RUBIes at DYWN
Chapter 1
A Fresh Start
April 7th, Beacon Landing Pads
Everyone was stepping off the bullhead. A few were hurrying to get off— that blonde boy, in particular, looked rather unwell— and others dawdled, their feet heavy and weighed down by anticipation and an inkling of dread.
Dusk hadn't enjoyed the ride over. The air in the cabin had been stifling, thick with the chatter of youths who didn't know any better ways to calm their nerves. The sight of Beacon Tower and its surrounding architecture helped pull his attention off them, though. It was a mesmeric thing to see for the first time, and he felt the words forming in his mouth before he could think to stop them.
"Us, you beckon, exalted spires.
Journey masquerades destination,
tempered hardship for cultivation
of us humble nascent squires.
Glow, you beacon, gleam—"
"Of course, the first thing you do when we get here is start composing."
Dusk's brown eyes switched to a sickly red as his impromptu recital was cut short. "Of course, the first thing you do when we get here is interrupt a decent poem," he said, glaring at his companion.
She wasn't easy to miss with her gaudy appearance. Flared neon orange trousers hugged her figure enough to be distracting, and a large black collar on her otherwise white trumpet-sleeved blouse co-operated with her black bob cut to frame her pale face. Her eyes, a vibrant orange, seemed to glow in the contrast.
Surprise. The girl raised a brow and rested her hands on her hips assertively. "Wow, you must've really been feeling it if your that upset with me."
The young man took a quick breath, and his eyes reverted. "I was trying to deal with the atmosphere from the bullhead."
Contrition. She seemed at least slightly apologetic. "Sorry," she said, pouting.
He smirked at her. "Everyone has started to disperse. I'll be fine. Did you look up the map before we arrived, or do you need me to show you where orientation starts?"
"Matchie is not lost without you, Dusk!"
Dusk gaped at her in playful awe. "What's this? Did Matchie get her act together?"
Annoyance. She fake-punched his shoulder and waved her finger in his face. "Just try not to get overwhelmed before initiation, okay? Or during initiation… or after— you know what? You get the idea. Call if you need me."
Dusk stared at the finger for a moment before he nodded.
Concern. "Good." She nodded and let her arm down. "We can split up for a bit if you like and I can meet you at the amphitheatre later. I need to fetch my luggage. I could pick up yours too so you can mingle a bit, yeah? Make a friend? Check out the cute girls? Maybe even make friends with a cute girl?"
"I don't see any cute girls."
Anger. She punched his arm again, for real this time, before setting out to find the baggage area. "Later, Dusk."
"See you soon, Matchie," he muttered, sparing a moment to watch her walk away. She'd be okay.
Anxiety. Trepidation. Worry.
Probably.
He turned off to wander, and his eyes were glued to the Beacon tower again as he walked towards it and picked up where he left off.
"… Glow, you beacon, gleaming towers.
The past heralds a brand new future,
wisdom held here is reaped to nurture
our yet known budding power."
Dusk frowned and lowered his head. "Interesting…" he whispered.
A group of teenagers, in a hurried din, rushed past Dusk before a clatter came from behind him.
Shock. Indignation.
Surprise. Nervousness.
He didn't even need to turn and look to know an argument was about to develop between whoever he was walking away from.
Disbelief. Anger.
Frustration. Dismay.
And then a furious row picked up between the pair behind him. Both girls, by the pitch of their voices. The wave of emotions was unpleasant, so he didn't bother turning to watch as one started to throw a tantrum. Focusing on them would make it worse.
The explosion did surprise him— he'd expected people applying to Beacon to be able to handle dust properly— but he did his best to ignore that too and pressed on to get as far from the altercation as he could.
He caught himself tugging on his clothes. It was too hot for what he was wearing, and the undershirt was getting slightly sweaty. It's okay. Beacon is a new beginning. You don't have to dress like this anymore. You can do it… you can do it. Focus on making it through initiation. Your team will probably understand… whoever they are.
The touch of his weapon's handle from where it was strapped to his thigh comforted him a little, though. He was glad they allowed him to bring it on the bullhead. Considering who the passengers were it would have been strange if they didn't, but he managed to finish updating the lines of code he'd left untouched yesterday.
Phonetic Nib was ready for Beacon.
