Snowfall pelts the forest with little quarter given, slowly but steadily piling snow higher up the trunks of trees and the legs of deer, their trots progressing to hops to keep above the chilling powder. A diagonal stream of sleet pelts both the living and the inanimate, bursting on wood and bark, stinging when landing on flesh. When it falls on the ever-growing snow mounds, the pinprick pebbles of ice and snow persist for a time. Like marbles on tile, the grounded sleet acts as another pain for those that dare to traverse the landscape several weeks deep into winter.
One such unfortunate being suffers through these discomforts and more, fur akin to charcoal caked in frost and snow. Blood that flowed from his body's wounds cooled while he limped his way between the various foliage. Now the wasted liquid of life decorates his form like morbid dye. Blood still yet flows from him, running over the fur to drip onto the packed snow he trudges through. Huffs of biting cold air steadily puff back out in bouts of condensation, sometimes by the snout, others times by maw. Controlled, consistent breathing was more miss than hit. Every few breaths a shudder or cough.
A whine escapes the Creature of Grimm's muzzle as it stumbles from too much weight on its left leg. It braces itself with a thud onto a nearby tree trunk, drawing up a grimace as the shock runs over his left arm and thigh, even if it was his right side that banged against the wood. The canid grimm slams his head against the bark, closing his eyes and taking hissing breaths. He just needs to get home, out of the cold. He hasn't even existed for five years yet; what worthwhile grimm would he be to stop when he is still conscious?
Clenching his right hand, he uses his elbow to push off the tree. Before he could weakly slap back, he brings his fist around and jabs it against the trunk, catching himself. With another huff and puff, he shoves off the impromptu balancing aide and continues through the forest. Any tree that was in his path was also used for the same effect, pushing him onward toward safety. Otherwise, he holds his hand against the deep gash on his left bicep to stop the bleeding. Due to this, he leaves bloody prints on the side of trees he uses as support. He grew up in this neck of the wilds, so in spite of the forming blizzard reducing visibility beyond ten feet around, he has a mental map to go off of.
He finally breaches the treeline to look at the splendor that was his hill, leaning back against one of the tall, solid flora. The hill that makes up the foundation of his tree home reaches above all the trees in the surrounding area. From where he stood now, the slope is around 50 degrees at its steepest. He could do it without much issue if he had four fresh limbs to clamber up it. Now though, just the thought of climbing it makes his injuries flare. Staying out in the elements wasn't an option, however. If the blood loss doesn't kill him, the blizzard will easily finish his weakened body off for good. At least he will have a chance at living by tackling the obstacle ahead.
The beowolf huffs, preparing himself mentally for the painful struggle ahead. Frustration builds until it had to be released, overworked lungs expanding its chest with more power and speed by the second. The grimm acts, swinging his fist in front of him before bringing it back down, striking the tree that props up his injured back. The strength and agility behind it rose to match his chaotic breathing. Bark flies from the spot near his right waist, the grain underneath cracking and bowing in deeper as the onslaught keeps on. When he finally stops, the fist has created an indent that half the appendage can slot inside. Splinters stuck in the sore hand, but the beowolf did nothing more than wave his hand to displace most of them. Stirred up and blood traveling through him faster, he shoves the tree and limps as fast as possible; the pain in his left leg was excruciating, but he shoves past it like the gale-force winds of the blizzard assailing him. Home is right there.
Stumbling over to the slope, he gets down on all fours and starts the climb. Favoring the right side of his body, he punches his right arm through the snow to reach the dirt underneath. Frozen the soil may be, he insists, digging his clawed fingers in for leverage. The same method is repeated with the beowolf's right leg, kicking through the mess for a foothold. As he climbs, the wounds brush against the snow sometimes, staining the substance with his blood and eliciting yelps from the surges of torment. If one were to exit the tree line then, they would see a streak of red marking the hill vertically, the grimm the unwilling artist.
At the halfway point, the blizzard has increased in severity. The weather has come to the point that the wind makes the very trees shake behind him, snapping branches from them in short order. The heavy winds batter the grimm repetitively, forcing the creature to halt and huddle as close to the slope as possible until they temporarily abate. He refuses to be blown down now when so close. As if it couldn't get worse, his head is getting light too, probably from all the blood loss. His vision is getting blurry, with funky dots coming and going. No! Just keep climbing.
