Yeah, I'm here again. Who'd have thought? Thanks for indulging me with Sun. The guy had earned the right to say the words.
Now on with the story!
Blake was completely exhausted emotionally. After talking it out with Sun, she felt so wrung out, almost… empty.
No, that wasn't right.
She smiled. Not empty... That wasn't fair. Empty was what her relationships were before. Hollow one sided things she used to hide within so she wouldn't have to deal with her mistakes and their effect on the world at large.
What she felt now was scoured. Maybe not clean. Not yet. But better. Like she was finally stepping into the… sunlight… oh gods…
"Damn it Yang," Blake whispered with a smirk.
Of course all of this was her overly literary mind seizing on a terrible metaphor, but terrible metaphor or not, it at least felt true. That was the important part. Also, Blake did feel cleaner. Warmer, lighter, and less burdened, just not free. Not yet. She still needed to talk to her parents, especially her father, because let's face it, she had treated their eagerness to be back in her life as absolution. Yes she had been a child, but…
…yeah.
Blake had deliberately done that to her father, to her family. Willfully, and with purpose. Simply so she could be with Adam. There were still many wrongs she had done that needed to be set right. But Blake believed she could make them right.
With that hopeful thought, Blake rounded the last corner and came to the cul-de-sac the house was on. She was somewhat surprised to run directly into Ruby Rose. Ruby was leaning against a suburban parody of a tree so overly pruned that it looked like a lollipop. She was also, and very obviously, waiting for Blake.
Blake smiled softly. Not too long ago she would have been defensive at the mere thought of someone checking up on her. Ruby though had burned that conceit out of her, with cleansing silver fire. In a way, Blake doubted she would ever be able to lie to herself again without thinking of that light and how ultimately there was no place to hide from it.
So without delusion, Blake realized her Team Leader was checking up on her only because Ruby was honestly concerned. Ruby must have learned that Blake had gone to talk to Sun. So Ruby was making sure Blake was okay. Because Ruby cared for Blake. It really was as simple as that.
"So…" Of course Ruby was, and would always be, Ruby.
Blake's soft smile turned into a smirk at her friend's awkward earnestness, "I'm okay Ruby. It wasn't pleasant, but I promise that I'm okay."
Ruby looked at her openly, but not harshly. Trying to see if Blake was lying. Trying to be brave. Again something she would have taken offense at not too long ago. "You're sure?"
Blake almost laughed, but settled for pulling her leader in for a hug. A chuckle nevertheless did escape the faunus when a startled 'Eep!' squeaked out of her friend. Blake did release Ruby fairly quickly. Partly because Ruby instantly started to squirm and partly to demonstrate that Blake was, indeed, fine. Ready and able to stand on her own.
Ruby, although a little bit frazzled, wasn't willing to let it go; Blake could tell from her expression. She also looked distinctly uncomfortable on how to really start the conversation, so Blake moved her head to indicate the porch as she wordlessly headed that way. Ruby, after smoothing her combat skirt, followed. They wound up sitting side by side in separate wicker chairs. Blake was keenly aware Ruby was staring at her, but again she felt no defensiveness. Blake understood she was starting to see the world with more clarity.
In fact, at this moment, Blake deliberately pulled in all the details that weren't Ruby Rose. Where once Ruby Rose's opinion… no, bad phrasing… where the perception of Ruby's opinion would have been all consuming, Blake now could see the wider world.
So Blake breathed in the musty smell of wicker furniture left exposed to the elements for too long. She keenly felt the cutting evening wind from a spring still unsure if its time had truly come. The chirp of insects braving the cold. The stars poking through the few clouds which hung high and thin, catching the last faint rays from a sun already set..
The shattered moon in the early evening sky…
For a moment, it seemed to Blake like the pieces of that moon were slowly coming back together, but she chalked that impression up to wishful thinking. From her hope she could and would face and eventually rise above her mistakes. From her honest belief she was done running.
She was also acutely aware of a tapping foot from someone who, for all her kindness, struggled mightily with patience.
Blake looked at her leader and didn't mince words. "Sun confessed."
Ruby blinked, then sighed, "How did he take it?"
Blake still felt the echoes of deep sadness and loss, but those feelings felt almost ghostly. The hollow remains of her own selfishness. "Sun is a truly kind person. I hurt him, but for good or for ill, I think he's already forgiven me."
Ruby's eyes narrowed, "That isn't what I asked."
Blake's smile was kind, but firm, "I know Ruby, but Sun's feelings are private."
Ruby blinked a bit, then she turned a bit pink. "I'm sorry."
Blake's smile didn't waiver, "It's okay. I understand why you're asking." Blake looked back to the strangely healing moon and smiled, "He also turned me down for the gala."
"That's too bad." Ruby sounded like she was relaxing. "So you're going solo?"
Blake had thought of that on the way back. Long and hard. "No. I was planning on using you to bully the rest of the team into coming with me."
"Using me…?" Ruby, then like her spine was hit with electricity, sat bolt upright, "Wait! Me? You're going to make me wear a dress?"
Blake was deliberately not looking at her leader, mostly so she could bite back the laughter. She said, "Yep. And fancy shoes as well."
Ruby now horrified, "Not the lady stilts! What did I ever do to you?!" Blake couldn't help it; she started chuckling.
Eventually, though admittedly not until she had a good healing laugh at her friend's expense, she told Ruby, "They make fancy shoes that are flats, Ruby."
Ruby blinked, and slowly came down off the proverbial ledge. Knowing she wouldn't face the abject terror of not being able to run should a situation demand it helping calm her. And once she was calm, Ruby again showed she could be incredibly discerning. "It would mean a lot to your dad if humans sat with him, wouldn't it?"
Blake nodded, "Yes it would." Blake stared at fading light in the sky, "Especially if those humans were the first people on the scene protecting Haven." Blake thought of one human in particular.
"I guess us looking like we worked with your dad isn't necessarily a bad thing." Ruby thought for a moment, "I think Jaune is going and he's going to be sitting with Weiss's…" Ruby then looked at Blake. She had figured it out. "You really want Weiss there, sitting with Menagerie, don't you?"
"Yes."
"I won't bully her."
Blake's smile faded, Ruby's suspicion hurt, but it was warranted at this juncture. "I was only teasing."
"Okay. I think she'd be willing to go," Ruby nodded as she thought it through, "So long as you're the one that asks her."
"That's fair." Blake paused, "You'll ask Yang for me? It's still really strained between us and I don't–"
"Got it. No problem." Ruby smiled, "So long as we agree that lady stilts aren't a thing."
"I promise," Blake smiled in response, then added, "For you at least. I still like my pumps."
Ruby blinked, then looked at Blake's feet. Really looked at them. Hard. Ruby's face became unreadable for a long, long moment. Gradually though, Blake's team leader showed her 'shrewd face.'
"Okay, but I have one condition."
Team RWBY's leader then made a very specific request of her faunus teammate.
