Chapter 42. Beacon Days 24
"Jaune."
"Yes?"
Ren, clad in a slim three-piece suit, turned to give Jaune a suffering look.
"What is this?" His hand rose to point at the reason they were here, a ship.
The thing rested along a stretch of the pier, connected to land by a wide ramp. There, employees hustled and bustled, catering to the guests as they boarded. A significant portion of said guests bore blond hair. Most were only familiar to Jaune in a vague way, which was a comforting thought. He felt quite unready to meet any blonds that would be familiar to him in a definite way.
"You put me suit, fine. You told me to meet you at the docks as a favor, fine. But I draw the line at being your plus one to meet your parents. Are you trying to hint at something? Why, of all the possible choices, was it me you chose for this?"
"Why, it's elementary, my dear Ren." He dipped a hand into his pocket, withdrawing a pair of tickets. "You know how I'm together with Miltia and Melanie?"
"Yes. Twin-timer."
"Oi!"
After a beat, Jaune's indignant expression melted away and the two boys shared a chuckle. That joke had originated from Yang—because of course it did—and caught on with his friends a bit too well.
"Right, anyways, my family only arranged two tickets to my Grand-uncle's event since they didn't know about my situation." And probably wouldn't believe it even if he did tell them. "Now, I know what you're going to say, and I did call the organizers to see about getting another. No dice."
"I see. You didn't want to take one and leave the other—"
"And I'm uncomfortable with bringing another woman to an event that my girlfriends could not attend—"
"Which rules out Pyrrha, Nora, and Team RWBY. So instead of going alone, you decided for reasons beyond comprehension that I was the next best choice." Ren finished in monotone.
"C'mon, don't say that. They've got all sorts of activities set up. A pool, a spa, fantastic restaurants. It's going to be a good weekend."
"This sounds like a honeymoon. I want no part of it." Ren tried to leave, but Jaune dragged him back.
"Come oooon," he wheedled, "I could really use the emotional support to face my parents!"
"Considering they sent you a letter, a combat manual, and these tickets, they clearly want to reconcile."
"That's almost worse, because then I'd have to be reasonable when we talk. That could be the opening they need to discuss my life choices. They know who I went to in the summer, so they must suspect that I've done some questionable things."
"And you have."
"For good reasons that you can corroborate! See? It's a perfect defense. Or do you want to risk me dropping out of Beacon?"
The other boy stayed silent.
"Ren."
Still silent.
"Reeeeeeen..."
At last, his teammate threw his hands up in surrender.
"Alright, alright, just never say my name like that again."
Jaune fist-pumped in victory. Success!
-o-
The two Huntsmen-in-Training cut it pretty close, being one of the last people to board. In fact, Jaune managed to pop some motion sickness medicine in his mouth mere seconds before the ship set sail. Ten minutes later, once his stomach settled, they left their duffel bags with a staff member and followed the directions given to head for the main ballroom, where a party was already underway.
As he traveled through the interior corridors, Jaune noted the finer details, like the bas reliefs on the walls and the red carpet woven with gold threads spread over the hardwood floor that guided their path. All the little things to proclaim it a fancy place and make a person feel…lesser.
He squared his shoulders and walked down the corridor without a second glance, as that was the best method to show he belonged among the wealthy-looking people headed in the same direction. Ren took his cue from Jaune and copied him down to a tee. They cut quite impressive figures, in Jaune's opinion. Very 'secret agent' in demeanor.
Good, presentation was important.
As befitting a get-together arranged by an Arc, the attendees counted many of his relatives among their numbers, with various spouses, friends, business partners, and so on to round out the list. He remembered the image they had of him in the years past, and hoped this made a start in dispelling his poor (and admittedly earned) reputation as the butt of the joke at every damn shindig.
Two marble pillars and a large set of opened doors marked their destination. From the room came the babble of a hundred conversations. A few people milled around outside, whispering and scanning the party for something. As Jaune approached, he saw how their faces often took on this peculiar look of determination before they rushed into the crowd. He stopped before the entrance to let a waiter enter with his laden tray, and followed him inside.
A glance around the room and he was walking down memory lane. The posturing, the ostentatious displays, the subtle attempts to dominate a topic, his extended family has always enjoyed the chance to show off to each other. Most in attendance were of the older generation, but Jaune did spot a few cousins in his age group. He briefly debated whether he should avoid them like the plague (because they were awful to him) or go over there and greet them (t̶o̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶p̶a̶y̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ because it was the polite thing to do). The former proved unnecessary and the latter lost its appeal, when the eyes of one cousin met his own…and passed right on by without a hint of recognition. They had been unable to connect the him now with the him then. Relieved, yet hurt, he revised his plan of trying to impress anyone here but his parents.
Speaking of which, where were they?
Head on a swivel, he orbited the ballroom. Passing by a waiter, he picked up two flutes of champagne from the tray, handing one over to Ren. The other boy did not seem inclined to drink and, honestly, neither did Jaune at the moment. This was more to complete the look than anything, and kept his hand busy.
One fruitless search later, his feet carried him back to the doors.
"I suppose they could be elsewhere on the ship, unless you saw them?"
Ren appeared shocked. "Was that what we were doing? I was just following your lead, seeing as I don't even know what they look like."
