Author's note: Normally when I post a story, I don't begin posting until the story is done or is on the glide path to done. I'm not doing that this time, I'm sorry to say. This is a side project, and is likely to keep on being my side project. Expect uneven posting and long breaks between chapters. I apologize in advance.
"Hi. My name is Summer Rose, and I don't have a semblance."
It was the first thing she ever told them. It was also the first lie.
She was hardly alone in this regard.
"I'm Qrow. I'm just happy to see that someone else in the no-semblance club managed to crash this party."
"I'm Raven. My semblance connects me to my brother. That's all."
In the end, only Taiyang was honest with his new teammates. This would prove to be a pattern. Team STRQ was a temple built on a foundation of lies.
It was Raven who started to pick up on the truth first.
It would be. Taiyang, for all his uncanny insight into the emotions and hurts of his teammates, didn't have the necessary cynicism. He believed too quickly and too completely. Qrow should have known better; he had the instincts and his training from the tribe. His problem was he wanted to believe. He wanted to trust, wanted this to be his new surrogate family—even though he had a family, idiot brother!—and so chose stupidity.
Raven didn't have those problems, and she was used to wearing masks. She alone recognized when someone else was wearing one.
She had some help on that topic.
"The staff is under the impression you're planning a mutiny," said Professor Ozpin. "We're still in your first semester. That would be close to the record."
Raven tried not to watch the gears—so many, many gears—clacking away in Ozpin's office. She disliked them intensely. Other people could be cogs in the Kingdoms' machines, but she never would be.
"I thought mutiny was a term for the navy," Raven said, perhaps too insolently.
"You disregarded your team leader's orders during a live-fire class," Ozpin noted.
"And it worked," said Raven smugly.
"Yes, but you don't appear to understand why it worked," said Ozpin.
"Well, why do you say it worked?" Raven challenged.
"It appears you did not listen to Professor Bridgestone's debriefing, either. You should revisit the topic with her. Regardless, I have a more pressing concern with you." Ozpin waved his hand at a tablet. "Your actions today were egregious, but fit within your larger pattern."
Raven scowled. Our 'glorious leader' snitched on me.
As if he could hear the thought, Ozpin inclined his head in chastisement. "Your teachers have noticed it and made note of it."
Raven crossed her arms defiantly, but said nothing. She would not help him hang her.
"Why?" he asked.
The answer was so obvious Raven couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "She doesn't deserve to be leader."
"Oh?"
"She's weaker than me."
The corners of Ozpin's mouth ticked up in amusement. "You think so?"
"I know so," Raven said vehemently. "I've never lost so much as a spar with that girl!"
"I'm sure that's true. And yet, you are not the strongest member of Team STRQ."
She scoffed. "With respect, sir," she said, her voice pitched in a parody of respect, "have you been paying attention to your classes?"
"More closely than you realize," Ozpin replied with infuriating calm. He paused to take a sip of whatever was steaming in his mug, letting Raven stew in her own uncertainty.
If Raven never lost, how could he say she was weaker? That didn't make any sense. It was like saying the valley was higher than the mountain. What was he trying to get at?
"Perhaps," Ozpin said, startling Raven from her thoughts, "one day, you might be the strongest. No one's made more mistakes than I have, after all. On some matters, I don't mind being wrong. I invite you to prove me wrong on this. I would be surprised, but impressed, if you did."
"I will," Raven vowed.
"I like your spirit," said Ozpin, and his tone and words made Raven preen slightly despite herself. "Ultimately, though, it makes little difference to the matter at hand. Even if you were stronger than Miss Rose, she would still be team leader."
"What? Why?" Raven demanded.
"Because a leader is not a muscle," Ozpin replied. "A leader is a brain."
Raven blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
That miniscule smile appeared on his face again. "Well, if you'll permit an old man to ramble a bit—" As if I have a choice, Raven thought bitterly, "—I'll give you a peek behind the curtain. I choose team leaders for many reasons. Sometimes, it's someone I feel could learn the most from the position. This is a school, after all. Sometimes, I choose the person that team needs most as leader. And sometimes, a leader has certain qualities of mind I seek to cultivate. I never default to the strongest fighter."
Raven huffed. "And you determine all of that during initiation, just from watching us? You gather all that information inside of a few hours?"
"I have some foreknowledge," Ozpin said. He tapped his tablet, as if to suggest that whatever paperwork he had informed his choices.