When he reaches a curve in the slope, only noticing now as he was so focused on climbing, a churning gurgle greets him from the pit of his gut. Nausea now as well? Fuck that.
The beowolf grabs onto an outcropping of rock and leans back from the slope, turning his muzzle downward. He doesn't resist the spasms and motions of his stomach, all but giving into the huffing and gagging. When the contents noisily move up his throat, he opens his jaws wide and aims at the ground below. Out of his insides the vomit came, the chunky mess of yellow and brown quickly broken apart by the blizzard winds. Spitting as he continues climbing, he makes a final heave onto the apex of the hill, practically dragging himself the rest of the way onto level ground. For a moment, paws dangling over the edge, he smothers his muzzle into the snow. The weight on his eyelids came suddenly, promising escape from his turmoil.
Shooting down a palm and pushing up, he shakes his head whilst snarling. Then what?! He becomes frozen with the blood drained out of him like a fish in ice?! For as long as he is conscious, he refuses to give in. That silver-eyed girl can not be left untaken care of. Even at her near death at his fangs, she never unleashed their power. She doesn't know how to utilize them yet; for the sake of his fellow grimm, that little girl in red can never learn how to use those cursed organs. She shouldn't be allowed to live, period.
The beowolf raises his head to stare at the familiar sight of his home. A bastion against all threats to him. The unworthy, the weather, and insanity. The tree before him was around for a long time, his elders informing him of its centuries-long existence. He was born under its branches, within its center. He ran around its massive trunk as a pup, mixing fun with training as the roots acted like obstacles.
For the first time in a while, death didn't seem just at the pads of his paws. He moves closer to the tree, hunched over as the energy spawned from necessity ebbed from him. A right hand with bleeding around the claws reaches out to graze atop one of the long roots jutting from the ground, nearly submerged in snow since he was last here. The grooves and grain he touches further confirm to him that he was here, in the aged flora's presence.
The labored Creature of Grimm slowly descends into a crawl as he nears the base of the tree, whimpering as he pulls himself up to squeeze inside. As he does, his wounds grind on the side of the portal, marking them as he enters the tree's heartwood proper. Out of the biting cold and the winds accompanying it, he collapses onto the wooden floor chest first. Water and blood coat the floor where he landed, and his chest screams from the horizontal cut being slammed. He doesn't have much more energy to voice his agony beyond a weak whine. He still needs to do something about the bleeding.
Awkwardly pushing himself into a sitting position with an overused right arm, he finally examines himself thoroughly in a place he feels secure. Far simpler now that he wasn't moving, even the lightheadedness was reduced. The atmosphere from the tree literally around him is the cause, the grimm surmises.
Through spotty eyes, he examines the wound on his left thigh. Though still bleeding, the flow has reduced. He either lost that much of his vital liquid, or the passive healing from the aura he stole made progress. Probably both, his arm feels light and feeble. He touches his fingers to the gash, wincing at the sensitivity of it. That scythe's blade wasn't straight like a spear or longsword, the gradual curve of the weapon made the point like a hook that slipped under the epidermis of his hide. He could have been dragged like a fish If he didn't act fast enough. He could feel air filling in the tunnel made in his leg, even the bend.
He closes his eyes and looks inward at the energy within him. The aura, now reduced to a piddling amount, greets him. It likely tried to heal him, but his constant movement disturbed the process, breaking apart clots as he irritated the wounds from contact with so many objects. The grazing, the bumping. Aura only accelerates the natural healing of an organism, and it can be sabotaged in turn. As a grimm, he is hardier than those wretches through necessity. His kind doesn't have an aura, unlike their privileged enemies. Without a successful leeching, any attack upon them could be fatal, let alone the staying power of injuries. His own, for example.
He wills the red aura to fully commit to his leg while stemming the blood flow with his right palm. After a minute of focus, the bleeding stops as a scab knits into form. Though, it was still a very delicate issue. He doesn't dare even twitch the leg as he moves on to his left bicep. This injury was simpler but deeper. The very bone was cut into. The conniving, coiling fingers of that hooded girl had interrupted and set back the repairs it might have by now. An effective tactic, he will begrudge in hindsight. It has somewhat clotted now, at least.
