were faunus, the 1st Cavalrymen there just seemed to focus on their task. But after harassment from Adam, a soldier had bought the farm, as they said up there. Died in an industrial accident the White Fang had provoked. For one reason or another, either non-compliance or the simple fact that they genuinely did not know, none of the natives had given up the names or locations of the White Fang who caused it. A soldier working on the tower Blake had befriended in an espionage attempt, Ozrick or something, had told her to find somewhere secure and barricade herself. She hadn't understood the warning until the army detonated one of the town's walls. They had watched impassively from their bullheads in the air as the Grimm descended upon the city.
When it was all done, the Royal Army had reasoned that anyone who had taken up arms to defend the town was potentially an agent of the White Fang. When they air jumped back into the city streets, anyone caught holding a weapon was gunned down, presumed guilty by association. It was an atrocity. Illegal and immoral if anyone there had the ability to try to bring the soldiers to trial in la-Haye-du-Comte. Evil in its worst, most practical form. Armies were supposed to stop fighting and work together when the Grimm approached a battlefield; it was an ancient tradition of chivalry and honor. But they had just used the Grimm like any other tool. Then the army had repaired the wall and went back to their mission as if nothing had happened. When Adam tried to rally the people against them, the natives were just as hostile towards him as they were the army.
That was just how it was out on the frontier. Cycles of murder and reprisals and senseless violence. And she had been a part of that. How much blood was on her hands, directly or otherwise? How many corpses had she consented to? How many more would she be party to if the White Fang really were involved here? She came to Beacon to escape that life, not get dragged back into it! She was supposed to save people, help people, fight monsters—do the right thing. Prove that faunus could make a positive impact and change the world without killing people.
It's butcher's work either way.
Blake gasped as Jaune took her hand.
"Hey," is all he said, giving her hand a squeeze. He smiled at her and tugged her forward. She didn't have the strength to resist, even if she wanted to.
Jaune led her to bed and sat down beside her. He didn't let go. He didn't prompt her or demand answers or interrogate her as to why she was so quiet. He just sat quietly with her, letting her try to gather her jumbled mess of thoughts. Until eventually she was leaning against him, using him for literal and metaphorical support. Unlike the heat beneath her skin, he was warm in a way that was almost comforting. A steady rock she didn't need to think about or worry would leave her.
Blake remembered the last time she and him had been in this position. His first night working detention in the CCTS Tower. She had stayed up late waiting for him, making sure he actually got back and didn't, she didn't know, get lost or find a way to drown or whatever. They had talked about Cardin and how she had been paralyzed, wanting to kill the boy for something so stupid. She couldn't even really remember what they talked about, this, that, and everything. The only real part of a conversation that stood out in her mind was when they both declared that her dad was gay and they had to find a way to tell her mom. The memory was so ridiculous that a little smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
Jaune looked like he was going to say something, but then someone knocked at the door connecting this room with that of the rest of the team. He looked up sharply, muscles tensing to stand and get the door.
With a sharp inhale, Blake gripped his hand tightly. She didn't even know why. Part of her felt offended that someone was trying to end this moment, as completely meaningless as it was.
He gave her a significant look, just regarding her. And for some reason she felt her cheeks go hot under his eyes.
"Ought be open," he called out, turning away from her.
The door rattled. A moment later, Weiss with Shamrock in tow stepped into the room. Her hands were clasped together at the hem of her skirt, clutching it almost nervously. She paused as she entered, taking in the view.
"Are… we interrupting something?" Weiss asked.
Yes! Blake thought, gritting her teeth.
With a lackadaisical gesture, Jaune said, "We were having a dramatically silent moment. Sit down and close the door before I figure out what to say to ruin the mood."
Lacking anywhere to go, Weiss sat down on Jaune's empty bed. You could tell it was his because the bastard had actually made it. Blake's own bed was still a mess of covers from last night.