Blake, confused, shrugged in acquiescence. Ruby had the right to demand almost anything from her at this point, and this 'condition,' while a little bizarre, wasn't anything onerous. So Blake soon found herself barefoot and standing back to back with Ruby Rose who was now standing in her socks. An amusingly crushed Yang then sighed as she confirmed Ruby was, indeed, slightly taller than Blake.
And just like that, Ruby Rose was over Remnant's moon, proudly proclaiming she was being freed from the lies!
Blake smiled, remembering the moon, more than willing to believe that maybe, just maybe, anything can heal.
"Only one left!"
Oscar watched Yang snort, "Sorry Rubes, but I don't wear heels. Drink all the milk you want, you ain't catching me."
Ruby stared at her much taller sister, her expression saying it all. Despite the long odds, the fight wasn't decided! No yet! The object of Oscar's affection then spun on heel, and marched directly towards the kitchen.
She's alone, young Oscar. Just be confident.
Oscar shook his head, as if the act might expel the unwelcome parasite within his mind. Nevertheless, Oscar soon found himself walking towards the kitchen.
Ruby looked up, a determined expression on her face, only to relax when she recognized Oscar. She then proceeded to pour herself two tall glasses of milk.
Oscar smiled and asked, "Can I have one?"
Ruby smiled at him in a way that made his knees shake a bit. "Sure!"
She then slid a glass his way, and hopped up to grab one more from the cupboard. Oscar, "Why don't you…" the milk was poured… "just use the same glass."
Ruby flashed him a grin, "Because it's funny. And Yang's face will be priceless when she walks in to check on me."
Oscar blinked. Sure enough, not even thirty seconds later, Ruby's older sister made her way into the kitchen. Yang's jaw briefly hung open, "Really Ruby? Really? Just use the same glass!" Exasperated, Yang grabbed the remainder of the milk and tossed it in the fridge before stomping out the far side of the kitchen, grumbling the whole way.
Yang's expression had indeed been priceless, but Ruby's smile once her sister left was… well it was worth infinitely more.
Oscar found himself smiling and just had to, "May I ask why?"
Ruby's smile turned into a smirk. "She's been grumpy about something and needed a big sister moment," Ruby observed before sipping her milk. She then said wistfully, "If only I had some cookies."
Oscar, just a bit off, "To complete the picture?"
Ruby shook her head once, "No. I just want some cookies."
A recipe floated into the back of Oscar's mind.
Oscar mentally snarled,
Stop that!
Ozpin… Ozma said nothing. After a moment, just long enough for it to start feeling awkward in the kitchen, Oscar got up and started rummaging through the cupboards. The ingredients were basically now burned into his brain anyways
Ruby was curious, "What are you doing?"
Oscar smiled, "Flour, sugar, cinnamon… Ruby check and see if we have any heavy cream in the fridge?"
"Wait!" Ruby's eyes now completely lit up, "Are you actually going to make cookies?"
Oscar smiled, "If we have the ingredients."
Ruby was at the fridge in a flash, "Don't see any heavy cream…" she trailed off, but her eyes gleamed mischievously even as her voice dropped to a whisper, "but we do have plenty of half and half that Blake has with her coffee!"
Oscar swallowed, he actually didn't know anything about baking… a substitute flashed through his mind. "We can make that work provided we have enough butter."
Ruby's smile was almost taking in her ears as she pulled three unopened sticks from the drawer. "Ren is always prepared for Nora's pancake cravings!"
There was a slight pause in Oscar's work as an amendment to the earlier recipe flashed through his mind. He looked at Ruby with his own slightly sneaky expression, "Think we can steal a bit of the maple syrup?"
Ruby crossed her arms, "For fresh baked cookies and milk, I will risk Nora!"
Oscar laughed, "Hand me the eggs."
He set all the ingredients on the table and then realized just how badly he'd stepped into the trap.
I don't know how to do this.
There was a pause, then the parasite offered.
It would take me maybe ten minutes for me to whip–
Oscar was adamant.
No deal.
The voice smiled,
Alright then, we'll do it the hard way. Get a large bowl for mixing.
"Hey Ruby?"
Ruby's eyes were basically dancing as she surveyed the table. "Yeah?"
"I don't really know where anything is in the kitchen. I need a large bowl–"
"Like this!" Ruby, in a flurry of rose petals, was now holding up a huge punch bowl.
Oscar smiled, "Not that big," The parasite provided an image, "More like the one Qrow mixed his casserole in."
Ruby's face fell, and she actually looked offended. "Ugh. Don't taint cookies with memories of my uncle's unholy union of chicken and broccoli!"
Oscar smiled, "This will make up for that, I promise. I also need a sifter, pastry cutter…" Ruby didn't know her way around the kitchen anymore than he did, but they more or less got everything together.
Ruby nudged him, and it sent a shock through him, "What else?"
Oscar smiled at her, "Now's the hard part because I've never actually done this before." Ruby tried to hide it, but Oscar saw her face fall a tiny bit. A suggestion was whispered into his ear, "Hey. We've faced worse challenges, right?"
Ruby blinked at him, and her face… holy brothers her face… well it transformed into something truly beautiful.
And Oscar suspected at that moment that he was doomed.
\/
Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck was currently feeling the keen and bleeding edge of irritability…
"All. scans. confirmed. clear. Moving. to. next. sector. one. level. down."
… buried in his skull.
Doctor Oobleck responded. "Understood. Keep me apprised of any anomalies."
A long moment, "Sir?"
Oobleck sighed, "Call if you find something."
"Copy. sir. proce–"
Oobleck took the ear piece out, counted to ten, just to keep from gnashing his teeth in frustration, then reinserted it.
"-ding. to. next. sector. now."
From the far end of the combustion shelf, Peter yelled. "Barty! I! Got! This! Area! On! Lock! Down! Get! Some! Coffee! In! You! Before! You! Strangle! Someone!"
Oobleck looked at the flaming club in his right hand. They hadn't seen a Boggart in over nine hours. Normally, he hated agreeing with Peter, especially if it broke any of the protocols he tried so hard to drill into his students… but people talked so damned slow and he hadn't had ANY coffee in over twelve hours.
Wordlessly he transformed his weapon into its more commonly seen variant and lovingly placed one of his emergency rations into the base of the cup. Soon he could smell bliss as the sweet aroma of blessed calmness started brewing within Antiquity's Roast.
Peter Port laughed, meaning he could smell Doctor Oobleck's salvation, but as soon as the magical elixir touched his lips, Bart couldn't be bothered to care. Instead he spent a few moments of bliss tuning out the world at large as he looked at the huge exposed shelf of combustion dust.
If the preliminary scans were correct, this was going to lessen the effects on the Atlas's Vale embargo, and then some.
Somewhat echoing the doctor's thoughts, Peter yelled, "The SDC is going to straight up hit the panic button as soon as this comes to light. Am I right, Barty?!"
Oobleck was mellowed enough to let Peter get away with the unliked nickname for now. They could settle it out in the desert once the mine was deemed fully clear and the miners could return. The Doctor had a few tricks he wanted to try. Hopefully he could finally break into the win column against his old nemesis.
