Qrow felt uneasy leaving Ironwood's office. The man seemed to be purposefully obtuse, and the butterflies Clover (that dick) had put in his stomach only served to unnerve him before the meeting. He tried getting mad at Jimmy for leaving them high and dry in their time of need, but the man's lukewarm defense had been so limp and half-hearted that Qrow couldn't even conjure an argument; James clearly didn't agree with his own actions, but gave off a real 'my hands are tied' attitude.

But now Qrow was back in the waiting room, with a silent Blake, a grinning Clover, and a Penny that seemed lost in their own head. Probably studying forklifts or… something that made sense. Whatever. Qrow needed a drink— his head was starting to hurt, and that tiny nip in the stadium did little to sate it.

He tried to pass Blake without a word, but she grabbed his sleeve on the way out, her bright amber eyes pleading. Dust, he was an asshole, the kid obviously needed a primer— she had no clue what to expect from Ironwood, especially from the prevalent and casual racism she'd been experiencing from the rest of Atlas.

"There, uh, anything I should look out for?" Blake questioned, her raised brow and sly tone underlining an uncertainty that Qrow hadn't expected; she could handle herself fine, she just wanted to know what she should or shouldn't divulge.

Qrow blinked, a little surprised. He didn't know this girl as well as he thought he did— then again, he didn't even know her name earlier. He really was an asshole. "Just be honest with him," Qrow explained. "Jimmy got himself here through real work, and he's a simple guy. Generally good, no pun intended."

"Generally?" Blake emphasized.

"He's not racist so, y'know, leagues above the rest of Atlas high society."

Blake pursed her lips. "Great. I'm glad 'not racist' is a real selling point here."

Qrow winced. "Yeah. Sorry, kid."

"Don't call me that."

"O-okay," he massaged the back of his neck, embarrassed to be doing this in front of Clover. "Sorry, Blake."

Standing beside her, Qrow could feel how distinctly incompatible his and Blake's personalities were with each other. It made sense, he supposed, he did kinda build his whole 'brooding badass' rep around being a real solo, and she seemed to be doing the same. Desperate to escape their awkward coexistence, Qrow fled into the elevator.

He looked down at his feet and sighed. Finally, they'd leave him alone. He needed a drink.

The elevator didn't lurch. Another set of shoes entered his periphery and, by extension, the elevator. Calf-high boots with buckles and plated toes. Qrow shut his eyes and groaned.

Clover. Great.

The elevator shut them in, and Qrow didn't even bother to punch a number. If Clover was following him, that meant there was somewhere he was supposed to be, and Clover was too keen to let him slip away.

As expected, Clover punched in a floor himself. Qrow didn't look up to see which it was, instead keeping his eyes glued to his shoes. He'd be immune to the Operative's wiles so long as he didn'tlookat him.

The elevator lurched. Qrow did not look up.

"Qrow?"

He did not look.

"Are you okay?"

Ah, fuck. Qrow was looking, and that really wasn't a question he wanted to consider, especially around Clover, and especially without alcohol.

"Qrow, you're shaking," Clover placed a hand on Qrow's arm.

Qrow sharply inhaled, but he couldn't retreat from the contact— his back was already against the wall, a symptom of his cultivated persona; if he could lean, he would lean.

"You know, your whole 'brooding badass' thing doesn't work around me," Clover said with a warm smile. "Not since I—"

Qrow threw his hands up, desperately dispelling whatever horniness the man was about to spew. "Okay, okay! I get it, just…" Qrow's shoulders fell limp. "Let me get a drink first."

Clover's eyes flashed with disappointment, but he schooled it and sighed. "Alright. I'm guessing you have some?"

Qrow quickly rifled through his pockets, finding them bereft. He cringed. "I, uh… ran through it."

"Qrow," Clover tutted. "I know you're better than this."