Huh. It's the minor oversights like that, that ruins a gameplan. Jaune rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.
"Whoops! My bad." He fished out his scroll, pulling up a picture of said couple. To a layman, his dad might get lost in the shuffle around here due to the presence of so many blond Arcs with similar features, but his mother's raven locks and Mistralian roots should have stood out. "In any case, I'm pretty sure they're not in here yet. And since this is the only entrance, we can simply wait here for them to show up."
"Works for me. You know, I would never have guessed one of your parents was from Mistral. You very much resemble your father," Ren noted. Jaune chuckled.
"That's a sore point for her, so don't bring it up. She maintains that she had the better hair between them, but not one of my sisters or me got it."
"All blondes, then?" An odd look entered Ren's eyes, filled with curiosity. "Older or younger?"
"A mix. Four older, three younger." Jaune was a tad unnerved by how the other boy seemed to be fixated on his ear. Or, maybe, past his ear?
"Hmmm. I don't know about your parents, but you might have company."
"What do you—?"
The answer came with a strong impact to his back, making him stumble. Before he can throw off the assailant, delicate arms encircled his neck and squeezed.
"Jaaaaaune!" A familiar voice screamed into his ear, as the attack (hug) intensified.
"Verteau!? Why are you here? No, wait, let go first. You're going to mess up my suit!"
"Nope. Who knows where you'll end up without someone holding your hand. My poor wittle brother, lost in Vale for half a year. We were worried sick!"
Guilt wrenched at Jaune's heart. He imagined how concerned they must have been, the weeks without news from him, and slumped in place. His face drooped. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry for not telling you all, Vert, but if dad found out he would have stopped me. I had to take the chance. It's my dream and—"
*snap*
...eh?
The weight vanished from his back. He turned to his older sister Verteau Arc, who was now typing away on her scroll, and heard the sound of a picture sending off. Mere seconds later, the scroll lit up with rapid-fire messages. It was as if exactly six people were responding to his sister all at once in a group chat. Funny how that comparison came to his mind.
Looking up to meet Jaune's eyes, Verteau grinned at his incredulous expression and made a peace sign.
"Crybaby Jaune, get!" She crowed. "You are so adorable."
Nevermind, this girl—and likely his other sisters—were fine. But, just in case...
"You're okay with what I did?"
"I was terrified and so was everyone else!" Jaune winced. They must have missed the letter he left behind. "We contacted the neighbors, then the rest of the people in town, then all our relatives to ask if they've seen you. It wasn't until Uncle Hei sent us an update saying you walked into his nightclub that the house calmed down." She paused there, and pointed a finger at him. "By the way, you really need to thank him if you haven't. Mom and dad were going to head for Vale, but then Uncle had this big argument with mom to let you stay."
Jaune blinked in surprise.
"He did?"
"Yeah! I've never seen mom on the back foot like that before, though I don't blame her. Uncle really went up to bat for you. The others and I listened in at the door, and honestly? He had a point even if I didn't like it. Said you needed time to grow into your own."
He had thought it odd that his parents didn't just storm into The Club and drag him back home once he let them know where he was. Uncle Hei never mentioned he had a part to play in that. Gratefulness and elation swelled in equal measure. It'd still take him a while to make up for the monumental amounts of trouble he caused his family, but things were going to be okay, all thanks to his Uncle watching out for him.
His sister noticed his relief, and her expression softened. She brushed back the bangs of her bob cut hair.
"I'll leave it here for now, Jaune. There's a lot for us to talk about, but that's a conversation for another day when we have everybody together. We can use this night to have fun and catch up, because I really missed you." Jaune could not help his smile.
"I have, too," he admitted.
"More importantly..." Verteau angled her scroll past Jaune. Her kind look morphed into one full of anticipation. "Is this your girlfriend? She's so pretty!"
He winced as one of Ren's sore points was so casually brought up. Even now, wearing a suit, he had this delicate and ephemeral air to him. With the soft skin, the silky hair, Jaune could see how the confusion came about. The other boy sputtered, before saying in a deeper than usual voice.
"I'm a man."
"Oh, my apologies!" Verteau looked to Jaune again, and squeed. "Is this your boyfriend? He's so pretty!"
Both boys slapped a hand over their eyes at the same time.
"I knew I should never have come along."
"We're friends. Platonically." Jaune tried to change the subject. "Where's mom and dad, are they with you?"
Verteau's good cheer diminished. She grimaced, shaking her head.
"The plan was for them to be here instead of me but, uh, you know how Grand-uncle Bleudin kinda sorta took issue with mom's less-than-stellar background?"
Jaune scoffed. "Yeah, I remember. That snob. I was surprised we were invited."
His sister said nothing. Her face said everything.
"… don't tell me."
"That actually came up this morning. His people handled the guest list, so he didn't notice until today that they sent us tickets. Dad got a call that basically said mom will get stopped at boarding."
"That bastard!" Jaune hissed, furious.
"Right? So we had a problem where dad wants to see you and mom's telling him to go, but if he goes and she doesn't, all of our relatives would take that as him agreeing that they were right about her. In the end, they gave the tickets over to me and our sisters. I was the one who had the weekend free."
