Chapter 55. Vacation Days 05
Every settlement hoped to get big enough that they warranted an airship station. It's as good as official confirmation that they were a 'big deal' as compared to their neighbors. Not many would ever reach that lofty status.
Durival earned it by dint of one man. Because of him, the settlement had a hospital. A hotel. Half a dozen vineyards. Its own trading company. A thriving farm produce market, along with a mall. Lightning fast CCT connection. A militia that was the envy of the region. A trust fund ensuring Huntsmen on long-term retainer. The people here might work in Vale, but they would never move there. Durival was the place to raise a family.
Even the Bullhead station looked a cut above, made of stately red bricks and a glass roof. A mural on the wall depicted scenes of nature as can be found in the surrounding lands.
Jaune didn't get that great of a look at it the last time he visited, a myriad number of issues stealing his focus back then, and nor did he on this occasion; just an impression of trees and waterfalls. As the Bullhead descended, his attention was drawn to a figure standing on the station platform, an anxious girl bouncing on her heels with anticipation as she waited for the travelers on the aircraft to disembark.
A month on, the sadness in her eyes had ebbed, present but no longer all-consuming. Azurelle Arc could smile now, and one such smile lit the station platform aglow as she spotted her favorite cousin.
"Jaune! You're here!"
She was dressed for spring in a light blue dress, cinched by a ribbon at the waist. The reserved outfit contrasted the way she slammed into him with the force of a missile, and returned the hug he gave her with twice the exuberance.
"Been a while, little Azy. Didn't I say I'd meet you at your house? It's too early to be out here."
Releasing the hug, she rolled her eyes. "Nine in the morning isn't early. You're as bad as Miltia and Melanie."
"And they have the right of it. Nighttime is for living, mornings are for sleeping. Lesson Number Ten."
Her face dropped into her hands. "Ugh. They keep saying that same line as if it means anything! What even are these lessons?"
"Think of it as the collected wisdom of history's two greatest teachers." Because it's the truth, and they are! "Anyway, they've been coming around a lot, then? How are you getting along?"
"They're really nice!" She thought about it further. "Besides the 'picking fights' thing. And the 'terrorizing our relatives' thing. And their advice for me to assert dominance by beating up the toughest kid in my class." Azurelle faltered, enthusiasm changing to confusion. "Um, now that I think about it, are they nice?"
Jaune laughed. "Only towards people they like, which is why you get that impression."
"Really?" She perked up.
"You can tell if despite their complaints, they still get up in the morning for you."
His answer elicited a happy hum from his cousin. Doubly so, when she realized the sentiment applied for the late-riser Jaune, too.
At the sound of a whistle, a sign above their head flipped over, indicating that passengers for the next stop may now board the ship. There weren't many, just five, and the pair moved over to let them pass, themselves heading the opposite way across the platform for the exit.
In the background, a dozen or so people stood from their seats or stopped leaning on the walls, and casually shadowed the two cousins. They didn't fit in with the locals at all; the black suits and red sunglasses made an intimidating combo. Jaune waved to them, and the Red Axes returned the gesture. They proceeded to form a loose perimeter, far enough to seem unrelated, close enough to react against a threat. His uncle chose people for the job well.
A rumbling tummy drew his attention back to the girl by his side, who was rapidly reddening.
"Hungry?"
"I might have skipped breakfast…"
On a suspicion, he asked, "How long have you been waiting at that station?"
She looked left, she looked right, debating whether to run or answer the question.
"T-ten minutes!" Even she was not convinced by her own words. So, mustering her guile, she stared him straight in the eyes, full of confidence, and amended, "Twenty."
Off to the side, one of the spectating Red Axes held up seven fingers, for 7 AM. Azurelle shot him a glare that promised death, insofar that a puppy can convey such sentiments. The minion laughed it off, as did his colleagues, and the familiarity of the byplay suggested to Jaune that they have had similar interactions with Azurelle on a regular basis. It was not exactly the stoic professionality he expected when he put out a call to the gang for bodyguards, but then, that one was on him; the Red Axes were never the most formal of organizations.
Well, good. His cousin had been isolated for far too long, thank you.
