AN: So this chapter may be confusing at some points. Somethings may not make any sense, and symbols will be left ambiguous. That is because we are seeing this story mainly through the eyes of Trish Clover. But at the end of the story, we will be seeing things through Jaunes vision. Well, sort of. Anyways if you are wondering what Lovecraftian deity is appearing in the chapter, here's a hint in Trish's native tongue. "An bhfaca tú an comhartha buí."

I Don't own RWBY or Call of Cthulu

April 1923 New York, Manhattan, Hell's kitchen. Early Morning.

The view pulls up on Bustling city of New York in the late of night Nearly every light was on, cars and people can be heard moving up and down the cramped streets. Horns, music, and different noises can be heard miles away from the city. Even though it was late in the night, the city is still as lively as it is during the day. John J. Fitz Gerald was right, this truly was a city that never sleeps. The setting pulls in on a damp little downtrodden theater like building W 49th ST Hell's kitchen. Unlike the skyscrapers that overshadows the small building, it was lit with a dim red glowing light. On the fourth floor a shadow of a woman fell over the window of the fourth-floor window. She looks up at the bright glistering lights of newly made skyscrapers of the living city. As she gazed upwards, she is reminded by an over eager client behind her. The screen pulls into the building to show her room. It was lit by red lightbulbs, but it showed how far this once respected institute has fallen. The Yankee Melody, reduced to a decaying shadow of its former self. Just like the girls who operate this low-class brothel, they too were once full of hope and promise when they entered this city. Shame it never showed the same optimism back. The reader's attention focuses upon the lass, she had medium length frizzled ginger hair; it was a little more on the crimson side then orange. Her pale face is covered in freckles, mostly on the bridge of the nose and on her cheeks. Her glistering emerald eyes were something to truly look upon in beauty. Her hands moved down to her cheap leather corset. Her only clothes she had on was some rotting and torn scanty womens undergarments and a corset to add to the appeal. As she removes the clothes, the view pulls to the side as her shadow reveals her climbing onto the bed with the stranger. As she let the man penetrate her from behind, the scene focuses on a few photos hanging from the room's rotting vanity desk. There she narrates her life story.

"My name is Trish Clover; I am a 24-year-old Irish born woman from Cork. I came to this country with me older brother… now I live my life one night at a time, selling myself off to anyone who would pay. All because of my family's nationalist pride and my dreams of becoming a singer in this Empire city." The Irish prostitute, now known as Trish explains as view focuses on a cracked desk picture frame. The photo was of her in her younger years. She was sitting down presently on a couch with seven rambunctious boys, both older and younger than her, surrounding her.

"My mother, Eabha Clover gave birth to me in 1899. I was the fourth child of a family of ten. I was the only daughter of a family of nine boys. Had us raised on this small farm outside of Cork Ireland. We grew different types of vegetables, Potato's, Wheat, and the occasional Barley. Along with that we sell goat cheese on the side. It was… peaceful. I mean I complain about the labor and chores each morning, but I still enjoyed the farmers life." The view then shifts upwards to a news article taped to the mirror. It was from "The Irish News" 1916, it was covering the riots happening all over Ireland. Next to it was a green patch with a small golden harp in the middle and the words, I.R.A underneath it.

"However things came to an end in 1916. During this time Ireland was in turmoil. Years of abuse of the English crown gave rise to demands. Demands that we the Irish shall govern ourselves, rather than some British twat from across the water. My father Travis Clover, god rest his soul, was a good man. Dim, angry, and always drunk after three. But he was a good man and a loyal supporter of the Home Rule movement. He never hit us, never cuss at us, never made us do anything we didn't want us to do. Ma would say that his children would be the death of him long before the liquor. And she was right. Like father like son my second oldest brother Finn Clover would always pick fights with anyone across the water. Scots, whales, English. Anyone that sounds like an Anglo was targeted by him. He soon joined his fellow countrymen in what was called, the Easter Uprising of 1916. My father was devastated to see his boy hanging from a street corner lamp in the morning paper. I know I was." Trish states as the view pulls down past a flickering red light to reveal a photo of her assisting the IRA as a nurse, next to it was the handle of a chipped cricket bat. At the ends of bat blood stains can be seen smeared across it.

"This was the final straw. Not only for my father, but all of us. Those pretentious bastards needed to pay and as my name suggest, we were native of this isle and we will remain loyal to the end. We joined the newly formed IRA, me brothers and Father as rebel troops and mother an I as nurses. Heh, who would have thought, that sewing my mother insisted that I do, would come in handy when someone needed to be patched up. Long story short I proved myself to be a capable nurse, and a fast learner." The view shifts over to an open drawer that has a few photos of her on a makeshift stage and IRA Members playing a random assortment of instruments. Right next to her was her father, playing the violin. He had a wool sweater and a flat cap on his head. Next to the photo was a green tweed flat cap that has seen better days. It was once her fathers.

"During days where the men would come home beaten and torn, their sorry faces said it all. One day there was this man who lost his leg to an grenade. He asked me to sing to him so I did. Really brought up his morality. In fact, it brought up everyone's. So, they requested for me to sing one night, then the next, then the next, and before I knew it. I was singing songs to boost up morality for the troops. The men took to calling me, Little Irish Amy Marcy. Heh, Funny how a little nickname would help effect your life. From then on, I wanted to do nothing more than sing for my people and to the world. A dream that was tarnished from the moment it was spoken of." The view then pulls through a hole and towards the left wall where the shadow of the outline of Trish riding her client. As she does the view focuses on a news article of cork when the British Black and Tans burnt the city to the ground.

"The Great War soon ends and with the British no longer fighting the Germans out in France, the war Veteran who returned home was transferred to the northern providence. Their they formed the infamous Black and Tan's to fight back against the IRA. Despite their dumb name they were a real terror to us. I still have nightmares about them. They killed my pa, some of my brothers, and dragged away my ma to Scotland where she is now imprisoned for the remainder of her life. I only recently received a letter from a dear cousin saying she had died of the Spanish flue last year. Only my oldest brother got me out alive, I still remember the last sight of Cork. Burning in the night sky as British troops prevented the Irish firefighters from doing their job." The View then pulls to the side where her fake passport was leaning up against a small statue of lady liberty.

"We needed to leave the country behind. The British government consider the entire Clover family as IRA Terrorist and those we were no longer safe in our own country. So we fled across the Atlantic, towards America. After a week at sea we had arrived in New York. My god, I have never seen a city so massive and beautiful… yet disgusting and perverse at the same time. The American dream. Was a Fecking nightmare, and it only got worse as time continued on." The View then shifts moves up, passing through a crack in the roof to the room above. Even through the floor boards, you can hear the rattling of the bed and the loud moan of false pleasure. In the new room was a poster for 'The Yankee Melody' in her prime. Next to the poster was a hanged news article about how it closed it's doors at the beginning of 1921.

"We lived out of a small cramped apartment in Hell's kitchen since it was the only thing we could afford. My brother worked down at the docks while I sung some Irish folk songs on a street corner for spare change. It I barely made a penny singing, only when I sung American folk songs, did I come home with the bare minimal for a breakfast. That… really hit close to home for me. Felt like my dreams and happy memories were tainted by this nightmare. One day in late 1920 however, a man in a cheap three-piece suit approached me. Offered me a job as a background singer at his theater. Seeing as this was my chance to make some real money, I accepted, not knowing he was more desperate then me." The view hears the climax of the two beneath the old floorboards. The man was leaning back with a cigarette in his mouth and a smug look. Trish simply sat on the side of the bed. She was looking down at herself. She has done this for years, and she still feel as disgusted as the first time she turned a trick. As she looked down at her feet, the view pulls in to reveal a crumpled-up telegram and debt notices next to discarded condoms. The Telegram headline was hard to read but it said in bold Death of Timothy Clover. Underneath it was a photo of her older brother.

