Over in Vale's eastern quarters sat Beacon Academy. The renowned institution for huntsman excellence balanced precariously on the edge of civilization. Founded upon a great cliff and surrounded by water and forest, the shining castle was a symbol of hope.
Here, the next generation of Remnant's defenders were trained.
In the center of this palace of learning lay Beacon Tower. This spire dominated the campus. All other buildings were mere offshoots of this architectural marvel. The superstructure housed the administrative body for the school and was responsible for Scroll-based communication across the region.
As such, the tower was ordinarily alive with activity. Students, technicians, and dignitaries would freely roam the halls. At full capacity, the mixed chatter inside was nearly deafening.
On that day, however, the lowest level of the facility was mostly empty. Those that would crowd the Cross Continental Transmit terminals to contact distant loved ones were absent. The only sounds to be heard were the scratches of a ballpoint pen.
Making plans on a yellow legal pad was a woman sitting on a half couch. Her pencil-skirt limbs crossed over to create a writing desk. Although digital methods for note taking existed, she preferred this method.
Her ideas flowed more naturally onto a page. They seemed more physical. As if the space between her thoughts and reality had shrunk.
She would need to transfer them to a computer later to disseminate, but this was far from inconvenient. If anything, the extra effort helped. Skeleton drafts were given flesh. Fuzzy ideas were ironed out. Diamonds-in-the-rough were polished to sparkle.
Once again, this was not an ordinary day. Four sheets had been filled out. None were usable.
All the words had been crossed out like the world's most one-sided game of tic-tac-toe. Not a single valuable insight had come to her while sitting there. Any guise of progress had been stripped away. She could not find it in her to focus.
"Glynda! There you are!" Another distraction made itself known.
Gliding down the corridor came a man in a rumpled button down with an askew yellow tie. He came to a twitchy stop beside her refuge. She adjusted her glasses to brace herself before addressing him.
"What do you need, Doctor?"
"I was hoping for the old 'rubber stamp,' as you might say, on an expedition into the Emerald Forest." Bartholomew Oobleck, PhD, rumbled over the speed bump tone of his colleague. "Two to three days maximum. We need to refresh the holding pins with specimens for live demonstrations. Peter has been too preoccupied to restock, so I aim to do him the favor."
Thanks to daily practice, she was able to follow the energetic professor's monologue. "You do not need my permission to leave these grounds."
"I do in this case, as I wish to bring along a team of students. Nothing tops practical field experience! If you have suggestions on who to take, I'm all ears!"
"Of course you are." She pinched the bridge of her nose.
This at last got him to hit the brakes on his enthusiasm. "Is everything ok?"
"Apologies for my snippiness. Last night was not too restful."
"Ah, yes. I heard about your involvement in thwarting that Dust shop stick-up. The whole staff would commend you for your actions if they were here! You model the very huntress qualities we would like to pass down to our students."
That was what she was afraid of.
She smiled anyway. He did not mean any harm. Still, a weight settled in her stomach. The very suggestion of inspiring any of her pupils to do as she had done filled her with dread.
"Ms. Goodwitch?" A cheerful voice echoed over the intercom. "The headmaster will be concluding his appointment with the Council in five minutes."
"Thank you for the reminder." She called out to the CCT's synthetic assistant before addressing the doctor again. "Request approved. Team Coffee is yours to command, provided you fill out the appropriate liability forms before departure."
An easy choice. That team, referred to internally by the acronym CFVY, had been butting heads with others in their cohort. Or rather, their leader had. The rest were often dragged along for the ride out of misplaced solidarity. Glynda had already given them numerous detentions to no avail.
A search and capture mission might press the teens to work on their issues. A side benefit was getting them, and Oobleck, out of her hair. She had enough to deal with at the moment.
"Very much appreciated. I will take up no more of your time!"
True to his word, he scurried away to locate the waivers. She would need to remember to send him an electronic copy once she returned to her office. Odds were he had misplaced them.