But that would mean… "Do you rig our trajectories during Initiation?" Raven blurted out, stunned at her own insight. "Do you pick our teammates for us and tell us it's random?"
Ozpin quirked one eyebrow. "This, coming from the girl who teleported to her brother's side before she even touched ground?"
Raven blushed; she had no defense against that. As if she could let Qrow run around unsupervised! He'd have blown their cover before they made it back to the cliffs. "'Qualities of mind'?" Raven repeated, hoping to change the subject.
"Indeed." Ozpin released the mug and folded his hands in front of his face. Raven felt like he was shining a spotlight on her. She resented that feeling. "If your biggest complaint with Miss Rose is that you think you're stronger, what's your second?"
This part was easy. She had a well-worn mental list of gripes with her 'leader'. "She never tries," Raven said disdainfully.
"Oh? Are you saying she doesn't complete her homework, or attend classes, or do her exercises? My reports suggest that she does."
"She never tries hard," Raven amended. "She never puts her all into anything. She just does the minimum to skate by. She's always holding back."
"Precisely."
Incomprehension ruled. "What?"
"Do you think it's easy, to always use as light a touch as possible?" Ozpin said, and to Raven's surprise he rose from his desk and began to pace. "Do you suppose it's laziness, what she's doing? That it's somehow proof of inactivity? That she can't? Far from it. It's endless work and effort, to think about how much force to use, how heavy a hand, how much of yourself to spend. It requires highly developed self-awareness and an analytical mind. It's quite difficult to ration yourself so strictly."
He'd walked to the window and was gazing out, apparently at the campus below, where students were bustling about, oblivious to his gaze. Raven was struck by the notion that he was looking at his own reflection in the glass.
"Difficult," he said, more quietly, "but necessary."
Raven didn't know how to respond. That wasn't how she thought, or what she believed. She wanted a leader who was all-in. She wanted a leader who could carry others with them by sheer momentum. She wanted a leader… like herself, really, like the leader she imagined she'd be someday.
All the tribal leaders had been like that. Every one of them had been at the front of every raid. Every one of them had committed fully to every action they took.
Right?
She suddenly wasn't sure, and despised that fact.
"Tell me," said Ozpin quietly, shaking Raven from her thoughts, "have you ever heard the fable of the Boy Who Cried Grimm?"
"No." Under other circumstances, Raven might have responded with more vehemence or contempt for "kingdom nonsense". She was too preoccupied for scorn.
"It's a good one," said Ozpin fondly, still looking into the window. "A young boy is assigned duty in his village's watchtower. His job is to bang a gong when grimm are coming, so that the village can prepare its defenses. It's dull work, and the boy finds himself wishing something would break up his day. Eventually, out of boredom, he decides to bang the gong and cry 'grimm' just to see what will happen.
"The village turns out, dropping all their activities to arm themselves and man the barricades, and the boy is delighted. Look at all he was able to do, just by telling people to do it! What power, what fun!
"The villagers don't think it's very funny. When they realize that they've been pranked, they scold the boy severely. They try to make him understand his duty—to bang when it's necessary, yes, but only when it's necessary.
"He doesn't internalize this lesson. It's far too much fun to make people scurry about. The next day, the boy is again going out of his mind with boredom. The temptation is irresistible. He bangs the gong again, crying 'grimm, grimm'! The village turns out for combat again. Once again, there are no grimm to be found. The village does not appreciate being abused this way, and the boy is punished for wasting everyone's time.
"The next day, the boy is in the tower again, radiating discontent, wallowing in his own resentment. In time, a flock of Nevermore crests the horizon. Panicking, he bangs the gong with all his might, screaming 'grimm, grimm' at the top of his lungs.
"But no one comes."
Raven swallowed. She could imagine the rest all too easily. "But then…" she said with a frown, "…if the boy was so unreliable, why put him in that position? Why put him in the tower if they were going to ignore him?"
Ozpin sighed heavily, with the weight of years behind it. "'Why' indeed."
That wasn't an answer Raven found satisfying.
Ozpin shook his head briskly and turned away from the window. "Precious few people can operate at full intensity all the time. Fewer still want to. A leader who demands that burns out themselves and those around them. I have found that the best leaders are the ones that understand pace and perspective. They ask only what they need from others. They maintain standards—don't confuse this approach with leniency—but they don't demand maximum effort when maximum effort isn't warranted.
"That way, when it is warranted, their subordinates know. They know, instinctively, that this is when it matters, that this time makes a difference—and they give their all without question."
Raven knew when she was being led along. "You're telling me Summer Rose is like that."