Ugh, family politics. His mom and Uncle Hei came from a Yakuza clan, sure, but it wasn't like the Arcs were squeaky clean throughout history, either. His direct line might be filled with heroes, but the Arc name as a whole contained its fair share of bad eggs. Visitors to the Vale History Museum's exhibit on the Era of Piracy, for example, would see an inordinate number of lanky blonds raiding on the high seas. Hell, Yellowbeard was most likely an Arc, and while his name was royalty in the children's books category nowadays, the man supposedly had a penchant for shooting mutineers out of cannons. In more recent time, the case can be made that the adventures that Bleudin himself undertook in his youth to explore ancient ruins were just grave-robbing under another name.
The two young Arcs fumed as they continued to air the sordid past of their forebears to Ren. There weren't much else they could do, since their Grand-uncle hosted this trip, but a sympathetic ear and a steady supply of champagne proved a cathartic outlet for their frustration. Bringing the level-headed boy was one of his better ideas, Jaune decided. The rest of their friends might have started something. Melanie and Miltia definitely would, no 'might' about it.
The hour wore on with the siblings telling Ren story after story, filling a rap sheet that totaled to a cumulative prison sentence of thousands of years. It later turned into a recounting of the more humorous side of the family history. Jaune was in the midst of the tale about their however-many-greats-grandfather's pivotal role in Vale's earliest recorded—and wildly flawed—experiments on flight, and of the many pluckings of fowl feathers involved in the doomed endeavor, when their conversation was interrupted by a voice coming from the nearby entrance of the ballroom.
"Where is that fool? I am going to give him a piece of my mind!"
Marching through the set of doors was a woman, whom Jaune recognized as his Aunt Grassine Arc. A severe woman older than his parents by a decade or so, her choice of wear for today bore a military affectation, looking like a fancy dress with epaulets and a generous helping of medals pinned on one side. A saber rested on her hips. Jaune suspected it a ceremonial showpiece like the rest of her ensemble. He recalled the woman was the head of a settlement's militia, and clearly proud of the fact.
"Who are you looking for, Aunt Grassine?"
The woman whipped her head in their direction. Instead of answering, she narrowed her eyes.
"You're Dorémi's boy, the one who took Crocea Mors."
Oh, dammit all. That's what his reputation amounted to among the Arcs now, wasn't it?
"You know how worried you made your father, boy? Running off into the night with an heirloom, you should be ashamed of yourself."
"Chill, lady," Verteau snapped back, "dad and mom supported his actions. You got a skewed view of the story."
Grassine scoffed. "If you think I cannot read between the lines...ugh, I have no time for this. Out of my way!"
She tried to barrel through their group. In petty spite, Jaune stood his ground. To his left, Verteau did the same with an unrepentant smirk on her face. Knowing that she lacked Aura, he signaled Ren. His teammate braced an arm on her back, rendering her immovable to their Aunt. Ultimately unable to shove past, the woman scoffed again to save face, and moved around them. Soon enough, she vanished in the crowd.
"Well, she was..." Ren struggled for something nice to say.
"Bitchy," Jaune declared.
"Oof. Harsh. Not untrue, though, and you may be seeing more of it, little brother," Verteau warned, "most of our 'dear relatives' are gonna be like that today."
"Why is that? I mean, Aunt Grassine was never the nicest, but I kind of remember everyone being civil whenever we visited. Is it because of me? Or mom?"
His sister shook her head. "I forgot that you've been out of the loop. It's nothing to do with us, so don't worry. They would have just whispered behind our backs were that the case. No, things have changed recently with the entire extended family, and it's all centered on Grand-uncle Bleudin."
Her tone carried a conspiratorial air and, intrigued, the two boys leaned in to listen.
"He was getting on in years, but in the past couple months his health has been in clear decline. Everybody can see the signs, so they're concerned about what happens next."
"Oh."
The soft murmur escaped from Jaune's lips, and his earlier rancor against Bleudin withered away at the news.
Jaune complained about the man, and he had cause to complain. It wasn't right how Bleudin treated their mother. Set in his ways, he refused to change his mind on things. Beyond that, the man was an eccentric, bitter soul whose mocking laughter rang out in times when those around him would be crying. A person who did not bother to read the mood.
That didn't mean he wanted Bleudin gone. Rarely did the man's charm shine through anymore, but ten years back…
On occasions, he would stand straight-backed and proud, showing this debonair grin, and suddenly Jaune's generation of siblings and cousins could believe that every single story about his glory days were true. There was a time he looked forward to these family reunions, just for the chance to hear the tale of Bleudin.
He was the kind of person whose description by others usually has the phrase 'love him or hate him...' in there somewhere. An eccentric, bitter, and interesting soul.
"I guess I get that. It just wouldn't be the same without him," Jaune choked out.
"Yeah, it really wouldn't..." Verteau nodded in sympathy. Then, her tone hardened. "But you misunderstand me, Jaune. What our relatives are concerned, very concerned with... is his money."
Jaune sent the room's occupants his flattest stare. Of course they were. That made a lot more sense than them being sweet, loving people. Dammit.
"So, they're here because they—"
"—believe they have a claim on Bleudin's fortune. Why do you think there are so many of us in attendance? Some of these people haven't shown up to family get-togethers in years."
"I knew I wasn't imagining things. Seriously, I took a circuit of the room, and I swear half the blonds in this place are complete strangers."