"You know, I could do with breakfast myself. Is there a place in this town you'd recommend?"
-o-
Azurelle's favorite restaurant in Durival was apparently a diner, one of those retro-looking ones with the red roof and silvery detailing, the name in neon lights. They're rarer in Vale nowadays but, strangely, his hometown had one just like it, near identical down to the black-and-white checkered tiles.
Although, in keeping with the need of Durival's benefactor to stick a finger in every pie, the food was a cut above in terms of quality for the same dishes that Ansel's diner would offer. Tender beef patties that melted in his mouth. Crisp, fresh lettuce grown in greenhouses over the winter months. Sesame-seeded buns baked that morning in the next door bakery. The fries could have been served in a five-star restaurant and no one would bat an eye!
That damn Bleudin Arc, showing up everybody else even after his passing.
…Was it due to him enjoying diner fares, too? Or had he done it because this was Azurelle's preferred spot for a meal? Jaune would not put it past the old man to dote on her so, coming in to perform a hostile takeover more appropriate for a high-tension, drama-filled corporate thriller in order to enact improvements. It might have made for an interesting story, and Jaune keenly felt the empty space his cousin left, without realizing, in the dining booth next to her seat. He avoided bringing up the subject all through their brunch. There will be time for that later.
On finishing off her hamburger, Azurelle excused herself to go wash her hands, and Jaune used the chance to signal for one of the many minions sitting at the counter, beckoning him to come over. There was an undercurrent of nervous energy to the man, which Jaune put at ease by smiling.
"Relax. I'm just checking in on you guys. Any complaints with the job?"
The mook rapidly shook his head. "No, not at all, Jaune! We're happy to do this. Right, guys?"
The suited men and women throughout the diner, whose ears had been craned in their direction for the sake of better eavesdropping, were quick to concur. Their toadying behavior did him no favor to the owner of the establishment, who regarded him with newfound dread, correctly deducing him as the leader of these criminals. A quick word by her to a waiter, and Jaune was looking at a complimentary cup of coffee along with a slice of cake.
Great, another place that's going to be awkward as hell to eat at in the future.
"You've got a better grasp of her mood than me. How is my cousin, really?"
"Kid's getting better," the mook assured him. "She smiles more. The Twins were good for her."
Tension left Jaune's shoulders. He sat back in the chair and sipped at the coffee, the calmness he feigned becoming genuine.
"They get on, then?"
A scoff. "Those two practically adopted her. They made it damn clear to us what would happen if we made her sad. Not that we ever would. The kid's a sweetheart."
"How did this come about, anyway?" He twirled his finger to indicate the diner full of Red Axes chilling in the open. "I remember there was this whole plan drawn up about disguises and stuff. I figured I'd see sweater vests on you all." A hand waved up and down at the suit that the other man wore. "That's not what I'd call hidden."
"The Twins," the Red Axe said as if it explained the entire situation. Which was fair. Melanie and Miltia did not do 'subtle' if they could help it.
"Let me guess, they had you running errands right in front of her."
"Yep."
"Told her that she can give you orders whenever."
"Uh-huh."
"Played pranks on you."
"Ruined our sweater vests. Irreparably," the mook insisted with a grin. "We ditched those unstylish things after, and stuck to proper suits from then on. The town militia wasn't happy, as you can expect, but we've put down roots by that point."
"Good. I'm glad that you've got things well in hand."
The Red Axe fell quiet. Gradually, his face drained of its mirth, raising the alarm bells for Jaune.
"You look like you've got bad news. Spill it."
"So, there was a stranger in town, right? Few days back. Wouldn't have raised much of a fuss, 'cept he walked down the wrong street—your cousin's—then went the other way when some of our guys approached him." The mook leaned closer. "Get this. Whoever he was, he wore a suit."
"Office worker, or…"
"That's what we're hoping, but the ones who saw him said the cut was wrong. Flashier. Colors from no group we know of, and not a speck of red on them."
Unlikely to be a case of Red Axes failing to recognize one another, then. As for the style, gangsters did not hold a monopoly on pretentious clothing, but they do tend to strut on random streets in them whereas most normal people would save those outfits for an actual occasion.
"Did you get an ID on him? An idea of where he went?"