"The Yankee Melody Theater was coming under hard times. Bad decisions and a crooked manager nearly tore it down. So when I arrived they had turn the place into a burlesque club. I felt so filthy on stage, dancing for those attending the theater; but the money they were paying me was five times as much as I make on the streets. I kept quiet about it, hoping that my brother doesn't know the type of shame I do at night. Well, he never did find out. There was an accident at the docks, his leg was pinned and he drowned in the Hudson river. I barley had enough to pay for a coffin." The monologue ends with the sound of a pair of pants being zipped and money falling to the desk. The door opens and the man leaves. The view pulls out from the bed, showing Trish laying back against the headboard. As she lays there her thoughts soon turn to sorrow before reaching for the nightstand drawer next to her. She reaches inside and pulls out a photo of her brother and her when they first arrived in America. As she stares deeply into the photo, tears begin to drop out onto the photo.

"It became ever so difficult to pay the bills after his death. Eventually, I had no other options but to partake in the burlesque's; House of Ill-fame, to pay my rent. Though the girls were nice, and Albert Tanner, my pimp, let's me keep a good share of the money I make; I wouldn't wish this life on my worst enemy. Day in, day out I am serving all sorts of men from all standings in society. A few get rowdy every now and then, so I always carry my brothers cricket bat for protection. Heh, seem even after death, he protects me. God… I miss him, so much. I miss my pa, ma, brothers, friends... I miss them all." The monologue comes to an end, as heavy tears fell from Trish's cheeks. As she continued to cry, there was a knock on the door. Looking back up, she realized it was 3:30, her shift had ended and it was time to pay up her pimp's share. Quickly wiping away her tears and smudge eyeliner, she quickly put away her photo and heads over to the door. As she does, there was another knock.

"Hold on Albert. I have your money, just give me a…" Just as Trish opens the door slightly so the person wouldn't see her naked. When she stuck her head out, she was shock to see that it wasn't Albert there. Rather a small blonde girl dressed as a boy with a little bulldog pup in hand. "Oh, Mila. What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Trish. Um Albert asked me to come by. Told me to tell you that you can keep the cash tonight." The young girl said with a West coast accent. She had a very peculiar set of eyes. One was glistening sea blue while the other was hazel nut brown. Her blond hair was covered by a black Hatteras newsboy. Her clothes were just a simple as the hat, a button up shirt that tucked into a pair of brown trousers. Over her shirt was a brown jacket that seen better days.

"Again? As much as I love having extra cash in my pockets, I doubt the club can sustain itself without money." Trish remarks. For the past week, Albert has taken less and less from the working girls. At first, they thought he was just being generous; however, he begins to pay less and less taxes. This soon led to Terry Butts, the co-owner of the Yankee Melody, to pay out of his own pockets. Bribes don't come easy in this part of the world, and prostitution isn't exactly something that can be written off as a dependent to the IRS.

"Yeah, he didn't even told me to tell you in person. Just wrote a note and left it out in the open like a hooker at church." Mila said as she rolled her eyes.

"Oy, watch it. A kid shouldn't even know what a hooker is." Trish snapped irritated. "(Sigh) I swear, you are growing up way too quickly."

"Uh, huh sure mom." Mila said as she scratched the pup's back ear, causing it to yawn. "Right, so can you walk me back to my apartment? Marry would but, well she's currently occupied with that cunt… ("Language!") (Sigh) scoundrel Mayer of ours."

"Fine, let me get dress." Trish said as she closed the door, but stop mid-way before saying. "And knock it off with that language."

"Uh, huh. Sure." Mila remarks as she rolled her eyes. She begins to play with her little puppy. She found her a few months back. Named him Beau and she was a little overprotective of Mila.

As she scratched the back of its ear, it lets out a small yawn just as Trish existed out of her room. Her new attire was less revealing, but filthy. She wore a white halfway button shirt that was starting to tear at the seams. Specks of filth, blood, and sweat covered it. Underneath was a pair of tan corduroys that were held up by suspenders of the same color. She has a pair of boots that she tucked her pants into, a habit she formed when working in the IRA. As she fixed her hair into a ponytail with her cricket bat underneath her arm, she remarks. "Alright, let's get you back to Isabella. Lord know that old greaser will have my head if you were out this late at night."

"Uh, huh. Like the Back-ally slasher going to jump me." Mila said as she begin to walk away. Before she got to far, Trish quickly grabbed ahold of shoulder with a wide eye expression on her face.

"Where in the devils tush did you heard about that?" Trish asked with a wide eye.

"What, about how he hunts at night, kidnapping people from neighborhoods that nobody gives a Fu… ("Language!") ugh, cares about. Then their corpses will show up in a back-ally days later, covered in slashes, eye's, nose, and ears missing. Hence the unoriginal name, the Back-Ally slasher. Sides, this ain't nothing new. Christal keeps a news clipping of every yahoo killer coming around." Mila explains as she rolled her eyes. She didn't think much about it, but Trish had some other ideas. She was uncomfortable with the idea that a child knew exactly that a kid knows what the slasher is. Seems like every day there is a new killer walking hells kitchen. Question was is he part of the mafia, corrupt cops, or just a war time loon.

"(Sigh) Kid, you really need to stop going into Ms. Flanders office." Trish said with a sigh. Mila simply shrugged before walking down the hall with Trish following behind her. Reaching the first floor, she retrieved her tan raglan wrap coat from the coat closet before walking Mila to her 'legal' guardian.

They then head east down W49th street. As they made it to end of the first block, Mila begin to hum a small tune as she skipped through a puddle. 'Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground', by an upstart named Willie Johnson was playing it in the street near the burlesque club. Whenever she was happy, Mila would hum that tune. Trish couldn't help but smile, when she first found this wee child in the ally. She didn't know what to think at the time. Course her friend Marry saw her like a lost puppy and 'insisted' that they watch over her. From then Mila more or less grew on the girls at the club, a little sister figure. That and cops don't expect a sweat innocent child to be the perfect distraction when they needed to hide a few jars of bathtub gin or tin of heroine. Still they needed a front for her, cause a bunch of girls living in a rundown theater sounds mighty suspicious. That's is where Isabella Flores came in.

She immigrated from Mexico after the war. Had to claw and scratch her way out of the slums since Mexicans weren't exactly liked before the war. Afterwards was even worse. Still she agreed to be the girls 'Legal' guardian since she needed to look wholesome in the public eye. Special after the shootout out with the purple gang. As they continue along, they finally reach their destination on the corner of W 49th and 9th Ave. A small building stood alone as cars and truck loudly drove by. Even though this was one of the toughest neighborhoods in Manhattan, more and more people were pouring in W 53th street. The city was dedicating the Broadway street to theaters. Ever since 1911, there was more and more Broadway theaters. As Trish wondered if they received her numerous applications to act, a car drives by interrupting her thoughts. The car ran over a puddle, sending water out from underneath its wheels and hitting the two.

"Ahh, Fucking gutter trash!" Mali shouted as the driver takes a sharp left turn.

"Mali, vuelve a hablar así, señorita, y que Dios me ayude cuando te ponga sobre mis rodillas!" An elderly voice shouted out from behind the two. Mali's eyes went wide when she heard that voice. Slowly turning around she see's her supposed 'legal' guardian.

At the door was a woman in her mid-seventies. She was wearing a traditional vestido blanco that has seen better days. Her once ebony hair was mixed in with majority grey hair in a hair bun style. As she walked down from the apartment her face became clearer in the dim street light. There was a massive scar going across her face. Probably from a cavalry sword. Along with a few shrapnel scratches from a grenade. Her right eye was a pleasant ebony collar while her other was a white vulture eye. That always gave the impression of dread on everyone, including Mali.

"Sorry Ms. Flores." Mali quickly apologies.

"Good, now it is way past your curfew young lady. Be glad we aren't in my country or else I would have golpearte como una mula alquilada!" Elizabeth shouted as she tugged on Mali's ear.

"Ah! I get it, I get it!" Mali cried as Elizabeth dragged her up the stairs to the door.

"Now, up to your room. It's late and we will have guess coming in the afternoon. So clean your room first thing tomorrow or no breakfast." Elizabeth scolded in a slightly less irritated tone.

"Alright, (sigh) come on Beau." Mali said as she sets the dog down. With a small yip it followed her inside, she turned around one last time before waving off Trish. Doing the same Trish waved back, before she disappeared into the apartment.

"(Sigh) I swear, if it wasn't for the war, I would have never let the stray into my apartment." Elizabeth said as she fishes out a cigarette.