Verteau chuckled. "You were never the social butterfly among us eight. Luckily, I can help you there. Care to hear about some of the more interesting claimants?"
A quick affirmative and his sister was scanning the crowd, a finger tapping her chin in ponderance. Her attention came to rest on a broad-shouldered man draped in a green suit. His clothes caught Jaune's eyes as it bore many influences from Mistral, with loose sleeves and overlong tailcoats. The man affected an aristocratic air, giving off this sense that people should know who he was. Jaune hadn't, but it seemed Verteau did by her reaction.
"Ahhh, Cyano Arc. Dad's first cousin. Guy lives in Mistral for the past two decades, where he heads up a number of canneries for Bleudin. He did well for himself, and got in good with the nobles there. They corrupted him, though, so he's now a pompous snob that turns his nose up at Vale. He probably hates being here."
And yet went anyway, Jaune noted.
"Who is he talking to?"
"That's cousin Chocola. Well, I call her 'cousin' in the same way we call Bleudin 'Grand-uncle'. For the sake of simplicity. She's a daughter of dad's third cousin or something. Closer to Bleudin's branch of the family tree than ours. I remember at one of the annual reunions, years ago, they were talking about how she failed the Beacon Initiation. These days, she works as one of Bleudin's many financial advisors. Chocola has an inkling of what it's all worth, which has made her a very popular conversation partner tonight."
Verteau next motioned them to look at the bar, and the bickering duo there.
"Mauvery and Roseaux. Not siblings, no matter the similarities in their behavior. Vale socialites, the both of them. Another word would be 'moochers'. Their fathers are Bleudin's brothers, so they're the actual niece and nephew to him, and can play on family ties. That's how they each got a stipend from him. Considering he had no children..."
...They would be some of the best claimants. Or, at least, would feel most entitled to the money. They don't look happy, though. The man near them was a study in contrast, scruffier in what appeared to be a rented suit but laughing uproariously. The many empty glasses could be a clue.
"Skylar is a prick. Don't be like Skylar. He's a second cousin to us, I think? He styles himself after Bleudin in his youth, and always goes on about being the successor to his adventures. Grand-uncle never said a thing about it. After Skylar got his Bullhead license, he went to work on retainer for Bleudin as his personal pilot whenever he visits Vacuo. Since the old man hasn't left Vale's borders in years, he's probably enjoying a cushy gig sitting on his butt, though he claims to be hunting for treasure in Bleudin's stead. His parents bragged he won a marksman's trophy once."
A drinker, but too much. A braggart, but too much. To Jaune, it was like looking at washed-up version of him. Skylar served as a warning to keep his arrogance tightly reined. Jaune shivered, a bit creeped out by the parallels he drew, and focused on the next person his sister indicated.
A familiar woman and another garbed in some kind of admiral's coat with, again, epaulets and too many medals to be real were sniping at one another. Their words must carry quite a bite, because the people nearby have given them a wide berth in anticipation of a fight.
"Blancaire, Blancaire. She's militia, but unlike sweet Aunt Grassine who runs the force in the hometown Bleudin and most of that side of the Arcs grew up in, Aunt Blancaire heads the one guarding the town where Bleudin currently lives. They talk a lot about 'tradition' and 'duty' and 'what Bleudin owes his people'. Each thinks the old man's contribution to the other's annual budget could be put to better use in their hands, and that's why they haven't stopped trading glares."
Judging by their new, custom-made ceremonial garbs, Jaune thought it likely that any shortfalls in their respective town's defenses could be attributed to the leaders of their organizations. He met Verteau's gaze and her smirk confirmed she believed much the same. In tandem, they rolled their eyes.
"The last of Bleudin's self-proclaimed nearest and dearest is Ferrouson." She pointed to a man in a white suit making his way across the room. Jaune hadn't realized he was an Arc, since his hair seemed more white than blond. "A cousin's child to Bleudin, deigned to visit from Atlas where Grand-uncle tasked him with managing the long list of real estate he owns there. Ferrouson's taken to that city like a fish to water. Note the hair. The white in it? Dyed to imitate a certain tycoon. He rounds out the list of relatives who have been in semi-regular contact with Bleudin within the last few years. As for the rest of the Arcs in this room, they're still working through the calculations of where they stand in comparison, both in terms of blood and business relations."
Jaune reviewed the names mentioned, their motivations, and found himself unimpressed with this whole affair. Money, money, money was the common refrain.
"Not one of them gives a damn about the old man, and they're here to get their name in the will before he passes?" He caught a sly grin on his sister. "What aren't you telling me?"
She must have been waiting for this moment, because Verteau practically vibrated with glee.
"That's the kicker. Rumor says he already drew up a will. And, that he left it all to one person."
And with how everyone appeared in a tizzy, Jaune suspected that the rumor was no rumor. No wonder his relatives were panicking. No wonder they came when invited. They've gone through life with the expectation of getting a slice of the pie. Yet, an unpleasant truth has now leaked out to the wider Arc family, lighting a hundred plans up in flames. Everyone sensed the collapse of their house of cards, and wanted a chance to change Bleudin's mind.