"Agh, I know! Okay? Fuck, I know!" Qrow wiped his face with his hands. "It's just… too much to handle on my own, okay? Sorry I don't want to think about all the kids I killed by being shit at—"

A firm thump on his forehead shut him up. "Don't say that," Clover demanded, his face stern. "That's bullshit and you know it."

"How would you know?" Qrow rebutted, slapping away the other man's hand. "We haven't talked for four years! You don't know shit about me now, you've been too busy licking his highness' boots."

Clover frowned, but kept a firm gaze on Qrow. "We both had our duties."

Qrow flipped him off. "Fuck you."

Clover's frown deepened. Qrow smirked.

Blake's leg bounced as she waited, creating a third sound in a room with only two others: the persistent tapping of the secretary's keyboard, and the near-silent whirring that came from Penny.

Blake wished the android would talk to her, but they seemed occupied with their own thoughts, probably busy studying pathology. She wondered how Penny even received the degrees— did they ever attend physical classes? Did they take exams in person? How the hell did they balance that with their Hunter's studies? Despite apparently being best friends with Ruby, the rest of her teammates knew virtually nothing about the android; if they had hobbies, if they ate, if they slept, nothing. She wondered if Ruby knew they were forklift certified.

Ruby… the poor girl. Blake really tried not to think about her, but she couldn't stop herself, especially while so unoccupied. She wished Yang would text her about her status. She wished Yang would text her. She could really use it right now.

"Blake, you are scowling," Penny stated. Blake hadn't even noticed the android taking the seat beside her. "Is something wrong?"

Blake shook her head. "Not really. I just miss my team." Especially Yang, she didn't say.

Penny nodded and gave Blake a consoling pat on the shoulder. "Yes, I miss your team too. Especially Ruby."

Blake gave her a sidelong glance. "Oh yeah?" She spoke as plainly as she could, trying not to make her probing obvious. "You guys are… friends, right?"

"Best friends," Penny corrected. Then, after a moment, their shoulders sagged, face turning down with a melancholy that Blake hadn't seen from the android.

"Penny?" Blake nudged them. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Penny seemed to grow frustrated, their fists clenching and unclenching as they spoke through gritted teeth. "I do not know."

Blake leaned towards them. "Is it about Ruby? I'm worried about her too."

Penny started to shake their head, then stopped. "I do not know. I do not know why I do not know and it is very frustrating."

"Maybe—" Blake didn't even get a second word in before the secretary loudly called across the mostly-empty room.

"Blake Belladonna!" The Faunus in question jumped at the unnecessary volume. "The headmaster is ready for you!"

Blake frowned. She really didn't have to yell— she hadn't yelled to call Qrow. Regardless, she made her way to the doors. They didn't open for her like they did for the Huntsman, prompting her to look over at the secretary.

She stared at Blake with an intensely high brow and a sneer on her lip. Her hair was black and cut in a short bob, creating an intense contrast to her paler-than-pale skin and bright blue eyes, which narrowed suspiciously at the Faunus before her.

"Yes?" Blake matched her gaze.

"Blake Belladonna," the secretary repeated.

"That's me," Blake confirmed.

The secretary checked her computer, then looked back at Blake— her ears, specifically, as if her gaze would burn them away and turn her human.

"Is there a problem?" Blake challenged.

The secretary scoffed and turned back to her computer, offhandedly pressing the button that opened the door. It slid open, then closed once Blake stepped through. She took a deep breath.

Blake had to ascend an annoyingly vertical staircase to enter the office— another tactic to offset anyone he met with, she imagined. Also made him seem like a dick for the lack of wheelchair accessibility.

Blake hid her panting as she entered the office. For somebody that fought giant monsters for a living, she really ought to be in better shape.

Ironwood sat behind his desk which, of course, was on a raised, stepped platform. There were no chairs that Blake could see, so she just stood in front of the man. The platform allowed him to look down on her, even while seated, which she tried not to get too annoyed at. One would have to be extremely tall to meet his eyes like this. It would be difficult for most humans to reach that height, but she found a delightful irony in the fact that plenty of Faunus could easily reach such a stature even before adulthood.