"You've been quiet," Shamrock said, her shoulder length red hair looking oddly neat. Her hat was nowhere to be seen, and she was wearing a white undershirt instead of the fighting suit. "At least Velvet was calling him a sociopathic bastard on the ride here. You just sat there."
Weiss nodded. "So, we thought maybe—I don't know what we thought. Just that maybe right now you shouldn't be alone. Maybe you wanted to talk in private."
Jaune cocked an eyebrow. "Girl wouldn't be alone. I'm here."
Weiss returned him a patient look. "You two are basically one person most of the time. I don't think you count."
"Blake, defend my honor," he said, giving her a playful nudge in the side.
Blake allowed herself a wry smile. It felt fake, and her lips felt heavy just making the expression. "I'm pretty sure that's your job on the team, knight."
"Personally, I sexually identify with the queen piece," he said, hand to his breastplate. "Because she can move in any direction, and odds are she was a pawn in her past life."
Blake thought back to the moment she had activated his Aura. When she had seen Jaune, the desperado with the blonde girl pressing her hand onto his shoulder, and the soldier who gave her the creeps with his crisp uniform and the way he had that flamboyantly gay way of gesturing when he spoke. They had all talked briefly, not that she could remember what they said. Blake supposed it didn't matter. She still didn't know what to make of that. The time to ask questions about that had come and gone months ago. Jaune was Jaune, and that was that, weird potential multiple Aura personalities aside.
"Now is really not the time, Jaune," Weiss said, her lips a thin frown.
"No, no, it's fine," Blake said, sighing. Lacking any other options, she just let herself fall backward onto the bed. And she stared up at the white ceiling, she reached up and removed her bow. Her ears twitched freely, as they always seemed to do when she revealed them. She suspected it was a kind of nervous tic.
"It's just—" Blake didn't know what to say. Self-consciously, she realized she was still holding the boy's hand. It took an effort of will to disentangle her fingers from his. He didn't stop her or seem to react in any way.
"I don't want them to know I'm faunus, I guess," she concluded. "Team CFVY, I mean. Besides the headmaster, you three are the only ones who know and I'd like to keep it that way, I think. If I just started ranting and raving like a madwoman, it probably would have tipped them off."
Arms folded, Shamrock said, "Could have just thought you were a bleeding heart liberal type."
"Does Vale even have those anymore?" Weiss asked, still playing with the hem of a dress.
Blake waved a hand towards the ceiling. "They mostly got eaten by other parties. The Whites tend to be the only ones advocating anything for us."
"The White Fang?" Jaune asked.
"No, the socialists." Blake made an annoyed face.
"You mean the Reds?"
"White's the color of Communism, Jaune," Weiss said sufferingly. "Don't read into it too much. It's because their symbol is the white antlers. But it seems pretty dumb to try to co-opt an entire primary color for their own stupid agenda."
"So, White Fang implies they're leftists?" he went on.
"Jaune!"
The boy held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry, just making sure we're on the same page."
Blake let out a breath. "The White Fang used to be. Now I don't know what they are. I didn't even know when I was with them."
Shamrock sputtered. "Wait, holy shit, you were a terrorist?" She looked around, eyes wide. "Wait, how come no one but me is surprised? This changes a lot—did she really tell you and not me? Again? We talked about this, Blake!"
Looking up with the grimace, Blake said, "Sorry. I guess it just never came up. Jaune just figured it out, and I told Weiss."
Shamrock sat down beside Weiss, frowning heavily. "Well. Shit. Alright. A lot of the things you got angry about make a lot more sense now. Turns out we're a team consisting of a rich heiress, a recovering alcoholic, literally the coolest person in the world, and a girl trying to figure out how to do social justice without terrorism. Really rounds out the whole dynamic."
Weiss elbowed her. "You're also not helping."
Shamrock pushed back. "It's a lot to take in—so sue me."