The entire fortune. Jaune did not know much about the particulars, but over the years he had heard mentions of profitable holdings in all four Kingdoms, with an interest in the SDC topping the list. A non-controlling interest, no doubt, but sizable enough for his relatives to speak of it in awe. Add to that the wholly-owned enterprises, partner shares, passive investments, and more, and one was left with a deep portfolio spanning dozens of industries.
That's a lot to give to one person. Conversely, it's a lot that people were not getting. The decision was sure to stoke greed and jealousy.
"Makes me glad we're only here for the free food." He concluded. "So, who's the lucky fella? Or is it a bella?"
"Hehehe, you'll get a kick out of this. Let's see if I can spot—aha, over there!" Verteau called out, but then her triumphant expression slipped. "...Oh, that could be trouble."
Jaune followed his sister's gaze to see what has made her grimace so.
Past the small circles of conversation scattered throughout the ballroom, a sizable portion of the attendees had concentrated within one group. Theirs was a hive of constant activity, a rat race no less vicious for all that it displayed the heights of politeness. With subtle shifts of their bodies, the participants strove to sidle in front of each other, jockeying for better positions. Elbows cut off avenues of advance, comments laced with hidden barbs humiliated up-and-comers. Smiles and laughter hid their true thoughts. The cruel light of their eyes gave the game away. Peering through gaps in their formation, Jaune tried to find the object of their interest.
There, at the center of it all and visibly wishing to be elsewhere, was a person standing nearly two full heads below the shortest of the adults around her. She was clad in a light blue dress cinched with a ribbon at the waist, her blonde hair falling to the middle of her back. The two details jogged a memory. Jaune rubbed at his eyes, disbelieving.
"Is that… is that little Azy?"
"Yeah." His sister fretted, her earlier mirth gone. "Meek, quiet Azurelle. And, possibly, the sole heiress to Bleudin's fortune." Jaune stared at the scene in horror.
"Where are her parents?"
"Working. Bundled her off to the big city and—poof!—rushed straight back to the office."
"They threw her to the sharks! Our relatives are going to eat her alive!"
Of their many distant cousins, Azurelle counted among those that existed in the periphery on the occasions when they gather, a periphery which Jaune also occupied. She never complained much, content to follow the rest of the cousins in whatever game they decided on, but happier with a book in hand. He and she got along, because she didn't join his sisters in dressing him up and he, in a reciprocal turn of goodwill, indulged her requests to borrow his comics and adventure novels.
Instead of a book, someone had pressed a glass filled to the brim with liquor—an amount she most decidedly should not be drinking—into the younger girl's hand. The shaking glass belied the undercurrent of fear taking hold within his cousin as the adults spoke at, and over, her. They asked questions she knew not the answers to. That displeased them, and they suspected she lied, her stuttered replies drowned out by the ensuing wave of speakers. Over the course of the 'discussion', voices became louder, taking on an insistent edge. Questions gradually turned into suggestions of how to spend the wealth she might be receiving, advice on who she could trust, and veiled threats on what should happen if she did not share the inheritance. She'd step back, they'd step forward. A gazelle amongst lions, the signs of weakness proved her an easy mark. They pressed the advantage.
They halted in their tracks.
A hand snatched the liquor glass from the girl's grasp, raising the drink to the hand's owner's lips. He drained it to the last drop, and scrunched his face.
"Blech! Tastes awful!" Jaune complained.
"And yet, you finished it anyway," Ren said, having followed his leader into the circle to take position on Azurelle's other side. He placed his arms akimbo, and braced himself to keep the crowd from advancing.
"It's free. I can't turn my nose up at free."
"If something free tastes terrible, then isn't it simply without worth? As in, it is trash?"
"No- well- this is a classy venue, so I'm sure that's not the case. Maybe it takes a more refined palate that I don't have yet. We should swipe a few bottles for practice."
"Is that wise? Your Grand-uncle might find out and throw us overboard."
"I'd welcome getting off this ride, honestly."
Azurelle stared blankly at the back and forth between the two older teens. With years since they last met, she could not place his face at first. When she did, her eyes grew round.
"J-Jaune?"
"Hey, little Azy. Been a while!"
He waved, and smiled.
-o-
Youth excused many social faux pas.
That rationale was why Jaune and Ren felt no qualms in throwing elbows to clear a path of escape. Let his relatives think him immature and crude, it was hardly any worse than how they saw him.
Leaving a trail of bruised ribs in their wake, they towed Azurelle to a table they've commandeered and plonked her down next to Verteau. His sister proceeded to fuss over the girl, the resemblance to their little sisters stoking her protective side. It did wonders to settle the younger girl's nerves.
A raid of the buffet table later, and they had a respectable spread of finger foods laid out. Right on time, because Azurelle's stomach growled loudly at the sight of a meal. Blushing red, she pretended nothing happened as Jaune passed her a cup of soda. Verteau balked at his casual pouring of yet another glass of champagne for himself, but requested a glass of her own. Ren stuck with soda, because he was weak. That comment earned Jaune a poke from Azurelle, a sign of her anxiety thawing.
A quick toast, and they dug in. What fancy finger food lacked in size they made up with taste, and in the massive quantities that their group plundered, it added up to quite a meal. Good food beget good cheer, soon enough it started to feel like a real party.
Yet, as was human nature, conflict was ever-present.
"Kimiko will choose the warlord, obviously."
"It really is not."