Not her, though. Even as the second tallest on her team, she felt like a child in front of the general. She tried not to let it show.

"Let me just start with this," Ironwood spoke out of the blue, his baritone voice cracking across the office's crisp silence like a whip. "I'm very sorry. You have my sincerest condolences for the events that unfolded at Beacon, and I want you to know that you can feel safe here."

Blake nodded. "Okay. Sure."

Ironwood cocked an eyebrow. "Do you not feel safe here, Ms. Belladonna?"

Blake waved a hand dismissively. "Ohhh noooo, I'm good, yeah I feel super safe. How couldn't I, you guys have got me locked down on the first floor, after all, and I'm being tailed, as well— which I'm sure is just for my safety. Yeah, I feel really safe locked in here with hundreds of students and faculty who clearly can't stand me based on my own immutable features."

The general sighed, his features creasing with disappointment. "I had hoped I wouldn't have to hear that."

Ironwood stood up from his desk and turned to the great floor-to-ceiling window behind him. The day wasn't very deep into the afternoon, so the light piercing the glass wall was enough to warmly illuminate the entire room.

"Please, come here," Ironwood requested with a small wave of his hand.

Blake considered asking why, but decided against it. According to Qrow, he wasn't the kind of guy to distrust straight out the gate, even if she doubted his politics aligned with that idea. Regardless, she stepped up, keeping a reasonable distance from the general.

He turned to greet her, his gloved hand extending her way. "James Ironwood. 'General', 'Headmaster', or just 'Ironwood' are fine. Much as I wish everyone here would call me by my first name, it'd be improper for the students."

Blake gave his hand a long, tentative glance before meeting it with her own. "Blake."

"Belladonna, right?" James added. "Ghira's daughter?"

Blake instantly jerked, her nerves tightening like a coil about to break. Her hand flew to her back, where Gambol Shroud would be if she hadn't been forced to stow it.

"Woah!" James raised his hands disarmingly. "Sorry, not like that, I just admire his work."

Blake's gaze remained sharp, and her voice came deadpan. "What."

Ironwood turned back towards the window and gave a low chuckle. "I'm from Mantle, the slums around The Hole. I worked in the quarries for the better part of my childhood. Believe it or not, Ghira's words reached across the world; I'm sure they still echo in those mines."

Blake continued her suspicious glare, but allowed her tension to ease a little.

"He's a hero to me," he admitted. "He got a lot of us out of that hole."

"But not all of you?" Blake asked sharply.

Ironwood's wistful smile died. Blake watched an intense fatigue etch across his face, aging him severely. "No. Not everyone."

"So…" Blake drawled. "What's your point?"

Ironwood briefly shut his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "I'm trying to say that I understand, Blake. At least a little. I'm going to do my best to make things better, but I can't promise it's not going to be hard for you. Especially after what happened to Beacon, I would understand if you don't want to accept the invitation."

Blake blinked. "Invitation?"

The general nodded, eyebrow raising at her confusion. "Yes, the invitation. You got an invitation, right?"

"No?" Blake checked her pockets, but they hadn't miraculously been filled when she wasn't looking. "Yeah I don't have that."

"Seriously?" Frustrated, Ironwood pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. He turned back around and began rummaging through his desk, letting out annoyed noises as he pulled things out of his way. Papers, envelopes, and so many paperclips flew from his hands to scatter across the floor. He didn't seem to notice the mess he was making.

Blake watched, unintentionally relaxing at the display. She didn't really get what his long play was, but standing there, watching him aggressively rifle through drawers on his knees, she couldn't find it in her to be intimidated. He looked like a dumbass.

After a couple minutes of frantic searching, he held a white sheet into the air. "Got it," Ironwood muttered.

Blake reached forward and snatched it from between his fingers. Her eyes widened at the text. "Are you serious?"

James straightened himself back up, wincing as his back popped. "Is it really that unbelievable?"