He remembered the way to the amphitheatre correctly and joined the growing group of students already waiting there. Anticipation bounced around the open space amongst other fleeting emanations from the tiny crowd. An open space along the wall left of the stage called to him, and once he reached it, he carefully rested his back against the cool surface. It was cooler inside and out of the sunlight. Was the amphitheatre air-conditioned?
Most of the gathering Beacon aspirants started getting more comfortable as time passed. A handful didn't, but it wasn't something Dusk couldn't handle. Eventually, more showed up and brought fresh feelings that Dusk slowly processed. He kept his eyes closed the entire wait and only opened them when someone's disappointment focused on him.
"You didn't talk to anyone did you?" Matchie said as she approached.
"Did you sort out our luggage already?" Dusk deflected.
Exasperation. The girl pouted at him for only a second but let the topic veer. "Actually, everyone's things were passed on to Beacon's staff. They're handling it. They were collecting extra things from people who came on private ships, too." Matchie grinned. Guess what!"
"What?"
"I saw Pyrrha Nikos earlier! I was all like, 'Wow! The Invincible Girl is gonna be at Beacon?! That's radical!'."
"I already knew she'd be here."
Surprise. "What?! How?"
"Her decision to attend Beacon instead of Haven was all over the scrollnet last week. How did you miss is?"
Confusion. "Ah… Well, maybe we could talk to her?"
"Maybe," Dusk frowned, looking over to a small cluster in the crowd where he spotted the renowned tournament fighter. Stress pulsed from her like a throbbing headache as a trio of flighty girls tried to establish a rapport with her. Even from the other side of the room, Dusk could see the facade of patience plastered on the celebrity's face. "Try not to harass her like everyone else is."
Matchie looked at the commotion not too far away and watched for a moment. The gears turning in her head were almost audible. "She's faking that smile, isn't she?"
"Mhm. What gave it away?"
"You said they were harassing her."
Dusk nodded. "I suppose I did."
Concern. "… How's the negativity here?"
"Not too bad, all things considered. This isn't exactly a crowd of civilians, so their tempers aren't as chaotic."
"Well as long as I don't have to rescue you from drowning in their issues then I'm satisfied."
He smiled at her. "Thanks, Matchie. Where would I be without you?"
Embarrassment. Fluster.
April 7th, Beacon Campus, Amphitheatre
Umber Anderchild wanted to shrink and disappear, but that wasn't an option. Instead, she lingered around the edge of the crowd. Normally she would have stayed closer to the door, but she hadn't been thinking straight all day and ended up straying somewhere near the right of the stage. The excitement and terror made her jittery and clumsy, too.
The people nearby were starting to stare at her, but they looked away when she glanced in their direction. This morning, before she dared show up here, her hair had been combed for the first time in months. She should look fine.
Maybe her clothes? Umber didn't have many— she was lucky enough to have clean underwear— and what she had on now certainly wasn't as incredible as what others around her were wearing. That girl in bronze looked amazing. Umber wished she could have armour as pretty as that one day.
People were still staring.
… It's the feathers, her father's voice said within her. Most birds have nice plumage, but yours are just a filthy mess.
No, no, no. They probably hadn't seen anyone with feathers on their head before. She was a little different, and people were looking because they were curious.
Don't bother. This is just the port town all over again, and you know it.
Umber resisted the urge to reach up and adjust the ugly plumes. It was bad enough that they grew out of the skin above her ears where she couldn't see them without a mirror, but they were also a disappointing pale brown colour and grew with down that made her hair look sparse and lush at the same time. She'd done her best to make them somewhat okay to look at this morning, but, the fluff was probably curling in on itself again. And if that wasn't bad enough, they'd started losing their colour recently. Same as her skin.
Even more stares.
It might be her weapon. Umber had a digging tool. A mattock. A rusted one that was barely sharp, only able to pierce the hide of grimm because she spent so much time making sure it didn't lose that precious edge over the last couple of months.
Most people here had a sword, or something like a sword, or swords that were also guns. She still wasn't over that. Swords that were also guns! She must look like such a waste of time in comparison. Coming here was a mistake.
… But there wasn't anything else for her. That's what she told the headmaster before he gave her this chance. Umber had no idea why he'd taken pity on her, but she did know that disappointing him would be the end of everything.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the man himself appeared on the stage and started talking. "I'll… keep this brief." His voice came out much louder than she expected. All this technology was new and crazy. "You have traveled here today in search of knowledge, to hone your craft and acquire new skills, and when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people."