"Ren, are you joking? They play off each other so well in their scenes. There's a clear connection to anyone with eyes."
"Please, if we are speaking of connection then the rebel leader—"
"Ha-ha, you're hilarious. The childhood friend? The guy whose only appeal is that he was born in the same village? You're conflating physical proximity with emotional closeness."
"While you are ignoring what they went through since then. He has matured as a character from those days."
"He also killed his shogun and committed heinous war crimes—"
"And is seeking to redeem himself of it. The warlord is yet unrepentant."
"Because his actions are best ones he can make in those circumstances!"
"You have not sufficiently convinced me of that claim."
They might have chosen a poor topic to talk about. An upcoming war between Huntsmen(-in-Training) brewed within these halls, and their status as readers of 'Ninjas of Love' had been exposed to those at their table.
Worth it. His cousin was beside herself with mirth, giggling at their antics. Jaune shared a glance with Ren. He sent the other boy a grateful nod, one answered by a shrug... and the secret handsign of the rebel forces.
Oh, they were coming back to that later. No teammate of his was going to root for a backstabber. Those sorts can't be trusted. Himself notwithstanding, of course.
At this time, however, he put that aside. There was an opportunity to pull his cousin into the conversation, and he intended to capitalize on it.
"So, little Azy, read anything good lately?"
First among his relatives, he asked her a question she could readily answer. By how she perked up, she had hoped for a chance to speak. The reticence faded, and words spilled out in an excited rush.
Hearing her talk, Jaune remembered with fondness how he shaped her interest in stories. He used to love the ones of the hero setting out for adventure, slaying dragons and the like. They were the type of books he lent her when she asked.
It seemed her taste in literature had developed during the intervening years between then and today. The hero was still there, his adventures no less fantastical. Now, though, his journey possessed nuances. Along came greater trials and tribulations, as the good times became ever more rare and precious. Instead of unlucky happenstances, it was moral quandaries which tested his resolve. A fall preceded his triumph; loss tinged his victory. The choice of novels Azurelle reads reflected a mind maturing, coming to grasp with the realities of the world.
And, yes, there's a whole ton more of romantic subplots, some of which sounded as complicated as what could be found in Ninjas of Love, though thankfully nowhere near as risqué. It was still enough cause for Jaune to tease her, to which she mounted a spirited defense. Increasingly, she grew more animated.
"I-It is not a copout move! The point is to link their soul to power their magic, so they needed to understand each other. In working towards that goal, it's natural for them to develop a bond connecting—ow!" Azurelle snatched back her hand from the plate of hors d'oeuvre, startling the others. Jaune and Verteau surged out of their seats.
"What happened?" His sister took the girl's hand in hers, checking it over.
"Um, I'm sorry, I just grabbed the toothpick wrong." She showed her hand, and sure enough there was a drop of blood on her thumb. A tiny wound, and the yelp was caused from shock more than pain. Relieved, Jaune plucked a napkin from the table and dabbed the spot clean. He passed her the cloth to keep pressed over the finger.
"All good?"
She nodded, red-faced for having caused such a panic. The scene jogged a memory, and Jaune swung himself back in his chair, chuckling.
"I remember you doing something similar when we were younger. Guess you haven't kicked the habit, huh?"
"That never happened before!" She protested, pain forgotten, replaced by indignation.
"You were eating lunch. Pasta. But you wouldn't put your book down, and held it in one hand with a fork in the other." Jaune recounted. Evidently, she recalled the incident, for she gasped. "You twirled the fork through empty air, but didn't even realize it because you were too busy showing me one of the scenes in the story. I tried to warn you too late, and you bit down on metal."
Her head hit the table, and she let out a muffled groan. Then, springing up again, she pointed at him.
"Well, there's just not enough time in the day to do everything separately! And it was a really good story! And, uh—" She struggled for another comeback."—and at least I read something other than romance novels!"
Shots fired across the bows! She now knew he was a fan of Ninjas of Love and wasn't afraid to weaponize it! Jaune noted a multitude of raised eyebrows in their surroundings after the overloud declaration. Quickly, he defended himself.
"Uh, excuse you, I mostly read other genres."
Why am I having an argument with someone younger than me?
"Like what?" She challenged.
"Eh, well..."
Why am I losing an argument to someone younger than me?
Put on the spot, his mind blanked. Truth was, besides Ninjas of Love, he has only cracked open the covers of one novel these last few months, and there's a small problem with it.
"24-hour Cinderella." He mumbled.
Before his cousin could reply, Verteau blurted out her thoughts. "Dunno why, but the title makes it sound like a story for little girls. Sorry, Jaune."
"That is completely false!" Jaune denied. "It's a Yakuza crime story, very mature and tasteful… with subtle flavors of romance, but that's not the main appeal!"
That was a lie, and the problem. The novel that Blake got him for Dustmas was, in fact, very much of the romance genre.
Azurelle detected his dishonesty, looking vindicated. Her expression then morphed into one of puzzlement.
"Ya-ku-za? What is that?"
"Really cool people. Like me." The words were out of his mouth before he realized that they might not be sound advice. He pivoted. "Except when they're not cool. Unlike me. Don't hang around them, okay?"
Her face expressed great confusion, but she nodded. Then, though, she began to fidget. Her gaze fell to her lap, suddenly shy again.