Another one of those tiny smiles flitted across Ozpin's face. "Why don't you go see for yourself?"
"And if she's not?" Raven demanded. "If she ends up being a waste of time?"
Ozpin laughed and gestured to the gears—which, Raven realized, were perhaps supposed to be clockwork. "I do not make a habit of wasting time. Until we speak again…"
Even Raven didn't defy a dismissal that clear. It did nothing to settle her down.
Summer Rose wasn't that special.
Raven paid closer attention to her 'leader' over the next week, hoping to prove Ozpin wrong.
Everything she saw from Summer Rose seemed to confirm her first impressions. Summer attended classes, and did schoolwork, and fought—and she did those things diligently, to be sure. But she did them seemingly without curiosity, or intent, or purpose. She read as many pages as the next class required, and no more. She hit the minimum word count on her essays, and no more.
She did well enough in her spars to force her opponent to exert themselves… and no more. She rarely won against the other students in their year. She never won against her teammates.
Raven was surprised when Summer called an after-hours training session—only to find that the other teams in their year were doing the same, and Summer was just matching them. As usual, she was doing the minimum.
That left Raven feeling frustrated and unforgiving when she made it to the training room. Dummies and marksmanship targets lined one side of the high-ceilinged room; variously-shaped portable obstacles lined another. There were, in other words, plenty of resources available to those who wanted to use them. Summer didn't seem to pay them any heed. That would require effort, after all, Raven thought caustically.
"Sparring practice," Summer announced. "In pairs."
Raven rolled her eyes. It was an intense form of exercise, sure, but it was also the most basic. Anyone could say "go spar".
"I'll fight you," she told Summer.
Summer stalled for a moment; before she could reply, Taiyang was running with the idea. "That leaves you and me, Qrow. Armed or unarmed?"
"Unarmed is fine," Qrow said, as he strolled away from the girls. "It'll be fun to kick your ass at your own style."
"You think you're up to that? Looks like someone has a short memory."
Raven felt disgust welling up inside her. Banter. Wasted breath. If she knew those boys, they were just looking for an excuse to try and hit each other in the balls, because that was funny, apparently. (Never mind that it was a staple of the fighting style the twins had learned as bandits, as were all sorts of moves these Kingdom softies considered "dirty". Now Qrow wasn't doing it because it was a shortcut to victory, he was doing it for a laugh. Idiot.)
"Okay, then," said Summer mildly. "You and me, Rae."
Raven snorted. "Are you going to try this time?"
"I always try."
"Is that why you're zero-for-seven?" Raven said with a sneer.
Summer hummed thoughtfully as she readied her weapon. Raven was familiar with it by now. Like so many other Kingdom-made weapons, Solstice was overcomplicated and cumbersome. It was part automatic rifle, part pole-sword, yet neither mode caused Raven much distress. Summer wielded the automatic rifle mode from the hip, costing it accuracy, but the way she used it that didn't matter. She played at fire support, using it as an area weapon to thin out swarms of smaller grimm, or to take chunks out of the larger easy-to-hit ones. Neither of those descriptors fit Raven. She gave it little concern.
The glaive form, which Summer used almost exclusively in her spars, was better suited to person-on-person combat. It gave her reach and control without weighing her down like most weapons its size. Reach and control, though, were poor counters for Raven's speed and ferocity.
Summer didn't go into a ready stance right away. She rested Solstice with its butt on the ground, and took her time looking at Raven. Raven didn't like the feeling of being inspected. "What are you looking for?" she demanded.
"Nothing," Summer said. "I was just trying to decide, that's all."
"If I wanted cryptic non-answers I'd talk to Ozpin. Decide what?"
Summer nodded once, seemingly to herself, rather than answer. Throwing her head back, she tossed the hood from her head (and, really, of all the impractical fighting clothes!) while hefting Solstice with a twirling flourish. "I'm ready," she said as she extended the glaive forward, rear arm cocked back, guide arm lower, blade towards Raven.
"Finally," muttered Raven. The boys were already grunting and laughing, but she tuned them out. She prized her focus, her ability to concentrate on what mattered, and she wielded that focus like a weapon of its own.
One hand grasped the sheath of her sword, while the other hovered above the hilt. One grudging compliment she would pay Kingdom weaponeers was their creative use of Dust. (It was nice to have if you could afford it; the Branwen Tribe rarely could. Beacon's stipends were everything to the twins.) A sword that could select blades laced with different Dusts was a versatile problem-solving tool. Sure, she went with plain metal blades almost all the time, but the possibility she might use something else made for delicious mind games.