The mook avoided his eyes. "He disappeared. Must've laid low, and snuck on a Bullhead back to Vale. You gotta believe me, Jaune, we turned this place upside down, and best we could tell, nobody in the gang or in Durival has ever seen the guy before. Ballpark age is between twenty and fifty. Height somewhere within a foot of average, which means nothing."
Jaune rubbed his temple as he came to grips with this new information. It was getting more and more suspicious. Were gangsters acquiring information about Azurelle's new wealth, and have come to seek a fortune? Could it be Roman Torchwick? He was known for his dapper way of dress. Stealing from a young girl was outside his usual MO from what Jaune had absorbed from the news, though given enough money, people could change whatever moral quibbles they may have.
And, of course, topping the list of suspects were a whole bunch of blonds. It would surprise him not one whit to hear of a greedy Arc hiring a hitman, or attempting an abduction.
"Check in with Uncle Hei. We'll arrange to make the rounds with my relatives again."
The mook sucked in a breath. "So you agree? Somebody's after the kid?"
"This early, I can't say for sure. Her Semblance has good range, and should have activated once the guy was nearby if he intended actual harm. Still, it doesn't hurt to double the guards around my cousin as a precaution. At the first hint that something's up, contact me. I'll come running."
"On it, Jaune." He gave a shallow bow, and slinked away toward his cohort to pass on the commands.
A couple of minutes later, Azurelle hopped back into her seat. Jaune revealed not a hint of what had transpired. Worries were hidden behind a carefree facade.
"I got us dessert." He pushed the plate of cake across the table, to his cousin's delight. Curious, she searched for his share.
"Are you not eating?"
"Heh. Haha." Between ominous chuckles, Jaune brandished a fork. Azurelle eyed it warily. "Don't you know, little Azy? Food tastes better when it's—" The fork shot for the plate "—stolen!"
Before his cousin's very eyes, Jaune committed the heinous crime of cake theft, and he nommed on a scoop of fluffy, creamy vanilla goodness with the satisfaction of evil well done. The girl, shocked and incredulous, gaped like a fish at his audacity. She awoke from the stupor as he went for a second try.
"Ah! No no no!" She grabbed a fork. "It's mine, get your own—Jaaaune!"
In her panic, she missed the cake, sweeping past to hit Jaune's fork and deflecting it from its course.
No. Her expression of utmost concentration revealed it to be a deliberate counter. She wielded her chosen weapon with the beginnings of skill, taking action with purpose rather than blind instinct. A similar situation has happened to her before, he would bet on it.
"Did Melanie and Miltia do this a lot?"
Azurelle growled in answer, about as intimidating as an angry house cat, the frustration telling of multiple occasions where she lost her dessert to the Malachite duo. She plunged her fork towards the cake, the maneuver stopped cold by his intervention. A strike to the left, a strike to the right, both were repelled.
Going all-out in a teaching moment was bad form, so instead of pressing his advantage to steal another bite, Jaune waited to see how she'd overcome this challenge.
Her response was to double up using the two fork style, one to distract, the other reaching for the prize. Jaune had arrived at the same idea in the early days, thinking it would help him keep pace with the wily Malachites and their teamwork. It fared poorly then, it fared poorly now. Dual-wielding was harder than the movies portrayed, tracking the individual moves requiring rigorous practice to achieve a measure of competency.
A twirl locked both forks together. A flick sent them flying high into the air. Jaune pointed his fork at Azurelle, his expression cocky and sure.
"Ha. I win."
In a flash, Azurelle plucked the fork from his hand. She used it to cut into the cake, savoring the resulting bite of dessert with relish as Jaune blankly watched on, afterward showing a cheeky smile and sticking out her tongue.
"The two of them taught me this move, too. They said you're always open when you gloat."
Oh, damn. The twins and Azurelle were forming an alliance.
Soon after his cousin finished consuming her prize, the pair of Jaune and Azurelle left the diner to meander through the town.
Cheerfully, his cousin took the position of tour guide, leading him to all of her favorite haunts. They stopped by a bookstore, the library, a bakery, the cafe right next door that let's customers bring in snacks from the bakery, another bookstore, a third…
"Why are there so many bookstores!? Ansel had one, and our library's a table with two shelves in a corner of town hall!"