Scabbing over the deep stab with the same method as with his leg, the aura was officially drained. Whatever is left didn't last long, absorbed by his dark form until nonexistent. The other cuts on his body were less severe; nothing can be done to him to heal the injuries, he will leave them to his immune system. The same situation for his scabbed over lethal wounds. Rest is the best course of action now.
Blowing out a drawn-out bout of air, the beowolf takes care to lean on the right side of its body. A delicate balance to protect what needs to be mended. Yes, he is lying in a mixture of water and dimming blood, but his spread-thin form was already tarnished, he didn't give a gods damn about it. His body's senses were dim anyhow. Sleep is not a choice, it is demanded from his soul.
As he closes his eyes, he thinks only of two things:
His pack.
Those cursed silver orbs.
Within the bowels of the blizzard, a massive two-story cabin stands against it, surrounded by a tall log palisade. The walls had multiple stairways leading to railed walkways along the spiked top of the palisade. Ladders abound it as well. A singular gate is the only way inside on the ground. It points to the east.
The immediate area all around the walls is clear of any foliage, though a mixture of wooden and stone fencing hints at a pathway stemming from the outside of the gate. The single, snow-covered path connects with another path that goes in two different directions. The blizzard had spared only the fences and walls from submersion.
This was the sight that made Ruby Rose sigh as she jogs out from the thicket southeast of the cabin. She had brought her red cloak fully around her torso in an attempt to stay warm and preserve her dignity. Her partially exposed chest and left shoulder were not ideal for this sudden blizzard! She hasn't yet fully dried her outfit, despite the handful of times she used her semblance. So it was an overall miserable experience. It was a small blessing that she didn't encounter another Grimm on her return home. Ruby was willing, but her body was not. The previous battle combined with her body's clock ticking away in frustration has drained her stamina down to zilch town.
She walks out of the bushes toward the house but halts in her tracks when she spies four individual lights closing in her direction, down from the path to the north. The fog of the blizzard muddy any individual forms. She quickly backtracks and hides behind a tree adjacent to a row of bushes. On her knee, she peeks out from a gap in a bush to observe. The sound of muffled steps soon meets her ears as a quartet of horses trudges through the build-up of snow on the path. Upon the backs of their steeds, both men and women donning armor and weaponry kept vigil over the surroundings. The lights Ruby has spied were, in fact, from dust-powered lanterns tied to the saddles of the horses, a spark of the sun in frosted darkness. Three were in brigandines, lead by one with steel plating and maile on them, both with green accenting the uniforms. A common attribute between them all was the patch situated over their heart. On a black background, a green laurel wreath circles the outside edge. Over it, a pair of single-bladed axes crossed with each other, also colored green. They were a patrol of the Patch Guard, she realizes. They were responsible for keeping the peace on this island she calls home. Fighting the Creatures of Grimm and villains to protect Humans and Faunus alike. They looked so cool!
The quartet of guardians rides down the submerged path, only for one of them to straggle behind as they stare up at the tall vertical logs that compose the walls protecting her family's cabin. They come to a stop, the rest of their group realizing soon after the absence of a comrade. As they turn to meet them, one spoke. A female voice sounded out from the helmet.
"Peter! What is the holdup!?"
The sudden yell snapped the wandering man's head forward, his helmet was open-faced. "I'm sorry guys! It's just…" He paused, pointing a gauntleted finger up at the fortifications from its resting place on the reigns of his horse. "That is the household of Xiao Long, right?"
The woman rides closer and lifts up her helmet's faceplate to give a closer look, before looking back to the man. The sign above the door certainly read the name. "That is right. Why do you care if it is?"
"I was a student at Signal Academy before I signed up for the guard. He used to be my teacher there. The best!"
Ruby Rose smirks behind the bush. Her dad was cool.
The last of the brigandine-clad guards put his own chips in, removing his static helmet. "Well, what do you expect from Beacon's finest? I heard that he built these very walls himself." He tilts his head at the wall.
"Bah. Unlikely." Scoffed the lady. "With all the Grimm around this area back in the day, he couldn't have done it alone."