"Of course it's—"

"Miss Belladonna," he interrupted, "need I remind you exactly which school populated the most spots in the Vytal top ten, let alone which school won?"

Blake flushed red. She actively tried to purge the Vytal Festival from her memories, and Yang's procurement of conciliatory alcohol had been a great aid to that effort. Regardless of her attempts, she knew where the Amity Cup was. Even if it was just scrap, now. "Beacon," she half-heartedly answered.

Ironwood nodded. "Exactly. Whatever Ozpin's doing works, so I'll take as many of you as I can."

Blake's question was immediate, pointed, and sharp. "Why didn't you help, then?"

Ironwood blinked. "Pardon?"

Blake threw her arms out, her face creasing with anger. "The school exploded, hundreds died at Beacon, hundreds of thousands were in Vale— what the fuck were you doing?"

Ironwood raised his hands. "Blake, please, let's not be—"

"What, aggressive? Why not? Maybe if you'd been a little more 'aggressive', my school wouldn't be fucked!"

"Miss Belladonna," Ironwood turned on her, his voice sharp. "You are alive because I disobeyed orders. Sending those Mantas was more than I was allowed— unless you think I should have started a military coup so I could send my ships to Vale which, mind you, would have taken considerably more time than those that I did send."

Blake stood tall with a defiant glare, but remained silent.

"I did what I could," he claimed, slumping into his chair. "The city was lost before I even knew what was happening. If I'd come in, it would've looked more like a vulture on a corpse, and let's just say that international favor isn't exactly swinging my way. Once the Grimm clear out, we'll send humanitarian aid."

Blake eyed him. She knew well the taste of spoon-fed bullshit. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

Ironwood folded his hands in front of him. "Yes."

"Well?"

The general held his hand out in front of himself, towards a glowing blue circle in the floor. Without any further prompting, it began to rise, creating a round table that came up to hip-height. The slate-colored top suddenly awoke, fully illuminating itself with bright cyan light.

Slowly, the light began to dance and jolt, wildly at first, but progressively becoming more ordered. Shallow paths cut across the wild plane— streets, evident by the long poles at their sides and their curbed edges— followed by the jagged spikes refining into something more rectangular. Buildings, she would've guessed, if not for the fact that, as their shapes became more refined, they became more clearly dilapidated. Skeletal towers, broken chunks barely holding onto their frames, squat buildings cracked in two. Ruins.

Blake recognized them. She'd been there before. It was the abandoned city of Mountain Glenn.

Ironwood drew Blake's eye as he rose to his feet and marched to the holographic map. He leaned on the table, weary gaze sweeping across the destruction. "Safety, Blake. I need safety. Certainty. Trust. For my people, those I protect both in Mantle and Atlas. Is that unreasonable to ask?"

Blake didn't like where this was going. "That depends?"

Ironwood turned and gave her a grateful nod, ignoring her actual answer. "I'm glad you understand, so let me ask you this," he leaned on the table, his arms spreading to support his weight. Blake watched his sleeve hike up slightly, giving her a peek of metal between his cuff and glove. "What's your relationship with the White Fang?"

Blake, who had been distracted by what she presumed to be a cybernetic arm, suddenly felt herself crashing back down to Remnant. Her answer, though, came with practiced precision and didn't skip a beat. "The White Fang? What, you think I'm with them just because I'm a Faunus?" She accused, keeping her voice hard to cover the anxiety stabbing into her lungs. "I thought you were better than that."

Ironwood sighed. "Blake, I didn't ask you because I think you're Fang, I asked you because I know that you were," he casually explained. "Believe it or not, all of our combat drones record their visual feeds."

Blake immediately felt the need to argue that she'd cut that train's communications, but Ironwood rolled over her before she could out herself.

"They have hard drives. They don't need comms to store the recordings," he explained. "We reviewed the footage when it was over. You're clearly the same woman from the videos— you haven't even changed your weapon."

