Chapter 44. Beacon Days 26
After leaving Bleudin's quarters, Jaune and Ren reconvened with Verteau and Azurelle at an open-air restaurant located on the third level of the ship. Over the course of breakfast, the two boys apprised the rest of the party of their findings—while sanitizing a few details for his little cousin, because the image of someone with their head twisted around was probably not conducive to developing a healthy, well-adjusted mind.
The details they managed to glean were, frankly, quite sparse. The killer was after the inheritance. How many people they intended to murder to reach that goal, he did not know, but two people were dead already. The killer used a weapon on Bleudin (who had Aura), and their bare hands on Blancaire (who did not have Aura). In addition, at least one aspect of their crime seemed to defy conventional abilities. Jaune admitted to himself that those were not the insights of a master-class detective. Nevertheless, it gave him something to work with.
The first assumption he could make was that the culprit—irrespective of anything else— has a higher chance of getting the fortune than most of the extended Arc family. Unless they were prepared to mow down Jaune's relatives like a thresher through wheat, they had to belong in the shortlist of those nearest (though nowhere close to dearest) to Bleudin. Seven names surfaced in his mind.
Cyano, Chocola, Mauvery, Roseaux, Skylar, Grassine, Ferrouson. The people who managed to wrangle jobs and money out of Bleudin in some way, which was better than the rest of the Arcs can say. Blancaire used to count among them. They led the pack in this free for all.
Having thus trimmed the ranks of suspects, Jaune entertained the second assumption. To destroy or bypass a person's Aura, the killer most likely possessed Aura themselves, and a Semblance was the key to their made them dangerous. It also made them obvious. The passive improvement meant that they'd be stronger, faster, sturdier. Hit them, and they won't go down like a normal person should. Cut them, and they do not bleed the same way. Hiding one's Aura depended on people not looking for it.
So, who among the seven has awakened their soul?
"I only know that Chocola has it," Verteau said. "She failed the Beacon Initiation."
And unless she was some kind of idiot, she would have had her Aura unlocked before the Initiation.
"The obvious answer, then?" Ren suggested. Jaune disagreed, shaking his head.
No matter what the law said, Aura was easy enough to come by if you knew a guy who knew a guy. Rouge Huntsmen, or even retired Huntsmen if they could keep things on the down low, may be willing to provide the service in exchange for Lien. Any one of his relatives might have gotten their Aura unlocked in recent years and kept it quiet. Chocola was still on the list, but she was sure to have company there.
Jaune took a bite of his sandwich as he mulled over how to proceed. Asking his relatives to their faces whether they have Aura was an option, but nothing stopped them from lying. Tangible proof was required to remove or confirm them as a suspect. Now, how to go about it?
Once he reached the center of the sandwich, he plucked the toothpick that was used to hold the bread, meats and vegetables together with two fingers, placing it on the plate then returning to his meal. Going for another bite, he paused. His eyes lowered to the plate again. The memory of a pinprick wound and a drop of blood came to mind.
Snatching up the toothpick, he showed it to the others.
"We'll make contact with them all to ask a few questions, and to test them."
-o-
For a ship stalked by a murderer, things were pretty blasé with everybody and their mother enjoying the various amenities of the cruise. It played hell on their party's attempt at finding any of the suspects, taking much too long before they stumbled across one of their quarries in a first-level lounge. Amidst an assortment of Arcs and non-Arcs, they spotted Mauvery stretched out on a sofa as employees catered to her whims. The socialite seemed cheerier this morning. From the news or from the empty glasses on a nearby table, it was hard to tell. Jaune hoped the mood meant she'd be amenable to a conversation.
Confidently did he march right up to her…
"Good morning, Mauvery."
"It would be if you go play detective elsewhere. I'm surprised they allowed you on the ship. Wasn't your family blacklisted from these events?"
…and just as confidently did she shoo him away. Rumors sure spread fast around here. People knew that Detective Jaune was on the case! They were nervous about it, too, judging by how Mauvery went on the attack right off the bat.
Rather than pressing the point, Jaune pivoted on his heels in a smooth motion and began walking to the exit. He noticed his sister bristling from her position on his left, and gestured for her to follow his lead.
"Very well, Mauvery. Enjoy your day." He took a few more steps before he spoke to Verteau, his voice carrying. "I guess we'll go have a chat with Roseaux next. He might know something."
A sly grin broke out on his sister's face, matching his own, as she realized the play. She followed him to the door without a second glance, Azurelle by her side and Ren bringing up the rear. They reached the threshold of the room.
"Wait."
Bingo. The four teens spun back around, oozing smugness…well, three of them did, with Azurelle giving a solid try. Jaune cocked his head, feigning confusion as he looked at Mauvery. She was sitting up straight on the sofa now, her face edged by annoyance.
"Talk to that idiot and he'd just fill you with lies, then point the finger at me."
"Huh. Maybe you're right. He does seem to have it out for you. I wonder how I can tell his lies from the truth…" Jaune pondered. Mauvery rolled her eyes.
"Yes, fine, you've made your point. I suppose I can spare you some time." She got up and waved them over to a corner. Once they settled onto the couches there, she continued, "Ask away, kid."
Opening a notepad, and taking out a pen, Jaune launched into the first of his questions.
"Where were you last night?"
Cupping her cheek with a hand, Mauvery tilted her head in a thinking gesture.
"Let's see. There was the aft-deck lounge, the smoking room, the pool, the bar, the second bar…it got a bit blurry after that. You understand."
From a certain point of view, he did. Melanie and Miltia could wander like cats when drunk. A sense of kinship welled up within his heart for whoever it was that cleaned up after this woman. They must not have it easy, considering Mauvery was nowhere near as sweet and lovable as the twins.
"How much time did you spend at each location?"
"Uuuugh. Kid, I don't keep track of that crap. It was a party!"
He had intended to jot down her response, but paused as he heard the non-answer. There went the idea of poking holes in her alibi. Blaming it on the alcohol was a pretty good defense when so many people were doing the same last night. It threw her memories into doubt, and provided a ready scapegoat for any discrepancies in her words. Still, if he cannot determine concrete details, then perhaps he can draw out her emotions.
"The recent attacks, what are your thoughts on that?"
"Nothing I'd say in front of the kid. I'm not that insensitive." Mauvery indicated his cousin, who frowned. Jaune did, too, as he leaned back in his seat. His teeth grinded in frustration.
The problem was that Mauvery sounded reasonable even as she sidestepped his questions. She might have said 'Ask away', but it was becoming clear to him that she had no intentions to speak of herself. He'd expected her to be an easy person to interrogate, but in hindsight a socialite would be adept when it came to conversation, wouldn't she? Judging by her smirk, she knew what she was doing.
Alright, then. Time to change tack.
"Do you have Aura?"
"Well, that was out of the blue."
