The cracking of branches and bones was barely audible over the screaming boy and the rushing winds. Then it was all over in a snap.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Beacon Academy. Please make sure you have all your personal belongings with you as you exit. I'd like to thank you for joining us on this short trip. Have a nice day!" The many speakers on the roof all echoed the same announcement.
And Jaune Arc emptied out his stomach, vomit pouring out of his mouth in long bursts with brief pauses for sharp gasps of air. The world spun around him as a voice spoke over static. He tightly clenched the lip of the trash bin that he was bent over and kept vomiting until it was just stomach acid he was spitting up.
"It wasn't real. It wasn't real." He repeated with a hoarse voice, his words bouncing around the metal bin he was staring into. The trash below was coated in the half digested contents of his stomach. "It wasn't real." He tried to convince himself.
It wasn't real.
He didn't get launched into a forest and feel his bones break as he smashed into trees. He didn't land on his head. He didn't feel his skull crack and neck snap. He didn't.
Jaune involuntarily flinched as a hand touched his shoulder. He tripped over his feet as he tried to walk backwards, away from the contact. From his spot on the floor, he saw a flight attendant look down at him with concern. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he mumbled. "Motion sickness."
The flight attendant didn't say anything in response as he wiped his budding tears away with his other sleeve.
After leaving that awkward moment, and the aircraft, he was walking aimlessly along the stone path when an explosion made him freeze. "It wasn't real." He muttered.
As Headmaster Ozpin gave his speech, Jaune blocked out every word by repeating. "It wasn't real." Under his breath.
He slept outside, avoiding the crowded ballroom, curled up beneath a tree while lulling himself to sleep. "It wasn't real."
After he woke up from a dreamless slumber, and when he ate breakfast. "It wasn't real." Were the only words he spoke. He was practically shouting those words as he went through the locker room.
When he stepped on the iron plate, he wanted to say it wasn't real, that he was just experiencing déjà vu, but his heart was stuck in his throat as he overlooked the forest. And he couldn't think when he got flung into the sky, but he felt his bones break as he broke through tree branches. Then his speed died when he hit a sturdy branch with his chest, his armor held up, but his ribcage shattered.
Sliding off the branch, he landed feet first, and another crack came from his body as his head smashed into the ground.
It was hell, and he couldn't move. His arms and legs were broken, blood was rapidly filling his lungs, and his skull was mostly shards of bones. He could barely see out of one eye, but he wished he couldn't, because then he wouldn't know the fear that one felt when a Beowolf slowly approached them.
Panic seemed to replace his blood as the black wolf with glowing red eyes got closer. He could feel his fingers twitch, and a spark of hope ignited inside him, only to be snuffed out when the Beowolf bit into his arm.
"Nguhghh." Jaune moaned out a plea, and the Beowolf ignored it and pushed against his body with a paw. A scream managed to get out of his throat as his arm was torn off.
Lightheaded by the blood loss, he started to feel faint, a feeling he welcomed. He only hoped it was painless, but after a slow blink, his eyes shot open. And he saw what a Beowolf's mouth looked like inside as bone white teeth sunk into his neck. Jaune felt through the mostly numb nerves in his head what it was like to be swallowed.
Then there was nothing.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Beacon Academy. Please make sure you have all your personal belongings with you as you exit. I'd like to thank you for joining us on this short trip. Have a nice day!" The many speakers on the roof all echoed the same announcement.
Jaune slid down the trash bin that he was bent over. He landed on the floor as his legs refused to support him. He stared off at nothing as students disembarked, his mind not acknowledging reality. He ignored the flight attendant that came to check on him and stayed aboard the aircraft as it refueled and began a return flight to the station in Vale. His motion sickness was completely forgotten about.
"Thanks." He said after being handed a hot coffee. He didn't really think about anything, his body just working on autopilot. Time passed and the full cup of joe turned lukewarm, without him ever taking a sip.
When they landed, he got off without his luggage. He had even left behind his weapon. He walked without anywhere to go. He had no money on his person and no contacts in Vale. As the sun lowered down beneath the horizon, and the streetlamps lit up the streets, he found a park bench to rest on. His mind replayed every snap, crack, break, and crunch, over and over.
"It wasn…." He couldn't finish. The sensations were still fresh in his mind. His body went limp as he flopped over on the bench. He died twice. And he was alive. He wondered if this was a sign that becoming a Huntsmen meant certain death, and who the heck gave him that sign.