Her hand was steady, palm open, fingers eager.
"Begin," said Summer.
Right away she jabbed forward with her glaive, forcing Raven to choose how to dodge, backwards or to the side. When Raven side-stepped, a twist of Summer's wrist turned the blade in that direction and swept; Raven backpedaled away.
'Active defense' was how Summer had described her style. ('Ineffective' was the word Raven would have used.) She kept in motion, kept the glaive moving, and even if each individual move was unlikely to hit, they combined to put pressure on the enemy and restrict their options to close and punish her.
Distance and control. Distance and control. Like her personality and approach to leadership.
Which Raven hated.
Another sweep, and this time Raven danced around the edge and attacked, drawing on her aura for more speed; she was inside the arc of Solstice's blade before Summer could reverse its direction. Raven drew her sword like the strike of a rattlesnake. Summer brought the haft of her glaive up in time to block the swing, but that technique was much less effective against thrusts, and Raven went into a rapid-fire sequence of those until one connected; Summer stumbled backwards, the white of her aura sparking to contain the blow.
Raven gave no quarter and pressed her advantage. She left Summer no opening to step back and restore range, to bring the reach of her weapon back into play. She advanced with every blow, and when that brought her too close to swing her sword, she lashed out with an elbow or a foot or a knee. Her blood sang as she indulged her rage. She unleashed her frustrations with her 'leader' on that leader. The tribe would have been proud.
She was faster than Summer, she was stronger than Summer—was this all the girl amounted to?
"Is this it?" she hissed in her fury.
The butt of Solstice caught her in the gut. Raven knew instantly she'd gotten too angry to stay focused, and she'd lost track of Summer's weapon. Summer transitioned from the horizontal half-swing into a vertical jab; as Raven stumbled back, Summer slid away, reestablishing the distance between the fighters and resetting the fight.
Raven growled in frustration, but she knew on a higher level that this was fine. She'd gotten plenty of hits in during that exchange, she had a healthy lead in aura. Unless Summer suddenly developed new skills to keep Raven from closing, Raven could end this farce without much trouble.
"You're outmatched," Raven said—not as a taunt, but as a statement.
"You are very good," Summer replied, the blade of her glaive once more between the girls, ready to flick in most any direction.
"So you can see the obvious," Raven said, and she began to circle, strictly to see how Summer's footwork would look as she tracked her. "That's something."
Raven stepped further away as she walked, increasing the radius of the circle. This was enough room, if Summer got ambitious, to get a full twirl going and put some real momentum behind that glaive. A sweep with that much force would actually be worrisome for Raven—though it'd be a high-risk move.
Which was exactly why Summer wouldn't make it.
Raven raised her arms out to the side, which took her sword away from her body, opening herself even further. "It's not like you've gotten better since we started."
"You don't think so?" said Summer. In contrast to Raven's long, leisurely strides, Summer's feet were shuffling, staying balanced, ready to go in any direction. But she didn't move.
"You're not any closer to beating me than our first day."
"I'm not any further," Summer countered.
Raven frowned. "Are you saying I'm not getting better? Or are you saying you're somehow keeping up with me?"
"I'm saying," said Summer, "that I'm still not doing what I'd have to do to win."
Raven stopped walking. This wasn't funny anymore. "Why not?" she demanded.
Summer said nothing.
"I don't believe you," Raven stormed. "I think you're lying to protect your own ego. And if you were telling the truth, it'd make me even angrier. Why would you cheat us like that?!"
Summer blinked in surprise; one of her shuffling feet scuffed on the floor. "Cheat you?"
"Yes," Raven fumed. "You're cheating us of a better leader, and bigger challenges, and more chances to get stronger, and… ugh! If the leader's afraid of doing well, what does that mean for the followers?!"
Summer's eyes went out of focus. "I hadn't thought about it like that," she murmured.
Raven grunted her frustration and sheathed her sword. Whether Summer was lying or not, Raven was through playing around with her. Full strength, this time—she would put that girl, that mockery of a 'leader', in her place.
With a spin of her sheath's rotor, Raven selected a fire blade. She'd lead with a wave of flame. Even if it didn't do much damage, it'd provide so much dazzle and distraction as to compromise Summer's defense, and Raven would follow it in to close quarters and end things.
Raven drew the blade with a mighty swing, pulsed her aura, and sent a crescent of fiery wrath towards the little girl in white.