Another deflection. Yet, some things cannot be hidden behind words. He wanted to ease into this next part, but his relative drove him to it.
"Yes, I know it's a bit abrupt of a thing to ask, but I assure you the answer is relevant to the case." Jaune fished out the toothpick, placing it on the table in front of Mauvery. "But if you don't want to give a straight answer, then how about you help us with a test? It's simple. All you have to do is poke your finger with this toothpick." Mauvery scrunched her eyebrows.
"Why would you—?" Realization struck. "Ahhhh…the killer you're looking for has Aura. Fuck."
Jaune waited, but she did not elaborate on why she cursed. Neither did she touch the toothpick. He thought that was quite telling.
"Maybe they do, maybe they don't. What I am curious about is whether you have it or not. Humor me, please," he said.
His relative stared at him in silence for a long while before, with a sigh, she picked up the toothpick and raised her left thumb.
"Okay. Look. I'm sorry for messing around, but it wasn't because I had something to hide. It's just a thing people like to do in my circles."
She jabbed the toothpick into her thumb. Instead of blood, a pale purple shimmer appeared. Jaune and Ren tensed up in anticipation of the woman fighting or running. They relaxed when she stayed in her seat without making any aggressive movements.
"Tada! So, yeah, I do have Aura, but I swear I'm not the person you're looking for."
Next to Jaune, Azurelle leaned forward for a closer look. She appeared very interested in the lack of a wound. Recalling what happened yesterday, Jaune chuckled under his breath. Aura would have served his cousin well if that habit of hers occurred on a regular basis.
Giving her a nudge, he explained to the younger girl, "Pretty cool, huh? Aura protects a person from a certain amount of damage. They'll feel some pain, but it's muted. A toothpick might not register at all. A bullet would hurt; it won't be debilitating. It's a must have for a Huntsman when they go out in the field." Turning his attention back to Mauvery, he narrowed his eyes. "Which is why I'm surprised you have it, Mauvery. I've heard you described as a socialite. It's not a profession that needs Aura from what I know."
"Au contraire, little detective," the woman said. "Aura's got all sorts of uses. With it, I can party twice as hard and recover by morning. Better yet, it's a nice boost to my reputation. People love a girl who's got a bit of that 'shining soul'. Boy, too, so you could probably attract a few admirers if you show up to one of my soirees. Beacon Huntsmen are 'in' right now." Ren gaped like a fish.
"You awakened your Aura to use as a status symbol?"
Mauvery shrugged. "It's also another thing I can get over Roseaux. Honestly, just that alone was worth the money I paid." Her gaze flicked to Jaune. "Soooo, you can't really be thinking I killed Bleudin and Blancaire, right?"
Jaune thought it over. Instead of a yes or no—though he was leaning towards no—he opted for a question.
"If not you, then who?"
She pondered the question. "Who do I think did it?... Cyano. He's got debts."
Ren interjected, "Not Roseaux? You didn't seem to like him."
"Pffft. Roseaux is useless," she scoffed. "He fainted at a party once when someone asked him for a handkerchief to stem their nosebleed. The idiot wouldn't have the guts."
Ren looked like he wanted to say more. Jaune stopped him. With a flourish he finished writing in the notepad, and nodded to the woman across the table.
"I think that's all I need for now. Thank you for your time, Mauvery."
With no small amount of relief, she nodded back at him before scurrying off to her group of hangers-on while Jaune's party left the room. Once in the hallway, they gathered in a circle.
"Could it be her? Her alibi is suspiciously vague," she commented. Jaune sighed.
"Not quite, sis. It was actually very much in character with her. Like she said, it was a party. She's a socialite, out to have fun on any given day. Pesky details may not matter when she's always living in the moment. Beyond the fact that she has Aura, we don't know enough to say anything for sure."
What truly made him pause in accusing her was the fragility of her confidence. She put up a good front at first, which had in fact convinced him she might be the culprit. Yet, she failed to maintain her image under pressure. It was far from the behavior he expected of a kinslayer with multiple murders under their belt. In his mind, such a person was more likely to exhibit a sense of determination, focus, or arrogance. They'd have gone over their story to smooth out the suspicious details, then subtly mock him as he tried to grasp at straws. Here, Mauvery's statements managed nothing but to cast doubts upon her, which in a twist caused everything she said to align perfectly. She valued her image and her parties, with not much more beyond that. Even her claim of gaining Aura for the sake of impressing others fit in the narrative, despite it sounding like the worst-told lie he had ever heard.
Might it be possible that she was a brilliant strategist, weaving mind games he cannot hope to unravel? Or was she exactly as she appeared to be, a person without a clue?
-o-
"Ah, young Jaune. Hello to you, and your dear sister, too…you as well, Azurelle."
Immediately, Jaune and company raised their guard. They'd found Cyano Arc at a table on the top deck. Shaded under an umbrella, a cocktail in one hand, he looked the very image of a man on vacation. The stress and unfriendly demeanor from yesterday was nowhere in sight, and he greeted them as family with a serene expression. The slight clenching of a fist and the barest trace of a smirk as he noticed Azurelle gave away his true feelings.
"Hello, uncle." Jaune responded In a colder tone than he intended. Pulling out a chair he took a seat, as did the others. "I was wondering if you can answer a few questions for me."
"Is this about that detective game you kids are playing? I would have expected you to outgrow that kind of childish nonsense by now. Tell me, were you at least able to get some good gossip?"
One finger tapping his chin, Jaune pretended to mull it over.
"Weeell, I have heard…"
"Yes?" In spite of himself, Cyano leaned closer.
"...that you have a lot of debts, and a great need of Lien."
His uncle reared back. The composed facade he put up cracked, allowing a flash of anger to escape before he clamped down on his emotions. Oddly, the man then gave Jaune a once-over, taking note of his choice of wear, and when he raised his eyes there was panic within them. His next sip of the cocktail drained it to near empty.
My, my. Not just owing debts, but to the Yakuza of all people? Making poor choices, this one. He noted it down on paper.
"Who told you that tripe? Was it Ferrouson?" Cyano sneered. "Because he's no different. Schnee lapdog, that one. I hear Jaques wants his company shares back."
"Why? It's a noncontrolling share."
"Hah! That's what they claim, but the odious patsy was angling the whole year to get a meeting with Bleudin about it."
"How interesting, uncle, but that simply makes you birds of a feather. You are owing a great deal. Enough to kill, perhaps?"
"Do not accuse me so frivolously, child, when your understanding is so lacking."
"...How so?"
Internally, Jaune danced a jig. The pompous man sure loved the sound of his own voice.
"Bleudin, alive, provides stability. He ensures my continued employment. Were someone else to take the reins, they may attempt to oust me from my position. If I wanted to commit murder, it would not be against him."
""Unless, of course, it lets you become the one holding those reins," Jaune pointed out.