Other patrons of the store within earshot directed pitying gazes at him. More than one warned their children to study hard or they might be consigned to whatever no-man's-land he came from, which—ow—hit him right in the hometown pride and was quite hurtful.
Azurelle rounded the aisle, a towering stack of books in her arms.
"I love Ansel. It's charming, and those rooftop decks that everybody has at their house make a great spot for reading." She frowned. "I wish it would catch on here, but mom said there's building codes or something?" Putting the books on a free surface, she showed off the cover of one. "Look at this!"
Jaune studied the artwork on the front, noticing motifs that felt familiar. The title pinged a memory.
"This series ended years ago, I thought." He owned the full collection, though he hadn't touched them in a while. His cousin was particularly keen on borrowing them at any opportunity, way back when.
"The author's writing a sequel series! It began selling in Atlas last month but Vale couldn't import it until now, and Durival got the first shipment." She flipped over to the front flap, pointing a finger at the summary. "This volume starts after the final battle, and they say it follows the tone of the earlier books in the series so it's a lot more upbeat."
Interest piqued, he took it from her hand to skim the first few pages.
A quick glance revealed that the mature notes from the later volumes were present in the opening scene. As far as he could tell, however, the main character was in a much better headspace than during the chapters leading up to the penultimate encounter with his enemy. A sense of optimism pervaded the narrative, with sprinklings of humor. He sure hoped it stuck around this time, since that was what attracted him to the story in the first place.
Well, he'll find that out for himself, because he was buying the book today. Jaune could fondly recall having a blast reading the prequel, and the new premise looked quite enticing.
"Can you grab me a copy of this?"
Seeing that she had gotten him hooked, Azurelle gave the smuggest grin possible. Which wasn't much, but hey, she tried. So proud.
"Way ahead of you," she declared, pulling out an identical volume from the stack.
Now that he paid attention, Azurelle had doubled up on almost all of the novels, confirmed when she proceeded to pitch the next book to him, an original he was unfamiliar with. One after another, she went through the list, and extracted a promise from him that he'd read them in the same order that she would, so they could talk about the stories on future meetings.
They paid for the books at the front counter. The purchases went in separate bags, which Jaune carried as he followed Azurelle to the exit; the girl was skipping in joy at the prospect of a new adventure novel to read. Out on the sidewalk, she scanned the area for the next destination she could introduce him to.
A building far down the street caught her gaze. The smile she wore flickered, and she fumbled for a different suggestion.
"W-Why don't we go to the park? Oh! Or the mall?" They both knew she held no interest in either place. "Um…"
A hand came to rest atop her head, gently ruffling her hair.
"We've put this off long enough, don't you think? It's alright, I'll be with you."
At the end of the town's main avenue, taking pride of place and set at a remove from the neighborhood around it, was a manor. There existed ones bigger, and statelier. Vale played home to some of the fanciest mansions in the world.
None could compare. This one had memories. Today was the day Azurelle will visit Bleudin's estates.
-o-
Their journey towards the front gates of Bleudin's manor brought in its wake a multitude of whispered conversations and much finger-pointing. One would need to live under a rock to miss the news of Bleudin's death, and of his heiress. For various reasons, certain parties have downplayed the details, leaving the legacy of Bleudin a quiet matter that the public were not privy to aside from the barest strokes. Understandably, the sight of the girl who the stories say was slated to inherit a fortune now approaching the most visible symbol of that inheritance, and being allowed past the shady security guards in suits, was fueling a hundred different rumors.
Amidst the onlookers were many a blonde head of hair, watching on with decided scorn. The Arcs have a few communities outside the cities in which they concentrated their presence. Durival was one, and it wouldn't be surprising to have a number of them around at any particular moment. Their glares dogged the footsteps of Azurelle, only to fizzle out as Jaune returned a dull stare that caused chills to crawl up their spine. They have not yet forgotten his ultimatum, and very quickly chose to slunk away with their heads down.
The news would filter to the rest of the relatives within the hour. The little thief was staking her claim on the manor, but Jaune Arc was in town, and everybody knows about his mother and the things her side of the family got up to in Mistral.
