Kali had spent some time sitting next to the woman in silence, letting her sift through what she herself knew was a once in a lifetime experience. She didn't quite know what ailed her guest, but her dear husband's expression on his way out had told her plenty. Eventually, the motherly cat fetched a warm bowl of water and some soap, starting to carefully groom the filth out of Riven's hair. Like a skittish kitten, the poor thing had jolted back into the real world with a start almost immediately, but soon found herself placated by the diligent fingers that had already raised one skittish, semi-traumatized rapscallion.

"Would you like to talk about it?", Kali asked her gently.

"Not yet.", Riven grunted pensively.

"My number's on the scroll we got you. I'm just a call away.", Kali assured the stray in her arms.

That hit Riven harder than it should. She fished out the strange device and flicked it on, gazing at the two people in her contacts list: Ghira and Kali Belladonna. There was also a 'user not found' underneath. She tapped it with a finger, which brought up the details for both women to peruse.

"You'd think it'd be so easy. To just call, I mean."

Kali's deep sigh said it all. Riven could feel her rest her chin on her shoulder, the older woman's eyes fixated on the technological marvel that still utterly eluded the Noxian in most of its functions.

"Our little kitten was always someone to run away from her own shadow. I suppose in the end, that's on us. But no, I don't expect her to call without a little push from someone she trusts."

That was a mission statement if Riven ever heard one; And a warning, which was probably a good thing, considering otherwise, she'd just slammed a scroll down in front of the girl when she found her and firmly told her to 'Go call your parents!'. Presumably, that would've gone terribly. Despite her strange mood, she found herself snorting mirthfully, a smile stealing its way on her face like a pirate. Riven took a deep breath, then reached back to pat Kali on the thigh, before getting up.

"Alright. Let's do this."

An hour later, still well before dawn, a freshly bathed and locally clothed Riven stood at the Kuo Koana docks. Clad in the traditional Menagerie fair, which still reminded her strongly of Ionia on some level, and with a White Fang mask over her face, she was unlikely to be made out as herself. Kali had insisted on swapping out her bandages for proper clothing as well, leaving her with gloves for her arms and a tight-fitting tank top under her sash. The motherly woman hadn't batted an eye at her chemical burn scars and somehow, just taking them in stride had left Riven's thoughts off them as well. Her blade had been tucked amidst plenty of clothing and a week's worth of rations in a large backpack, while her obvious armament was the rifle she'd stolen and a machete she'd insisted on. If using her own sword was too obvious, a blade with a similar enough dynamic and sturdy enough not to break under her strength would have to suffice. Kali had also dyed her hair black.

Riven herself was not much one for long, teary goodbyes. She wasn't even remotely that close to the Belladonnas yet and understandably wary about Ghira for the moment. The warrior knew he'd meant well and what he'd done was normal here, but to her, it was strange and far too intimate for comfort. It had made her side heal visibly already, though. But a small part of her couldn't help but wonder if the risks of wearing your soul on your sleeve didn't offset that considerably. Well, what was done was done. She shook Ghira's hand firmly, then let Kali coax her into a hug, before turning and stepping on to the ship to meet the captain.

Baha, as he introduced himself, laid down the law swiftly enough. She was to stash her conspicuous Fang gear away and dress like one of his other sailors. It was a mixed crew, so there would be no issues with another woman on board, but he also bade her to keep her strength under wraps, lest people suspect she was a huntress. Riven didn't care to correct his assumption and found herself in a steady rhythm within the crew in short order. Introductions were made, with a slew of names she likely would not remember after this voyage, and she found herself beset by plenty of menial tasks. That she just did things like scrubbing the decks and cleaning the engine room without batting an eye seemed to raise her a bit in the captain's esteem. The crew, who was kept in the dark about the new hire, merely found it ordinary behaviour for a fresh sailor.

About a week and a half of high speed water travel passed quickly enough. She'd spent some of her off-time experimenting with her scroll, which, aside from finding out that the middle stretch of the voyage made for a communications black-out, went well enough to suss out some of its intricacies. Riven had made good on her promise to herself to actually communicate with the Belladonnas, though most of it went through Kali. She had unresolved issues with Ghira that made her somewhat more hesitant to communicate with him directly.