"And yet, it did not. Instead of getting one man to see reason, I now have to contend with many, including the likes of Skylar and Chocola. Worst of all, as of this moment the fortune is liable to end up in the hands of that child next to you. No, I far prefer Bleudin alive."
A believable story. Cyano's view was in keeping with the Mistralian mindset, where people normally regarded chaos as an abhorrent state of affairs. Still, Jaune recalled how calm the man looked upon meeting them. Compared to yesterday, Cyano acted as if he had a new lease on life. It clashed with his claim.
A creeping realization turned Jaune's heart cold.
As Cyano said, if he wanted to commit murder, he would not go after Bleudin. It would be unnecessary since the old man's health was already on the decline. He had a few years left at most. Azurelle, on the other hand, had a long life ahead of her. In the event that he inheritance fell in her lap, it would be lost to Cyano forever. The better target for him, was her. The best target of all, was both.
*Slap*
Jaune took his hand off the table, revealing the toothpick.
"Would you mind trying out a test of mine?"
Confused, Cyano replied, "What do I have to do?"
"Either arm is fine, but pick it up and give it a stab for me."
This man had bad intentions, of that Jaune was sure. He ticked off most of the boxes. In regards to motive, he possessed a desperate need for money to pay off the Yakuza. He sat before them, espousing the reasons he would commit murder like some monologuing villain. His words and the earlier reaction to Azurelle painted the picture of a man with a plan. Beneath his lies and half-truths, he was a person willing to kill.
Jaune decided that if he saw Aura, he was diving over the table to take Cyano down. No hesitation.
The empty cocktail glass touched the table with a *clink*, and Cyano rose to his feet. He dipped his head in a shallow bow.
"I would prefer not to." Then, as he walked past the group, he gave a haughty sniff. "Careful, Jaune. You're trying to play alongside the grownups, and so's that little girl if she takes the inheritance. My advice? Get her out of the game. She'll thank you later."
"It's him," Ren declared once Cyano had retreated down the stairs. Verteau scratched her cheek, showing uncertainty.
"I wouldn't go that far…but he is suspicious. Right, Jaune?"
"Very."
"So, what now? Will you and Ren subdue him?"
Jaune shook his head. "We lack proof, and there's the off-chance that he doesn't have Aura. If he's the wrong guy and we seriously hurt him, he might drop a ton of trouble on us."
"Erm…" Azurelle raised a hesitant hand, and Jaune smiled at her in encouragement. "I've read detective novels. We should follow him to see if he slips up!"
"Not a bad idea, little Azy. I'm gonna take that, and go a step further."
Such a small thing he had done, simply listening as she spoke, yet Azurelle's eyes glittered with admiration as she looked up at him. The lethargy and sorrow receded from her contenance, and she hopped out of her seat. A blink, and she was by the stairs, sporting a grin as she called for them to hurry up. Seeing life return to their cousin, Verteau patted Jaune on the back for a job well done.
Five minutes later and a couple flights of stairs down, Azurelle looked at him with a fair amount of anxiousness as she hopped from foot to foot. Around the corner, a door shook with the impact of pounding fists. A chair had been propped up under the doorknob of the closet, which Jaune had locked from the outside. She pulled on his sleeve, leaning close to whisper in his ear.
"J-Jaune, is this really okay!?"
He laughed and ruffled her hair.
"Don't worry! He never saw me and Ren. There's no way it can be traced back to us."
His cousin pouted. "That's not what I meant and you know it."
"And yet, little Azy, my answer remains the same. In circumstances where our lives are on the line, it's fine to inconvenience others to an extent. They'd understand. And if they're so devoid of compassion that they would not lift a finger to help us, or if they've shown themselves to stand against us, then they have no room to complain when we run roughshod over them. That is the wisdom of my teachers."
"Ummm…"
"Someday, you're going to introduce me to these 'teachers' of yours," Verteau said.
Terrible images of two unholy forces united against him, fires burning everywhere, and a cute dress in his size flashed through Jaune's mind.
"Never gonna happen." His answer made Verteau's eyes narrowed to slits.
"Are they people I'd have issues with?"
"No, I'm pretty sure you'd love them. That's the problem, really."
Now, there were two blondes staring at him in complete befuddlement. Before he had to explain, Ren coughed to gain their attention.
"It's gotten very quiet over there."
No sooner had he said it that a fist blasted through the door. The sight caused Jaune to grin in anticipation. For there, encasing Cyano's hand, was the tell-tale glow of Aura. Motive, character, and means, this might really be their cul…prit…
Watching the arm flail around uselessly, Jaune failed to contain a sigh of disappointment, one mirrored by Ren. A second arm joined its brethren, then Cyano retracted both limbs. The sound of a fist striking wood—and failing to smash it to bits—rang out along with a string of expletives. The two Huntsmen almost cheered for the hapless sap when he succeeded in putting a third hole in the door. This time, Cyano grabbed the edge of the hole and pulled on it until a piece broke off. Emboldened, the man continued the endeavor, creating a wide enough gap to poke his torso through. He wriggled and squirmed, at one point dangling without being able to get a grip on anything, before he flopped to the ground, freed at last.
He got to his feet, brushing down his clothes and scanning the passage for a hint of his assailant. Jaune and company ducked behind the corner when Cyano turned his head their way. After a few seconds, they peeked out again to see him marching down the hall in the opposite direction.
"Well, he's got Aura." Jaune began once Cyano vanished around the bend.
Ren continued, "But he used it like a child fumbling around on his first walk."
"No sign of a Semblance either." Seeing the figurative question marks floating over Azurelle's head, Jaune explained. "Semblances are similar to superpowers from the comics I lent you, except they depend on Aura. It can be anything, but the ones Ren and I proposed for our criminal would have allowed Cyano to either blast apart the door or fade past it as if they were a ghost." His cousin gaped in disbelief.
"Does that mean you have a superpower!?"
Jaune averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his head.
"Sorta? I haven't actually discovered what it is yet." Undeterred, Azurelle pressed on.
"B-but, will everyone with Aura get a Semblance?"
"That's right," Jaune confirmed. "Although some Huntsmen never manage to find theirs, it's agreed among researchers that a Semblance resides in each Aura-awakened person. It depends on the right circumstance to draw it out. I'm sure I'll get mine someday."
"Wooow!"
It wasn't a bad feeling to be seen by such eyes. An ego boost, Melanie would call it. He swore then and there that when he gets his Semblance, he'd show the ability to Azurelle. Hopefully, it'd be one that looks cool so he can knock her socks off.
As for the here and now, Jaune was left with the conundrum that Cyano did not employ a Semblance in his escape, and furthermore displayed a level of ineptitude that he can state with confidence posed a negligible threat to him and his. The earlier threats suddenly seemed like so much hot air in hindsight, mere bluster from a man trying his best to intimidate the younger generation.