Jaune shrugged, and let himself fall backward as well. He bounced once on the bed, coming to lay beside her, both of their legs hanging off the edge. Idly, he undid the straps to his armor. "Does any of this change our plans? We're supposed to just go in and try to find the team that went lost."
"We even have a map the team had made and sent back while they were exploring the labyrinth," Weiss said. "Before they went radio silent. Connie Mayweather, Cenware Potgieter, Haakon Solstrahl, and Senazawa Minh—CCHS."
"One of those names feels familiar to me and I don't know why," Jaune said, tossing his armor to the floor. And then his shirt went, because obviously Jaune would. He shook his head. "Whatever the case, I'm not sure how comfortable I am if this gets people you care about killed."
Blake gave him a look. "It's not that I care about the White Fang, not exactly. They have small cells all over the place. Safe houses, people sympathetic, you name it. What they're doing is wrong, I'm not going to argue that. But it just feels, I don't know, evil to presume they're involved, to assume they're guilty, and then to give the army a carte blanche to just go in and execute as many people as they like if that bastard LaChance is right."
"Do you think he is?" Weiss asked.
"Do you?"
Weiss was quiet for a long moment. She spoke like she was trying to do ballet on a frozen lake during the first few days of spring. "It makes a lot of sense to me. He was a bit blood thirsty and blunt, but the arguments—well, I can't find fault in them. The White Fang are dangerous. And I don't think they have a problem killing people. They did it a lot in Atlas."
"Different branches of the White Fang operate differently," Blake said. "Back home in Menagerie, there was an almost quasi-religious bent to it. I used to think they had good ideas, but the whole gods thing got under my skin."
"I thought they were all one big monolithic organization," Weiss said, tilting her head fractionally.
Blake shook her head. "In Vale, they're led by a man named Adam, who—" It came suddenly, out of nowhere. But Blake found herself choking. She grunted in the back of her throat, willing the sudden feeling away. "I don't, I mean—he's… he's driven. An ends justify the means kind of man. He's just never been able to figure out what justifies the ends. He was always almost there, almost making a breakthrough, before he'd see a mistreated faunus or an unjust law or, hell, even racially charged zoning laws if you can believe it—and he just got so angry and damn the consequences of who got hurt in his attempts to try to fix it or get even."
"Sounds like you knew him pretty well," Jaune said.
Blake found herself staring towards the balcony window, unable to face her team. And of all people, unable to look at Jaune as she thought of Adam. She recalled talking to him about her Adam and his Simone once, and wondered if he felt the same way as she did here.
"I knew enough to know he'd never change," she said at length. "And he would make you in his image if you stayed around him too long. He was infectious like that. A venereal disease of the mind. For most people—most girls, even—by the time you realize that, you're in too deep, and no one else will take you in but him. I got out at the precipice. I had this sudden attack of common sense that hit me like a freight train. The only blood on my hands was indirect or by association. Anything more than that, and I don't think I would have been allowed into Beacon."
With a conscious will of effort, she looked back at her team. Jaune was lying beside her, his hands clasped over his heart. Shamrock made some kind of religious gesture over her chest. Weiss replied with a hand sign all her own. Both of them used their left hands only.
"So if it turns out it is the White Fang," Jaune said, "what do you want to do?"
For some reason, the question tugged a string of offense in Blake. "Aren't you our team leader? Isn't that your call to make?" It came out sounding nastier than she had intended, more of a counter attack instead of a statement of acquiescence.
Jaune scooted up the bed until his back was to the headrest. "You're acting like I don't care what you think, how you feel. Like I'm your boss instead of your partner."
Fuck you, you stupid, insanely considerate bastard.
And then a moment later she thought, Get back here, you.
She stretched herself out, hands over her shoulders, before crawling her way up to the headrest too. She reclined on her pillow, which he had avoided using. A moment later and she had pulled up the ruffled covers over herself. Blake looked over and saw Weiss giving the two of them a somehow skeptical, studious look. She made a pointed sourpuss back at her.