"You mean Beau?" Trish asked as she pulls a match out of her pocket.

"… Right… the chucho." Elizabeth said as she took the match Trish handed to her. As she takes a drag from her cigarette, she watches as the top floor right window's light turns on. After a few minutes the light turns off.

"Look, Trish. Thanks for getting that young girl here. But please try and get those girls to keep their work more private. I swear El ano de satanás is cleaner than her mouth at times." Elizabeth remarks as she exhales the cigarette.

"Yeah, personally I blame this neighborhood. It's not a place a young girl should grow up in." Trish remarks, before turning her back to Elizabeth. "See, you around Elizabeth."

"You too, Puta irlandesa." Elizabeth said with a smug smile as she pressed the cigarette to her lips.

"Cailleach Mheicsiceo." Trish responded in Gaelic, as she waved her off.

She begins the journey North, up 9th Ave towards W 56 St. Her apartment was close to Central park, she barley could pay rent these months but it was worth it to see the park from her building. As she got closer to her apartment, she felt a few drops of rain coming down. Radio said that a Thunder storm and heavy rain was to be expected in the early parts of the morning. Quickly pulling up her coat she hurried down the road. As she got to end of the block, she noticed a massive pile up on the corner of W55 St. Seems that a few workers were on strike due to unsafe construction. Not wanting to be wolf whistled this time of night she heads down a small alleyway to get around the strike. It was somewhat risky since muggings, beatings, killings, and rapes were common assurances this time of night. However, she managed to live through all four of these things before and she was more than happy to vent her frustration on some cocky little sucker with a knife. The Alleyway she chose was dark. Which usual for most alleyways in the city. But this one felt uncomfortably so. Every shadow she passed by felt like they had a million eyes staring her in the back. Every sound felt like a footstep of something tailing her. Even the air reeked of conspiracy. Still she continued on down the alleyway, cautiously watching every step she took while tightening her grip on the cricket bat's handle. As she got halfway through the dark alleyway, a loud crash behind her made her jump in freight.

"Alright! Who's there!" Trish shouts as she turns around with her right arm holding the concealed cricket bat in her raglan wrap coat.

She stared off into the darkness, waiting for something to happen. Squinting her eyes to help see what was stalking in the dark. After a few moments there was another clash sound. Trish begin to slowly pull out her cricket bat when a stray cat walks out of the shadows. In its mouth was rotting fish, probably got it from the nearby trashcan.

"Ugh, mangy little thing. Nearly got my heart racing out of my chest." Trish said to the cat as she let go of the cricket bats handle.

The cat lets out a small meow before racing off into the darkness with its meal in between its teeth. Trish lets out a scuff before turning around. One foot step into the dark and she tripped over something. She fell to the ground harshly, letting out a small groan she begin to pick herself up. While doing so she felt something wet and sticky clinging to her leg. Finding it odd she looked down to see to her horror it was blood. Her eyes widen when she sees that it wasn't hers rather a woman who was gasping for air.

"Fucken Christ!" Trish cries as she crawled away from the body.

Her heart begins to beat fast in fear while the woman struggles to look up. What Trish saw next will forever haunt her dreams. The woman just managed to lift her face high enough to show herself to Trish. It was covered in multiple cuts, like a blind man trying to slit someone's throat but ended up cutting their face. Her eyes were plucked from their sockets, ears and nose were missing too. On the forehead was a strange yet poorly drawn symbol Trish has never seen before. It was in the form of a question mark if the dot had three incompletely body's on the bottom left and right. Despite her brutalized face, Trish recognized her. Under that strange and foreboding symbol that was maimed into her forehead, there was a birthmark. Looked like a little fish, if it wasn't covered in her blood. There was girl who worked at the Yankee Melody with the same birth mark. Christal Bouvier.

"T-Trish? Is… that… you?" Christal struggled to ask.

"My god, Christal… what happened to you?" Trish asked as she finally found her nerve to move.

"The… Slasher… he…" Before Christal could even finish, her face fell to the ground. At first Trish though she fell unconscious due to blood loss. But then her body was dragged sideways, into an open manhole.

Trish lets out a gasp in horror before running. She scrambled and tripped over multiple trashcans. Her heart beating like an executioner's drum. With every beat she thought it will be her last, daring not to look behind her in case the Back-Alley Slasher was chasing her. After scrambling down the Alley, she dared look back only to see nothing. While looking back she failed to notice the people on the street. She ended up crashing into a young man who was busy reading a small yellow Book.

"Oy, watch where you running!" He shouts at her in a Scottish accent.

"Sorry, sorry!" Trish apologies as she continued to look behind her to make sure she was completely safe.

"Tsk, you better be. Miskatonic school clothes ain't cheap. Irish." The man said as he dusts himself off. He then grabbed the yellow book he was reading before walking down the street. Leaving a dumbfounded Trish behind.

As Trish sat there, she couldn't believe what she had witnessed. She hasn't felt this much fear since Cork. As she tried to calm herself down, a new thought came to mind. Christal. She was down there in the sewers, with the slasher. Her first thoughts were to head to the police. Tell them everything she had witnessed. However that is if they were willing to help. And even if they did, it would be too late. Christal would probably be dead. Another thought came into her mind, this one was less rational and quite insane. Simply go after them. She has been in scraps before and she isn't afraid to do it again. However, this sick bastard has already put five girls in the ground already, and she doubt all of them didn't put up any fights while captive. She looked over her shoulders, back towards the Alleyway before making up her mind.

"(Sigh) Fecking unbelievable." Trish said to herself as she picked herself up and marched back down the Alleyway.

Play "The Rats in the wall HP Lovecraft Orchestra Horror Music."

By Graham Plowman – Composer.

She walked over to the Man Hole. It was pushed to the side, with Christal's blood stain smeared on the outskirts. Every part of her body wanted to simply run away. But she had made up her mind the moment she turned back around. Letting out a loud gulp, she removed her jacket before jumping down into the Sewer. Armed with nothing but a Cricket bat, and a handful of matches, nothing could prepare her for what she will witness down below.

The Sewers reeked of piss and shit, most people would think the smell of fecal matter would drive away most. But piss on shit is like pouring petrol onto a blazing flame, increasing the horridness smell beyond nauseous standards. Still, compared to the undeveloped sewers of Dublin this was a simple cake walk. Granted the frostings made of shit, and disease-ridden rats are it's sprinkles. Still, she was glad that she wasn't wearing her Sunday best. Striking up a match she made her way through the sewers carefully. She didn't want to step on anything that will make her throw out her best shoes. As she walks through the sewers, she had this sense of dread overhanging for some time now. It was like something was watching her with every step. Even if that wasn't terrifying, the idea of what could happened down here was all the same. She heard stories back in Ireland, how people called Tosher's would venture down into the sewers of London in hopes of finding gold or copper amongst the filth. Some lived to see their old age. Others died from crumbling structure, losing their way, Sink into massive pit's of filth like quicksand, Overran with hordes of rats, but feared most of all. Should there be multiple people flushing their sewage down at the same time, or if the rain water continued to pour. It would cause a massive wave of sewage, to flood the caverns and drown the pour fellow who wasn't lucky enough. If the massive flood doesn't kill them, the pressure will. Still, she made her choice the moment she entered this putrid smelling place.

Striking up her second match, she noticed something off in the distance. A huge crack in the brick wall. It was big enough that Terry could fit through with ease. All around the crack was blood. Smeared around the edge like it was a warning. Though she didn't understand why it was smeared like blobs of red paste. Taking a deep breath, she strikes up another match before slowly making her way in. Praying that it doesn't collapse in on her. As she continued on, her shirt gets caught on a rock. Grumbling about her luck, she pulled on it a few times before the shirt tear suddenly. This caused her to fall to the ground landing on something worse than an average Yorkers waste. Looking up she see's a face, with a rat eating the flesh from within the jaw. Trish lets out a small squeal of horror as she backed away. As she crawled back, she felt the flesh of another. Looking around she now notice that she was in a grave yard of bodies. Floating lifelessly in sewage waters of Manhattan. Some looked recent, others looked weeks old. Rats and bugs ran rampant amongst these bodies. As she breaths heavily in shock from the sight of so many bodies, her eyes went wide at the sight of the wall. It was difficult to read, but with a shaking hand she successfully managed to. Her eyes went wide at the sight of what was up on the wall. Pieces of flesh, scalped from the corpses was nailed to the wall. All having the same hand cut symbols like the one Christal had. They were placed in a peculiar pattern that didn't made any sense. Circling around the stapled flesh was the same question. Asked over, and over, and over, and over again.