That was what she was going to become now? A guardian of sorts? Umber had only started figuring out how this whole huntsman, huntress, and academy stuff worked a little over three months ago. Most of it had just gone over her head. She wished she knew more.
Then listen, you stupid girl.
It was one of those rare times that she agreed with her father's voice, and she lifted her head to focus on the headmaster.
"But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction."
The headmaster's words caused the others near her to whisper to each other. Purpose. Direction. That sounded like something she wanted. Something she needed.
"You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far."
She thought she heard someone nearby ask what the headmaster meant, and another murmured back that the speech was supposed to be, "Motivating, or something like that."
Umber didn't say anything to them, but she agreed. The headmaster knew what he was doing. He said he would give her what she needed and show her the right path, and she trusted him to keep his word.
"It is up to you to take the first step."
She just had to keep hers, too.
Don't fuck it up like you usually do.
April 7th, Beacon Campus, Amphitheatre Facade
Ikorie hadn't expected to talk to anyone who knew her today. Why would she expect anyone who knew her to be here? This wasn't Atlas. And even then, the hen circles in Atlas stopped clucking about her years ago. She was old news. No one should've bothered her, here or there, and that was what she wanted.
But, apparently, that was wishful thinking, because while everyone else was babbling amongst themselves, stopping by the armoury to put away their gear or heading to the ballroom to prepare for bed, Ikorie found herself accosted just as she left the amphitheatre.
By Weiss Schnee. In Vale? At Beacon!?
And what the fuck happened to her face?!
"Ikorie Marie," the scar greeted her— don't look at it!— the heiress greeted her.
"Weiss Schnee." Ikorie bowed her head in return. "And it's Ikorie Rouge."
"Oh." Weiss looked like that had taken her off guard. "My apologies, I wasn't aware that you'd… changed your name."
"It's my real one. I was never related to or family with Karen Marie."
"… Well, in any case, I saw you earlier and thought I'd say hello. I'm glad I'm not the only Atlesian who decided to attend Beacon instead of Atlas Academy."
Ikorie had never spoken to Weiss before other than passing greetings at conventions and other social events when she was younger. They weren't friends, and Ikorie didn't feel like networking right now, but the few years of etiquette training she'd been through drew a response out of her anyway. "… Likewise."
It didn't make sense for Weiss to speak to her either. The Marie name wasn't hers anymore— or anyone's— and the money left over from the dead woman's career wasn't exactly small, but Ikorie wasn't notably influential. Notorious, maybe, but definitely not important or rich enough for Schnee to care.
… Was Weiss trying to make friends with her? Oh. Wow. Now that was rich.
"I know we were only barely acquainted, but I'm relieved to have a familiar face around," Weiss continued.
Ikorie fought the urge to mention that Weiss's face was a little different from the last time she'd seen it. Instead, she nodded and hummed.
"Has your time in Vale been as trying for you as it was for me?" Weiss continued.
"I haven't really had any problems. Did something happen?" Ikorie instantly regretted asking. She didn't care about Weiss' inconveniences.
"I had a few bumps on the way here. My accommodation yesterday was a little disappointing, and I thought everything was going smoothly this morning, but almost as soon as I arrived at Beacon, some child toppled over my luggage," Weiss began. I tried to give her a piece of my mind, but she detonated the dust she'd spilled and covered me in soot!"
Blinking at the unusual story, Ikorie looked at Weiss more closely and saw a barely noticeable layer of black powder loosely attached to her clothes. "I think I can see the fallout," Ikorie said.
"Hm? What?" Weiss looked herself over before she humphed in frustration and dusted herself off for what must have been the second time. "It's probably in my hair, too…"
"Sounds like you've had a strange day."
Weiss sighed. "At least it's warmer here."
"On that, we are agreed." The weather was much nicer in Vale than it ever was in Atlas. A cool breeze was something to be welcomed, rather than a reason to worry about the heating grid. Ikorie was glad she wouldn't be going back.
"I was actually hoping to speak with some of the others," Weiss said. "I believe Pyrrha Nikos is here somewhere, would you like to meet her with me?"
Nope. "The headmaster's speech gave me something to think about, actually. I'd like some time to myself to gather my thoughts," Ikorie said. In other words; shove off.