"I just really hope it's the Grimm," Blake said quietly.
"And when it turns out it's not?" Weiss asked.
"You're assuming it is."
"I'm just considering all the possibilities and what sounds the most likely," Weiss said, looking away. "I don't know about the Royal Army. I hate the White Fang as much as the next girl. But it seems to me like just openly slaughtering them—that's not the kind of thing Huntresses should do. Not the kind of thing we should help with. I learned my lesson about trying to fight them way back when you convinced me to try to stop a Dust store robbery. We're not supposed to fight terrorists or criminals. We're supposed to be out there saving the world from monsters trying to kill everyone."
"Huntsmen get involved with organized crime and terrorists all the time," Jaune said, gazing ahead at nothing. "Our primary goal is saving the world. Or at least the little slices that we've carved out for ourselves on this hellworld. Just seems to me that the definition of saving the world is in the eye of the beholder. Whoever be paying the Huntsman to do a job and their personal definition."
Weiss sidled up to the pillow and headrest of the bed she was on. Arms folded, she said, "It's a lot more political a job than I had really considered. Part of the reason I wanted to be a Huntress in Vale was because I thought I'd get away from the messy politics of Atlas, the General and my father and the thousand other special interest groups with influence over Huntresses. Now I wonder if that's just the nature of the beast. It makes me wonder if there's anything worthwhile about this lifestyle. If it's not just mercenary work dolled up in glitz and glamor."
Shamrock leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows. "A friend of mine once told me that half of all serious violent crime in Remnant involve former Huntsmen in some way. That if the stress of the job becomes too much, maybe you lose your friends in the fight, then organized crime or other things like that are the next best option for the people this profession breaks. At the end of the day, there's not much difference. One job just has a pedigree and guarantee of death, and the other one has a good chance of getting you sentenced to twenty-to-life if you fail."
"Jack," Weiss said. "You're talking about Jack."
Shamrock shrugged. "You're the only one who knows who he is."
"And I know he's a cynical card cheat who assumes the worst of anybody," Weiss said. "There's a saying back home, 'A thief suspects everyone of trying to steal from him.' I wouldn't take his worldview as divinely inspired truth."
With this smug little smirk, Shamrock said, "You're only saying that because if what he said was always true, that would mean that you indeed have no ass."
Weiss sat up sharply. "Don't you dare! I thought we were friends!"
"I thought we were both just mutually lying to each other to make ourselves feel better," Shamrock said, waggling her brows.
Jaune rolled his eyes. "Can it. Tits or ass, we both know I'm the clear winner on this team."
Blake punched him. "You can it before I get Weiss to hold you down and put you in my bra. See how you like dealing with it." She actually found herself reaching a hand behind her back to undo the clasp just to bring it out to wave as a threat, before realizing that that would both be weird and wildly inappropriate.
The boy shrugged indifferently. "I would just flex once and destroy the straps. Get on my level."
"You can borrow one of mine," Shamrock offered. "I think mine would fit."
"You even wear a bra?" Jaune asked. "How's that work with the genderbending shapeshifting."
Weiss blinked. "I… huh. How would that even work?"
Shamrock shrugged.
Blake heaved a sigh, shaking her head. "This team is a wreck. I hate every single one of you."
Jaune nodded. "I hate you all too," he said. "Especially you, Jaune. Don't talk to me or my son ever again." For some kind of comic emphasis or whatever, he reached his arm around Blake's shoulders and pulled her in close, giving a threatening point towards his reflection on the room's TV.
Blake felt her cheeks go hot again. She tried, uselessly, to wriggle out of his strangler's grip.
"Ooh, are we forming a hate club now?" Weiss asked. "Because if so, I want you to throw it out there that I'm not a huge fan of the color periwinkle. It just sounds silly and looks gross."
"The color of periwinkle must also never talk to me or my son ever again," Jaune agreed, giving Blake a squeeze.