"Have you seen the Yellow Sign, Have you seen the Yellow Sign, Have you seen the Yellow Sign, Have you seen the Yellow Hnahr'luh, Have you seen the Turor hnahr'luh, Have ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, , Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, , Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, , Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh, Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh!"

That was written over, and over again on the wall. Asking the same question till the point of being gibberish. This begin to prove to much for Trish. Nothing during the war has resorted to such savagery before. As she was about to head back, she hears a faint chant. Coming from down the tunnel, heading right. She took one last note of the corpses, making sure that Christal wasn't one of them. Seeing none was as fresh as Christal's there may be a chance that she is still alive. So with a deep breath, she continued on. Albeit holding onto her cricket bat with a tighter grip. Turning a corner, the voice became louder and louder as she made her way through the sewers. She then begin to hear the chant much clearer now.

Geb c' ph'nglui bug parade unto c' meeting agl neighbors ph'nglui bug masquerade l' waxy ph'nglui ahororr'e ng ahf''s vulgtmnahog, vulgtmnahog ot nilgh'ri ymg' ah'll join c' festival ng r'luhhor bless ymg' ng ymg' hafh l' llll nog c' l' vulgtlagln yes r'luhhor ymg' hafh l' llll nog c' l' vulgtlagln.

It was a strange chant. Didn't sound like English, Latin or even Gaelic. Actually, hearing the language it sounds like complete gibberish. After slowly making her way up a downed ramp, she found herself in a cavern like home. In the center of the room was a stone slab with a body on it. Next to the body was a man adorned in the most yellowish cloak she had ever seen before.

hai c''re ph'nglui chamber ahagl mgepogor rites ah mgepah'f'nah geb llll greenish fm'latghor ymg' vulgtlagln ah compelled ymg''re mgepvulgtmah guest ot nilgh'ri ng ymg''ll join c' festival ng r'luhhor bless ymg' ng ymg' hafh l' survive c' festive rites yes r'luhhor ymg' hafh survive c' festive rites.

As the cloaked figure continued to chant, he grabbed something off the stone slab before walking over to some strange crumbling arch. It looked like two spider legs made of concrete, on the side multiple symbols were drawn on with red paint. Some looked like twist and turns, others looked like mere blobs of blood. However, what drew her attention was the fact that Chrystal was tied up in the center by her arms.

doff ymg' robe, naIIII mggoka ymg' n'ghft'drn ng mount ymg' Krc'saor join llll c' ph'nglui manic vulgtm, c' mgvulgtnahor r'luhhor ymg''ll mgr'luh ymg' ephaisoon h' mggoka'ai uln llll ymg''re ph'nglui c' festival if ymg''re lucky ymg' ephaiforget mgep solstice nog ephaii yes, forget mgep solstice nog ephaii.

As he applies blood to write more strange symbols on Christal's naked body. Trish noticed something strange about the last verse of the chant. While the rest of the lines sounded like a merry chant this last one sounds like a foreboding warning. He then finished the chant as he finalized the blood symbols. Looking over it, he reaches down to apply more blood when he realized it was empty.

"(Sigh) I swear, I don't know how those frogs managed to do it. I always run out of blood before I can get anywhere." The figure mutters to himself aloud as he sets the bowl aside. "Thankfully I saved some from the last sacrifice. Hopefully it hasn't dried out yet."

As the hooded figure was about to leave, Trish accidently took a step forward. Causing a loose brick to break off and fall to the ground. She mentally cursed herself as the figure turns around quickly after hearing the sound that the brick made. He pulled out from underneath his cloak a serrated knife, walking slowly, Trish barley had anytime to hide behind a collapsed brick wall. She struggled to remain quiet, holding one hand over her mouth as her heart was racing just as the Hooded man made it up the stairs. The hooded man begins to look around for whatever or whoever made that brick fall. As he got closer to wall, Trish felt something squirming along the right side of her right leg. Looking down, she see's this big rat sniffing at her leg. She always hated rats. It was a phobia she held in her mind since she was a little girl. No adays she didn't find them all that terrifying. But now, of all times. Why did it had to be a feckin rat?! She begins to slightly hyperventilate, a killer right behind her, and an oversize rodent in front. Why did she had to go into sewers? As she said a small prayer, she suddenly hears a small voice. It wasn't the killers, nor the voice of god. Rather it was coming from downstairs. It was the boy on the slab. He was now speaking. Somehow this pleased the hooded figure. Forgetting about the intruder he ran back over to the stone table. Trish letting out a small sigh of relief, before kicking the rat away from her. As it squeaked and ran away, Trish got the chance to look back over at the stone table. Looking over, she can see the man and also hear the boy much clearer.

"Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh? Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh? Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh? Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh?" The boy continued to ask in the same language the man was speaking.

"heh, heh, Heh. Yes I have child." The man said as he removed his hood to get a better look at the kid. Trish nearly gasped at the sight of the man, she recognized him. It was Albert, her pimp. "I have indeed seen the Yellow Sign and I have bathed in black lake of Carcosa's sun."

Albert was a middle age man, with hazel collared brush up hairstyle. He was a charming man; the first time Trish saw him. Sharp features, soft eyes, and a kind smile. However, he begins to look less and less like himself over the past few months. His hair was greasy and a mess, stumbles begin grow unshaven, his eyes were sunken in from the lack of sleep, hell if it wasn't for the sewers strong aroma someone can guess he didn't even shower from the smell alone. As he begins to write down something in a small book, he remembered that what ever he was doing wasn't complete. So he quickly left to go find more bottles of blood in the backroom.

As he exits the room, Trish decided if there was a time to save her friend. Now will be the time. Sneaking down she got a closer look at her friend. She… wasn't breathing. Albert must have slit her throat, recently too seeing that the blood flow had stopped. The Symbol on her head was flayed from her scalp, and was laying next to her. With a sad sigh, she turns to leave; not wanting to press her luck anymore then she has too. As she begin to sneak away, she got a better look of the kid. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Though he was wearing a strange white knight get up. Had a sword attached to it by multiple belts. Poor kid must have been drugged since all he can say is, 'Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh?' That and tears of blood begin to slowly leak from his right eye. There was something about those blue eyes. Like they were begging her not to be left here with the psycho. Looking back over at Christal's mutilated body, Trish lets out a small sigh. She couldn't leave the kid here. Not in good conscious. Walking over, she helped to the kids feet.

"Mgep ymg' seen turor hnahr'luh?" The boy mumbled as Trish helped him up.

"Yeah, Yeah kid. Just keep it down. Don't want him noticing what's going on." Trish said as she carry's him with his arm over her shoulder. However, when they turned around, they were greeted by Albert himself.

"Well, this was unexpected." Albert said as he dropped the jar of blood. "I wasn't expecting company this late."

The two made eye contact. Staring deeply into each other's eyes. As they did, Trish asked one single question with all her hatred, furry and fear imbued into it. "…Why?"

"You wouldn't understand. Nobody but him will ever understand." Albert said as he pulls out the knife. "I'm sorry Trish. I'm truly sorry for this."

"No, no you're not." Trish said as she sets the kid aside. She then clutched the grip of the cricket bat tighter before charging at Albert. As she does, she cries out. "And neither am I!"

She swings down on Albert. Though enraged, that made it all to easy for Albert to side step Trish. He nearly plunged his dagger into her chest. However, Trish's quick reflects managed to stop the blade before it pierced her. He then pulled the blade from the Cricket bat and went on the offense. First swinging quickly in a fencing stance before disarming the now tired Trish with heavy blows. As Trish struggles to keep herself from being cut, she failed to notice her footing. After one bad step, she fell to the ground. She then raises her brothers cricket bat in protection, however Albert managed to reduce it to splinters with a single swing of the knife. Holding only the handle she managed to toss it at Albert, hitting him directly in the head. She quickly crawled underneath the stone table in an attempt to get away, however Albert was quicker and managed to grab her leg. Trish tried to kick him, but it was in vain. Albert pulled her out and raised the blade to pierce her heart. Thankfully Trish was quick enough to catch his arms, but she wasn't strong enough to push him off.