"I… see. Perhaps I'll see you later?"
"Perhaps."
And then Ikorie turned and walked away. She was tempted to turn around and witness any potential look of dejection but decided against it. She'd had enough of her face.
And on that note; the scar. How the hell did that happen? No one was stupid enough to risk taking someone's eye out in a practice match, and everyone in the upper-class Atlesian circles and their dogs knew Weiss never really left home for anything other than social gatherings and performances. There was no way she had been fighting things worth wearing the proof on her face, either. How careless did she have to be to get a wound like that when she had aura?
Maybe it was self-inflicted? That made more sense. Probably some roundabout way of getting attention. Did she think it made her intriguing?
Whatever.
Ikorie could see the ballroom now. As she approached, she passed some people locked in discussion and a few others. She had only reached the corner of the building when a damnable whistling filled her ears.
"Hi, how are you?" someone said. "You just get into Beacon too?"
Ikorie did her best to ignore the catcaller as he tried to keep in step with her.
"Hey, can I get your name?" He said. "I'm—"
"If you come any closer," Ikorie seethed, "I'll introduce you to the bottom of my shoe."
He didn't break his stride. "Actually, I think your shoes are—"
She pivoted on her right leg and let the sword slip out of her left sole before swinging it around to a halt at the moron's chin.
"Holy— whoa!" The boy stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay! I get it! I get it! I'm backing away! Never meant any harm!"
"Then get lost, you pervert!"
"Alright! Alright! Going away!" He spun on his heel and fled into the ballroom.
Ikorie withdrew her blade back into her leg and promised herself to beat that bastard bloody if he so much as looked in her direction again. How dare he? This was Beacon Academy! What did that moron think she was here for?!
Her vibrant red dress was a dancer's dress; not a whore's. Boys never had any taste. The long glittering tassels that hung from her waist to the hem of her skirt always gave them the wrong idea and catching sight of the small amount of skin she didn't cover was enough for the fucking pigs to stop using the right head.
… Ikorie took a moment to compose herself. Her hair was all ruffled now, and she needed to fix it.
She approached one of the ballroom's windows, focusing on her reflection. Once she was only a metre away, she could make out better details, so she started adjusting her hair, combing it with her long red nails. The silky black strands fell back into place easily, and while she was tucking them over her ears, she took a moment to inspect her temple just beside her left brow.
There, a small piece of metal painted the same red as her eyes and shaped like a diamond was embedded into her skull. In its centre was a small light bulb that flickered green every two seconds or so. A simple way for the neural implant to let Ikorie know if it was still functioning correctly.
Satisfied with her appearance, she considered that her hair would probably get in the way during combat now. Cutting it would be disappointing; she liked how it had grown and preferred her current style. She made a mental note to buy some hair clips or a headband the next time she visited the city— something red, preferably, to match her dress and legs.
Ikorie's eyes were drawn down to the reason she had a neural implant at all. Everything from her feet to a few centimetres above her knees was steel alloy fashioned after classy leather thigh highs.
She was proud of what she'd done with them. Red would always be her colour— her eyes demanded it— and the false legs were painted sleek and glossy in it to match the hue of her dress. Spending a huge portion of her inheritance on them to convert them into weapons had been extremely cathartic, and picking a name that was both intimidating and a tasteful insult to her late stepmother was icing on the cake.
Bloody Marie.
Her artificial shins acted as sheaths for a pair of short double-edged blades. People compared her to scissors often enough, but that was fine. Scissors were beautiful, too.
Ikorie looked them over for a while longer before she frowned. There was an odd orange tinge to the colour of her legs. What happened? Was it the warmth of Vale combined with the much more abundant sunlight? Was the paint wearing off already?
She remembered that she was looking into a window.
On the other side of the glass window was a girl in orange and white who must have been watching her take in her reflection the whole time. She smiled at Ikorie and held up her hand to show her thumb and forefinger together in an OK hand gesture while mouthing what Ikorie thought was the word "perfect".
Ikorie tilted her head, smiled, and turned her middle finger up at the girl.
The girl laughed and went back to whatever she was doing. It looked like she was unpacking a bedroll.
Ikorie grimaced. She should probably start doing the same before she ran out of time. Fetch her pyjamas, too. Where did they take her things? Were they inside?