"Maybe we should buy some stock in Kelly-I before this becomes common knowledge?" mused Peter in his typical jovial tone.
An amused notion passed through Oobleck's mind and he had to ask his friend, "Does that mean Professor Ozpin paid you more than he did me?"
Port guffawed at the notion, "I doubt it, my friend!"
Oobleck smiled, "Then I don't think either of us is investing in anything."
"Ah the oft laminated curse of higher education! A sound hypothesis defeated by the lack of proper funding!"
Now immeasurably calmer, Oobleck smiled. Grousing about long hours and low pay was second nature to educators. As was bitching about the few exceptions to that rule.
Looking at Port shrewdly, and maybe a bit pettily, Oobleck offered, "Unless you teach combat in Mistral. I hear your old friend Chiron makes more than the Mistral Prime Minister, and her cabinet combined, does in a year."
Port laughed again, not at all offended. "Well now that he has his kids fight for him, that old horse's ass can actually win!" Port smirked, doubtlessly remembering his thorough trouncing of Chiron in a tournament four decades old. "Especially since Mistral is absolutely crazy for Vytal these days."
Oobleck nodded, but he was no longer smiling. There would be no tournament this coming year. Not after what happened during the Vytal festival. A tournament where Chiron had a surprisingly poor showing, only placing two teams in the finals. One team had been a promising but probably overmatched freshman squad.
The other…
The details of the investigation were ongoing, however James Ironwood had given over the voice analysis of the speaker that had started the panic in full. It was conclusively linked to a perfunctory interview required of all finalist teams granted to the media. An interview from a Haven Team. Details from the fallout concerning the attack on Haven and Leo's complicity were still leaking out, but the pieces that were coming together were only growing more and more damning.
Bartholomew Oobleck's mother hadn't raised a fool. The Doctor knew, friendship aside, James had leaked the voice analysis to try and refocus Vale's anger elsewhere, but spun or not, facts were facts–
"Thinking about Leo, my friend?" Peter's voice was soft and sounded from far closer than Bart would have guessed.
Doctor Oobleck's voice was quiet. "Yes."
Peter's knuckles popped, "That fool is damned lucky to have died when he did, before we got our hands on him."
Bart nodded as he cradled his coffee, feeling its warmth, as he deliberately remembered the faces of the children he saw fall.
Eventually, although to Peter it probably felt it was abruptly, Oobleck stood, polishing off his coffee in one hefty swig. The burn would hopefully reignite something within him that may have died that day. "I want to finish both the inventory and the preliminary investigation before Dorothy arrives."
"I know you two–"
Oobleck shrugged, "What's past is past. Despite what people seem to think, neither of us was innocent. Neither were we monsters."
"And neither of you will let it go."
"Could you?"
Port opened his eyes slightly in surprise, but was honest and solemn in his response. "I suppose not."
For the next two hours they worked in near silence. Mr. Stallion and Mr. Porfirio had found their demise in this room. Oobleck had already conducted cursory interviews of Miss Scarlatina, Mr. Alistair, Mr. Daichi, and Miss Mae Zedong. Their accounts differed in minor details, but Oobleck had enough of a timeline for his investigation.
Unfortunately, that timeline started with both teams being lax.
They had initially shown proper protocols. Especially during the 60 minute march to their primary objective, the newly discovered shelf rich in combustion dust. However, with no signs of Grimm activity, they had set about the task of completing their practical assessment with an emphasis in speed and efficiency over that of safety.
Thus they had separated into several small groups to ready camp, only doing the bare minimum to set a perimeter. If they had remained in isolated pairs, both teams would have undoubtedly been wiped out in their entirety. However, Mr. Alistair had noticed several odd sensations during their descent from his Semblance. With the feeling being definitively more concentrated in this cavern in particular, he brought the issue up with Zedong and Scarlatina. Especially how all of these sensations kept coming from above.
This led to a discussion on how to investigate the high ceiling of the cavern, an idea Miss Adel wasn't keen on and Mr. Ni thought was a complete waste of time. However, Adel ultimately sided with her teammate and the discussion then turned into an argument. Mr. Stallion and Mr. Porfirio, having no strong feelings on the matter either way, moved off and started checking out their surroundings to amuse themselves until the argument died out.
Then the Grimm attacked.
En masse.
All the survivors were convinced the argument was what "woke up" the Grimm, proving they had wasted the instruction Port had imparted to them during his Gimm studies lectures. Aura already shown like a lamp in what passed for the mind of Grimm. Yes, darker emotions made the Grimm react to that lamp differently, and drew their attention quicker, but there was no conceivable way these students could have bypassed this many dens without the Grimm knowing they were there. Not without some form of grossly mitigating factor.
Something very unusual had happened here, and Oobleck had witnessed two other similarly strange occurrences with his own eyes.
So Doctor Oobleck continued checking crates, taking photos. Nothing seemed remarkable, when on impulse, Oobleck decided to make use of a previously uncrated loader. Now Port continued to manhandle crates several times his size, further evidence that Peter would probably brute force his way into the afterlife and perhaps beyond, but Oobleck wasn't a young man anymore and was growing acutely aware of every seldom used muscle in his anatomy.
He turned the machine on. It was dead. The main reader had power, he opened up a side panel with the now familiar SDC equipment logo.
Oobleck blinked.
"Peter, come take a look at this."
\/
Winter breathed deep.
She flicked on the monitor and entered the appropriate access code. There was a brief buzz as her console connected to the communications array on Ironwood's flagship, the Vigilance. A longer buzz, before the array then linked with the light cruiser Manticore. Then it linked with Argus Listening Station One…
Winter sighed as for the next three minutes, she was alone with her thoughts.
She braced herself. This would not be particularly pleasant.
In a way, Winter's relationship with Jacques was simpler. There wasn't one. This was not something mourned and stemmed directly from a decision Winter made for herself as a child. Jacques proved in that incident exactly how he had reduced his daughters to commodities. If there was one thing Winter would give Jacques credit for, it was in her ability to understand a contract.
Contracts were written to protect the buyers and sellers, not the object itself. Winter would allow herself to be objectified no longer. Even though she was a child, the rejection of that contract, and thus her one-sided relationship with Jacques, had been the first decision of consequence she had made for herself.
Winter briefly smiled because High Councilor Earl Orkney still needed a cane to walk. A smile that became a frown because it could be argued that Winter's temper had helped him secure his first posting to the Atlas High Council.
Winter shook that off. She had been a child. A child protecting her sister. At a time when one parent was content to let a spoiled monster enter his home, so long as he had excess staff to lay a spoiled monster's blame upon, in some attempt to marry his eldest daughter to said monster. A spoiled monster who rumor suggested had not changed.
Winter had every right to be angry in that moment!
Winter breathed out her temper, again settling for the disquiet it left in its wake. Emotional reaction or not, the fact was that her lack of relationship with Jacques would never be mourned by Winter. However, her relationship with Mother, for good or for ill, was something Winter did hold regrets over. Regrets she could think of no way to rectify so long as her mother continued with her addiction.
After all, as unkind as it may seem, can you truly love someone that you held so little respect for?