"He didn't."
All three guards looked toward the woman in plate and mail ahead of them all, armor that had a spotting of dents. Her bascinet helm was turned toward them, then to the wall of logs. "I was a young guard like you when he and his huntsmen team worked together with some experts to build this encampment. Took some time, but they managed."
Ruby Rose was used to these discussions from others about her dad, Taiyang, and his team. Going by the muffled somber tone, this was heading into a rather touchy subject. She can't move though, not if she wanted to go unnoticed. The last thing she needs is to be seen in her current state after sneaking out. A week-no- a month's grounding would be the best she could get. Definitely no cookies either.
"They disbanded long ago, didn't they?" Said the other woman in the group. "My family moved here from the mainland just five years ago. Don't have the local lore down."
The leader sighs heavily in her helmet. "Disbanding is too cordial a word to describe it, but essentially, yes."
"Did I… say something insensitive?"
"Nah," said the helmetless man, brushing snow out of his hair. "It's just that when the… Let us call it disbandment-happened, it broke a family apart. In several ways, in fact."
"My folks gave me some tidbits, like how Mr. Xiao Long's wife Raven disappeared one day." Pitched the youngest member, tightening his green cloak around him. "Then there was the whole thing with Summer, the other teammate."
"Damn." Was all the lady could say.
A whistle pierced the howling wind, prompting all three to face the commander. At least, that was what Ruby thought she was. She had this authority about her, like her dad when he was teaching her, or upset with her.
Silence follows for a time, the green cloak with white trim on the commander blowing like a flag to the side from the wind. "If you are quite done gossiping about a broken family's tragedies, we still have our duties to attend to." On her words, the trio of subordinates share in a chorus.
"Yes, ma'am!"
The lady placed down her faceplate and the other man replaces his helm. They all are quick to follow after the commander as she motivates her horse into a canter.
Once the patrol… well, patrolled away into the fog, Ruby crouch-walks out of her hiding place and looks after them. Only after the lights fully disappear under the cloak of the raging blizzard does she move again. She runs down the path, then onto the path leading up to the gate. There, she shakes her hands, then pushes against the left door of the double door setup.
Her legs slide back on the snow and ice that is now up to her knees, and all the while she groans against the door that refuses to budge easily. Probably all the snow was packed on the other side of the gate, snow was in abundance against her side of the gate. This wasn't cool in the least, she just wanted to sleep in her big bed with Teddington and end this night already!
Keeping a note in her head that her sister should never find out about her struggling at the gate, she brings her aura to bear through her body. The big wooden door finally moved back, albeit too slowly for her. The door grinds on the products of Winter enough that she can squeeze through. She does so, but it was a tight squeeze. When she finally pops through, she faceplants the stacked snow on the other side, falling down into it like a stick.
She rises from the snow gasping, shivering at the new cold on her exposed skin. She crosses her arms over herself, rubbing fast as she props her shoulder against the door and shoves it closed. Much easier with the snow shoved out of the way.
"Perfect espionage, Ruby. You have done the movie Task: Unfathomable proud." She said, smiling at her cunning. Though, it quickly fades as the patrol's conversation makes a nasty reappearance in her mind. She didn't need to be reminded of that line of tragedy, not after the night she had.
She walks to the side of the gate, where three thick sheets of metal rested against the wall, courtesy of Ruby; the young huntress-in-training heaves up one from the pile and pushes it through one of the three sets of iron slots on her side of the door. Her hands linger on the cold metal, a sigh escaping her. The awful event with Yang's mother Raven, then there was her own mom, Summer. It took a long time for her dad to recover after it all.
Solemnly, Ruby places the rest of the metal bars into the gate's slots and turns to shove her way through the snow again. The area inside the log walls Team STRQ has built was extensive, helping it feel more like a family's property, as opposed to a claustrophobic fort. Although, it had been used as a base for soldiers and huntsmen alike not even a year ago. Her uncle Qrow and dad informed her when she was younger that it was built to be both a home and an outpost since it was first proposed; Team STRQ built the location as part of their campaign to help pacify the island of Patch, back when Signal was the only place not overrun by the Creatures of Grimm or bandits. Ruby thinks it worked out pretty well.