"Can I borrow that book if you brought it? There isn't much to do here."
Heh. How like old times. He answered without having to think.
"Sure thing. It's in my bag right now, I'll bring it to breakfast tomorrow."
He pulled her into a half-hug. Despite the long absence they were still friends, he tried to convey, and better family than most of the Arcs present. His effort paid off when he saw the last of her reservations towards him fade away without a trace.
The conversation drifted to other topics from there. Periodically, an attendee of the party would attempt to impose their presence into the circle, but he, his sister, and Ren worked to rebuff them so as to let a child be a child just a bit longer.
Midway through their meal, however, a new face made its appearance. Or rather, an old one, and the first that their defense might prove ineffective against. They noticed his arrival when the noises of the banquet fell to a hush. Looking around, the eyes of their relatives were riveted in one direction.
A step inside the ballroom's entrance, Bleudin Arc stood ramrod straight, a scowl his greeting to the family. His head of blond hair had faded entirely to white, and the severe expression on his face reminded observers of a statue. A cane grasped in long fingers tapped the marble floor by his side in impatience. His eyes, squinted and unfriendly, panned across the room. They alighted upon one particular table, and lit up with what in a normal person would be described as joy.
The room stared agog as he marched with a spring to his step—with a spring to his step!—towards his rumored heiress.
"There's the world's most adorable gem!" He barked out, beaming.
Azurelle, who had at first jumped up with a smile just as bright upon seeing Bleudin, fell back in her chair. Mortified, she hid her face in her hands.
"Grandpaaaa!"
Jaune's jaw dropped to the floor. He never thought anyone among their generation can feel enough affection for that old coot to call him 'Grandpa', or that the man would allow someone to call him 'Grandpa'. Seeing him sweep Azurelle into a hug, Jaune arrived at the one possible conclusion.
Mad, the world has gone mad.
Then, Bleudin's gaze turned to Jaune, and a coldness seeped in. He regarded the suit, lips curling in distaste as he recognized the style and affectations.
"You look like a thug."
And all was right with the world again. Azurelle was simply the exception to the natural order.
"Excuse you, I look amazing."
"Did you fall in with that woman's crowd? I expect you to have the sense to not make a scene."
"Pffft. You mean, with the best crowd? Shouldn't have barred my mother from coming here if you don't want me causing trouble, old man."
"I can have you tossed out right now, if you like?"
"How? I've seen your security team, and they're a joke. Not a single one with Aura."
"I've got Aura, whelp."
A timid voice interrupted their posturing. "P-please let him stay! It's Jaune, Grandpa. He's nice!"
Bleudin changed his tune in a blink. He reached out a hand, ruffling the girl's hair to her half-hearted protests. "Oh, I'm just joking, dear child."
Above her head, the old man and the young man shared a look. They both agreed that the girl was wrong. They also agreed to not tell her that, and let the matter lie for now.
Walking over to an empty chair at their table, Bleudin took a seat as if it had been his intention to join their revelry all along, bringing with him a pressure that affected all the people present except for the youngest of the four. Verteau sweated as she cast sidelong glances to the man now sitting next to her. Jaune tensed up, one hand going inside the jacket of his suit whilst keeping a fake smile pasted on for Azurelle's sake. Ren held himself very still, likely in the hopes that the old fossil's senses worked by movements.
"Has anyone given you trouble, Azurelle?" His eyes flicked to the older teens. Jaune sneered at him, before adopting a happy smile again. Unaware of the interplay, the younger girl shook her head, and tension bled out of everyone's shoulders.
"Some of the aunts and uncles tried, but Jaune, his friend, and cousin Verteau held them back. We're eating dinner together. Are you hungry, Grandpa?"
"I could eat." He eyed the spread laid out on the table. "Not bad, not bad. The one thing this ship did right was hiring decent chefs. Pity everything else isn't up to the same standards."
Ouch. The waiters hovering nearby had turned sickly green. That's not the kind of review a person wanted to hear from their boss, as it made one's continued job prospect sound quite shaky indeed. Jaune would bet that those words will find their way to the rest of the crew, and a reckoning awaited them.
The old man scooped a few things into his plate. Verteau, who noticed his selections, scrunched her nose.
"You should get more vegetables," she said. Then, she realized who she was talking to, and quailed under his glare. Jaune was about to intervene, when the old man huffed in defeat.
"Yes, yes. Azurelle always tells me the same."
Said person piped up. "And I was right. Verteau agrees with me!"
"Ahhh, but that advice is difficult to follow when there is a dish piled high with bacon-wrapped sausages within my reach. There is a dastardly plot afoot to undermine my diet, I tell you." He crossed his arms, nodding sagely.
Jaune, who had snatched that plate from the buffet, crossed his arms and nodded sagely. He froze mid-motion when he realized that he had mirrored Bleudin. Hastily, he uncrossed his arms, but the damage was done. Sister, cousin, and teammate chuckled at the expense of the two male Arcs.
To be fair, the old man had a point. It was a party! Who actually cared about dietary recommendations at a party? The only vegetables he ate tonight were the cauliflowers, and that's because it had been deep-fried.
Still, he refused to appear the child here, so when Bleudin started balancing his plate with greens, Jaune followed suit. Their eyes met, and for the briefest of moments they shared a suffering look.