As he laid on his side, he noticed beneath the gap of the bench planks was a bottle, and as minutes passed of painful memories circling around. He studied every detail of that bottle he could see. It was brown, and the words on it were talking about alcohol. Without really thinking about it, he picked it up and started drinking.
He had heard that alcohol was a popular choice for people who were struggling, so he figured it was worth a shot. After finishing the bottle, a small buzz washed over his mind, blurring his thoughts and memories. He just watched the stars until sleep took him.
When morning arrived, the sun shot warm rays of light on Jaune's face, waking him up.
He lurched forward as phantom pain ran along his nerves. He fell off of the bench and was unable to catch himself before his face met concrete. His nose broke with a crunch, and suddenly he felt like his head was bitten off. Now that his lungs and mouth were working, he could let out the bloodcurdling scream that he had wanted to but previously wasn't able. As blood dripped down his nose, flashes of pain went through his mind. He covered his head with his arms and wormed his way under the bench. He curled up into a ball and tried to forget everything.
It wasn't until his stomach growled that he noticed he had gone numb, and the pain was just a distant memory, one he didn't go searching for. After crawling out from under the bench, he noticed that the sun was in the middle of the sky.
His stomach growled once more. It had been a while since his last meal, and the remains of the last meal were sitting at the bottom of a trash can. Jaune sniffled, experiencing congestion as thick, congealed, bloody mucus stuffed his nose, and he felt a sharp pain in his nasal cavity. "Shit." He grumbled out as he grasped his nose. It was definitely broken. Wiping away some wet blood on his face, he stumbled back towards the air-docks, hoping to get his belongings.
While walking down the streets, he earned more than a few odd glances. He wasn't really in the mood to care. It was only when he came to a stop in front of his destination that he decided he should've cleaned up the dried blood that caked his face and shirt.
"What business do you have here, sir?" The security guard that stopped him from entering the building asked a second time. He was a squat fellow with no distinct personality.
Jaune glanced down at the guard's name tag before answering. "Um, well, Mister Bran, sir, yesterday I left my luggage behind here because I, uh, um, had a... bad day, sir. And I was hoping to get my things. If you can like just call them and check if Jaune Arc's things are still here, then that would be great." The nasally way he spoke didn't help with his plea.
The guard, last name Bran, looked at him skeptically before asking a question. "And you would be this 'Jaune Arc', correct?" He spoke with even more skepticism than his look.
Jaune just nodded and muttered. "Yes sir, that would be me."
Bran just sighed as he readjusted his equipment belt. "Do you have any form of identification on you, sir?" For reasons beyond comprehension, the question was spoken in a tired voice.
"No, I just said I left my things behind." Jaune said it like it was obvious. Then he added. "Sir." In an effort to not come off as rude.
"Then, sir," Bran dragged out the word before continuing. "I'll have to ask that you come back after cleaning yourself up."
Irritation built up inside him. "Just check your records or something. My picture is in there. I really need my things."
"I'll have to ask that you come back after cleaning yourself up." Bran repeated, as if he was talking to a slow child.
"C'mon man, I need to get my stuff. How am I supposed to get my nose fixed without my money?" Jaune complained.
Bran just raised an eyebrow before shrugging.
Jaune almost tried to push past the annoying guard, but thought better of it after eyeing the taser on his belt.
The guard took a step back and placed a hand above his taser. "Are we going to have a problem here?" His words were low and almost eager.
Jaune sighed as he backed away slowly. "No, no, sir."
He and Bran kept eye contact until he was almost across the street. After breaking away, thoroughly annoyed, he could still feel the bloody mucus stuck in his nose and wasn't sure whether he should blow it out or not.
After wandering aimlessly some more, he came upon a pawnshop, and after a second of deliberation, he walked in. The bell above the door rang at his entrance. Jaune took in the sights of shelves of old knickknacks and baskets full of junk. He walked up to the counter and rang another bell. There were the sounds of shuffling and clattering beyond a door behind the counter.
He distracted himself by looking at the posters taped to the glass barrier atop the counter. After a minute passed, Jaune rang the bell again.
Then the door flew open, and a balding man with a thin black crown of hair exited. "Hold yer horses, ima busy guy." He spoke with an odd accent, as if he had swallowed something bad and was trying to talk around it. Jaune had caught sight of silver teeth inside his mouth.