However, the large front yard of the house meant more snow to shift through; Ruby Rose had her fill of the Winter season and then some for today. Her groans repeated with each step she took until she finally just slumped against the rather simple front door. She left it unlocked too on her way out, so she just taps it open slightly. She peeks her beady silver eyes through the door crack, slowly leaning further into the house and expanding her perspective. So caught up in her observation, she forgot she was on frozen ground. Her legs slip out from under her and she gets quite familiar with the planks of the cabin, a shrill "Oof!" sounding on impact. A strong wind from the outside wailed inside, flipping her cloak on top of her groaning form.
Swiping the cloak off her head, she scoots inside and swings the door with a swipe of her leg, shoving it closed with her boot. The volume of the wind outside immediately becomes muffled. Still, the very windows creak from the strength of the wind. Ruby flops down to face the ceiling above her, one with a rather nice cream color. Tired and able to relax without constantly being blasted by a blizzard, a concept grasped her head.
"I almost died." She whispered, stretching her hand out toward the ceiling. She twists the hand around, eyeing the red substance coating it. Both her own blood and the beowolf's intermingle in a macabre paint stain, proof to herself and others of the seriously desperate situation she was in. She never thought she would be forced to shove her hand into the wound of a Grimm, let alone anyone. Evicerate the dark beasts with her precious Crescent Rose? Make a tunnel in their bodies with the rifle mode? She did that plenty of times and would keep doing so, but rooting inside them and touching their very bones was a step up for her, a big one. Something beastly came from within her, her survival trumping everything else, even her morals.
Her family… she could have died out at that pond, and they would wake up to find her missing. They would look for her only to find her body, torn up by the beowolf she fought against. If there was anything left to find, that was the ticket. She didn't want to imagine how that would affect everyone. Loved ones were already lost plenty enough in their lives.
Ruby shakes her head and rubs her eyes with her left hand, one that was clean of blood. She needs to sleep soon, she was going some kind of crazy with everything weighing on her
The young woman picks herself up and makes for the kitchen across from the door, swerving around the chairs and tv stand that make up the center of the living room. She notices the dog bed next to the couch was barren. Maybe Zwei was sleeping with Yang or Dad again, he gets away with that all the time. She pushes aside the ajar door and enters the kitchen/dining area of the cabin. To her left was the kitchen at the far end and she turns to approach it, eyes on the sink. She passes the long mahogany dining table and crosses over the divide between the wood planks of the dining room and the white tile of the kitchen. There, built into one of the marble counters atop wooden cabinets, on the side of the room, was a divided kitchen sink. Clear of any dirty dishes as usual, thanks to her dad, it was easy to stick her bloody hand in and start the sink.
As she waits for the hot water to come, she looks out the window just behind the sink to see that the blizzard outside has frosted over the window something fierce. She couldn't even see the wall that surrounded their little plot of land, the snowfall was that dense. What she can see outside was dimly lit by whatever moonlight is reflected from the snow and sleet; the falling powder looked like flecks of shooting stars darting through the expansive darkness of space.
The hot water wins the battle against the blizzard after about five seconds, the steamy water was a brief shock to her system after being cold for so long, making the girl recoil from the sink. Okay, it was a mistake to go straight hot. No problem. She pulls the other handle for cold water and waits a moment before carefully sticking her hand under the faucet again. The water was warm this time, bringing a sigh out from Ruby; the youth closes her eyes and enjoys the water, easing as it is. Man, she was way over her head today, being caught out in a blizzard with a nearly sapped aura.
The stubborn blood would not clean easily, so the young Ruby squeezed a liberal amount of dish soap on her hands and rubbed the hands roughly, turning the water off. She adds a sponge to the mix, grinding on her right hand with the thing. Progress is made, darkened blood dripping off to swirl down the drain. It is taking forever, though. She turns the water on again to rewet her hands-
A sudden bark from behind has Ruby hop in place, causing her to lose her grip on the red sponge. She spreads water everywhere from her hands as she spins in place and shoves herself against the counter. There, in the archway from the living room, was a little Pembrook Welsh Corgi, black and white with a little gray in between. The dog growls at her for just a moment before it ceases and tilts its head at her.