"Ugh, just hold still. I promise, this won't, ugh. Hurt." Albert said as he struggles to push the blade down.

As the blade got closer, Trish lets go with her right arm. Causing Albert to push a little farther. She blinded patted for something, anything to help save her. As her left arm's strength begins to fade, she feels something within reach. It was a metallic handle of the kid's sword. It was stuck in its sheath but should she pull it out, it may save her life. So giving a few tugs she got nowhere. Albert however was making success with his knife. The blade was getting closer and closer to Trish's heart It was just about to pierced her when she finally managed to tug the blade out of the kids sheath. Quickly swinging at Albert, she managed to cut his arm. Causing it to bleed severely and crack the bone underneath. He lets out a horrifying scream as he fell back. Trish quickly taking the opportunity, lunges forward, impaling Albert through the chest. She felt the blood spewing from the wound and Alberts mouth as she twists the blade in his chest.

Having enough, she puts her shit covered boot onto his chest before pulling back. Falling to the ground, Albert begin to bleed heavily from the chest. Seems Trish impaled him on the right side of his heart. Though it didn't pierce it, the veins begin to do there work and pump out his blood. In a matter of minutes, he will be dead. Maybe a few more should he apply pressure, but at this point he was a dead man. Taking a breath Trish walked over to the kid and put the sword back into his Sheath. She placed his hand over her shoulder before walking away. As she does, she hears a chant from Albert. Looking over her shoulder, she see's him applying the pressure with his left. And using the slab as a crutch. He was chanting towards Christal's corpse. Figuring she had enough of Albert, she was about to grab the kid's sword when she notice something. Christal's body… it was twitching.

"Oh mighty hasture, uh'eog ph'nglui turor, h' ahf' ahnythor nafl ah mgepyaah. Ahlloigehye mgepmgulnah forth nyth'drn l' foul l' hafh smite whore ahf' dares l' ymg' mggokaog champion. Oh mighty hasture, uh'eog ph'nglui turor, h' ahf' ahnythor nafl ah mgepyaah. Ahlloigehye mgepmgulnah forth nyth'drn l' foul l' hafh smite whore ahf' dares l' ymg' mggokaog champion. Oh mighty hasture, uh'eog ph'nglui turor, h' ahf' ahnythor nafl ah mgepyaah. Ahlloigehye mgepmgulnah forth nyth'drn l' foul l' hafh smite whore ahf' dares l' ymg' mggokaog champion"

As Albert continued to chant, Crystals body begin to shake violently. After shaking faster and faster, a sudden set of wings spurted out of the corpses back. Trish watches in horror as a horrific creature that can only be described as a mixture of bird, bat, and wasp ant climbed from Christal's body. It then lets out a howling shriek as it stood 10 feet tall and five feet wide. Somehow that thing managed to clime out of Crystals corpse without tearing at the skin. Her body fell to the ground like a skin suit. The monster lets out a small unearthly noise that sounds like a buzzing cawing hybrid. As it does so. Albert struggled to his feet.

"Krc'saor ot hastur. Nogephaii ahf' ah mine, ng l' gokln'gha h' bthnkor!" He cries out towards the beast.

The creature blinked a few times before letting out another buzzing caw. It then slowly approached Trish, who was backing away with Jaune still in her arms. She quickly pulled his sword from the scabbard and pointed it at it. Doubtful that this thing can even prick the ugly monstrosity before them. As it got closer and closer, Trish can smell the stench of death upon it's breath. Struggling not let it sense fear. As it's beak nearly touched her cheek, it freezes. The strange monstrosity looked the kid in the right eye. It stared deeply into it, as a few moments pass the blue motionless eyes begin to flicker. With a shade of yellow.

Angered that the monster he had summoned didn't do as it was told. Albert shouted at the beast once more in the strange language. "H' ahf' ah nafl l' ah mgepyaah. Y' ot stell'bsna ymg', lend ya ymg' hnahr'luh. Llll Y' mgep done ymg' ephail' letter. Ahlloigehye f' tharanak back, l' Y' ahornah zhro task cahf ymg' requested ot me…"

Before he could even finish, the monster turned to him before letting out another angry hissing caw. This time it ran towards him, and pounced upon Albert. Trish could do nothing but watch in horror as the monster ripped her former Pimp to shreds. As she watched the kid became heavier. Seems he finally passed out. Realizing that the monster was distracted, Trish quickly put back his sword and ran up the stares with pace. She dared not look back as the monster finishes it's meal, and realized the next one had ran away.

Trish quickly ran, struggling to carry the poor kid along. When she got back to the tunnels, it was to no shock to find that the rain waters had begin to flood the sewers; making the shit water waist high now. As she ran, she dared not look behind her. Not wanting to slow down or dare look back at the monster that chased her through the sewers. It continued to let out that ungodly sound as it closed in on her and the kid. She does a quick turn just as the monster lunges at her. It barely missed her as it crashed into the brick wall. Panicking She dared not look back but took the time to slide through the crevice of the sewer tunnel. She pulled the kid through just as the monster nearly snapped at his left arm. As she continued to struggle carrying the boy, she noticed it. Off in the distance was her salvation. The ladder she used to enter the sewers. Quickly sprinting she finally managed to reach the ladder. But she heard something most dreaded as she got to it. Looking over her shoulder she see's down the dark was something massive moving towards her. It wasn't the monster, it was a wave of sewage. Moving towards them at an alarming rate.

"Oh, Feck me sideways." Trish mutters as she struggles to climb with the unconscious armored boy on her back.

As she slowly made her way up, the wave got closer and closer. With a last-ditch effort of adrenalin, she pushed herself and the boy out of the sewers before the wave hit. However, the monster was quicker than the wave. Somehow it found its way to them and snagged the kid by the left leg. Biting down with razor sharp teeth, it nearly dragged him back into the sewers. Trish grabbing ahold of the boy, she struggled to pull him to safety as the monster tried to pull him down. The tug of war between the two came to an end. When the monster was suddenly swept away by the flood, letting go of the kid as it was dragged away by the sewage. Pulling the kid up, she sees to her horror that his leg was horrible mutilated. Multiple bones were crushed to dust, and poking out of him. Blood spewed everywhere, and if that wasn't enough the fact that his leg went though a literal shit rinse didn't help either.

"Mother of god." Trish said as she looked down at his left leg.

Her stomach turned at the brutality of what had happened. After a few moments she realized that despite the kid was still in and out of it, he was still alive. It took her a moment before looking around for her coat. Finding it completely soaked by the rain near a dumpster, she grabs it by the sleeve and tears it off.

"Don't you die, don't you die, don't you die, don't you Fecking Die!" Trish repeated as she put her IRA training to use. As she wrapped the bandages around his bleeding leg, the view goes black.

The Next Day

The scene reopens on the Yankee melody. Inside Trish's room, Trish sat on an old rocking chair. Across from her was the strange lad in armor. He was stripped down to his undershirt and underwear. On his right leg was a makeshift cast that covered his entire left leg. Poor young bastard. He will never walk the same way again. That horrifying… thing, crushed the boy's leg so badly he had multiple compound fracturs in three different locations. If he can walk, he will need the assistance of a cane. Letting out a small sigh, she wished the boy didn't wear that ridiculous knight in shining. To say that dragging him across town without waking anyone up from the scraping of metal was difficult, would have been an understatement. Still, she managed to drag him to the Yankee Melody without being seen.

"Oy, Trishy? Is sleeping cutie awake yet?" A young blonde with short twisted hair asked as she sticks her head through the door, spooking Trish.

Well, mostly. She couldn't bring the boy to the hospital. She and him were covered in blood and shite. How would someone even begin to explain what had happened down in those sewers, let alone that your pimp was the Back-ally slasher. So, she brought him back to the Yankee Melody, just so she can put her IRA medical training to use. Course the other working girls saw her carrying the boy. At least they know to keep their mouths shut. She gave them an abridge version, on how Albert was the Slasher and that he killed Christal. Following Albert it seemed this boy was to be his final victim till she flooded the sewers. She left out the part about the occult nonsense, cause she herself couldn't understand what in gods holy name was that. Unforntely, now that the boy was in stable condition, everyone wanted to see him. Majority found him to be quite the "cutie" as her friend, Marry, had put it.