Was Cyano as he appeared, a novice with neither control of his Aura nor a Semblance to boot? Or did he refrain from showing his capabilities in case there were witnesses in the hall, thus hiding the true danger he posed?
-o-
Jaune was starting to think the suspects were conspiring to be on opposite sides of the ship. Ferrouson, for whatever reason that only made sense to his demented mind, decided that wandering the halls near the bottom level of the ship was a great pastime.
"I was lost, because an idiot designed this ship."
Okay, fair. He himself got turned around a couple of times.
On closer inspection, Ferrouson did bear a passing resemblance to a Schnee. His hair was pure-white, and they could hardly tell it had been dyed. Jaune recognized the brand of the suit, and knew it was expensive. The man even had that aloof expression that Weiss wore on rare occasions, though that might be an Atlesian thing more than a Schnee affectation.
The one thing Jaune found unbelievable was his attitude. Yes, people say Jaques Schnee was an awful human being, but that's probably an exaggeration considering how sweet Weiss turned out. And Ferrouson? Well, Ferrouson has to be a parody of the SDC CEO. No way there can be a second person in existence this punchable.
"—if you ask me, what he got was better than what he deserved. Really, that he insists on living in Vale already reflects his poor judgment but to pass on his wealth to some chit was as good as spitting on the faces of all the Arcs. What has she done for our name? I, on the other hand, have spared no effort—"
"—to try and abandon the Arc name?" Jaune cut in. "The Schnees aren't adopting, just so you know. Weiss told me." He smirked as Ferrouson jumped at the name of the heiress.
…Huh. That's two heiresses he knew.
"Man, all I asked was how familiar you were with Bleudin. That diatribe was not necessary, especially when we—" He indicated himself, Azurelle, and Verteau. "—have a different opinion. Why don't we agree to disagree and move on, yes?"
Ferrouson glared down at Azurelle, and Jaune sensed trouble. He took a half-step to put himself between his cousin and the…uncle? Cousin? Honestly, he didn't know what the relation was there. In any case, his hunch proved prophetic.
"Ah. The girl. Do you understand how inconvenient you are turning out to be?"
His fists so yearned to meet this man's face. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw his sister wrap Azurelle in a hug. He flicked his gaze to the other side, and noted that while Ren appeared impassive as usual, the subtle clenching of his jaw belied the other boy's opinion.
They probably wouldn't stop him if he…no, no, he could scare Azurelle.
"—accidents do happen—"
"Enough." Jaune bit out, his face inches away from Ferrouson. Aura cascaded around him, giving the impression of shrouding him in flames. Despite the absence of heat, Ferrouson jumped back like he had been burned.
"Answer this question. Do not say a word about my Grand-uncle or my cousin. Now, do you have Aura?"
The faux-Schnee wordlessly flapped his mouth, and Jaune very much regretted standing so close. If this guy relieved himself here…
"N-no!" Ferrouson squeaked. He then coughed, attempting to play off his fearfulness. "Why would I? That's for those Huntsman-types."
He said it in the same way someone might say 'layabout' or 'trash', with that reflexive nose wrinkle signaling disgust. His face became ashen again when he remembered that he was speaking to two so-called 'Huntsman-types'.
"A-a-and now if you will excuse me, I s-suddenly find myself experiencing quite a migraine. Can't say why, perhaps it was the company I've suffered. Nevertheless, I b-believe I will retire to my room. Good day to you."
Ferrouson spun on his heels and marched down the hall, not giving Jaune the chance to request he prove his claim. As they watched him leave, Ren stepped up to Jaune's side.
"There's a supply closet down that way," he remarked in a blithe manner.
"Tempting. Very tempting."
"How about we focus on the task at hand, and leave settling scores for later? Just walk past him and give him a poke with the toothpick." Verteau suggested. Jaune and Ren paused to consider that course of action.
"He'll know it's us." Jaune pointed out. "We'd rather avoid a fight."
"Then you apologize. For something so small, people generally will have to let it go."
The two boys blinked in silent incomprehension. A slight must be answered with vengeance, that was another pearl of wisdom from the twins. Beacon hammered home the truth of that lesson with the numerous courtyard fights he—often assisted by Ren among others—became embroiled in during the past semester. To willingly apologize, his sister spoke of madness.
"Ugh. Boys." Verteau rolled her eyes. "Give me the toothpick."
As his sister ran off after Ferrouson, Jaune took notice of Azurelle. She wore an expression he had never seen on the younger girl. His cousin practically growled as she glowered in the direction Ferrouson went.
"I don't like him," she declared.
My, my. Little Azy has finally learned to hate.
And here he thought his relatives could not possibly give him another reason to be angry about.
The yelp coming from down the hall was music to his ears. A shame that it also eliminated Ferrouson as their killer. In his notepad, he jotted down his conclusion, and added a few choice insults to the page about the man.
-o-
Dashing quickly through the café, Jaune set the plate of pastries down on the table and moved over to crouch by Azurelle's side. His cousin was slumped in her chair, eyes squeezed shut as Verteau soothingly rubbed her forehead.
"Azy, what's wrong?"
His cousin murmured, "Just a headache."
"I think it's due to exhaustion. She barely got any sleep." Verteau added.
Exhaustion? Not surprising. His cousin has been awake ever since Bleudin's murder. Compound that with the grief, the circuitous route they've taken around the ship all morning, and the emotional toll of the things she heard, and it was a wonder she lasted this long.
Meeting Verteau's worried gaze, Jaune suggested, "We can split up—"
Azurelle's eyes snapped open, and she raised her head to look at him in panic.
"No!" She cried, and he sighed.
"Look, you're tired, Azy. I can call back the security team and have them guard you and my sister while you rest." His offer was met by Azurelle shaking her head as she clung on to his arm.
"I have to find the person who k-killed Grandpa. Please let me stay, I need to do this!"
She did not, he wanted to say. Yet, he heard the plaintive note in her voice. The grip she held on his wrist belied a desperation. He recognized the signs, and understood what drove her stubbornness.
Call it closure, call it vengeance, the difference was small. After sorrow and hate often came the desire to put things right; to somehow make sense of the world again. The person who has been wronged would pour their emotions into a course of action, fixating on an imagined ending where they no longer hurt.
The correct thing to do was to deny her wish. Revenge cannot cure all ills.
"Alright, Azy. You can stay. Still, try to eat something. Please? You have to keep your strength up."
What was correct would also be hypocritical, for it went against the Yakuza Way.
With a sniffle, his cousin stammered out her thanks. Once he saw her pull the plate of pastries closer, Jaune patted her arm. Standing up, he signaled to Ren, and they turned to a nearby table. There, their next suspect sat waiting. For a while now, she had been watching their group, an amused smile on her face.
Jaune took the seat opposite her. Ren remained standing a step to the side and behind him.