(Why, he might already be a murderer with an upbringing like that. Goes to show you should never mix in with those Ansel lot.)
Pheh.
Leaving the hubbub behind, they strolled along the curving path lined by elaborate topiary in the shape of ocean waves, passing small fields of flowers that, on this spring day, burst into all the vivid colors of the rainbow. Awaiting them was an edifice of white marble and arched windows, the moldings ornamented with engravings of vines and flowers. Despite the pretty motifs, the manor did not give off a welcoming feeling when seen from a close distance, being a touch too tall, too looming. Bleudin had not intended it to receive guests. The manor was built to his taste, meant for the enjoyment of his own company, and everyone else could go hang. It never worked, as the relatives loved to invade the home for their gatherings.
Semi circle steps led up to a porch, then a set of wrought iron doors, opened by two Red Axe gangsters who had been lounging in the shade. They shut it behind the two Arcs to allow them the run of the manor.
Enveloped in the silence, and the stillness, Jaune cast his eyes across the foyer. Much could be said of the construction, the period style, the furniture choice. What truly took his breath away, as it did any time he visited, were the mementos.
A jade sculpture in the shape of an unknown woman. The scaly hide of a massive serpent, one that Jaune would have mistaken as a Grimm if he met a living specimen in the wild on a dark night. A flag of Vale, torn and scorched. A crown.
These, and many more. Each, a showpiece. Even as they seemed to have been carelessly tacked onto the wall or shoved in a glass cabinet, the assortment of objects were angled just right to catch the eye. Someone who treasured his experiences, and wished to remember them always, had expended great efforts to arrange the space.
"Wow."
Eloquent, wasn't he?
But to Azurelle, it sounded like the highest of praise, and she puffed up with pride for what was not just Bleudin's home, but hers. For four years, she had walked its halls, and came to see it as where she belonged.
"It's all real, you know. Grandpa tossed out as much of the 'useless furniture' as he could to make room." Malaise gave way to an overwhelming desire to share the stories she knew, and Azurelle grabbed Jaune by the hand, pulling him along. "Come on, I'll show you around!"
The first door down the eastern wing of the building opened to a sitting room that featured an armory's worth of weapons hanging from floor to ceiling, including both simple equipment and mechashift. Were they tools that Bleudin commissioned? Were they taken from defeated foes, or left by allies met on his adventures? Azurelle said the answer was all of the above, then pointed out a few pieces that were little more than curiosities, designs of a fevered (and extremely warfare-inclined) mind given form merely to see if they could work as theorized.
His cousin led them through a door connecting this room and the next, putting them in the middle of a forest. It's a simplified model, tidier than actual nature. Bleudin had filled it with sketches and sculptures of creatures he encountered. Oftentimes, loose pages pinned near the specimen listed observations on its habitat or behavior; quite a few subjects bore a question mark in place of a name, alongside spitballed suggestions on what to call them. The man had a fondness for alliteration.
"I have concerns," Jaune said.
Azurelle tilted her head, blinking in confusion.
"That." He jabbed a finger at a set of jawbones way too big for his comfort. "Where does it live? I need to know so I can avoid that continent."
Tapping her chin, his cousin searched her memories, ultimately shrugging.
"Grandpa said his expedition group was lost at the time, but he thinks it was on the Vale side of the border with Vacuo?"
Too close. Too close. Too close. Jaune fell into a mild panic attack. This species needed to die if it hadn't already.
He was eager to leave behind the room and its implications on what they were sharing their world with, crossing the hall into an Atlas-themed parlor. The fur coats and other cold-weathered equipment didn't interest him overmuch, until he realized that the exhibit could also function as a guide on what to bring on Huntsman missions to the northern wilderness. After that, he saved careful notes and pictures into his scroll for future reference.
This side of the eastern wing continued the common theme, that of Kingdoms. Vacuo, Mistral, Vale; there was one about Menagerie that displayed a very small number of items.
"He only stayed for three days," Azurelle explained. When pressed on the reason, she refused to meet his eyes, becoming red in the face. "He's always vague about his time there but, um, female names tend to slip out when he mentions Menagerie, and I got the impression that it was what put him in a lot of trouble and he had to leave."