"Zwei! It's just me. Keep it down, please." She whispered. In response, her dog Zwei runs at her, before sliding to a stop on the tile with his nose twitching and swinging around. Ruby is the one to lean her head this time. "What's up, boy?"
The monochrome corgi sticks his nose to the floor and walks closer to Ruby. He stops at a spot on the tile, a dark red spot smaller than a finger. The blood! Of course, Zwei would catch that. Ruby crouches down and presents her bloody right hand. Zwei closes in and smells her hand, before whining and immediately shoving his head against her legs. Ruby quickly runs her left hand across his black back, cooing at the dog.
"I'm fine, Zwei. I'm okay. Most of it isn't even mine."
The dog snuggles and whimpers at the same time, licking her hand. Looking up at her, his ears stay flattened. His eyes trace her dress, where chest to left shoulder was ripped asunder. He whimpers and yelps, bumping her hand. Ruby looks down at her outfit, then realizes how it looks. She pets Zwei faster.
"I had to make a big jerk Grimm let go, boy. He almost got me, for good." She lifts her left hand to feel her left torso, where the fangs of the Beowolf bit into her; the marks were gone, the only sign they were there being the blood trails left behind. She might have scarred if they were deep enough, more training is needed. "This is the life of a huntsman, Zwei. I just need to get better."
She tussles the corgi's head before standing again to continue her washing. As she does, her mind goes awry involving the darkness outside the window before her. An abyss with no end in sight, with small patches of white breaking the monotony. All it needs is red eyes containing embers and it looks like a Grimm took over the world outside the humble cabin. Jeez, she needs to sleep badly, her mind was going to weird places.
After several minutes of persistent scrubbing, Ruby finally rid her hand of the blood. Granted, her hand was now pink and aching from the sponge being run across for so long, but that was neither here nor there. The girl turns to leave, Zwei still leaning against her legs, before she realizes something. Drops of blood were sprinkled around the kitchen. Ruby throws her head back and groans. "This has not been my night. At. All."
After painstakingly cleaning up the leftovers from her fight, Ruby walks through the living room to the stairs leading to the second story of the house, cute little Zwei trailing behind her. She is slow to head up, the slightest creak sounding infrequently. Her dad hadn't adjusted the steps yet as he does yearly, much to her luck. All this sneaking just to be exposed by creaky stairs?
Life seemed to toss her a bone because none of the bedroom doors swung open with disappointed family members waiting behind. Dark cream walls are passed by her as she walks down the hall at the top of the stairway, trying her best to tiptoe her way on the wooden floor. At least some rugs cushioned her steps. Wait, why is she still in her boots? Ruby stops to kneel and unbuckle both boots, then unlaces the red twine that reaches all the way up the front of the calf-length footwear. She frees one stocking-covered foot from one to press down on the other boot, stumbling back as the other appendage comes out. She collects both with her fingertips and stops at the first door in the hallway.
Pushing the ajar door in, a cozy bathroom greets Ruby. A bathtub/shower combo is against the wall opposite the door. A compact slider window is in the wall of the shower at a six-foot height. To her immediate right, a long marble countertop with a wooden base ladened with cabinets and drawers runs the whole length of the wall. Two faucets share a wide marble bowl that curves down to a single drain, a trough vessel sink. The toilet was between the shower/tub and sinks.
Ruby places her boots on the brown tile and steps to the sinks, looking at herself in the mirror that just stops short of the ceiling. The slight moonlight from outside bleeds through the small window to illuminate her face. Huh, some blood got on her face, not just her dress. It was like red ink dribbled on paper, it stuck out so much on her pale face. She turns both knobs to produce warm water, wetting her hands before splashing it on her face. The dried blood that even reached her neck was whisked away with every brush of her hands, making a fleeting stream straight to the whirlpool at the center of the big sink. Flicking her hands, she dries her hands on the red towel resting on the left side of the big sink before kneeling down on the red rug to access the cabinets. Zwei attacks her fresh face with licks, but she just lets him do his thing, she needs to change.