The clicking of intermittent connections increased in pace, dragging Winter back to the present. The clicks soon became the tone of a scroll seeking net connection. Within a few moments, the connection solidified and a ring could be heard. Mother picked up almost immediately.
"Winter."
Winter looked closely, but Mother didn't look hungover. Klein must have cut her off early. This would be possible, then. Good because, as of last night, the stakes were raised.
Perfunctory politeness first. "General Ironwood asked me to convey greetings and inquire as to your health."
There was a delay of just over a second. It couldn't be helped given the limitations of the relay. Willow's eyes hardened ever so slightly. "I got his note. Is that all?"
"How is Whitley?"
Delay. "Working with his father. If you wish, I will inform him of your new found curiosity towards his well-being."
"Is Klein well?"
Delay. "The staff is in fine spirits. They just received their annual raises."
Perfunctory politeness now complete, Winter did not mince words. "There was an incident in the Riasc."
Willow's expression changed slightly after the delay, but it was only an expression of professional curiosity. "With Kellingley?"
"Yes."
Delay, then uninterested dismissal. "I assume that since Jacques hasn't been whistling some insipidly happy tune, it couldn't have been serious enough to cause disruption."
Winter stared unflinchingly at her mother. "No mining personnel were involved, but two academy teams were attacked by Grimm."
Willow's eyebrows raised slightly, but then she shrugged, "I see Shade's proclivity for providing free security of our competitors is–"
"Three of those students died."
"-paying dividends… What?"
"Three students died. A fourth was barely reached in time." Winter continued to stare at her mother. "Boggarts did this."
The delay was much longer as Winter's mother started thinking things through. "Boggarts took on two separate Hunter teams? At the same time?"
"It was some form of ambush."
Willow was still mulling it over, absently, as if it was obligatory to argue, "Well they typically nest in the ground to lure in the unsuspecting."
"They dropped from the ceiling. They also didn't start their attack until the teams were completely surrounded and thus cut off."
Willow now was just blinking at her daughter, "That doesn't make sense."
"I agree. It is highly unusual and thus highly concerning. Winter deliberately poured her very real outrage into her tone of voice. "Last night, Doctor Oobleck made an interesting discovery while investigating the site."
Delay. Willow frowned, "Who is Doctor Oobleck?"
"Evidently he's an acquaintance of General Ironwood's. Someone who served on Professor Ozpin's staff that the General has met on several occasions and taken a liking to." A pause, "Evidently 'Bart' is quite the aficionado regarding Western Sanus cuisine."
Delay. The first touch of overt friendliness reached Willow's eyes, "Sounds like James."
Winter wasn't fooled by the attempt at deflection. Winter's eyes were merciless, "It does. However, I need his discovery explained. Explained very clearly and very carefully."
Willow looked at Winter, and Winter stared back. Much was said in the look.
"Late last autumn, Kellingley put in an order for new equipment. A very large order. The type of order that means they must have discovered something of note. However, due to Vale manufacturing being choked by the dust embargo and their CEO's stubborn refusal to contract with any Mistral firm, they had limited options. So Jacques was able to put them off. For nearly six months."
Winter nodded. "What were the terms and timeframe for delivery?"
"Steep. He only approved the order in full to shore up the numbers from the last fiscal quarter."
"When would you expect the first shipment to arrive?"
"Roughly a week ago."
Winter nodded. "That more or less aligns with where the investigation as it now stands. Thank you for the cooperation."
"Winter," Willow hesitated. "How damning is this?"
Winter, "Thank you for the cooperation."
/\
Jaune had something of a week in getting ready. He had a distinct list of things he knew he couldn't afford and he knew he had only nine days to obtain them.
So he started with the first major hurdle.
Shoes.
Jaune checked prices at a local retailer. It was enough to get him to make a decision he had been postponing.
The very next morning he was on Goggle looking for a lead. One of the forums was very helpful. There were several local clients that immediately expressed keen interest, so Jaune hit the streets around noon.
The first two were the worst kind of collectors. The kind that didn't care about the fandom or appreciate the item itself. They were people who only saw lien signs and were looking to low ball him as much as possible for resale.
The third guy was a true believer, but without the resources to actually make a deal. They still talked for a solid thirty minutes, in the way that only strangers bonded by a singular shared interest truly could. Jaune liked him and would have stayed longer if he wasn't on a mission. The guy fully understood and even gave Jaune a lead. So Jaune hit up his fourth option.
This guy was on a lower level of the city, getting close to the projects, but in an area heavily gentrified by the young and upwardly mobile. The man's face once he opened the door and saw the hoodie itself, well Jaune knew he had found the perfect type of customer.
No doubt, the bargain they struck that day hurt Jaune. He'd had it for four years. It had seen him across the entirety of anima. He had eaten 50 boxes of cereal just for the chance to enter the raffle and win it…
But it was time.
Even though the hoodie also reminded him of Pyrrha, it was still time.
Travel expenses were not going to lessen from here. Holding onto it in the face of what was going on in the world was becoming selfish at this point.
Besides, Jaune hadn't been lying to Winter.
He really was all in.
The haggling was still fierce, but Jaune held almost every advantage. Pumpkin Pete collectors knew some of the first run t-shirts were still available for trade. Rare, but available. But a first run Pumpkin Pete's raffle hoodie? The black and silver one? The guy may have hemmed and hawed over its condition, but they both knew from the getgo that this trade was going to happen. It was easily worth the price Jaune was asking.
In fact, when Jaune briefly threatened to walk out the door, the guy all but fell over with a new offer. An offer that honestly meant a lot to Jaune personally. Which is how Jaune managed to get a very specific item this collector had a duplicate of.
In the end, Jaune was satisfied. Even when he had to plop down over four hundred lien for a pair of Edmond Almonds, he was satisfied. In the end, It may have taken all day, and Jaune now keenly felt the early spring breeze, but he was only smiling. Especially when he gently caressed the top of the unopened cereal box in his bag.
The corsage was next and also going to be tricky.
Mistral was renowned for its wild flowers, but an unseasonable chill was holding on with a death grip this year. So it wasn't like Jaune could go in the hills and look for some of the famed lilies that grew here. He checked a half dozen potential listings until he found exactly what he wanted.
A high quality florist with a 'help wanted' advertisement.
Jaune went in and promptly introduced himself.
The florist was intrigued by Jaune's offer. Though his sympathy waned a bit over Jaune's choice of compensation. However, Jaune absolutely refused to negotiate on that point. The fractal yellow and silver coloration of the Mistralli sun daisy would undoubtedly compliment a specific dress.
Jaune didn't care that the arrangement was three hundred and fifty lien.
So, even though he now had the money, Jaune again reiterated the deal. He would work at the shop until the florist, and only the florist, agreed the price was fully met. Jaune, if he was confident in anything about himself, it was his willingness to work hard to get what he wanted. So Jaune firmly reminded the guy that was up to eight full days of labor. Even at minimum wage, Jaune would make up the price and then some.