April 7th, Beacon Campus, Ballroom
She made her entrancing re-entrance into the ballroom clad in pale tangerine sleepwear and surveyed the area like the deadly predator she was. Eyes like cut citrine roved over the room until they locked onto the pale pink opals set in the face of a boy.
Ah… the starving gaze of a young man, feasting upon the sight of her pyjama-clad form. Was this the beginning of something beautiful? Would he become enamoured with her body and seek to win the forbidden treasure of her heart? The next four years would be a long, slow, and intoxicating game of cat and mouse, ending in tragic despair or heaven-shifting romance!
Matchie winked at him.
He tilted his head and frowned in slight confusion.
Oh, he wasn't checking her out? Damn. At least the ginger girl next to him looked absolutely scandalised. Small victories.
Done playing around, Matchie marched briskly back to where she and Dusk had arranged their sleeping gear. They had secured a spot by one of the windows and would have a good sunset view. The sky was already shifting to a Matchie-approved orange dotted with dark grey clouds.
Most of the others had set up their sleeping gear next to people they knew, so any preexisting friend groups were on display, and the loners were easily identifiable by their lack of company.
She arrived at her destination with a declaration of, "Vibe check!"
"Yellow," Dusk replied.
Ah. That meant he wasn't feeling too hot right now. Still, he didn't need her attention at the moment. He would've said orange in that case, or red if he needed help immediately. Orange stood defiantly between red and yellow. And Matchie always wore orange.
She sat down on her bedroll, yawned, and turned her head to look at her friend, who sat on his bedroll beside her. He was in his sleeping clothes: a blue T-shirt and black trunks. A black undershirt was worn beneath it all, as per usual— like a stubborn stain, those things.
He'd worn them for as long as Matchie had known him, and she'd met him six years ago, back when she enrolled in Pharos academy. The dark cloth hid something more than worrying, but Matchie knew he had no shame for his body. The feelings that kept the tight-fitted and long-sleeved black fabric on him were much more complicated than that.
She was sure the only people who had seen him without it were herself, his dad, and maybe a few doctors. All of them wouldn't share that information because they cared about him or because it was a legal requirement of their job not to say. No one else would get even a glimpse— not until Dusk was ready.
He'd said a few times before today that he'd try to stop wearing them as soon as he arrived at Beacon. Promised it would happen, too. But the sight of him in one proved that the hurdle was still very high for him.
He was looking at her now, with a face that offered an unhappy admission that his semblance had her heavy heart open like a book.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hey," he mumbled back.
"You need more time before that thing comes off?"
Dusk blinked and pursed his lips for a few seconds. "Yeah. It's… probably gonna be a bit longer than I thought."
Matchie hummed. "Slow is good," she said. "Just don't put it off forever, yeah?"
"I know."
They sat in pleasant silence, ignoring the random background chatter in the ballroom as they watched the sun slowly disappear over the horizon.
"The view from Beacon is good," Matchie said.
Dusk slipped into his sleeping bag. "Dusk is upon us now," he said, a smirk forming.
"Har har har. Haven't heard that one before," Matchie droned. "And try not to bully your teammates with puns after tomorrow."
Dusk hummed the affirmative, albeit with a little bit of nonchalance mixed into it. "I'll do it with limericks instead." He closed his eyes and spoke through a yawn. "Gooouuuuh… Mm. Goodnight, Matchie."
"You're going to sleep already? It's probably only just seven o'clock."
"I'm not the only one. Today's been stressful. Everyone's anxious and tired."
"… It's that bad?"
"Yeah. Not in the orange yet, but I'm worn out dealing with everyone's nerves."
She watched him lie quietly for a few seconds before she looked away.
No, wait! There was probably guilt in that! No negativity! Negativity gets the big ol' no tonight! Positive thoughts all the way!
Tomorrow! Beacon initiation! Woohoo!
Matchie willed the excitement to whirl inside her and scanned the room again, taking in the view of people decompressing. Some people were chatting, and others were killing time with scroll games. There was a pair of girls in a scuffle over by the far side of the ballroom, and a third sat against it watching the mess with mild amusement. A fourth approached them and started to argue with them… and… that…?
That was Weiss Schnee.
Huh. That wasn't good.
Matchie carefully glanced at Dusk and saw his face was set in a frown. Her good mood started draining away at the sight of it. The uproar had probably drawn his attention, and now he had to deal with whatever wave of emotions the girls were letting out.