She didn't wait to see how Summer reacted to this; she was already running, chasing the fire, ready to follow up—
-on someone who wasn't there.
When the fire cleared Summer's position, there was no—
Above!
To Raven's disbelief, Summer was high in the air above her previous position—Raven must have missed the jump with her own fire in the way—but Summer had never jumped that high, how—
Solstice was twirling, and there wasn't a blade pointed at Raven any more.
Bullets poured out at Raven with deadly accuracy. She could deflect them, she was good at that, but not forever, the tax on body and aura to move like that was high...
Summer was falling, though, her descent complicated by the recoil of her rifle, but she'd land safely with Raven preoccupied with her defense. That, Raven could see, was her opening. Summer would take a moment after landing to collect herself, leaving a split second for Raven to rush her.
Except the moment never happened. Raven hadn't taken more than a step before Summer beat her to it and charged forward, glaive held high for an overhead smash.
Raven raised Omen to block—it was all she could do, all there was time for, she'd never seen Summer take a swing like this let alone at this speed—
Blade met blade with a clash that jarred Raven and made her limbs quake. Even blocking the attack sent her staggering backwards. Before she could regain her bearings, metal flashed in her vision.
The follow-up thrust from Summer connected squarely.
Raven felt her breath rush out of her even through her aura. She'd tanked hammer blows with less power behind them. There was another impact on her back and Raven's vision blanked; with a blink, she realized Summer had knocked her back into the training room wall.
And Summer was right there, driving forward with her glaive in full lunge at terrible speeds, an unprecedented war cry spilling from her mouth.
No time to block, Omen was out of position; no time to dodge and nowhere to go. In desperation, Raven snap-kicked up at the onrushing glaive.
She connected with the haft—just enough to redirect it.
The blade sunk into the wall above Raven's shoulder.
Summer's momentum carried her close, almost all the way into Raven; their faces were so close the swing of Summer's bangs tickled Raven's chin. In terror-driven instinct, Raven lashed out with a zero-range gut punch.
A horn sounded.
Summer flinched; there was a shimmer of aura across her face, which was all Raven could see.
Even with adrenaline muddying her mind, Raven knew that couldn't be right. There had been no power behind that punch; by tribal standards it was a love-tap. But the horn meant the fight was over, and the aura flicker didn't lie…
Summer was heaving breaths; the hot air washed over Raven's face. She chuckled slightly. "Good job," she said.
Raven blinked. She wanted to get away, her body was screaming for her to move, but there was nowhere to go. Summer was everywhere. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, hating how breathless her voice was.
"You won again," Summer said.
It didn't feel like a win. It wasn't anger that had Raven's heart hammering in her chest and her breath coming in shallow pants. "That's not what I meant," she said, trying for a scowl and not making it. "You've never moved that fast or hit that hard before! Are you saying you could have done that at any time?"
Summer gave a sad kind of smile. "Sort of."
That response let Raven rekindle the embers of her wrath. "So you have been holding out on me! I knew it! You haven't been trying!"
That got a full chuckle out of Summer. "I've been trying all along. But," she added before Raven could speak, "for you… I might try a little harder."
Summer smiled, and Raven realized that all of Summer's other smiles to this point had been fake. They must have been, because this one was different. It reached all the way to her eyes—those odd, shining silver eyes.
Raven thought she'd see those eyes forever.
She was acutely aware that Summer was still practically on top of her, face flushed with exertion, panting hot breaths across her face, filling her vision like she was the whole world.
Summer stepped back. Raven blinked, and kept on blinking, like she was trying to remember how. When at last her vision cleared, Summer was standing a few steps away. She tugged her weapon free of the wall (Raven felt the urge to flinch but found she still couldn't move) and stowed it.
"That takes our series to eight-and-zero for you," Summer said briskly. She angled herself so the boys were also in her field of vision; they'd been staring, and started when she caught them. "Now! I'm low on aura, so I'm not much use in a spar now. I'll be heading to the range for a little target practice. You all carry on until…" she glanced at a clock on the wall, "…a quarter 'til, then go shower. We'll meet back up at the top of the hour for group study."
No one seemed much able or willing to answer, so she walked off on her own, leaving her team scattered behind her. Raven felt like she couldn't see anything but her leader's after-image.
She could, unfortunately, hear the boys' conversation nearby.
"Seeing those two like that… I am so turned on right now."
"Dude, one of them's my sister."
"And? Your sister's hot."
"It's your funeral."
To be continued...