Was he acquainted with anybody from Menagerie? Because he can read between the lines, and signs pointed to this tale—no, this legend—as one he deeply wanted to hear a recounting of.
Their wandering took them on a loop around the building, circling to the kitchen, which was the most mundane part of the house by Jaune's reckoning. It then moved to the western wing, where the focus shifted to the valuables and curiosities Bleudin acquired in his travels. The objects here oft did not have a purpose, being simply the result of the old man's pirate ancestry coming to the fore and pushing him to get his hands on the shiny baubles.
"I don't think he would mind if you take one," Azurelle offered as they climbed the staircase to the second floor.
"He absolutely would, and don't you deny it. We fought like cats and dogs the first time we actually talked. He wanted to wring my neck!"
Reaching the second floor, Azurelle directed him to head right, nodding as she did so.
"Yup. You're more or less his second-favorite person in the world."
Jaune barked out a laugh at how true that might well have been. The old man at least spared a singular thought on him, where he wouldn't expend likewise effort on the combined total of their relatives.
The laugh tapered off as Jaune froze mid stride. His leg that was still lifted in the air reversed course, and he backpedaled to a glass case sitting along the wall in which nestled a collection of jeweled eggs.
His face paled. One stand sat empty.
"Azy, there's a problem."
She joined him at the display. Contrary to his expectation, she showed a puzzled countenance instead of outrage or shock. Her brow scrunched in thought.
Then, she snapped her fingers—
"Ahhh! I forgot!"
—and vanished from his side, zooming down the stairs.
"Hang on, Jaune, I have to go grab a thing!" echoed her voice from below, accompanied by the intermittent sound of doors opening. Her footsteps soon faded in the distance.
"Well…alright, then."
Left by his lonesome, Jaune became starkly aware of how quiet the manor gets. Peering out the windows, he saw how far the town looked from here. The sense of isolation was rather disconcerting for a person so used to the hustle and bustle of Vale.
A minute on, restlessness set in, and he glanced at a nearby door. She wouldn't mind, right?
Said door granted him entrance to a private study, one that made his dorm room feel like a closet. With papers and items strewn about, and its furniture crookedly arranged, the room was more lived-in than the majority of the manor. Space had been made for a piano. On it, an apple, carved out of a crystalline substance with a key embedded in the center.
"Guy liked his books, huh?" Jaune scanned the shelves that covered the walls. It was all 'serious' literature and nonfiction. "No comics. Typical."
There were even multiple encyclopedia collections. Bleh.
He approached the glass doors off to one side, peeking outward. It led to a large balcony overlooking the grounds, and the town beyond. With a garden of flowers flowing over the trellisworks of a pergola, and plush cushions, extra effort had gone into the sitting area out there to create the ideal place for someone to laze under the sun. For Azurelle's sake, probably, because on a second look, the study carried hints of another inhabitant, like the stack of adventure novels, a throw blanket of cutesy design, and drawings in colored pencils and attempts at painting that lacked the smooth brushstrokes of an experienced hand.
"You do make it hard to truly hate you, old man."
His gaze alighted upon the desk, a fancy thing of polished mahogany. The papers atop the surface were organized in a way Jaune recognized; Uncle Hei said he and the lawyers had gone through the house for the most pressing missives and documents, with what's left the personal things they had no business with. Of them, a set of nondescript journals drew his notice. His uncle planned for it, if he was not mistaken. Their arrangement was too deliberate, occupying the spot in front of the chair, evenly laid out.
Snatching up the first journal, Jaune skimmed the pages. It confirmed what he thought, that the thing recounted the many travels of Bleudin Arc. Cool.
He set that book aside for the next in line, frowning as the dates put both journals at ten years ago. Bleudin's heydays were a few decades prior to that. Where was Uncle Hei leading him?
The hand flipping the pages stopped at one point, then proceeded past it for a bit in confusion before halting again. Jaune's eyes widened. He had his answer.
He'd have to get Uncle Hei something nice for this.
Creeeak.
His head jerked up at the sound. The door had been opened wider, and a blonde head poked through the gap.