"Marry, for fuck sake. What I said about trying to sneak a peak of our patient!" Trish snapped in frustration.

"Sorry, but the rest of the girls wants to know who is this mysterious boy is?" Marry said in her defense as she entered the room. She was wearing something similar that Trish was wearing during work hours. However, she had a black deco style robe over her corset and a Flapper headband around her head.

Raising a brow in curiosity Trish walked over to the door and looked out into the hallway. All twenty-nine girls were waiting in the hallway. Each one was 'very' interested in meeting the boy out of time. Letting out a small sigh, she pulled Marry out of the room before closing the door behind her and locking it.

"He's resting. Have some respect and let him rest yah twats!" Trish shouted out to the girls. They begrudgingly responded with groans and complaints before dissipated. As Marry was about to leave, Trish grabbed her arm. "Hey so did you found anything useful on his clothes?"

"Oh, nothing Trishy. He didn't even have any cash in his wallet. Just some plastic cards" Marry remarks.

"(Sigh) I mean an Id, like a driver's license." Trish said as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, that. Yeah, he had one. Jane, John. I don't know exactly how it was spelled but his last name was Arc. Like the boat." Marry answers as she snaps her fingers.

"Arc? Like the saint Joan of Arc?" Trish asked in a serious tone.

"Wait, there was a saint named Joan?" Marry asked.

"Ugh, just show me the things." Trish asked as she slapped her hand over her face.

Marry quickly grabbed Trish's arm and brought her to the end of the hall. She may be a bit of a ditz, but she was absolutely excited to show what she found on the kids' stuff. It was like those science fiction magazines she would try to read. In her room was the kids gear and clothes neatly placed out on the bed. Under that armor was a short sleeve hoody with a cute bunny picture on it. When Trish first saw it, she found it difficult not to chuckle at it. For a supposed knight, he does seem a bit childish for one. Under his hoodie was a pair of dungarees with multiple belts and an old red sash. He had a pair of brown combat boots and that was it. In his possessions were a wallet, a strange glass device, and a photo of kids on a couch. Multiple girls playing around with a single boy with pig tails in the center. He was holding a help sign. Thinking back to her childhood, she could understand what he went through there. Beside the bed was that sword he used back in the sewers. It was out of the sheath and was lying against the sofa.

Marry went over to the sword while Trish looked at his wallet. She wasn't fibbing about the wallet. Inside were a few plastic cards they were multiple color on the front but blank on the back with the exception of a black line. On the side was some strange ID. It wasn't a driver license like most locals carry. It was a student ID. For a place called Beacon Academy. Beneath a collared photo of the boy was the name "Jaune Arc." Next to it was basic information, year, age. Though there was a name next to it. JNRP.

"So while playing around with the kids sword I found something really amazing." Marry remarks as she held up the sword and sheath.

"(Sigh) What Marry?" Trish asked as she placed down the wallet.

"Well while I was playing around with the sword, I wondered where was his shield. I mean what knight doesn't have a shield. So, when I was looking at his sword holder thing, I noticed a button and well. Check it out." Mary then holds the sheath up before pressing a button. Almost instantly the seemingly normal sheath spreads out, turning into a shield.

"Whoa." Trish remarks as she backs up. She had inspected both blade and sheath a dozen times and she hasn't noticed this once. As admit impressive as it was for Marry to find this, this made Trish feel slightly stupid.

"Yeah I know right? This is downright wicked." Marry said as she held up the shield and sword in a pose. "Do you think he's a knight from the future? Or maybe a knight who went to the future then to us? Oh, maybe he's that saint you were talking about."

"No. also, Joan was a she." Trish remarks as she crossed her arms. "Also, what is with you and science fiction?"

Marry simply shrugged her arm before striking a new pose. Trish was about to speak when a loud scream can be heard from down the hall. Both girls looked at one another before racing down the hall. Seems that one girl had a spare key, cause the door to Trish's room was wide open. Inside the boy was surrounded by the girls. They got a little curious and nearly had his boxers down when he woke up. She couldn't blame him for leaping out of bed. Was nearly sacrifice to a freak in yellow, almost drowned in a tidal wave of shit, had your leg nearly ripped from it's socket, and to add insult to injury wake up to multiple scantily dressed women trying to remove his boxers! Yeah, she would react the same way as well.

"Hey! What did I say about him!" Trish shout in frustration.

"Ugh but Trish, he's so cute!" One girl said.

"Yeah Trishy. We were just curious." Another girl remarks.

"Tee-Hee. And I have to say we were rightfully so to be curious." A third girl states with a cheerful giggle as she recalls the image, she witnessed underneath the stranger's boxers.

Tish's forehead vain begins to twitch in anger. So she lets out an angry sigh before shouting to the girls. "Out! All y'all get out of here before I break your legs!"

The girls reluctantly left but not before waving off the poor boy with a seductive wave or flirty kiss. One Chinese girl gave a sexy fanny wave causing the boy to blush as she leaves. Once gone Trish closes the door before turning to the kid.

"(Sigh) Sorry about that kid. They can be handful at times. And it doesn't help that their pimp recently was put out to pasture." Trish remarks as she locks the door behind her.

"Um, it's fine." The kid remarks as he struggles to stand.

As he stands, he was eyeing Trish. Not in the lustful leers she was used to, but like he was making certain of something. It was like that he reminds him of something, something that brought back bad memories. Before she could ask, Marry quickly raced over and begin asking a few dozen questions at once.

"Hello, names Marry Porter. Are you a knight from the future? Oh no wait, are you a time traveling knight who is stuck in the future or maybe the past? How about your weapons? Did someone made them or are you a Thomas Edison if he was knig…!?" Marry asked as she rambled on. Before she could finish her questions, Trish interrupted her.

"Marry! Manners for Crist sake give the boy some air." Trish interrupted.

Marry looks over at Trish with a curious raised brow before turning back to the boy. She realized that she was only a few inches away from his nose. Giving a small realized chuckle she takes a step back with an apologetic smile.

"Heh, Heh. Sorry, cutie." Marry said as she backs off.

"(Sigh) Look, this wasn't the way I wanted this to go. So, before this gets any more confusing than it already has been, let's start at the beginning." Trish remarks as she rubbed the side of her temples for a moment. She then reached out with her right. "My name is Trish Clover. Are you Jaune Arc?"

"I am…" The boy, now confirmed as Jaune responded. However, he was more hesitant in shaking her hand. "Wait. How do you know who I am?"

"Wallet." Trish remarks casually as she held his wallet up.

"Oh." Jaune responds.

"Right. So, is there any other questions yah want to ask? Cause I have plenty to ask you." Trish said as she crossed her arms.

"Um, just one question. Where are my clothes?" Jaune asked as he covered his privates with both hands and blushed madly.

One explanation later (substantially just Trish calling bullshit for thirty minutes.)

Thirty minutes later after Jaune put on his jeans, he begins to spill everything to Trish. Normally he would have more spine compared to the monsters he fights back home. But an angry Irish woman that looked like… his partner, frightened and caught the boy off guard. Trish and Marry listened to the young man's story. How he and his friends were heading to a place called Atlas. Bringing a relic from another place called Mistral for safe keeping. Before arriving, they found themselves in a strange snow encrusted city. While exploring this strange city, they were attacked by something… slimy. Word couldn't even describe it, but it was like a mountain of decaying translucence flesh grew multiple mouths, eyes, and tentacles. They tried to fight it but after nearly being eaten a few times they fled. He and a few girls he was traveling with became separated. A girl name Yang left to go find another girl name Blake, while her sister went out looking for her partner Weiss. Leaving him with another boy named Lie Ren. He wanted to find her Girlfriend Nora, but Jaune wasn't found of the idea of being left behind. So he went with him. After what felt like forever, they found themselves in what looked like a library. It was filled to the brim with books that he has never seen before. Written in a language that was complete gibberish to him. That was till he found a small yellow book. It was in a language he never seen before, however it seemed that it was at least written by human hands. He doesn't remember exactly what happened after but the moment he opened that strange book he blacked out. He then woke up finding a bunch of sexy dressed women had his Boxers pulled down just low enough to expose some of his pubic hair. He panicked, fell back, and Trish already knew what happened next.