Otherwise, Riven had spent the last night on board inside of a shipping container. Valean customs would be going over the freight from Menagerie with a fine-toothed comb, but they'd not be doing it on board the ship. They'd offload first, so that any confiscated freight would be lost. This gave her a window to quietly open the container about ten minutes after it had been set down, close it from the outside and reseal it using a device lent to her by the captain to make it all look official and untouched. She wasn't quite certain she'd done that right, but sneaking her way out of the dock was simple enough. A bit of waiting, a bit of walking on soft soles and a wall-jump across the electric fence was enough to put her in Vale proper. There, she handed the container sealing device back to the Captain and made her way into the city proper.

In her foreign clothing, Riven found she stood out somewhat among the denizens of the massive city. Though, she might have regardless. Vale was larger than Bilgewater and much taller, in all things. Enormous buildings reached towards the sky in their hubris, shiny, grey and visibly undefended. The local police seemed hesitant to bother her, though also carried an undercurrent of aggression, as if a visibly armed "Piece of trash panda" weren't quite worth their pay check. For the moment, she made her way through the city on foot, the district near the docks somewhat in disrepair and with graffiti littering the walls. The White Fang's wolf's head featured often enough, leading her to begin paying attention to where one might find it.

Her steps eventually led her to an apartment building, where the 'Rooms for Rent' sign on the outside at least promised her a base of operations for the area. Besides, it was a good place as any to see if that wolf's head meant anything. After some staring at the door and the many name plates with buttons to the side of it, she pushed the one labeled 'Black (Landlord)'.

"Whattaya want?", a gruff, unfriendly voice grunted out of the speaker nearby.

"Here about the rooms for rent.", she replied matter-of-factly.

"Be right down."

Huffing and puffing as if he wanted to blow the house down, a corpulent old man in a wife beater and with a wolf's tail jutting from his rotund rear end eventually opened the door. She could smell the booze off him ten miles against the wind as he looked her up and down with a greasy smile.

"New in town, are ya?", he leered. "Need a place to stay that won't up and kick ya out for havin' fur?"

"Something like that.", she said in an indifferent tone of voice. This and his eyes belatedly registering her small arsenal did seem to give them man a pause. "I need something near the back door."

"And what makes ya think I got just any old room available?", he grumbled irritably.

Riven, meanwhile, brought her bag under one arm and opened it a bit, digging around inside to fish out the Grimm mask just enough that he could have himself an eyeful. The moment the rotund man saw it, she could see his face pale and adam's apple bob up and down for a moment. The reaction told her a lot about the Fang's reputation in these parts, even among their own kind.

It was mere moments before a cowed and terrified maggot of a landlord led her to a room on the ground floor. It wasn't much, nor was it clean, but, in her own words: "It will do." Rent never so much as came up, interestingly enough. She decided not to press the issue, deciding to spend some time acclimating instead. Step one was a weapons' check and general maintenance, followed by a shower. Afterwards, she took stock of what she'd seen in the streets. Your average Valean wasn't visibly armed. Unfortunate, but her blade shards would be covert enough. They also dressed differently than people in Menagerie, also something she could take care of. There was a city, so, she'd be able to get herself some clothing. Taking but her scroll and some covertly deposited bits of broken metal about her person, she left her new berth securely locked, then wandered out the back door.

Now, Riven did not necessarily enjoy speaking with people, especially not at length. Still, needs must and she awkwardly questioned her way through to a cheap clothing shop, where she bought a few t-shirts and the oddly practical undergarments people in this world had. She would have killed for a 'sports bra' back on Runeterra. Whoever invented these was clearly a genius beyond the great minds in the city of progress in her books! They were also the most expensive bit of her clothing, but, she figured it well worth it. As for pants? She immediately fell in love with something called 'cargo'. The amount of pockets and the sturdy material both were definite attractors to the Noxian tendency towards substance over style. Sometimes, she figured the real reason they dyed their armour black was because otherwise, they'd have issues telling each other apart from the Demacians in the chaos of a proper melee. Intimidation, or as Sarah Fortune had called it, 'style' factor was just a bonus.

Riven still somehow ended up with new threads in black and red. Here, so far away from home, further than she'd ever been, it was an instinctive touchstone.

One she soon found attracted attention from similarly clad people in an eatery she stopped by. The way the two men in black suits and red shirts simply pulled themselves a chair up and sat down at the table with her definitely had her alarm bells ringing. Her expression skeptical, she took another bite from her meat pie and let her golden eyes drift from one to the other. Broad-shouldered, with goatees and dapper hats, they seemed something like some chem baron's minions from Zaun more than anything else. Especially with the sunglasses they wore indoors.