"Chocola. Thank you for agreeing to talk with us." He nodded in greeting. She chuckled.
"I wouldn't miss it, cousin. Your name seems to be on everyone's lips since I woke up this morning. Of course I had to see for myself!" Knocked off-balance by her good mood, Jaune searched for something to say.
"Good things I hope."
"No, and that's what was so surprising! I used to hear about 'that Jaune kid' and his gaffes at family get-togethers—" Jaune winced, and her grin deepened. "—but now they're shaking in their boots. What happened?"
He'd hoped to avoid this kind of shenanigan, but taking subtle digs at him must have become an Arc tradition by now. Looking back, even though it was a shame that the falling out between his family and the rest of these people cut off the friendship between him and Azurelle, it also did wonders for his self-esteem. The jockeying for prestige among the adults at reunions had inevitably filtered down to his generation, and it was so easy to dunk on meek, clumsy Jaune. Him trying to be considerate and not retaliate hadn't helped. They saw it as a weakness.
Too bad for Chocola, she was right in that he'd changed. And, he possessed ammo. Jaune flipped back a page to where he recorded what Verteau said about this woman.
"You know how it goes. I met good people, they helped me become better. Beacon really has been good for me, too." A twitch on her face told him he'd struck a nerve.
"I'm sure it has," said the once Beacon-hopeful. She almost kept the bitterness out of the words.
"Anyway, the rumors might have mentioned that I am investigating what happened to Bleudin and Blancaire. I wanted to ask you a few questions on that matter." Chocola gasped in mock offense.
"You can't think I had anything to do with that? I mean, Mauvery, Roseaux or Skylar would make sense, but not little old me~"
"At the moment, I'm keeping an open mind." Jaune leaned forward. "Why did you mention those three specifically?"
Besides to take the heat off of her, that was. Chocola had the look of the cat that caught the canary.
"Well, don't let them know you heard this from me," she said in a low, conspiratorial voice, " but Mauvery made a big purchase lately. I've no idea what, but going by what others said it put a big dent in her accounts. Enough that she had to cut her shopping trips down to the bone."
Unlike her, Jaune had a pretty good idea of the 'what'. Mauvery bought Aura. Was the cost for the service high? His was unlocked by Melanie and Miltia so he never checked the market price. In any case, this tidbit confirmed that the socialite has money issues. That established a motive for her to desire the inheritance, although he hesitated to say that fashion was a compelling reason to become a killer.
…Scratch that, the twins would definitely commit murder if they can't indulge their shopping hobby anymore. He bumped Mauvery's name a couple places upward on the list of suspects.
"I don't know whether Roseaux is in similar straits, but he became very vocal after a few drinks yesterday, and went on a tirade against Bleudin and his decision. Phrases like 'I won't allow it' and 'or else' were thrown about."
Jaune shrugged his shoulders in response. Roseaux was probably one among many last evening to make comments like that. According to his bitter rival, the man lacked the actual means to carry out the crime. He'll reserve judgment, and test that claim later.
"As for Skylar?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I saw him going down the corridor leading to Bleudin's quarters about an hour after the banquet ended." She finished with a significant look, as if she just delivered a bombshell.
"Doesn't that mean you went near there, too?" Ren interjected.
"I was everywhere, darlings~" Chocola stretched a languid arm, giving a wave to indicate the entirety of the ship. "The family kept wanting to hear about the fortune's worth. The non-relatives they brought along had wealth of their own in need of a good financial advisor. And the good-looking guys weren't going to talk to themselves. I had a good night." She winked, before bursting out in a fit of giggles. "Hell, everybody did, even Aunt Grassine! Did you see how drunk she was!?"
She mimed a drunken sway. It triggered Jaune's memory of the older woman's behavior yesterday, and he cracked a smile. That was an unbelievable sight.
Chocola, getting into her groove, rapidly tapped the table with a fingernail to get their attention.
"Oh! Oh! You know who else is suspicious? Ferrouson!"
"We've had a chat with him," said Jaune.
"And you hated him, I'll bet. Him and Cyano are something else. With them it's always money, money, money."
"And I suppose you didn't spare a moment's thought on the inheritance?" Jaune quipped. She can continue pointing fingers as she pleases, he wasn't going to forget that she had years of formal training in the fine art of stabbing things.
"I doubt you'd believe me if I said no." Jaune and Ren both shook their heads. "Well then, I'll just say that I'm not as worried as some of our relatives about Bleudin's fortune. There are better ways than murder to get a slice of the pie. Everyone needs a financial advisor."
He got the feeling that a lot of her advice will lead to large slices, if not the entire pie, in accounts she controlled. He made a mental note to warn Azurelle against hiring this woman. Hell, he might ask Uncle Hei for a recommendation. Advisors who dealt with crimelords were crooked by definition, but they also knew screwing over their clients could earn them an unwanted retirement package. A healthy dose of fear kept people honest.
Sitting back, Jaune regarded Chocola as the potential killer. She certainly possessed the means. A person who failed an Academy Initiation was still often the most dangerous person in the room. Yet, were she to be believed, she fell short in terms of motive. Chocola had options to burn before she resorted to desperate measures. Depending on how events shake out, she could even retain her position in Bleudin's massive empire, from which she can attempt a myriad number of trickeries to enrich herself.
"I've learned a lot from our conversation, Chocola. Thank you for your time, and we'll get out of your hair for the time being." As Jaune made to get up, Chocola raised a finger to stop him.
"You know... a thought just popped into my head. There's someone else who could have masterminded this plot."
He lowered himself back on the seat, intrigued by the possibility that he had overlooked a suspect.
"Who?"
"Think of the person who stands to gain the most right now. A true rags to riches story."
The person that fits—? He growled in annoyance.
"That's a poor joke. Azy loved…"
"No, no. Not the girl." Chocola cut in. Jaune grinded his teeth.
"Just spit it out, dammit. Who are you talking about?"
Chocola raised her voice loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. For Azurelle to hear.
"Why, you, of course! The shining knight. With Bleudin, you would never see a single Lien of the fortune. Yet, only one night after you return to the fold, Bleudin's gone and you've now got that poor girl wrapped around your finger. How suspicious!"
Snarling, he pushed back the chair and walked away. Her laughter rang in his ears.
Chocola's mirth stuttered to a stop, as did Jaune's footsteps, when the murmurs and outcries reached their ears from outside the café. They heard snippets of conversations. It was enough to give them the gist.
A locked room. An Arc. A murder.
Ferrouson.
"Will you look at that? Seems like we're both in the clear, cousin. You'll be my witness, won't you?" Despite the joking lilt, Chocola failed to suppress the quaver in her voice, and Jaune noticed how she flicked her eyes towards Azurelle.
Chocola and her cohorts wagered on only one more murder when they demanded that the cruise proceed. They banked on Blancaire's circumstances being an outlier. This news, however, fully established the pattern. They were not safe, either.