Course when he finishes Trish didn't believe a single word Jaune had said. Never in her life had she ever heard the words, Atlas, Remnant, Mistral, or Faunas. Jaune maybe able to present hard evidence but she couldn't even wrap the idea that there was another world with human life on it. Marry however was completely giddy about the idea. It was like those Science fiction novels that she struggles to read. He then asked where he was to which Trish explained how he was in New York, Manhattan to be exact. Never hearing of this town, Trish and an over enthusiastic Marry explained to him everything. How they live on a planet called earth, in the country known as America, and recent history of how there was no such thing as Grimm, Faunas, or Dust. That the Great War just came to an end, and a serial killer and former Pimp; Albert Townley was about to make Jaune his seventh Victim when Trish stepped in. She managed to drown the bastard in a tidal wave of shit, but unfortunately Jaune's leg was busted in the escape. He will need the assistance of a cane for him to walk without a sharp pain. Jaune's response was as expected, denial. He couldn't believe that he was on some foreign planet called Earth. During a time period that basic medical procedures to fix him was down to a simple peg leg. As he continued to deny the idea, Marry thought the best way to prove that they weren't lying was to show him a globe that she kept in her room. She quickly left the room, leaving only Trish and Jaune in the room. Good, since Trish had a few things she wanted to clarify with Jaune in private.

"Jaune, can I ask. Why are you looking at me like I'm some pin up?" Trish asked as she gets up to close the door.

"Hmm, what do mean?" Jaune asked as he held his head with both hands in despair.

"You look at me like I'm a broken whimpering pup who lost it's mum. I just want to know why." Trish states as she leans back against the door.

"Wha! No I don't look at you like… I'm not SAD!" Jaune spoke up in an annoyed tone.

"Don't get snippy. I literally work in a whore house. I serve so many people that I might as well stitch a pair of eyes to my bust." Trish snapped back before calming herself down. "(Sigh) Look, point is I've seen how you look at me. Most guys can't even take their eyes off me because of my charms. You however, look like I reminded you of someone, not just anyone. Someone special to yah. So do mind either stopping this whole, tears from the past nonsense, or just tell me who exactly do I remind you of?"

Jaune remained quiet for a few more moments. He didn't know how to respond. On one hand, he wanted to shout at Trish for snapping at him. However, she was right, he felt like a crying child. So, with a heavy sigh, he told her about Pyrrha Nikos.

"…(Sigh)…Her name, was Pyrrha Nikos. She is… was my partner." Jaune said with a tone of sadness.

"Partner? You mean from that school you claim to attend that teaches kids to fight monsters?" Trish asked.

"Yeah, Beacon. At first, I didn't even know who she was, but everyone else did. She was Mistral champion four times running. A celebrity. Yet I didn't care at the time, I treated her like friend. We became partners and from then on we became good friends." Jaune explains as he showed a few photos on his scroll. Trish looked down in amazement at the realistic photo of the woman in it. Even more surprising how similar she looks to her. Though her hair isn't that red, nor her eyes… and she has a better bust size then her. As she continued staring at the photo Jaune continued to remains.

"Well, I became good friends with her. She… well she had deeper feelings for me." Jaune states before breaking out into a small chuckle. "Heh, I was stupid at the time. Or maybe I was eying my now friend Weiss Schnee. Either way I failed to notice how she truly felt about me."

Jaune went quiet as his thoughts turned to the night that Beacon fell. Students and civilians alike were running. Grimm and White Fang operatives were attacking. And their she was. Standing there in all her glory as she fought hard to save everyone.

"This woman… Cinder Falls. She went to stop her, I tried to follow. It was there that she revealed her feelings. All with just a simple kiss." Jaune said as he felt his lips. He can still feel it on his lips, her sweat texture of those lips pressed against his. "…She… died that night. Went in alone and she killed her. I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

After saying that last line, the painful memories begin to roll back. Tears begins to stream from his right eye as he remains that night. As he looked on into the corner of the room, something broke his concentration. Looking to his side he can feel the hand of Trish on his should. During his reminiscing of his partner Pyrrha, she had walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. A small act of kindness, and understanding for what it was like to lose someone dear to them. She was just about to wrap her arms around him in silent comfort when suddenly Marry bursts the door open.

"JESUS LORD MOSSES! WHAT THE FECK MARRY!" Trish screamed out as she and Jaune fell back in horror.

"Sorry Trish, but it's Terry. He's calling for yah." Marry said as she struggles to carry a globe, maps, decaying textbooks, and even a doughboy helmet.

"Can't it wait… and your paying for that door Marry." Trish said in slight anger.

"Sorry but it can't. He hasn't heard anything from Albert, mortgage is due in three days, and he is trying to find a new band downstairs." Marry explains as she drops the junk in hand haphazardly.

"(Sigh) Fine, just don't leave your junk here." Marry begrudgingly said as walks to door.

After leaving Jaune struggles to get up. As he does, a sudden thought came into his head. Looking over at Marry, he asked. "Um, Marry. Who's Terry?"

The view then pulls downstairs. Where a few men from Harlem was onstage. They were pitching jazz songs to a man in a rotting directors chair. He wasn't particular handsome. Small rounded, with a failing blonde combover. He was wearing an open white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His cheap black dress pants were held up by a pair suspender that were two sizes too short. As he berates the musicians onstage, Trish walks over to him.

"What the feck do you need from me Terry?" Marry asked.

"Please not now Marry. It's been a long day, all I've been doing is listening to these washed up hazbins from Harlem. Suppose to play this Saturday night, make enough money to pay for this dump. What I got instead however, is a bunch of talentless schmucks who can't charm a pecker out of a worm hole!" The man known as Terry said as he tossed down his hat in rage.

"Talentless!? Sir, I've been playing Cello long before you were born!" The far-right man with the cello shouted back.

"Yeah, well I'm trying to get the gals to come in!" Terry shouts back before pulling out a cigarette. "They don't care much for big band. They want some good-looking fella on stage who could charm their patties off with just a whistle."

"Well, I think the song is great." A familiar voice calls out. Terry and Trish looked behind them to see Jaune walking over, with a prop cane as a crutch.

"Who the hell are… (Sigh) on second thought, whatever. Kid, the hell you know about music?" Terry asked as he lights a match.

"Well, not a lot. But I think you guys are good. That last song reminds me of something my dad would sing to my mom." Jaune states nervously as Terry stared him down from his director's chair.

"Huh, that so." Terry said as he turns around and takes a drag from his cigarette.

"Hey, the kid thinks our song is good. Why not help us out? Our lead singer died of TB a few years back." The man with the clarinet asked.

"Um, I'm not sure that's a good idea. I can crack glass faster with my voice then my hands." Jaune said nervously.

"Tsk, told yah. Kids like you don't have any taste in music now adays." Terry retorts before taking another drag. "Maybe you should pretend to be a mute. Girls will only love you for your body then that hoarse voice, yah got there."

That comment for some reason cut deep. Feeling challenged, Jaune then spoke up. "Fine, you want me to sing. Then I'll sing."

Terry wasn't impressed by Jaune's statement. He simply waved him off as Jaune walked out towards the stage. "Alright guys, let start from the top."

"We're ready when you are." The cello man states as he held his hand to the strings.

"Alright, I have warned you guys. I'm not as good as my dad." Jaune said as he stumbles to turn on the microphone.

"Yeah, and I'm sure you father has the voice of a banshee." Terry said rhetorically as he takes another drag.

Jaune opened his mouth to retort. But kept it shut. A better way was to make him eat those words. So with a loud sigh he held the microphone close and toke a deep breath. It's been a while since Jaune had sing. He was a much better dancer, but seeing he could only limp. The best thing is to sing. He looked behind him at the band. He gave a nod and the music started. Jaune turned back to the stage and took one last breath.