"Didn't think Junior hired anyone new.", one of them began. At least his tone was friendly.

"He hasn't.", she assured him. "I'm new in town."

"Ah, gotcha.", the other said. "Sorry for rollin' right up to ya then, lil lady. We'll get out of your hair if you want."

"It's fine.", she said, even if part of her felt otherwise. The smart part of her brain needed to get local sooner rather than later, so she may as well bury her inner hermit for the time being. "May as well give the new girl the introductions." Blood, she sounded so forced when trying to be personable! "I'm Riven. Who're you and who's Junior?"

The fellows exchanged a glance, then looked her over a bit more appraisingly. Eventually, they introduced themselves as "Ted" and "Rotherbwy". "Junior's our boss. He sort of runs this part of town."

"Sort of, huh?", she chuckled. Gangsters, got it.

"You look pretty lean and mean for someone fresh off the docks. You already with a crew?", Ted asked her quietly under the hubub of the eatery's business.

Riven shook her head in response. "Gettin' my bearings. Got a job to do, but it's got nothing to do with your crew. Maybe we can scratch each other's backs."

The two looked thoughtful for a moment, before Rotherbwy, the shorter of the pair, leaned in: "Depends. I don't expect you to be able to throw down against the popo with us or anything, but, you're a Faunus, right?"

"Maybe.", was her bisyllabic answer.

"Well, the Faunus don't really talk to us about issues that crop up. And some of their issues are pretty explosive, if you get my drift."

"The White Fang.", she tosses out there, speaking slowly.

"Exactly. If they hit someplace, the Faunus around are usually gone. We're not lookin' to step on any toes, but, if it's not too big of an ask and you get an 'early warning', we'd appreciate some professional courtesy."

"Things are escalating and you're hoping me, an out-of-towner, can help you with them. Why?", she asked, far too bluntly. Was she screwing this up? The earlier thing about being a new hire had clearly been an icebreaker. Or subtext she was simply missing, due to being a fish on land in oh so many ways. It worried her.

Ted chipped in: "Decent fighting shape. Went into a clothing shop dressed like she's straight from Menagerie, left looking local. Look, we got nothing against the Fang. They do good work for your people. But we don't want ours caught in the crossfire. Could you pass that on, maybe?"

She gave them a wry smile. "Can't promise anything. Could you tell me what your people can offer mine? It would make it much easier to sell."

Part of Riven's mind was asking her what in the world she was doing right now, pretending to be a member of an international military organisation. Another part argued she'd need to do so anyway to find the Belladonna's child. Bumping into the Fang with something to offer might make things easier on her end. Things like...whatever these two fine gentlemen were putting on the table. Such as, say, the business card one of them held out to her. She took it and looked it over. It was for an establishment called 'The Club', with an address, scroll number and whatever ' .vl' meant.

"If you want to come by later this evening, our boss can tell you in person. If you're a bit early, you'll have plenty of time to talk."

"How early is a bit early?"

Seven p.m. sharp found Riven wandering up to a place introducing itself in large, glowing neon letters as 'The Club'. She passed a blonde locking down her motorcycle on the sidewalk in front of it, the two bouncers out front and entered a largely empty dance hall that already offended her eyes.

The suit and hat combo seemed to be something of a uniform for the locals, as currently, the place was full of people dressed in the same manner. A few notable exceptions were a fellow in a white jacket and a bowler hat on his way out as she went in, a pair of young women and the man behind the bar, whom Ted, who showed up to escort her inside promptly, introduced as "Junior, my boss."

Riven offered her hand to the man, who took it after going from exasperated about something to surprised for a moment. Still, his smile told her it had been the right decision. Just like choosing to shake it firmly, but without making it a contest about who could crush whom.

"Nice to meet you, Riven. My boys tell me good things about you.", Junior said.

"I'm still not entirely sure why they approached me, but, I'm sure we can help each other.", she told him. "I can't speak for anyone higher in the chain of command, of course."

"Of course.", he reiterated. "Straight from the motherland, so to speak, am I right?" She nodded and took the drink he'd mixed her in the interim, sipping it slightly. "So, I'm going to assume you can at least talk to the people in charge. My boys were being straight with y-"

He cut off, as the blonde from earlier suddenly barged her way up to the bar and leaned over the bar. "Strawberry Sunrise, and, oh, one of those little umbrella things, yeah?"