When haggling obviously got him nowhere, the florist finally agreed. So Jaune rolled up his sleeves, his t-shirt sleeves, and went to work doing everything from sweeping the floor, to building shelves, to arranging displays, and waiting on customers.
The florist was honest and, evidently, very impressed. Kids and young adults had let him down before, talking big but backing it up with minimal effort. However, with Jaune, he admitted the young Huntsman had fully held up his side of the deal inside two days. However when the florist asked him to, Jaune stayed on for two additional days to help the guy clear his back log. Evidently, bouquets were a common gift during the equinox here in Mistral, and given the cold weather, demand was through the roof as people eagerly looked towards the spring. Jaune accepted. Getting more black ink on the ledger was a good thing. So once the back orders were taken care of, Jaune walked out with some extra money, and arranged to pick up his prize the night of the gala.
The florist really would have employed him indefinitely, but Jaune wouldn't risk wasting any more time because he needed to track down the third thing, and he was pretty sure it was going to be the most difficult item on his list.
A gift.
Options were limited. Any gift he gave Winter on the day of the event would have to be carried for the evening, and let's face it any kind of appropriate jewelry would be beyond even his much improved means. Jaune though had something of an idea. Maybe a bit of a long shot of an idea, but it was something he was set on. Because of that, he was willing to use every minute of the next four days to track that idea down.
Jaune's plan still started badly. He tried a big box art house. He felt stupid when he walked in and asked, and even dumber when the uninterested manager only looked at him in mild irritation before thumbing at an aisle filled with merchandise far more geared towards children than adults.
So Jaune backtracked and started hitting up a half dozen smaller places. This was better. They were more polite, far more knowledgeable, and probably had decent enough stuff, but Jaune could instantly tell what they had on offer wasn't right. These were places for hobbyists and enthusiasts. Passionate, no doubt, but not possessing the tools for a proper professional.
So improved quality or not, he deemed he still wasn't any closer to getting what he wanted.
So Jaune adjusted strategies. After all, he was now down to just three days. He headed to basically ground zero for his initial idea, the Mistral Museum of Art. This proved its own type of time sink as Jaune spent nearly a full hour in the Gallery of the Lost. In particular, a photo of a now gone carnival carousel that had amused the previous century's children haunted his mind. The photo was taken around eleven years before the Great War and Jaune couldn't help but wonder if any of those smiling children had become the soldiers that decided to destroy it.
It was a thought that would randomly occur to him for the remainder of his life.
However, Jaune eventually broke free from mistakes that could no longer be remedied and tracked down one of the museum's curators. Polite and well meaning people eventually left Jaune standing at the door of someone who was neither. Jaune could tell the moment the man opened the door.
There are professional art critics and curators of all kinds. Most are wonderful people with a deep abiding wonder for antiquities and artistic expression. People who worked tirelessly to make sure future generations weren't deprived of any era's knowledge, impressions, triumphs, or mistakes.
And then there was this guy. This guy who looked like the result of a deeply unhappy union between a balding penguin and an underweight bullfrog. This guy who's fastidious appearance nonetheless reeked, even worse than his breath, of clove cigarettes.
The Curator's name was Greenberg. Jaune didn't like Greenberg. At all. In fact, Jaune wanted to punch Greenberg. Wanted to punch him quite hard. The conversation hadn't even hit the two minute mark yet, and at least a solid forty percent of Jaune's brain was solely focused on just how satisfying the crisp sound of knuckles making clean contact with a deserving target truly was.
"You must understand, young man, I am most put out by your intrusion. I am quite busy. We are in the midst of open submissions and, as you should know, for every curator or critic of merit, there are at least a dozen competent artists worthy of consideration."
Jaune knew this guy in a glance. Pumpkin Pete forums were littered with them. This guy was what was commonly known as a gatekeeper. Someone that used their knowledge not to share with those who wished to experience something new, but to elevate their own sense of self. Even at the expense of those encountering them instantly losing all interest in the subject entirely.
Jaune had been nodding along with this long winded, incredibly pompous, overly stuffed–
"While I see the issue you've raised, that fact pales in face of a plethora of the other shortcomings she has in her composition. So, just to remain fully honest with you, this feels like wasted effort on both our parts." The man heaved his third put-upon sigh since the conversation started.
Jaune gritted his mental teeth and tried again. "She's become a dear friend."
"Ah, well, we really should choose our friend's most carefully, young man. I have long held the contention that Mantle society's general shortsighted outlook is absolutely fundamental to the overall lack of progress of their culture. Thus, their attempted contributions do little to advance art in any medium, and in this case in particular, remain vaguely insulting." Put upon sigh number four, "Doubtlessly my colleagues sold their integrity in the hopes of future fundraising."
One of Jaune's knuckles popped rather loudly.
The man frowned, "What was that?"
"Sorry, old Grimm injury."
The curator's eyes widened ever so slightly slightly, "I didn't realize you were military. I guess this explains your choice of company." Greenberg had a singularly unpleasant expression cross his face, and given this guy's other expressions, that was saying something. "I would very much like to know who among the staff gave you my office location?"
Jaune wasn't about to rat anybody out, but he had it up to his eyeballs with Greenberg. So he made someone up. "A very nice lady up front," Jaune gave the jerk a vague description based on Professor Peach then continued with, "I confess I did deliberately name drop to get the information when I left Crocea Mors at the weapons check."
The man stopped cold at the naming of Jaune's weapon.
And just like that…
"What was your name again?"
Greenberg had never asked, but Jaune smiled and politely offered his hand, ready and willing to turn the screws.
"Apologies, my name is Jaune Arc. I think your clerk recognized me from the photo taken just after the battle for Haven." It wasn't nearly as satisfying as laying the guy out, but the way Greenberg paled had its own form of satisfaction.
Jaune shook soft fingers with an even softer grip. He even refrained from squeezing.
Greenberg noticeably winced…
…Too hard.
Jaune continued, "But as I was saying, Winter took the time to personally walk me through the museum. She was very proud to have two exhibits here." Jaune wouldn't go so far as to actually name drop Pyrrha, but he was willing to tell this asshat more than he deserved to know, "I confess, Miss Schnee showing me the exhibit from the Nikos family is something very difficult to repay given the personal history between them and my family."
Greenberg blinked really hard at Jaune. For a really long time. Jaune wasn't remotely surprised when the guy's eyes flicked over to look at the royal palace just across the gardens. The ugly story of Mistral's catastrophic choices and who they tried to lay the blame upon hung in the air.
It wasn't enough to change this type of man's opinions. Jaune didn't think anything really could, but at least he didn't go back to examining his nails when he offered, "Yes, perhaps a proper set may, just may, help her elevate her… pedestrian… work."
Finally, Greenberg pulled out a business card and scrawled an address on the back. And a name. Before he handed over the card though, "You said Crocea Mors was here, I would dearly like–"
Jaune snatched the card, more or less done being polite. Especially now that he had finally gotten what he wanted. "Thank you very much for your time," he said as he put his back to the guy.