Jaune motioned to his party.
"C'mon, gang. Let's go check out the crime scene."
-o-
"Cause of death: blunt trauma," said Ren, laying the sheet back over the body he was kneeling beside. Standing above him, Jaune rubbed at his eyes, dearly wishing he hadn't seen that.
"A bit of an understatement. I would call it death due to a smashed-in face." And that was, in fact, what he wrote in his notes.
This murder carried much of the same hallmarks that appeared in Blancaire's case. For the second time, brute strength was the killer's play. Jaune saw no signs of forced entry, and the people who were in the passageway at the time of the murder reported a similar sequence of events of a scream, a locked door, and a crime scene devoid of its culprit once the security guards gained entry. Notably, the position of Ferrouson's corpse suggested a man cowering into a corner, trapped as his killer bore down on him. Jaune would not wish such a fate on anyone, even a person like the Arc from Atlas who he loathed, and it revealed an undercurrent of fear on the part of the victim in the face of their assailant.
Something bothered him about all this. Jaune leaned against a desk, fingers tapping a beat on its surface.
Boldness.
The killer orchestrated Bleudin's death with a level of care. Their timing was impeccable, striking down the man without people there to overhear. They went on to disguise their method, thus sowing confusion. Now, however, they've abandoned subtlety to strike when the opportunity arises. Their act contained a savagery to its execution. Did the killer, perhaps, relish the chance to show their power? Or could this be called a brutal efficiency? It painted the picture of either a Semblance-drunk monster hyped on their success or a cold-blooded agent on a mission. Either one was not a person he'd fancy his chances against.
"At least we know it's not Chocola," said Ren. "She was with us in the restaurant."
"Could be a doppelganger, could be an illusion while she waltzed in unseen. What a great alibi it would make if she had us to vouch for her. I won't discount her yet."
That's the problem with Semblances. They break too many rules. Hell, maybe the killer had the people on the ship under mind control or possessed the ability to become a blind spot, rendering their own existence and actions invisible even as they stood next to Jaune in this room.
A glint caught his eye, distracting him from the worries that were spiraling into outright terror.
"Ren, what's that there? Under the dresser to Ferrouson's right."
His teammate looked to the place indicated, his hand going into the gap between the piece of furniture and the floor. It came back with a small glass bottle, which he handed over to Jaune.
"Was this his?" Jaune glanced down at Ferrouson's right hand, which laid open with the palm facing up."Yes. He had it in his grip. After the killing blow struck, he slumped to the ground. Hand opens, bottle rolls, it ends up under the dresser. But what is it?"
"He did mention a migraine. Medicine, perhaps?" Suggested Ren.
"I don't think so. It's unlabeled. Looks like plain water." He unstoppered the cap. A scent wafted from the opening. "Huh. Odd smell. So, probably not water?"
"Let me give it a try."
Jaune shrugged and passed Ren the bottle. The other boy took a sniff, and mulled it over. His head tilted back to gaze at the ceiling. After a short time, he faced Jaune again, sporting a frown.
"Hey, Jaune. Would you say this smells like bitter almonds?"
"I…I'm not familiar with that scent, so I can't say."
"I can. This smells like bitter almonds."
They fell silent, the same word running through both their heads.
Cyanide.
The movie-watcher's choice. An amateur's go-to. This chemical was right up there alongside arsenic as the poison to use at mealtime with one's enemies. And, as Ren said, it may smell of bitter almonds.
What sympathy he had for Ferrouson died then and there. A seething rage took its place. If the man wasn't already dead, Jaune would have ensured he never lived to see the next day.
This had not been the murder of an innocent life, for in what world was a bottle of cyanide used as a weapon of self-defense? Ferrouson intended it for a more sinister purpose. His comments to Azurelle left little doubt as to who the target would be.
Jaune turned his head towards the open door and the passageway where his sister and Azurelle waited. A terror that he had not felt since the night at the warehouse surged within him, and he broke out in a cold sweat at the realization of how close he came to losing someone he held dear. His cousin trusted him to keep her safe, yet he had not anticipated poison, and so neglected to prepare defenses against that avenue. In scant hours, she would have sat down for dinner and…once again, Jaune reiterated in his heart that his relatives were scum.
That sobering thought shot a twinge through his mind, realigning details in his memories.
"Blancaire was the same," he concluded, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. Ren did not get it, so he explained. "The knife she held in her hand when she was killed, it was not meant for her protection but to use on her competition."
"Is that not a stretch? The cyanide, I understand, but…"
"She's militia. That's what I overlooked earlier. Ansel has one of their own, and I've seen them at work. They use guns, spears, swords—weapons to defend against Grimm. Knives are utility tools, and nobody without Aura sees it as a viable weapon. If Blancaire wanted a weapon for self-defense, she was more likely to bring a gun. She had the training for it, whereas a knife would be unfamiliar and awkward."
"It's possible she brought the knife so it won't get confiscated—no, you mentioned the employees are lenient on weapon checks."
Jaune nodded. "They wouldn't even blink before letting a cannon through. Oum knows how many other people brought firearms. But no, she had a knife. I'm thinking it's because a gun is too loud for her purposes. She wasn't some poor innocent lady, murdered in her bed. Neither was she a brave warrior fighting her last stand. No, she was a would-be killer, herself."
What did that mean for the killer he was chasing, then? Were they on his cousin's side? They assassinated Bleudin, and that's the worst thing they could do to Azurelle. They murdered those intending her harm, and so saved her life. It added up to a paradoxical state of affairs.
The accusation Chocola laid against him resurfaced, and Jaune wondered whether she had been spot on with her joke. Bleudin cannot be controlled, but his cousin was young, meek, and naive. Put the fortune in her hands, then worm their way into her good graces, and a person could stand to gain wealth unimaginable. It's a complicated plan with many failure points, but not outside the realm of possibilities. Were this the case, would it make them his ally? Or was he their biggest rival, as the person closest to Azurelle?
With effort, he dragged himself back from the downward spiral of doubts and suppositions. The notepad had filled up wit a good five pages during his rumination. He read over the mess of scrawls, then scoffed before flipping past them.
Right or wrong, friend or foe; too many questions, too many things unknown. One thought overrode them all. He wrote it on the blank page.
What did it matter?
There's no point in asking when he had no good reply to give, and none of that changed his goal in the end. If anything, it spurred him on.
Find the killer. Get some answers.
-o-
A change has come over the cruise ship. Its passengers traveled with a tension to their posture. Eyes followed Jaune and his group wherever they went, blatantly staring. Familiar faces made an appearance from time to time along their journey, looking on from afar at Azurelle to confirm she truly was not the latest victim. That was how they happened upon Roseaux at the bar on the second level.
Spotting him on the other side of the room, Jaune started walking over. A pull on his sleeve stopped him short.