Blake had gone completely rigid, save for her eyes, which rapidly darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape. The only way out was the stairs, which would lead straight to the secretary's office, where she'd be stuck. She supposed she could break the glass wall, but this was the top floor. Even if she survived the fall, she wouldn't be in any state to evade the authorities.

"Blake, relax," Ironwood insisted. "I'm not going to arrest you. I trust Ozpin saw something in you, and I don't intend to disregard his preternatural insight. I just want to know."

"I'm not—" Blake prepared to deny him, as would be the smart thing to do, then remembered what Qrow said. He had the evidence, if he even needed it. She'd already be in cuffs if that was his desire.

"They're not going to get better, Blake," Ironwood told her, his tone heavy and remorseful. "Your father wouldn't have disavowed them if they were."

Blake inhaled with a sharp hiss. She'd joined when she was young, and not fully of her own volition— it was Adam that had persuaded her, told her that it was a good movement, that it would be the praxis to all her political posturing.

And it had been, when they were limited to Menagerie. They had, objectively, improved the lives of the Faunus that lived there. That was all Sienna Khan had been interested in. But then Adam was transferred to Vale, and she just couldn't live without him— he'd made sure of that. So, she followed.

Adam had isolated her. No family, no friends, she had nobody to turn to when the blood started to flow.

"Blake?" Ironwood sounded worried— shit, did she zone out?

"I'm not one of them," she bit out. "I left and ran away to Beacon. There. Happy?"

"How'd you get in?" Ironwood questioned.

"I forged my transcripts."

James' eyebrows shot straight up, but quickly came back down. He chuckled. "Not the first," he mumbled, quietly enough that only a Faunus like Blake would've heard.

The general stood back up with a dismissive wave, powering off the table and sending it back into the floor. He slowly returned to his desk.

Blake looked around, a nervous energy brimming within her. She didn't know what to think of Ironwood, despite Qrow's claims, and that greatly troubled her.

"That's all I wanted to ask," Ironwood stated. "Please, give the invitation some thought. You'd be a real asset for my school."

Ah, there it was. It was like he knew everything about her, but only ever used it to reassure her. It was a subtle message— a reminder. Come to my school. You'd be an asset. Also, I know things that would put you in prison, or worse. Please, give my 'invitation' some thought.

Blake could see it in his eyes, behind the stoicism, under the fatigue, she could see the glint. He knew he had her.

"That's really all?" She urged. "Nothing else?"

"No," he said with a sigh. "You're free to go."

Without another word, Blake turned on her heel and sped out of his office. She could feel the folded invitation crinkling in her pocket, taunting her.

Penny awaited her in the waiting room. "Blake!" The android paused, seemingly sniffing the air. "Your stress hormones are—"

"Not—" Blake raised a hand and schooled her snippy tone. "Not right now, Penny. I need a sec."

"Okay." Penny acquiesced.

Blake nodded thanks as she called for the elevator, staying silent for the entire duration of the wait. After way too long, the metal doors split open, and she stepped in, leaving the office behind.

When Penny followed, Blake exclaimed, "Hey! I said I need a sec!"

Penny nodded. "I will be silent, but you must remain within my sight."

Blake threw her head back and released a loud groan. The doors closed, and she felt her stomach lurch as their descent began.

"I apologize," the android muttered. "I will try to be unobtrusive."

"No, no, it's…" Blake sighed. "It's fine, I'm not mad at you. I'm just… ugh. Tired."

"I know what you mean," Penny said with a nod.

"You do?"

Penny suddenly became thoughtful, lost in their own head. Blake could hear their whirring audibly intensify, then settle back to its background level. "No," the android lied, "I do not."

Blake suppressed a groan. She missed her friends.

A/N: hey, tc's back! sorry lol, its harder to edit and knights is kinda taking a lot of my time... its just so fun! and tc is so *rough*. really need that board game chapter, now more than ever.

dont worry, though! it doesnt get any brighter :)