Greenberg tried again, "But I…"
Jaune just kept moving away. "I'm very much in a rush. Again thank you. I'll make sure Winter knows who made the recommendation."
The curator might have tried again after that. He definitely squeaked something, but Jaune wasn't letting that kind of person within ten feet of his sword. In fact, he was borderline rushing to claim it from weapon's check just in case Greenberg decided to become somehow more insufferable, although Brothers help that bastard if he gave Jaune an actual legal reason to inflict bodily harm.
It was only once the Huntsman was outside the museum that Jaune looked at the name scrawled on the card.
"Sable Kolinski? Hmm."
Jaune wasn't exactly sure what kind of place he was going to wind up at. Given the incredibly pompous museum curator, Jaune wasn't without concerns. So he was more than a bit surprised as to where his scroll wound up sending him. Far from the upper levels of the city, he just kept going lower and lower. Until he wound up deep in one of the faunus housing projects, near a wharf that absolutely reeked of fish, in front of a small white cinderblock building.
"Kolinski Brushes. Home of the Seventh Series.'" Jaune blinked a bit. The marquee was a bit faded. Most of the handful of vehicles parked out front were on the rough side. Jaune was, to be honest, more than mildly shocked by what he was looking at.
Still, in for lira, in for a lien as the saying goes. He opened the door. A young rodent faunus, so gray that at first glance she looked twenty years older than she was, looked up at him. Her strange ears twitched, but her expression remained polite, if a bit guarded.
"May I help you?"
Jaune smiled, "I'm sorry. The Mistal Museum of Art sent me here."
Her expression softened somewhat, "Oh? Do you have a recommendation?"
Jaune paused, and rapidly realized he had no idea what was going on and any wrong step might well have him escorted out. "Maybe? I'm not sure of the protocol." He handed the woman the business card with the hand written address of the store on its back.
The faunus looked it over in a cursory kind of way. "I see," Her smile remained polite, if not particularly impressed. "Are you looking for a set of seventh series then?"
Jaune was just honest, "I honestly don't know. I was looking to purchase watercolor brushes as a gift for a friend."
The faunus looked at him. Really looked at him. Her expression remained polite, and her eyes didn't exactly become unkind, but there was something vaguely perturbed about her demeanor. "You don't really understand where you are, do you?"
Jaune smiled, "I'm afraid I don't. I'm sorry."
"So you have never heard of Sable Kolinski, much less the Seventh Series, am I correct?"
Jaune just shrugged helplessly. There were obviously so many layers of context Jaune was missing.
After a moment, the woman simply shrugged once. "Let me show you then." The women went to the back, very briefly, and then came back carrying an elegant hand carved wooden case. It was roughly the size of a small business case. She then set it gently on the counter, and opened up the box.
Inside, in four rows of five, were twenty elegant paint brushes. Each had a long ebony handle with heads ranging in size from being somewhat larger than his thumb to being so fine in point Jaune felt they rivaled the human hair.
"The seventh series. All brushes have been made from the natural hairs from the tails of Sable Kolinski, her husband, her children, her grandchildren, her great grandchildren, etc. Until you arrive at my father, who is a member of the seventh generation."
Jaune's jaw gaped, "You mean these are made from–"
She nodded, "One hundred percent faunus fur, that is correct. Technically a 60/40 male to female blend as that has proven optimal since Empress Alexandrina initially commissioned the first series one hundred and fifty seven years ago." Jaune felt his eyes blink. Physically, felt them blink. He'd never heard of such a thing. She shut the case with a coolly polite smile. "So, as gifts go, you should understand, this would be somewhat on the extravagant side."
Jaune kind of had to, "Would it be impolite to ask?"
She smiled, "A complete set would be 4,600 lien. If you wished to add a case like the one I am holding, that would bring the total to 4,850." Her smile remained polite as she warned, "If we choose to sell."
Jaune's smile now felt strained. He had a little over 300 lien in his wallet from working at the florist. The leftover money from his sweatshirt would barely cover half the remaining cost. Still, "Do you happen to sell singles?"
Her polite smile didn't change. "We do sell single brush replacements, just not to first time customers. I'm sorry."
Jaune recognized the look in the young woman's face. This was someone who was absolutely confident in the worth of her product and wasn't about to haggle. Jaune smiled, "I am sorry for wasting your time. I really didn't understand."
Her smile gained a little bit of warmth, and her eyes had never truly ceased to be kind. "Not a problem, thank you for coming in."
Jaune was starting to turn when the bell over the door tinkled behind him. The young woman's face lit up, "Uncle Gray!"
Jaune blinked. There was no way.
"Kendra! Where's that sister of yours hiding!"
Jaune turned around, and sure enough, there was Grayson Anderson Sheppard, Esquire. In the flesh. He zeroed in on Jaune in less than a second, "Jaune my boy! What brings you all the way down here!"
The young faunus looked at Jaune with surprise, then back to the giant who was now stooping through the door. "You know him, Uncle Grayson?"
Grayson smiled, "Indeed! This young rascal snared Winter Schnee herself! They came to my shop just a few days ago to get this lad presentable for Ghira's event!"
Kendra's eyes lit up as she looked at Jaune, "Why didn't you tell me you were looking for Winter? She's been a regular for years."
Jaune smiled, no longer willing to make any assumptions. He also rallied to seize the opening. "Because I wanted it to be a surprise?"
Grayson stood upright, "Wow, my boy." He patted his huge bushy, but somehow immaculate, black beard before winking knowingly. Which was comical for mostly the wrong reasons, "While I heartily approve of the sentiment, Winter might be put out if you continue to be overly lavish. Remember her initial balking at my shop!"
Jaune knew an opportunity when he saw one, "I wasn't getting her the full set. I was only looking for–"
Thankfully, the young woman saw it all clearly in the moment. "He was looking for a 4-0 to 0 set. For Winter's detail work."
Grayson smiled, "Ah! A fine choice, my boy! Commonly needed for replacement, and somewhat reasonably priced, at least by this place's standards!"
The girl laughed, not at all offended, "And what does just one of your Hermes ties retail for?"
Grayson blinked, then smiled, "Fair enough!" He then looked back at Jaune and slapped him hard enough on the shoulder to make the young Huntsman wince. "Anyways, it's evident that Winter chose her paramour well!"
The giant man then went into the back without a shred of reservation and bellowed, "Happy Birthday Liza! Now you best stop hiding and give your Uncle Gray a hug!"
The clerk's, Kendra's, joyful smile faded as she looked at Jaune, but her demeanor had changed noticeably. The young woman then wordlessly pulled out four small brushes from somewhere under the counter, each graced with an even more impossibly fine point. The handles were much shorter, being more utilitarian in nature, but of similar quality to the long ones in the display case.
"Winter prefers our shorter handles." She even put the brushes in an elegantly slim box. It was all but an admission she had several purchasing options available but had been politely shoving him out the door.
She smiled with an honest apology. "That will be 190 lien. I threw in the box for free," she got just a touch of a blush, "Just to say I'm sorry."
Jaune handed over the chips with a forgiving grin. "Thank you." He then confided, "This just turned into a huge win for me."