"Azy?"
"He's…staring." The hand holding his suit trembled.
Jaune snapped his head in Roseaux's direction. The man was shooting an intense glare at Azurelle, so focused that he hardly noticed the older boy standing by her side. Jaune moved in front of his cousin, glaring right back at his relative.
A blue glow entered his eyes, and Roseaux paled. He skittered out of the room.
"I can go after him," Ren offered.
"His fear of me still surpasses his greed. It should keep him honest for a while. We'll get to him in time. Right now, there is someone else on our list in the room."
Three strides put him in front of a table. Pulling out chairs for Verteau and Azurelle, he grabbed a third seat for himself. Ren opted to turn and lean on the table, allowing him to maintain a watch on Jaune's blindspots.
"Hello, Aunt Grassine," Jaune greeted the table's other occupant. His aunt, less haggard since he last saw her, regarded him with an unfriendly air.
"What do you want?"
"How's the hangover? Anything I can get you?"
She raised her cup of coffee.
"I have the cure I need. I also know of your tomfoolery. Have you no sense of decency or respect?"
A harsh, no-nonsense woman. That was Grassine Arc. A militia leader like Blancaire, she was used to sharp, clipped conversations. In his younger years, he dreaded her presence because she barked her sentences like they were orders. It hadn't helped that she harbored a constant disapproval of his…everything, and spared no criticisms even when within earshot of the rest of their relatives.
Funny thing, maybe it's a simple matter of him being taller than her now, but that fear seemed oddly absent. Through the eyes of the him today, she appeared as a bully and a rather dull one at that.
He retorted, "Look in a mirror lately? You and all the money-grubbers decided that continuing this cruise was the proper response to Grand-uncle's passing."
Brows furrowed, Grassine barked, "People die. Life goes on. What happened to Bleudin was barely a blip to the family. We all saw it coming. Only a child would fail to accept that."
Azurelle surged out of her seat. "Don't talk about Grandpa like he didn't matter! He was the greatest of all the Arcs. You just never realized it because you were blinded by money!" She pointed to the medals pinned to the older woman's clothes, and her lips curled in her best approximation of a mocking sneer, close enough to the real thing that it made Jaune proud. She learned that from him! "Like a magpie, obsessed with shiny things!"
Jaune turned his head to the side to surreptitiously wipe away a teardrop. So, so proud.
The stunned look on Grassine's face shall stay with him for the rest of his days. Deeming her sufficiently off-balanced, Jaune pressed his accusation.
"That greed was what got you on my list. I recall your actions last night. How you wanted to confront Bleudin, How devastated you were to not get your way. And that argument with Blancaire. Who else hated her enough to wish her harm?"
Sadness flashed over her face, momentarily halting Jaune's barrage.
Grassine hardened her expression. "As you mourn Bleudin, so do I mourn Blancaire. I did not like her, but she was someone worthy of respect. I resent your baseless accusations. Recant them."
He almost did. Long-honed instincts of his formative years meant his mouth opened faster than he could think, shaping the first syllable of 'sorry'. Verteau jamming her elbow in his ribs saved him from falling back into bad habits. Instead of apologizing, and thus losing his initiative, Jaune changed the subject.
"Bleudin died from a wound to his chest. You had a sword upon your person last night, a ready weapon with which you could commit the deed." He lowered his gaze to the handle of the saber strapped to her side, visible over the lip of their table. It was a longshot, without consideration for how the woman—who did not possess Aura, as he discovered during their meeting at the banquet—could render Bleudin in the dire straits needed for her to strike the killing blow. He made the insinuation mainly to regain his momentum, though the availability of the saber near to her hand did bear consideration.
She scoffed. "I should have expected you to dodge responsibility. Typical of your line." The two siblings bristled. "As for my saber, it serves a ceremonial purpose. We Arcs have a proud tradition as warriors and it is my stance that we should be seen as such. I carry my family's heirloom while others keep theirs on the mantelpiece."
Was that a dig at him?
"Mine remains in my possession. Others had theirs stolen by thieves."
It was a dig at him. Bitch.
"A vanity piece can still cause harm. The pointy end, you know." Jaune mimed a stab.
Unperturbed, she said, "Were it the sharpest of blades, It would do me no good against Bleudin Arc. Do you know why?"
Jaune refused to fall into the trap of replying. He was the one asking the questions, after all, and not her. Besides, she's going to answer, anyway.
"Aura. The divide between you Huntsmen and us soldiers. No matter how skilled, or equipped, or prepared I am, a Huntsman will hold the overwhelming advantage. That goes double when it comes to this blade." Bitterness tinged her voice.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
In response, her hand reached for the sword's grip. Immediately, Jaune and Ren stretched out their arms to defend the Aura-less Azurelle and Verteau. They watched on as she drew the sword. A steel so radiant that it seemed to shine with its own light emerged from the scabbard, slender and sharp. Silver filigree scrawled along the flat side, designed as twisting vines. The beautiful blade belonged in a fairy tale, held in the hands of some hero. Jaune hadn't put stock in his theory of it being the murder weapon, but beholding the saber in this moment he would believe it capable of slicing another piece off of the moon, let alone Aura. Little by little, the blade revealed itself, and he leaned forward with anticipation.
One inch, two inches, three and…that was it. The saber terminated in nearly a clean break, leaving a useless stub reaching not even a quarter of the way to its tip.
Jaune exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding. His eyes flicked up to Grassine, who wore an inscrutable expression, pain and pride and disdain and more in one.
"There's a reason why I said it is merely for the sake of ceremony."
"Why do you keep a broken sword?" He blurted out.
"Because it's an heirloom, and I know to respect it no matter what state it is in. Unlike you, thief."
The words struck Jaune dumb. His thoughts went to the sword and shield he'd taken from his family. He imagined what they, and the rest of his relatives, would say if they found out he used it as a crude blunt instrument, and winced hard. Aunt Grassine caught the movement, and she cast a judging gaze upon him.
Returning the broken blade to its sheath, she peered down at the saber held in her hands.
"It was never meant to be used, but to serve as a symbol." To Jaune, it sounded like a rebuke of his ill-treatment of Crocea Mors, and he wilted further. Tiredly, Grassine declared, "I had nothing to do with the deaths of Bleudin, Blancaire, or Ferrouson Arc. There's my statement. Quit wasting my time and see yourself out."
-o-
Up, down. To, fro. They weren't kidding when they refer to the nitty-gritty tasks of a detective as 'legwork'. Asking for Skylar's location from the other Arcs in the area had pointed him to the top deck Cyano occupied earlier, forcing their party to ascend the staircases again.
One thing he appreciated, the long walk provided him a chance to calm down. Damn aunts and their unerring ability to push on every painful button. Seriously, would it kill them to stop dragging his shame out in the open for one, just one, family reunion? The politeness he displayed in yesteryears hadn't stopped Grassine, the brashness of today emboldened her more than anything, and—
"Ahhh!"