Buried deep into the sink cabinet, behind the typical junk in a bathroom, were her pajamas. She snaps up the two bundles of clothes and changes out of her clothes. The relief she feels as the damp, cold outfit is finally not her problem anymore was something she can taste. Like a fresh glass of water. Gone was everything on her lower body, replaced by black pajama bottoms soon after. Red hearts break up the black sleepwear. Next, the only thing now on her body was a white t-shirt with a giant red rose on the front.
The young woman spins on the spot, sighing in bliss. "Gee, I was freezing for so long, I forgot what it was like to… well, not to be." Satisfied, Ruby looks down at the mess of clothes at her feet, a big old mass made in her hurry to change. "What do I do with you?"
Ruby Rose holds her chin, absentmindedly snatching a towel from the rack opposite the sinks, rustling her damp hair. Her dress was torn from chest to shoulder, not exactly something that can be fixed in an afternoon sewing session. Well, for her at least. Ruby was able to fix little tears here and there, but nothing major. Her dad could probably do it though, he loves to sew. The issue, Ruby could not come to him about it in the first place. Ruby Rose is rarely allowed to fight Grimm by herself, let alone in the middle of the night. She wasn't even supposed to be awake right now as far as he was aware. What was she supposed to say?
Hey daddio, I fought a whole pack of beowolves last night. One even got its big teeth around me, twice in fact. It would be just swell if you could fix my dress, bitten and slashed by that very same beowolf.
Yeah. Ruby doubts that her dad would take it very well. The best she can do is hide the thing until she can fix it. She has spares anyway. Curious, Ruby extracts her scroll from the heap and pulls it open. 2:06 AM, it was that late!?
Folding up her dress up, Ruby stashes the torn black and red dress deep into the back of the cabinet. Other than her sister Yang occasionally stealing bathroom items from her side of the sink, annoying by the way, Ruby has faith the spot will last a few days. Her dad awesomely lets the both of them know when he wants to do monthly spiffing of the cabin, so she is good on that front. He does get all lecturing though, mostly involving her and Yang's areas.
She looks right at Zwei, the little corgi sitting down like the polite, handsome boy he was. Ruby can never get over the pure love from his beady eyes. A nice change from the previous canine muzzle in her face. "Zwei, I need you to keep quiet about these clothes. Actually, just about everything involving the past few hours. Can you do that for me?"
The dog tilts her head at her as she spoke, before flattening its ears. It whimpers and shakes its head from side to side. Ruby frowns and puts her hands together.
"Please, Zwei? I don't want to worry Yang and Dad. Plus, I'll be grounded for a month at the least."
Zwei just sits and hums. Ruby taps her knees in her squat before her eyes widen. She smirks and looks at Zwei out of the corners of her eyes. "I'll sneak you an extra treat at the end of every day for a month." She said, turning sing-song at the end.
That made precious Zwei perk up, tongue poking out as he pants. He lets out a yip, earning waving hands from Ruby. "Shhhhhhh, Zwei. Deal's a deal then, huh?" She giggles. Zwei sticks up a paw, one that Ruby takes and shakes softly. "Good."
Plans made, Ruby shuts the cabinet door and tosses her undergarments and stockings into a wooden hamper on the way out of the bathroom. Boots snatched up on the way out, she turns left and down the rest of the hallway.
A window shows the outside world at the end of the hallway, but there wasn't much to see anyway, with the sleet brushing across it. Ruby stops at a white door on the left and puts her hand on the handle; slowly, Ruby turns the knob and pushes in, trying to reduce the creaking and squeaks that a door usually does. She cringes at each little sound that manages to escape her masterful stealthy door-opening skills.
Before her, the room she shared with her sister is revealed. The room is split in two by color, an imaginary line going from the center of the door to the opposite wall. To her right, the walls were mostly red to signify her area. To the left, yellow instead dominated the walls, marking it as her sister Yang's area. Underneath yellow and white striped sheets, her sister's voluminous golden hair peek out. A loud yet soft snore tickles the room, breathy like the breeze outside. Her yellow pillow matched her hair.
Finding herself in the clear for now, Ruby sneaks as far from Yang as possible while also approaching her bed. Thank her luck that she had red and black rugs on her part of the room to silence steps. Zwei just sits at the door panting while watching Ruby do her thing. Ruby just let her boots plump on the rug, noise dampened by the sweet softness. The girl carefully lifts the black and red covers of her bed and slinks in as smoothly as possible. She squeaks at the chilly temperature of the bed but bites it down and looks at Yang.