Azerulle saw a tall figure standing behind the desk, and caught a flash of blue eyes.
"Grand—" She cut herself short, realizing that it was Jaune. The two cousins stared at each other, uncertain of what to say. After an uncomfortably long pause, Jaune responded.
"Got what you were looking for?"
"I did." She shyly held up to his view a sketch of an ornate egg sitting on a bird's nest in a sunlit room, the artwork half-completed. "I took the egg out to use as a model last month, before the…the cruise. It's back inside the case now."
"It looks good. You should finish it, and we can hang it up in here."
"Maybe," she said with a little smile. Her curious eyes flicked to the journal that Jaune was perusing. As she had with her sketch, he raised the book up for better inspection.
"Have you read this?"
A head shake. Never yet.
He offered the thing to her. "It…It might be good to."
Trusting him, Azurelle acted as he bade. She started from the beginning, a lifetime of reading allowing no other way. The early pages were a dry read. Ten years ago, Bleudin had already grown into a bitter, cantankerous old man. Azurelle nevertheless absorbed his words with a desperate gusto; she must have thought it endearing, whereas Jaune would describe the man's attitude to be eminently punchable.
It did not take his cousin long to reach the point where the entries seemed to stop. Sniffling, she made to close the journal. Jaune forestalled her, placed a hand on the page, and turned it for her.
Empty pages. Torn-out pages. Pages where Bleudin tried to jot down his thoughts, and abandoned the attempts. He didn't write anymore. Life had lost its flavor. Beyond the pangs of hurt it caused to her heart, Azurelle didn't understand what Jaune wanted to show her.
And then, she did. Words started to refill the pages. Entries written of experiences not in far off lands, but in this very house; of the one visitor Bleudin always looked forward to seeing. The story began anew.
When he ran out of space, he immediately moved on to another journal, then the next, and so on. In the subsequent volumes, Bleudin recorded his life for the past four years, his thoughts of Azurelle, and what his world was with her in it.
She read for hours, enraptured, until the sun had sunk below the horizon, and the journals piled high on the couch that the two cousins shared. And when she closed the final book, she wiped at her eyes, brushing away tears.
"He's got a lot of stories to tell, huh?" Jaune said.
"Y-Yeah." Sniff.
She leaned on him, and he plopped a hand on her head, rubbing soothingly.
"Hey, Jaune?"
"Hm?"
"I don't want people to forget Grandpa."
Before he answered, Jaune thought about his own life, his endeavor to build his legends in the halls of Beacon, and to later do the same throughout the Kingdoms. Would people remember him once he's gone? Would he wish them to?
"Yeah, I get that, little Azy. What are you thinking?"
She caressed the cover of the journal. "His stories are still here, in his library. What if I could, I don't know, look through his writings and connect the details to the things in this house…"
Jaune said nothing, content to wait as she pinned down the vague musings floating in her mind.
"And then, that way, I could bring people by, and whenever someone sees one of Grandpa's souvenirs, they'd learn of the events behind it, and remember him. Is that okay?"
"Sounds a bit like a museum," he remarked.
Azurelle jolted at those words. Her expression was one of epiphany. His cousin had grasped at the beginning of something, and she cast a considering look around the room, slowly nodding to herself.
A path opened before her, one she thought might be worth walking down, as it would bring joy to her heart.
But, for now…
She set the journal aside and truly, finally, relaxed in her home.
"Jaune, could we stay here tonight?"
Hello, Goodwitch. Hello, detention.
"Sure thing."
"And," her voice grew small, "could you, maybe, tell me about one of your adventures?"
"Hah? I'm not exactly living an action star life, you know. Not like the old man did."
A giggle. "You must have something, though."
A silence ensued. Not one of refusal. He was just reviewing the tales he could use, and adding the embellishments that would put him in the best light. As a Yakuza does.
"Well, alright. Settle in, then, and I'll tell you about the time I went to Vacuo, and fought for love…"
With a harpoon gun. The best stories always have a harpoon gun.
Author's Notes: Just checking in on the character I traumatized. She's doing better. (。￣-￣)
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Working on Conquered Menagerie in between the other stories. It needs to hit the right note.