Huh. Well, any ally was better than none.
A movement occurring behind Bleudin drew Jaune's attention. Mauvery and Cyano, joined by a couple of aunts and uncles, were huddled together. They spoke in hushed tones, appearing deeply unhappy. Cyano looked towards their table, met Jaune looking back, and whipped his head in the opposite direction. Subtle.
Jaune cast a glance around the ballroom. That group was far from the only people showing a great deal of interest in their eclectic ensemble of characters. Glares were leveled their way by the uncouth. Those more subtle turned their bodies to give the impression that they did not care, but stole glances out of the corner of their eyes. Every Arc in the room not of this table paid attention to it in some form, and were very, very worried.
After all, this scene pretty much confirmed their nightmare. Azurelle Arc, heretofore a person of no importance, enjoyed the favor of Bleudin, the man holding a fortune. So too, it seemed, did the two siblings of a branch family that Bleudin hated. Jaune hoped those revelations make their jealous heads explode.
Putting thoughts of them aside, he rejoined his dining companions, where Azurelle had convinced Bleudin to tell one of his stories. Unlike in his youth, where he listened quietly, this time Jaune piped up with questions throughout the recounting, partly to mess with Bleudin, but partly from genuine curiosity. The man had a snide retort each time, but Azurelle played peacemaker, and once the old man actually gave his answers, Jaune found himself learning all sorts of useful tidbits on the world, traveling, combat, haggling, and so on.
The meal they spent together could be tense, even stilted at times, but it was the friendliest conversation Jaune ever had with Bleudin. They found some common grounds to stand on, but also debated with great passion on the pettiest of subjects. All throughout, the affection Bleudin held for Azurelle shined through in his behavior. He treated her as if she was truly his granddaughter, and Jaune was happy to see it.
He enjoyed the experience, on the whole. And when it was time for each to retire to their rest, Jaune had a thought he never imagined possible.
He was looking forward to seeing Bleudin Arc again tomorrow.
-o-
Jaune laid in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Ren laid in bed, staring at the ceiling.
It just so happened to be the same bed, because assumptions had been made before Jaune arrived.
"I mean..."
"Don't make this awkward."
"I was going to say that it could be worse. Like, what if it was Cardin's ugly face next to me."
Ren said nothing for a while, and silence reigned.
"Are you saying you don't find my face ugly?"
More silence ensued.
"I'm just gonna go find a sitting room, maybe sleep on a couch there."
"Yeah, sounds good, Jaune."
Grabbing their room key, Jaune left the cabin. He flipped a mental coin, and walked down the hallway to his left.
Past midnight, and the ship was lively as midmorning. How the event's attendees felt about recent developments, Jaune could not say, but something sure was driving people to the drink.
He passed by a wasted Roseraux while ascending the staircase to the next level. He arrived at a lounge and thought he found sweet rest, except Ferrouson and his cohorts were there, nursing drinks and cigars. They saw him, and false smiles appeared on their faces. He ignored them motioning him to stay.
He had to do a double-take when Aunt Grassine stumbled into him, the harsh and no-nonsense woman so out of it that she simply moved around, head slumped and swaying like a drunken sailor. Jaune chuckled at the surreal sight, and continued his journey. At an intersection, Chocola swept by. She seemed to be looking for a private spot, two crewmembers following her dutifully. He left in the opposite direction of them, because he doubted he'd find a quiet place to sleep on that side of the ship now.
This level must have a bar, Jaune concluded, because it hosted a lot more revelers. They were loud, rude, and desperate. They partied on like it was their last hurrah.
Taking a corner, he traveled down a corridor...and sensed a change in the air.
His paced slowed, and Jaune observed his surroundings. People were going in the same way he was headed, but not many were coming back. Further down the corridor, a crowd had formed. He heard no badly-performed songs, or shouts for more alcohol. Their words came as murmurs, dozens of voices to create a rumbling audible from where he was.
What has happened?
He elbowed his way through the crowd, using the direction they were facing to guide his path. Dread pooled as he noted the ornate doors, and glimpsed the rich decor through the open entrance. Bile rose to his throat, when he heard someone say "good riddance" and another answered with a bark of laughter.
Emerging from the crowd, he scanned the opulent bedroom that dwarfed his own. His gaze soon settled on one spot, and his breath hitched.
Bleudin Arc laid in a pool of his own blood, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling.
The people next to him shifted, and a smaller figure squeezed past. They reached Jaune's side, and saw what he saw. Eyes opened wide in shock, shock that soon turned to grief.
A pained whisper escaped Jaune's lips.
"Oh, Azy…"
Author's Notes: Our detectives. The stage. Its players. The motive. A crime.
As it turned out, 'after a few episodes' meant 'right now because the ideas for this plagued me endlessly'.
Adding OCs is a pain, but the Arcs are one of those RWBY plot points can only work if there are OCs. Names are just a mash of colors (English or French) and French name-endings.
When it comes to an arc on Jaune's family, so often do we get the story of two parents, seven sisters, and the prodigal son returning home to reconcile through 'the power of family'. That kind of story needs a better writer to make compelling, so here Jaune got thrown in with a nest of greedy relatives who can barely stand one another and, oops, there's a murder involved.