Riven bristled a bit at the invasion of her personal space, narrowed her eyes, but decided to let things be for the moment. The first wave of club goers were trickling in and it wouldn't do to appear too circumspect. Besides, Junior seemed to have it well enough in hand. Right up until the girl jammed her index finger into his privates hard enough to double him over and held her scroll in his face.

That was about when Ted, who was still nearby, put his hand on the girl's shoulder and ate a fist for his trouble. Riven, meanwhile, hopped behind the bar to join Junior and watched things unfold, idly sipping her drink as the blonde tore through the poor man's muscle as if they were made of wet tissue.

"I take it none of your boys have Aura?", she asked him.

"It's not exactly the norm.", he admitted, sounding extremely uncomfortable. "We get by better without attention from Grimm, so most of our people don't have it unlocked."

Riven nodded slightly. "You know, she and I are here for similar reasons…"

"I'm not telling you where that woman is. It's not worth my head.", he growled.

"I'm not looking for her. But if you keep an eye out for whom I'm looking for, I'll take care of her.", she offered. "Before she kills someone, anyway."

If she hadn't already. Those shotgun blasts were certainly coming fast and casual; the complete and utter disregard for casualties galled Riven somewhat. Junior, clearly, as well, given they were his men. The mobster squinted at the melee for a moment, just in time to see the twins get flattened by the teen's fists, before grunting and giving a curt nod. "Show me who you're looking for."

Riven pulled out her scroll and showed him a picture of one Blake Belladonna. "Nothing untoward about this. Her parents are concerned. And they have pull with the Fang."

"I bet. Belladonnas, huh?", he grunted, then gave a nod. "Couldn't hurt. Sure. We got a deal."

Riven slipped her scroll away, then jumped the bar with a short hop. She gave a sharp whistle, getting the gang's attention. Behind her, Junior motioned for his men to back off which they did quite happily, pulling the injured with them and breaking out the first aid kits once behind cover. The guests that'd piled in with the woman had long since fled for the doors. A guard, pardon, police response likely would not take long.

Yang had been having fun, right up until this moment. Humiliating the sleazy gangster had given her something of a kick. Where did he get off on having his men lay hand on her anyway? Low grade muscle like that was fun to thrash around and play with. The two girls had been something of a challenge, but not too much. They seemed to be having their own form of fun, too. She didn't like the look on the new woman's face, though. Black hair, cold, dead eyes and a flat expression. This one was looking right through her as if she wasn't even there. A chill started creeping up her spine. Time to hide it behind bravado: "What? Yangry I gave your boyfriend the bad touch? Don't worry, he had small peepee energy!"

The short, black-haired woman didn't even bother responding. She came right at her almost faster than Yang could blink! It was all she could do to bring her arms up to block that first punch, feeling it shatter the delicate mechanics of her precious Cecilia and sent shells whirling through the room and all over the floor. Yang didn't really have time to process it before the next blow hit her in the gut, the sheer gutwrenching force of it felt even through her aura. Nobody should be this strong! Fortunately, that power fueled her semblance at least. And she felt she would need it badly.

The air started to shimmer around the brawler as she was pressed on the defense, her eyes turned red, her vision zeroing in on the gangster driving her back across the dance-floor with unrelenting blows. She made it look so easy, too! It was almost as if she were fighting her dad, only for real. And she barely looked older than her! It was...it was unfair! The red crept into her vision in full, a savage roar leaving her throat as playtime was over and her burning fist hurtled towards her assailant's face.

Riven just sidestepped it entirely, put her leg between the overbalanced teen's and swept it to the side, sending Yang flat on her face. The next thing the brawler knew, someone's boot slammed hard into her back and several blows landed in her kidneys, shattering her aura and driving tears to her eyes, as well as blood from her lips. She could barely move when the short, merciless beat-down ended. She felt someone grab her by the hair and start dragging her to the door. Her hair! Her precious golden locks! The indignity ground at her. The sheer powerlessness she felt was worse, almost.

And even worse, the high-pitched, all too familiar voice that suddenly cut through the deserted street:

"Yang!"

AN: Short fight, but in the end, Riven has close to a decade of actual warfare on a teen athlete. There are people in the setting who can give her a run for her money(Had Tyrian's mission been 'kill' this might have been a much shorter story), but fresh out of high-school Yang is not it. Yet.