A scream. Azurelle. He'd let his guard down!
Jaune spun around to the sound of yelps and impacts upon the stairs. He spotted his cousin as she hit the bottom of the steps, where she laid motionless in a heap. Heart pounding in his chest and eyes peeled for an assailant, he jumped down in two strides to reach her. To his immense relief, the younger girl sat up on her own.
"Azy, what happened? Are you okay!?"
She blinked once, twice, then looked down at herself as if wondering that same question. A poke here, a prod there, and a smile bloomed on her face. Azurelle very energetically hopped to her feet.
"I'm okay!" She exclaimed, surprised and pleased.
Checking over her, Jaune confirmed that she was not merely putting up a strong front. Her clothes had become ruffled but he saw not a scratch on her. His cousin must have landed just right, turning what could have been a nasty fall into a harmless accident. How lucky she was.
"The headache came back and I tripped," she explained, then jolted in place. "B-but, I'm fine! I can still keep up!"
"If you're tired—"
"I'm not," she stated, adamant.
"Alright. Just remember that we can slow down, yeah?" She nodded in understanding, and Jaune straightened up. Shaking out his legs, he looked at the two flights of stairs remaining between here and the rooftop deck, and he groaned. The walking never ends! "Go in front of me. I'll catch you if you slip."
They reached their destination without further trouble. The temperature has dropped since the morning, soft breezes transforming into crisp, bracing winds. Not many people were up here as a result, and Jaune easily found Skylar. Feet on the table, the pilot had tipped his chair back on the rear legs. The empty glasses on the table gave a clue as to his afternoon plans.
"Jauney, is it my turn?" Skylar cheerfully asked. "I'm offended you didn't interview me sooner. It's like you don't think I'm a dangerous man!"
Taking a seat, Jaune quirked an eyebrow.
"Comparatively speaking, you're not." The smarmy grin stayed on the other man's face. Verteau was right. Skylar was a prick. "I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. And—" He placed a toothpick on the table. "—to request you take a test."
"I feel like I'm back in school. Speaking of, I heard you go to Beacon. Is it true what people say, that it has the hottest girls in Vale there?"
Jaune didn't bother to correct him that the twins don't go to Beacon.
"Where were you last night?"
"C'mon, tell me! Were any of them willing to take you, or are you still forever alone?" Skylar broke into guffaws, slapping the table. Nobody joined in. The mirth took on a distinctly fake pitch as he tried to draw out a reciprocal laugh. Finally, it petered out, leaving him sulking. "Ugh, fiiiine. You guys are no fun. Last night, I was on the boat, duh."
"Specifically?"
"Shit, kid. Half the time I was out of it."
"We understand. Please try, then," said Ren.
Skylar scratched his head. "Alright so I was at the bar for most of it, chatting, having a blast. A brawl broke out, that was fun. I jumped in and kicked all their asses. Then, we hit up the pool." His expression turned lecherous. "Met this chick, daughter of some business associate from Atlas. Don't know about you losers, but, ah… I had a good time last night." He must have thought the wink was charming, It wasn't.
"Is that so? Interesting. Please, continue." Jaune doodled a smiley face in his notepad, withholding a smile when worry flashed across Skylar's face.
Disappointment quickly set in. As they dug further into his story, the details began to contradict themselves. Not due to some nefarious reason, but because of Skylar's penchant to embellish events. Cut through the bragging, and what they unveiled was a rather boring story, all told. The 'brawl' was a drunken slap fest that lasted until the employees booted him out of the bar. The 'good time' was him hovering around the poor woman, regaling her with the same kind of inane chatter to which he was subjecting Jaune and the others right now. And so on, and so on.
As for his supposed 'adventures' in Vacuo that he segued into any chance he got, hearing them made Jaune glad May wasn't here. She would have some choice words—and maybe a bullet—for the claims Skylar made about her home and culture. Her choice of clothing certainly contradicted his lurid description of Vacuan fashion.
Jaune actually cheered when his sister cut short Skylar's fantasy. By jabbing him with the toothpick.
"There! He doesn't have Aura. Sorry for that, Skylar, I hope the boo-boo wasn't too much for you to handle." Jaune, Ren, and Azurelle snickered as the man sputtered a denial.
Rubbing the spot on his arm, Skylar spat out, "Are we done?"
"Yes, I think so. Good talk." said Jaune, getting up. He turned to walk away, paused in his steps, and glanced back to see the pilot lifting his glass. It was the perfect chance. He whirled around. "Oh, I forgot! Just one more question, Skylar. Why were you lurking outside Bleudin's room last night?"
Skylar spat out his drink. "What- How did- Look, it wasn't like that!"
No smart comments, no bravado; he had been put on the back foot. Jaune capitalized on the moment.
"But did you meet him?"
"No. Okay, look. I was there. Knocked on his door. He wasn't in, so I went back to the bar. A couple hours later I heard he was dead. I had nothing to do with it."
"That's your answer? It's not exactly convincing."
"Hey! It don't matter so long as that slip of a girl is still around. She's the one holding the money."
*Wham!*
His fist embedded in the table, Jaune loomed over his relative, who raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"I-I didn't say I have designs on her. Just stating facts. Heheh."
Jaune maintained eye contact for a solid minute to intimidate the other man. Once his relative was cowed, he relented and loosened his stance.
"Don't go near Azy,"Jaune warned. Then, he spun on his heels.
And Skylar…Skylar just couldn't leave it there without one last quip.
"Sure. Sure! But you know, if I were going to do someone in…well, they wouldn't ever see me coming. I'm a marksman champ." He mimed a rifle with his hands. "Pow. Good Luck, Jauney."
Skylar didn't even see the punch coming. It laid him out cold, flat on the floor.
"Well, I feel better. Anyone else want to take their shot? No? Let's go find Roseaux."
-o-
Standing over the body of Roseaux, Jaune sighed.
"Luck seems to be in short supply around here."
Author's Notes: The Arcs might breed like bunnies, but they're also dropping like flies. Next up is the finale.
Jaune still thinks he hasn't found his Semblance. His special moves? Oh, that's him hitting things, only with More Aura™. Glowing eyes? Oh, that's him flaring Aura, only with More Aura™. May Zedong (the one to see it first manifest and figure out what it was) assumes he knows it is a Semblance—because what dummy would fail to realize that they gained a superpower—and so she never mentions it. Proper communication is important, people!
Cat, Bunny, and the Good Ship Honey Starbright got its 3rd chapter to round out the first arc. After getting out a couple updates for Conquered Menagerie, The Agent, and Beacon Students Skipping Class, I will return to that story. Many wonderful ideas to be written there. As for the last fanfic idea on my list, we'll work it in somehow.
Very, very busy these next couple weeks.