He hadn't seen who was involved yet. He may not have thought anything of it other than another petty argument, but he could definitely sense Matchie fretting over it now. That would be enough for him to follow the direction of her concern and see who was there.
Dusk did not need to know that Weiss Schnee was here. Matchie couldn't allow that right now, not with him in the yellow. He was tired and dealing with not just his anxiousness but everyone else's, too. He hadn't even found the confidence to stop wearing his undershirts yet.
This would glue it to his skin.
He couldn't know.
He mustn't.
A distraction. Matchie needed to distract him. But she was focused on the argument! She was getting all worked up! Dusk must be getting a fat load of alarm from her right now!
… She could deal with that, actually.
She could hide her negativity and distract him from the argument in one fell swoop! It would absolutely murder her filter, so she might say something insensitive or get called out by someone for being loud. But that wasn't important right now.
It was time for Bravery Sparks.
Matchie swiped her hand over to her bag and pulled it open. She fished out her box of matches and lit one hastily before she held the little flame over her palm. She felt the minor dip in her aura as it turned into something else and immediately pressed it into her chest.
The worry was burned alive, and Matchie felt her blood boil with confidence. Now she needed to distract Dusk somehow until the Schnee girl was out of sight.
How?
By being as flirty as a cat in heat, of course!
"Matchie," Dusk said, suddenly.
She twisted where she sat and met his glare with a big fat smile. "Yo!"
"Did you just spark yourself?"
She waved the spent match for him to see. "Yup."
"Why?"
And now I lie. "Shits and giggles."
"It's usually never a good thing when you do that. Tell me the truth, Nocta."
Matchie gasped. Betrayal! Treason! "No! Don't use my real name yet! What if someone hears you?! I want people to get used to calling me Matchie!"
"Why?"
"Because Nocta isn't a cute name! It's too edgy for me!" she whined. "Don't you think that a cute name suits a cute girl like me better?"
"Sure…"
Why did he always feel the need to say it like that? Matchie was super cute!
"So, why did you use your semblance on yourself," Dusk continued.
"Don't change the topic," Matchie whined.
"You changed the topic. I reverted the topic."
"Oh… I guess that's true. Hm…" she hummed. She could still hear the crabby girls making a scene. They'd catch Dusk's attention if she gave up now! She hadn't been flirty enough! "So, um… Dusk."
Dusk raised an eyebrow at her. "Mhm?"
"Lemme in your sleeping bag? I wanna cuddle."
Dusk let out a disappointed sigh. "No, Matchie."
"Please?"
"Your not right in the head at the moment. You don't want to cuddle."
She shifted closer to him, and he turned to look at her with his… intoxicating brown eyes. Matchie stared into them and willed her desires forward, along with herself, as she wriggled into her sleeping bag and inched towards him by shuffling the whole thing across the floor like a giant demented worm.
Dusk didn't look impressed. "I'm not interested."
"It's just a cuddle…" Matchie whined.
"If I give an inch, you'll take a mile."
"Nah…" she waved her hand dismissively. "That won't happen."
"If you get in my sleeping bag your going to bury your face in my neck, and press yourself onto me like a desperate floozy."
"Maybe. But…" Matchie started, putting on her best pout. "… That's because I want to do those things with you."
"No you don't," he said flatly. "You haven't got any caution or fear of consequences tempering your decisions right now, so your baser instincts have taken the wheel and made you openly horny."
So that's what he thought was happening. Too bad! She was faking it! "I can be any kind of open you want me to be," she said, fluttering her eyes.
Okay, that just now felt really good as it passed her lips. Was she faking it? Matchie wasn't so sure anymore.
It… was probably best not to think about it. The sparks were definitely messing with her head.
"You know you're going to be really embarrassed about this in the morning, yeah?" Dusk said.
He was right, but that was Future Matchie's problem, and she needed to hide the Atlesian girl. "Are you sure you don't want me to slip in there for a second?" She felt her tongue brush against her lips. "You can use your hands."
"I don't want to take advantage of my best friend when she's drunk on her own semblance, thank you."
Aww! His words made her feel all fuzzy inside. He really did care about her, saying things like that. She moved her sleeping bag just a tiny bit closer to his so she could lie beside him and stare at his perfect face.