"Hello, I'd like to pawn some stuff." Jaune spoke awkwardly and nasally.
"It betta be worth sut'in, or we — Ay!" The man had looked at him halfway through his line. "Ay-o kid, you betta naht paint my shap red wit yer faulty schnoz!"
After taking a second to decipher the man's meaning, he waved his hands dismissively. "Relax, it's mostly dry now, anyway." Ignoring further protest from the guy behind the counter, Jaune started to take off his armor. He dropped them on the tray in front of the small window on the glass. "I don't need these anymore." He said in a defeated tone, one that spoke of pain on a deep level.
The man ignored the implied pain and inspected the armor. He caressed it and tapped it with his knuckles, then he shrugged. "Eh, I'll a give ya ahundo for-it all."
Jaune hardly felt like complaining about the clearly unfair price, but he still did. "It's been in my family for generations. Can't you give me a little more?"
"Nah." The balding man spoke in a huff.
He just sighed. "Whatever, just give me the cash."
The man slid a clipboard through the window and started to fiddle around with the register.
He took the time to write down his name and the items he had just pawned. The finality of the transaction nearly crushed him. Now there was no going back, he was giving up on being a Huntsmen. As he slid the clipboard back, the man slid a single hundred Lien card across in response. As Jaune grabbed it, a weight upon his shoulders disappeared. "Thank you." He spoke without thinking.
"Ay, biznes is alwheys whelcome kid, justa don't be-a bleeding next time." The man waved Jaune away with a wide smile, silver teeth glittering. He waved back and left.
As he exited the pawnshop, he looked up at the name of the shop so he could remember it for later. The words 'Zlato Srebro's Pawn Shop!' were displayed above.
Was that Zlato?
He wondered, before deciding that the man probably had been him. But that wasn't important anymore. He needed to clean up his face, he get his nose fixed and eat something, then he needed to find a job and a place to live.
His life in Vale was just getting started.
And the months flew by.
Jaune had found a cheap place to eat and a shady place to fix his nose. Afterwards, he got his things with no problem and he pawned off his sword and shield for a better price. He found work in a small sushi restaurant that allowed him to live in a small room, no bigger than a closet, above the kitchen. He lived there for a while until he could get a legal address and then he applied for part time work elsewhere.
He did odd jobs here and there as he built up his resume, and as he lived amongst the rest of Vale, he was well aware of the increasing spree of Dust robberies. The fear of death never quite left him, and not wanting to risk it, he stayed far from the bad parts of town and away from Dust shops. He had also learned how hard it was to ignore the existence of Huntsmen and Huntresses, especially with the Vytal Festival Tournament so close. He shook his head as thoughts tried to set in.
It's over for me. I was given a third chance to realize just how screwed I was. If I stayed, who knows what pain would've followed me? I should just focus on the here and now.
Jaune exhaled as he slid a box into place on a large shelf. He pulled out a sticker gun and typed in a few words before printing it out on the box, then he turned to his boss. "Boss, I'm done with the first batch."
"Thanks, I'll need to check a few more things bef—" A ringing bell interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "One moment." He said and turned around. "Be right there!" He shouted as he walked to a set of double doors. Jaune heard his following words just before the doors swung close. "Welcome to 'Tukson's Book Trade', home to every boo—" And the doors cut off anything else.
If he focused, he might be able to pick out the conversation, but he wasn't one to eavesdrop. He felt a smile grace his face. He was lucky to find such a nice boss like Tukson, since he paid him well without overworking him, so he was saddened that his boss was leaving soon, but he'll push on.
I'm glad, even if my family was right, I still found a way to live without being dead weight.
Then a loud thud shook the floor. In the weeks that Jaune had worked here, he had dropped his fair share of heavy boxes. None of them felt or sounded like that. For a reason he didn't want to know, his heart rate sped up. He took a shaky step forward, accidentally kicking down a small tower of books. "T-Tukson." He called out weakly. He wanted to bolt out the backdoor, to run and never look back, but there was no reason.
Tukson just tripped. He's fine.
Jaune struggled to open the double doors, his legs and arms feeling unsteady. As he entered the main shop, unnaturally enveloped in darkness, a metallic aroma overwhelmed his senses.
Suddenly, a blurry burst of silver and gray appeared before him. And as his vision exploded into a flash of orange, he almost remembered reading about how gunshot victims didn't hear the sound of their death, although his thoughts were left incomplete.
Then there was nothing.