Other than a shuffle, she slept as hard as a rock, like her fists. Ruby prefers using her legs.
Zwei hops up on the bed soon after, curling his small body against Ruby's legs that bulge under the covers. The young huntress-in-training sighs as she lets herself be absorbed in the mattress. "Task: completed."
A whole bunch of stuff happened to her. She was ambushed by a pack of adolescent beowolves, then attacked by a Beowolf with a fresh white finish. Her near-death experience, and her nervous trek home. All of that and then she tiptoed into her bed like she was out at a party when she shouldn't have been. The bed was getting warm now and eyelids were heavy. Ruby didn't realize she was quite so tired, though it probably should have been obvious to her in hindsight if she was honest.
All of this, just to see Mom's grave.
Ruby Rose closes her eyes and her breathing slows, red pillow like a heap of clouds.
The pain was what woke him up. Marginally better than before, as his body is hopefully knitting back together. Where there wasn't pain, there was soreness from the abuse he put himself through. He wasn't sure if it was moonlight or sunlight bleeding through the entrance to the hollow chamber, back to it; likewise, he couldn't really confirm the source, he was fucked. Just moving his head up was laborious, let alone nauseating. His right arm was bloody numb from being slept on and it feels like needles sinking in him when he tries to move it for blood flow.
Insult to injury? He was hungry as well. Probably a combination of healing and… well… not exactly eating anything in the last dozen hours. His hunting of the young huntress was essentially all he did. Finding an animal to eat wasn't even on his mind, not bleeding or freezing to death was. Now, when all he can do is stare at the wooden wall of his tree den, the clawing in his stomach was very clear to him now.
He has killed humans and faunus before, but this huntress he fought is the strongest of the warriors he contended with alone. She couldn't be more mature than he was if he has human aging right. It goes unsaid that she was alive longer than him, as any adolescent of the unworthy. He was alive for less than five years, she is probably nearing the adult stage, over fifteen years at least. Those Silver Eyes combined with her skill... The skill will only continue to grow the longer she lives. The young Grimm forces his numb hand to clench. She needs to be ended, soon.
So, there he rests, toiling physically and mentally in the dim inside of his abode. He wishes he could dig into the floor below to relieve frustration, but resists. No. This place was too special to damage wantonly. He instead bangs his head on the heart of the tree, much more respectfully.
The sound of steps on snow makes his ears perk. What was it? Some deer perhaps?
The young Beowolf zeroes in on his senses, they were dulled enough that his nose didn't notice first. The dried blood underneath and on him probably didn't help. He hopes it was just a herbivore, he is in no condition to deal with a predator or an unworthy. They were behind him, beyond the crack in the tree.
He hears the shuffling of snow turn to the thudding of wood. The Grimm will play dead and wait until the right moment. Fear and adrenaline are taking over.
A shadow blocks out the light behind him, cloaking him in darkness. A few steps and the shadow shrinks in front of him; the intruder lowered themselves perhaps, poised to strike his vulnerable back? Just wait. He may only have one chance to do something.
An unclear pressure applies on his left arm, just under his stab wound; the youthful Grimm couldn't toe the line on reacting any longer. He lurches around, snapping his jaw at the unknown. A large and dark hand clasps his muzzle from below, long fingers easily wrapping around his muzzle to snap the maw of daggers shut. The pressure from before, another hand, presses down on his sore arm, trapping him prone against the wood of the tree.
There, looming above him, was another Beowolf. The new Beowolf had a hollow circle with miniature staggered circles inside on its mask, just above the brows. His own mask had an inverted chevron that starts at the back of the head, runs over his eyes, and down to a point at the end of his snout. The larger Grimm's mask was pockmarked on its right side and around the eye, the damage carrying over onto its cheek. Long red scars are carved across the side of their face, only ending where there wasn't any more surface area to travel. There was a brief, thin mark just atop their left jugular.
A hum comes from the scarred creature. Something guttural humans and faunus wouldn't understand leaves their maw.
"Good morning, little Care."
A bout of relief falls upon Ciaran's soul. His tail limply shakes.
"Hello. Big brother."