At first Terry thought he was going to listen to a young idiot toss his lung out. As the song continues however, the music begins to entice him. It was like nothing that he has ever heard before. He begins to listen more and more. It was nothing he had ever heard before. New song, fresh face, and a talented voice, meant only one thing. New business. Once the song had ended, there was a brief moment of silence before he stands up and clap. As he does, more applause can be heard from up above. It seems that girls upstairs had heard him and came down to cheer for more.

"Well, I'll be a monkeys uncle. You may be more than a cripple with a pretty face." Terry remarks as he walks over.

"Um, thanks." Jaune said awkwardly as he massages his throat with a complex look on his face.

"Ah, modest too. Good, can't have this fame go to your head." Terry remarks as he pats Jaune on the shoulder before walking over to the side. As he rummages through the junk, he called back to Jaune. "Say, kid. What was your name again?"

"Jaune, Jaune Arc." Jaune Replied.

"Jaune eh? Sounds foreign. Good, girls love things that are exotic." Terry remarks as he pulls out a

strange bulky device. He struggles a bit to pull it out, but Trish walked over and helped him.

"Ugh, right oh." Terry grunted as he and Trish puts down a bulky machine near Jaune. "Listen, kid. By chance you want to make it big in Big Apple? Stick with me, I may be washed up, an alcoholic, deserted by three lousy ex-wives, losing more and more of my hair, and I'm as old as saint Nick. But do I know show business, like the back of my hand. I can make you a big shot in this town, what do you say?"

Terry held out his hand and spat in it before reaching towards Jaune. Jaune looked down at his hand in discussed. He considered the idea, but didn't want to shake this man's hand. After a few hesitant moments Jaune spoke up.

"Um, sure. But only if these guys get the gig." Jaune said as he points to the band.

"(Sigh) Fine the band stays." Terry remarks while rolling his eyes.

The band actually surprise that this kid who didn't even knew them wanted them to play with him. It was honestly a breath of fresh air. As Jaune hesitantly shook Terry's hand, he suddenly remembers something. As he went to get a disk, the man with the clarinet walked over to Jaune.

"Hey, thanks for the hand. Not many people tend to be so kind." The clarinet player thanked.

"Really, how come?" Jaune asked, causing him to stare at Jaune with a confused stare of bewilderment.

"Well, cause I'm a negro. In America." The man states as he pointed to himself. "We, aren't exactly excepted here more tolerated if anything; and that's in the north. Down south it's a hell of a lot worse."

Jaune was confused by that statement, till he realized what he was talking about. It felt something like the Faunas movements back home. So, with a sympathetic smile Jaune simply said. "Well, my mom always told me to never judge a person on looks, rather by character."

He then held out his other hand. "So, what's your name if I may ask?"

The man looked down at Jaune's hand before shaking it. "Lector James's Small the third. Pleaser to make your acquaintance Jaune Arc."

"Like wise Mr. Small." Jaune said with a friendly smile.

"Aw, Small and Arc. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." Trish cuts in with a smile.

"Heh, yeah. Course I'm sure you know how it goes." Lector said with a chuckle.

As he finishes laughing, Terry finally came back from behind the curtains with a Vinyl record. As he begins to set it up, he spoke up. "Alright kid, mind singing that tune one more time? Got to send a record to a friend."

"Um, sure." Jaune said as he moved towards the center stage. He clears his throat before turning around.

"Ready to start Mr. Small?" Jaune asked.

"Ready, and please call me Lector." Lecter said with a smile.

Jaune gives a nod before turning around. As he gets himself ready, he wonders. How did he become a good singer? He use to sing like a dying whale, now he sounds like a canary. As the music begins, he remembers something, a strange symbol he saw down in the sewers. It was hazy to see, but it felt; awe-inspiring. Maybe that's why. Course the though a magic symbol could give him the ability to sing sounds ridicules. Crazy really. His thoughts soon moved away from the symbol, and he decided to focus on the here and now.

"Feeling Good" By Michael Bublé Or the slowed down version of it.

Recommend the on posted by Edited Audious

As he begins, the view pulls back. Pulling through the walls of the Yankee Mellady. As it gets farther and farther away, it becomes apparent that someone. Or more accurately, something graffitied the entire burlesque club. Every window and door had the same mark. Yet it pales in comparison to the huge mark covered the entire theater. It was in yellow, and looked exactly like the mark seen in the sewers. Strangely despite it being a busy day and the streets were packed, nobody seems to notice it.

Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me…
And I'm feeling good

I'm feeling good

As the song continued, the screen went blank. Only thing that remained was the yellow symbol. Glowing brightly, ever on with it's horrible and maddening nature, of Sa Majesté En Jaune.

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom on a tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me

And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun

You Know what I mean,

Don't you know?

Butterflies all havin' fun

You know what I mean

Sleep in peace when day is done

That's what I mean

And this old world

Is a new world

And a bold world

For me

For me

Stars when you shine

You know how I feel

Scent of the pine

You know how I feel

Oh freedom is mine

And I know how I feel

It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life

It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life

It's a new dawn

It's a new day

It's a new life

It's a new life

For me

And I'm feeling good

I'm feeling good

I feel so good

I feel so good

Hello everybody, Wombag1786 here.

Phew what a night. By the time this story comes out it should be past Midnight, new Years Eve 2020. So to celebrate the begin of the Neon twenties I figure I release CH4 while downing presumable my third or fourth glass of champain, and listening to Michael Bublé. Regardless, hopefully this will tide everyone over till presumable march or at the latest, April when I focus my full attention on this story. Now then I'll answer all questions that I may or may not have answered before. Oh and shout out the FEV Grim for making Mari.

From FEV Grim: Heh yeah. Reminds me of that Pokémon fan comic that introduce the female protagonist of sword and shield. (I believe the first words were "What ya starin at ya wee posh Cunt? We gonna have a fookin pokemon fight or wot?") Yep, funny thing I actually saw Nessy when I was out on the lake. (Well more like someone painted it on the side of the boat to give the allusion of it. But hey, least I got the photos too back my claims.) No problem.

Thanks for writing FEV Grim

From Pherix2003: Thanks, was going to end on that same melody played throughout the previous chapter till I finally found what I was looking for.

As they say. When in the Highlands. Though this does bring up the question on how does Trish rank in this list of favorites you have.

Hmm, interesting. I was aiming for Bram Strokers work rather then F. W. Murnau. Oh well, least I bled dry the vampire references.

Oh, he may be dead. But still has some character development. He even made an appearance in this chapter. There is a story going on in the background and at times it ain't exactly clear but it's there. Also, he is still alive… to an extent. I would suggest digging deeper into "Sa majesté en jaune."

Eh, if I did the moon cliché every time it will become more of a cliché. Still fair points there.

Trust me, there are cultist among those you least suspect. Even the RWBY cast has cultist in there midst and they don't even know it. Even those who I refer to is don't even know they are part of a cult. (To be honest. It's all quite confusing. Sometimes I don't even know who is going to live or die by the end of the story.)

Thanks, hopefully this chapter is what you need to kick off the new year.

Eh, I made a few edits to fit the rules. Don't worry, not much has changed. Just the presentation. The character is the same as usual.

Thanks for writing Pherix2003

From Carre: 1. It's alright. Take your time and Happy New years.

2A. Alright, take your time. I got till spring.

2B. Slave labor? No, Elderly slave Labor? Wait I got it, they hired fat people making them believe they were hired for modeling before butchering them and feeding them to a bunch of slug monsters who slave away at the labor? (Am I close in any of these pitches, or I just sound ridicules?)

3. Ok thanks and I guess.

*Clapping twice

Lights out!

4. Oh, the faith does nothing for the Cthulu Mythos. It's just that the witch happened to be an elephant. There's a reason why they are terrified of mice.

5. One son, married a Chinese girl from Hong Kong and had two grandsons. One goes and join the communist party while the other joins the Nationalist party. (Have a little Chinese civil war going on.)

6. Thanks.

Thanks for writing Carre.

Alright, with that done, Trish Clover may be the most interesting character I've written. Not because of this chapter, but because of what will happen. So think of her as wine, gets better with every chapter. Now with that done, I just want to thank those who waited and raise a glass before saying, Happy 2020 folks. Let the good times roll once again.

This Is Wombag1786 Signing off… actually before that I want to ask everyone here one last question… Tell me, have you seen the Yellow Sign?