Despite it all, Blake found herself laughing. It wasn't long before it became a cascade, with Weiss and Shamrock joining in. Jaune was the only one to remain stoic, which somehow made it even funnier. Nothing about this was inherently hilarious. They hadn't even really solved the problem. Blake still felt like shit. They had learned that maybe being Huntresses was a lot more of a bloody affair than they had realized. And overall, it was just a terrible night. And that was why it was hilarious.
It took the girls a good moment before they managed to calm themselves down. Blake accepted that there was no escape from the situation. With a sigh, and one last bubble of a giggle from her lips, she let herself lean and rest against Jaune. A wave of tiredness washed over her the moment she let herself relax, the moment the tension started to slip away from her shoulders. Her eyelids felt infinitely heavy. In the position she was, she was comfortable beyond words. Of course, the moment she let herself get cozy was the moment the boy released her shoulders. She made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, but didn't comment.
"Shamrock, hit the lights?" Jaune asked. "All this drama has me dead inside, more than normal. Y'all wanna just sleep together?"
"Phrasing," Weiss said as Shamrock turned the lights off.
The boy rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. I reckon that if team CCHS spent a couple days down in the tunnels, that's how it'll be for us."
"That's some pretty weird logic," Shamrock said. "But I do have to admit, it has been, I don't know, a little bit weird with the team sleeping apart."
Looking almost embarrassed, Weiss said, "Okay, so I'm not crazy. I'm not the only one who was feeling that."
"These beds are big enough," Jaune was saying, "we can each have our own corners and pretend like we're back in our dorm room swastika bed arrangement shape."
"Swasti-what?" Weiss asked, and for some reason that made the boy laugh.
"He means a manji," Shamrock said, fluffing a pillow. "It's that good luck feng shui shape I had us arrange the space between our beds into in the room. Eastern mysticism crap."
"Oh. Okay?" A pause. "I think I'm going to go change into a night dress real quick. I'll be right back."
"I'm getting the best side of the bed!" Shamrock singsonged.
Jaune shrugged the conversation away. "But, yeah. I kind of dig it when I'm not sleeping alone. I reckon we might as well get comfy in uncomfortable places. Speaking of, Blake, get off."
"Mm, no," Blake mumbled.
"For real, get off so I can get half naked and comfortable to sleep."
"Do it here. What do I care? I'm comfortable as is." She adjusted herself, eyes still closed. Comfy.
"Hm," he grunted. "So I can't move because the cat has fallen asleep on me?"
One of her ears twitched. "Passive-aggressive mild racism won't stop me, Jaune. But you are right. Everyone knows it's a death sentence to wake up a cat. You move and you're dead."
"Why is it that the people always trying to kill me are women?" he asked.
"It's female intuition," she said with a sense of certainty. "We can just look at you and tell meh, I can probably kill him. Because I'm not going to let you kill yourself."
"What?"
"You skipped breakfast this morning on purpose, don't even lie to me," Blake said as sternly as she could manage as she felt herself falling asleep. "And you didn't get anything from the drive-thru tonight when we stopped by."
The boy said nothing.
Weiss came back into the room. "She does have a point. I'm just saying."
"So as long as I lay here," Blake said, "you can't wake up early and escape. I'll force feed you if I have to. Now go to sleep, human pillow. The only one who's going to be killing you is me, and that's a promise!"
Jaune sighed. But it didn't seem like he had any obvious counter to this. All the boy did was look a little distant, sucking in on his lips tight. So like the rest of the team, they all just settled in together for the night. All in one room, two beds, like a family with too many children and not enough of an income. It was a homey sensation. Just being in close proximity. It reminded her of her better nights and camped on the frontier with comrades from the White Fang.
It reminded her of her new home in Beacon.
It reminded her of the friends she was going to be spending the next four years of her life with, and the friends she would be happy to do it with.
Also, boy. Boy definitely helped.
And she would need the help. Because tomorrow?
It's butcher's work either way.