/\
Erik came in directly from the training yard. He was not happy.
His wife stared at him. She was equally unhappy. Erik looked at the suitcase. Brothers he wished he had it in him to be angry anymore, but he just didn't. Neither of them really did.
Nevertheless he was the one that started. "You had to bring it here."
Gwen brushed one platinum tress over her ear and out of her face. "You 'forgot' it again."
Erik looked around the office. Most had fled. Probably as soon as Gwen walked through the door carrying his clothes. One was lingering. Erik looked at Maple who was a recent graduate. The young huntress nodded once, then walked out the door, but not before glaring harshly at Gwen, who did not react.
Once she left though, Gwen remarked, "I see she doesn't like me."
Erik sighed, "She's a child."
"She's older than I was when we met."
Erik, "Yeah. She probably is."
The two stared at each other. Erik stared into her face. Contrasting it with the young woman he fell in love with thirty-four years ago. Her hair had grown paler, whiter, as she settled into middle age. Her former easy grace was perhaps now more deliberate. The triumphs and sorrows of motherhood were now etched into her face. Her eyes though, the deep blue of a clear ocean sky, remained beautiful, even if those eyes were no longer kind.
He tried, "Indi–"
"Is twenty. Like that young woman who is sweet on you, our daughter is no longer a child."
Gwen's mind was made up then. Erik looked at his wife. His gaze told her he understood, but he asked her to relent. Now that her point was fully made, a touch of pain and sadness finally entered her own gaze… although it touched the resolve in her face not at all.
She nodded once, picking up the bag. "I'll leave it with Lily down at the Wayside."
Erik nodded sadly, and without a look back his wife walked out the door. Her carrying the suitcase would at least leave some doubt. Not very much, but some.
Too eager to be respectful, or even polite, Maple came in the door as soon as Gwen walked out the door. Her wild red hair and exaggerated demeanor all but screaming she wanted to be his sounding board, his shoulder to cry on, for all the personal problems she lacked the life experience to have any true understanding of.
"Erik–"
The Hunter shook his head before another word left her mouth. "I'm not in the best of moods. Get Trey to run the first years through their drills, then I want them to go through their identification work books until they have every detail of every Grimm in this area down pat."
Maple nodded, "I'll get tell him right away–"
Erik nodded then kept going, "Then grab Rosa and have all the applicants getting ready for the practical this summer to group up into fours and run perimeter sweeps of the town. After they're grouped, you can send her out to cover the north just in case anyone makes contact with something significant from the coastal plain."
Erik rubbed his temples at the headache building behind his eyes, then added, "Make sure every single one of those groups understand they are under direct orders to remain in communication with the tower. That means they need to make sure their crystal sets are fully charged before they leave the training grounds. Failure to do so will result in an automatic failure and a 6 month delay on their next application, am I understood?"
Maple nodded. Her face now animated, "Sure I'll get–"
Erik understood his mistake in a moment.
Those orders would reduce the training yard personnel to a skeleton crew. Clumsy, Maple was childish in her desire, thinking he was creating some sort of opportunity.
Maple really was much like Gwen and he had been once upon a time. But, like both Gwen and himself long ago, she wasn't a child. Maple certainly didn't see herself as one. Thus this needed to end now.
"Run the tower for me. Not Xanthe, you. You need the controller experience more than he does and he now has enough experience to cover the southwest side of town. Tell the groups I will be out there as soon as I finish my paperwork. I best not find them being lax. Not after what happened to Citrina."
Maple looked at him, her hopeful face slowly dying in its surprise. Then that face became hurt. Then angry. "I expect those near the Wayside Inn will be in for an unpleasant afternoon then." She then spun away.
Erik hoped she wouldn't later try to rationalize his rejection.
The aging Huntsman sighed. He really should have nipped this in the bud weeks ago. He firmly resolved that if she persisted beyond this point, he would do just that. Granted, part of him had assumed her interest would wane, but there was no denying that another part of him had used the girl's obvious interest to salve his bruised sense of self as his marriage eroded beneath him.
Just another example that he wasn't the man most people here believed him to be.
Gwen knew. That was the problem. Erik wondered if she hated herself as well, and then knew he was being deliberately unkind.
Of course she did.
The arguments, long dormant, had resumed after Jaune's first disappearance. The letter he sent home had explained he had somehow enrolled in Beacon Academy. How? Erik had no idea. Jaune had no training. Erik was 99% sure his son's aura remained locked. Erik had innumerable questions, but since his son refused to give his family his new scroll number, and Gwen wouldn't allow him to go to Vale, Erik was left with nothing but a mystery on how his son became a student there.
For the longest time, he didn't even know what Jaune was using as a weapon. Not until an article about Vytal featured Jaune's team. The article centered on some Nikos kid, evidently she was amazing at play-fighting other Hunters for the amusement of the masses, but the article included a photo of this Team JNPR. A photo that revealed an all too familiar sword on his son's hip. Erik had immediately dug through the junk in the attic and discovered the cursed thing was missing.
Erik and Gwen's ensuing argument was as vicious as it was terrible. Easily the worst one between them since Saphron was in diapers. That night had seen both of them deliberately open as many old wounds as they possibly could. Everything they had never truly forgiven the other for was laid bare, and they had both played lip service towards forgiveness for a long time.
It only ended when Indi came home…
No, Indi coming home hadn't ended the argument, it had simply postponed it.
Then, things somehow got worse. The next day there was some unexplained fault in Vale's tower that happened. Rumors abounded, there had been some kind of attack at the Vytal tournament, but Erik and his team were then stretched thin as communications ceased entirely and they had to resort to runners to check on all the neighboring towns and local homesteads. Word of the actual extent of the fall of Beacon wouldn't arrive for three more days. When it did, stretched thin or not, Erik was all but on his way to Vale… but that was also when Jaune's letter arrived.
Jaune told them scroll service was down in the city. Jaune also said he and all other students were still being interviewed as part of Vale's investigation into the attack. He said he lost his partner. He asked for privacy. He said he didn't want to argue anymore.
Most importantly, Jaune said as soon as the investigators released him, he would be coming home.
That was fourteen months ago. No word since. Erik had given his son nine weeks before heading to Vale himself. Not to argue, but hopefully to explain. To reconcile. He had talked it out with Gwen and they both agreed, but by the time Erik arrived, Jaune was already gone.
From Beacon, Erik had tracked his son to the town of Patch, near Signal Academy. He probably should have interviewed some of Beacon's former faculty, but he got a lead on four young Hunters who had booked passage on a ship to Western Anima a little two weeks ago. Erik, thinking he could head his son off, paid the exorbitant rate to catch a Bullhead flight to Port Limani the next day, only to miss his son by no more than a handful of days. Erik was still convinced he'd catch up to his youngest inside a week, but following Jaune in Anima was to prove endlessly frustrating.
For more than two months Erik tried in vain to catch up to his son. A task made impossible because that son refused to stay on the main byways. Neither did he seem inclined to travel in anything approaching a straight line. Twice, Erik cut through the wilderness, heading directly for the most likely town for Jaune to head towards… only to wind up completely wrong and be forced to backtrack. To fall further behind his son. Seriously, Erik's unfortunate luck was uncanny as he tried to follow his kid.