… Okay, yeah. She should probably try not to dope herself like this too much. Her thoughts were all weird— and the dangerous kind of weird at that.
"I'm going to sleep, Matchie," Dusk said.
She nodded. "Gotcha."
"Which means you stay in your sleeping bag, and out of mine."
"Mission accepted."
He glared at her. "Your negativity still exists for a moment even if you're sparked, you know? If you reach for that zipper I'll feel the little bit of guilt and catch you in the act."
"Blimey, Dusk, let me have some private feelings!"
And his glare was washed away by shock.
… Oh, wait. That wasn't very nice, was it? Ah, crud! She knew this would happen! Her mouth just went on and on and on whenever she sparked herself!
He was frowning at her again.
Matchie felt a cold regret creep up her spine before her semblance ate it and compelled her to speak. "I didn't mean that," Matchie tried. "You know you can look at my emotions however and whenever you want. Really!"
No response.
"Dusk?"
He closed his eyes and sighed. "We've already talked about this before. You're right to want your privacy."
"Really, I didn't mean it."
He sighed again. "I know your semblance can make you insensitive. Your inhibitions are compromised, as I said."
"Sorry."
"Apologise in the morning," he chastised her. "When you can feel guilt properly."
It sounded like he was completely ready to forgive her! "Okay, sure thing!" she said with a grin.
"And I know you were just trying to distract me from that argument earlier."
Her mouth fell open in shock. No! I've been busted! Damage control! Did he see who it was?! Once the shock dissolved, she asked, "Did it work?"
"Yeah," Dusk nodded. "I was able to focus on dealing with your nonsense long enough for them to calm down. Whoever they were, I can't sense them anymore."
He didn't see her! Thank the gods!
Matchie looked over to where the girls had been bickering before. Everyone except the girl sitting against the wall had cleared off, and the Schnee girl wasn't anywhere to be seen. She had no idea where she'd hurried off to, but that was a good thing.
If Matchie couldn't see her, Dusk couldn't see her!
Success!
"Most of the anxiety has faded from everyone too," Dusk added. "So negativity is back to normal levels."
"Then you're gonna be okay?" she asked.
"I'll be fine. I just need to get some sleep." Dusk adjusted his sleeping bag. "Goodnight, Matchie. I'll see you in the morning."
"Night, Dusk," she said, smiling mischievously and tacking on, "Love you."
"You'll be taking that back."
… Yeah, she probably would be.
With that dealt with, Matchie lay down properly in the sleeping bag. Her friend had the right idea about getting an early night. A lot of very important things were happening tomorrow, and she couldn't afford to be drowsy during initiation.
She had to make sure that Weiss Schnee never met Dusk Lyric, at least until he built up some confidence— real confidence. Not the fake stuff Matchie could make.
Other than that, tomorrow was gonna be great!
Come on. Sleep…
Sleeeep.
Sleep!
… Ah, crud.
She was still hyped up on Bravery Sparks. And it might last all night.
Oops.
A/N
Some of you are probably wondering what this is.
RWBY Volume 9 riled up my muse, and I am naught but it's poor indentured whipping boy. Therefore, I gave birth to this. Behold my hideous child. I needed to get it out of my brain before it became deformed.
It's a proof of concept/pilot chapter for a very long narrative that I've been working on for a bit.
Those of you who follow me for Shinji's Paradox are probably wondering whether or not I'm skimping out on writing it, so I'll let you know now that I'll get back to Shinji's Paradox after this goes up. RUBIes at DYWN is only going to have one chapter for a while.
Until then, rate my OCs on a scale of Acceptable to CrInGe. Be harsh with any criticism; the characters are still malleable enough that I can take account of your opinions while I polish them. They each allude to a fairytale, and the girls also to their own variety of flowers. Guess which, if you like. There is no prize for correct guesses, but I'll at least tell you if you're right.
Teams and team names are already decided. See the title.
I already have ideas for a cover, and I'll probably make it at some point before I continue writing this.
There will be no response section in the Author's Notes for this one. I'll respond to reviews via message for this story.
Which means radio silence if you're a Guest Reader. Make an account, you cowards.
If you're interested, I try to update my profile occasionally, and it has all sorts of info on it, like what I'm doing fanfic-wise, future ideas, etcetera, etcetera.
Peace.
-GEOD.