On three occasions, Erik's panic was made worse because it looked like Jaune and his group had blundered into a village during an actual Grimm attack. Attacks that were deeply concerning in and of themselves given Mistral's number of renowned Hunter Teams.
Still, Erik doggedly chased Jaune, until his son seemingly disappeared.
The trail went absolutely cold at the shattered remains of a town called Kuroyuri. There was nothing left there but a large pile of ash from some Grimm that must have been massive. Erik had only two practical guesses as to where his son would head at that point. North to Argus, or east to Mistral. Argus was easier, and made more sense, but Erik guessed wrong yet again.
Erik's reunion with his eldest daughter was as awkward and uncomfortable as ever, although she remained kind. Saph cared for Jaune as much as anyone and was no less worried than Erik or Gwen themselves as to the whereabouts of her kid brother. Terra and Erik were never going to care for each other, but the Hunter couldn't argue that she came through in a big way. In just a couple of days, Terra was able to confirm through her contacts with the administration board that Jaune had in no way visited the city. At least under his legal name.
Erik had been sending word home every chance he could, but also he had kept moving and was thus unwilling to wait for a reply. However, in Argus, the Huntsman faced the consequences of his one-way communication.
The message Gwen had sent Saph, was almost panicked. Grimm incidents were on the rise. There had been injuries. Erik was thus forced to return home instead of trying to pick up Jaune's trail in Mistral, if his son had even gone there in the first place.
When he arrived home, Erik again confirmed to his wife that their son was alive. Erik firmly believed that. He didn't need to lie to Gwen as he fully recounted everything he had discovered. From his interviews concerning the towns Jaune had wandered through, Erik's son was picking up work as some kind of wandering Hunter with the remains of his team. Maybe their son was working through his grief? The only oddity was, despite Jaune saying he lost his partner, there were a full four members in the group.
This report to Gwen relieved many of their mutual fears, but in the end, it didn't assuage whom they each blamed. Thus it wasn't long before the argument had resumed. Now though, it was almost ceaseless. Sometimes driven underground, especially when Indi was near, but never resolved with every truce being a temporary and brittle thing.
Until three days ago when Gwen finally asked him to move out… Frustrated, only now finding it within himself to be angry again, Erik grabbed the stack of mail.
The first two packages were reports he would need to review in full and wasn't about to do now since they weren't flagged as urgent. Next was a letter from Citrina's family.
Erik skimmed it, picking out highlights. His student had been approved to Vale for transfer. A cosmetic surgeon could help aesthetically with her right eye, although nothing would give vision in it again. She was under sedation due to the pain, as her jaw was being reset. The pain was due to prolonged exposure to aura inhibitors that kept the fracture from healing overly quickly, so it would set correctly. Erik sighed, folding the paper and stuffing it back in its envelope as soon as he reached the part where her parents started thanking him for saving their child and ending the thing that hurt her.
He wondered if Citrina's parents yet understood that prolonged exposure to aura inhibitors meant it was unlikely their daughter would ever get a license. Their lasting and permanent side effects on aura were well documented, and no team would want someone who's aura levels would, in all likelihood, fluctuate seemingly at random for the rest of her days.
Her dream was dead, barely three months before the summer practical, all because Erik thought his students could use the practice and the wandering pack had seemed like an easy enough target.
Erik then somehow managed to frown harder. A heavily padded white and blue envelope? Atlas Military? He looked at it a bit more carefully, thinking it must have come in for someone else on his staff, but no, it was addressed directly to him. Personally.
Then he saw the sender's name. Jaune Arc. The jolt through his system was so strong it made Erik's fingers go numb.
With trembling hands, Erik opened the first communication he had received from his son in over a year.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Let me start by saying that I'm sorry…
\/
Winter reeked. She could smell herself even through her deodorant.
She thought her soldiers probably could as well. They were, after all, standing directly above her.
Still she kept on task.
"What the hell died in here?"
Winter couldn't exactly glance Mavro's way as she continued to crawl through ancient cobwebs and long dead rodent leavings. She did snort, purposefully loud, and then made sure her voice carried out from the subfloor, "Right now it could be anything that had the misfortune to wind up downwind of me."
Something thumped hard against the floor just above her, raining dust on the back of her head as she inched along. Undoubtedly the Mistral security officer, "I didn't realize there was enough space for a person to get into there."
"Abandoned ducting," Winter grunted as he crawled along, "Scans show it being harmless enough. Probably a renovation two decades or so ago where they deemed pulling everything too much work and simply capped it off, but your office gave us permission to set sensors in case anyone else knows about them. I'm almost done"
Another step directly over her head. More dirt fell. She noticed a dried cockroach husk on her shoulder. Now annoyed "Please stop. I have to be showered and changed in the next ninety minutes for our walkthrough with Menagerie Security. You stirring up dust isn't helping."
Mavro stopped. "Why are you doing this–"
Winter grunted, annoyed. "Well the other Anti-terrorism Specialist wasn't likely to fit."
An amused feminine snort sounded from above. Winter felt a chill at the base of her spine.
"I guess my son has been putting on weight." The voice was absolutely beautiful. Winter deliberately bit her lip until aura gave way and she started bleeding, just in case.
Winter took a deep breath. Then called out in her formal tone "Vice Chair? Apologies, I am indisposed. I will be out shortly."
The woman's silver laugh washed over Winter in ways that had all of Winter's instincts set to maximum.
That was the problem with Fey Morgause's Semblance. Was she using it? Was she not using it? She had never hidden, not even in the beginning as a child, that her voice had the ability to affect human emotion, but what was the exact extent of the ability? Did that limiter she prominently wore over her vocal cords even work?
After all, the only way anyone could tell for sure is if they were directly pointing a high end aura reader at her. One of the few could detect the minute fluctuations that came with Semblance usage.
Frustratingly, setting the last sensor took longer than it should have. All the while the Vice Chair laughed and spoke with Mavro, working towards a motivation Winter could only guess at. For all Winter knew, her voice was a direct ploy–
Winter deliberately bit the inside of her lip again. Until pain was the overriding sensation. She then sucked on the abscess she had created, keeping aura from closing the wound, focusing on the metallic flavor of her blood until the final sensor was fully set.
She then made her way back to the old air return intake that had granted her access in the first place. Winter did this by summoning a series of small glyphs that enabled her to more or less slide backwards. Of course the overt usage of her Semblance set off every sensor she had just set, which is why she had refrained from doing so earlier, but she needed to get up top and find out what the hell Fey Morgause was doing here.
If the ear-piercing shriek made conversation difficult up top until she could arrive, so much the better.
After all, everything had just become much, much more complicated.
For any defender of Clement Greenberg, let me offer a platitude from someone who, although uneducated, was actively trying to understand when he picked up 'Art and Culture.'
"A picture is worth a thousand words."
Personal axe fully ground, let's have that party!