Standing now, she gathered her things. Among them was her riding-crop focuser. Placing them under one arm she strode the hallways. Green wall lights illuminated her march. The tower was providing guidance.
As the deputy headmistress, she did not need this assistance. She knew the labyrinth well. This was lost on the artificial intelligence, who was unable to distinguish more experienced users.
Identify, yes. Differentiate and tailor hints, no.
Glynda bared with it. The viridescent road led to a pair of double doors. Checking her Scroll, she noted seven minutes had passed. Yet, the entrance was closed.
A panel-side tablet suggested the virtual meeting was ongoing. They had officially overrun their allotted time. She grumbled, knowing her superior was going to be in a mood because of this.
Another fifteen minutes elapsed. At last, the tablet screen changed from 'occupied' to 'free.' Moments later the doors were cast open.
On the other side was a man with a head of tousled white. His dark jacket was halfway off, freeing the green sweater beneath. An emerald pince-nez hung far down his nose. Dour sentiments were broadcast by a deep lour.
Out of politeness, she asked. "How did it go?"
"Terribly."
VI. DTA
Distance from the boardroom did little to return him to a tranquil state. Each step away got him more ramped up. The clatter of his cane against the tile became progressively heavier.
Glynda sensed a rant coming on. Headmaster Ozpin held it in for as long as possible. The floodgates burst as they rounded a corner.
"Remind me." He began tersely before diving in. "Which of those scarf-wearing, overbearing, old coots decided to schedule a three-hour advisory meeting this close to the beginning of the semester? Name for me the throat to choke at the next in-person gathering."
There was a pregnant pause. Her cough in answer may have been too pointed. He let out a defeated groan while massaging his temples.
"It was me, wasn't it?"
"To be fair, this was supposed to be a quiet week."
Most of the staff were taking a brief holiday before the coming school term. Some professors, such as Mulberry and Peach, were traveling Remnant. Others, like Oobleck, were getting a jump on chores they might be too busy for later.
Ozpin was in that latter group. He believed he could fulfill his obligations early and then return to his R&R. As was true with all well-laid plans, it did not survive first contact with the enemy. The foes in this case were the elected representatives of the Kingdom of Vale.
Which was too bad.
When Ozpin was busy, Glynda was busy. There was a cozy mystery novel she had been trying to complete for the past month. Being unable to curl up with the story in the comfort of her own home had contributed to her clipped attitude.
"They come to me with their problems." The venting resumed. "These tacky politicians, with their sycophantic urges on full display. When I inevitably cannot provide an easy solution, they change their stance. Everything is my fault."
"I know."
"Robberies? A mass killing? Huntsmen poached by Mistral to cover their shortages? To hear them tell the tale, I'm the cause of it all."
"The travesty."
"Why not blame me for the weather? At least that is plausible. Divine beings hate me. For proof, I can personally ship each council member a full-length mirror and tell them to look in it."
"Sir-"
He huffed. "Alright. I'm done."
They reached the central elevator. The construct of steel and glass ran the full length of the tower. Ozpin pressed the call button. As he adjusted his clothing, Glynda probed further on the city's most recent incident.
"What was the final tally?"
"Ten fatalities."
She had to repress a cringe. While deaths were expected in a city the size of Vale, they were generally spread out among the population. Not all in one place. Concentrated deaths were usually the result of a mishap, such as a traffic accident.
This was no freak occurrence. Someone had murdered those people. Her free hand flexed the handle of The Disciplinarian.
"Are there any leads?"
"The police are not sharing."
"Surely you could find out."
"We cannot be involved unless VPD files a request. At least we are not supposed to be involved." He gave her a knowing look.
"If you mean the robbery last night, I was merely in the right place at the right time."
"You will hear no complaints from me. Your intervention saved at least one life. However, I received quite the earful for perceived Beacon interference. I am not keen on a repeat performance."
There was a ding.
The lift opened, allowing the two administrators in. Ozpin's pointer floated over to the top button of the operating panel. After inputting the proper floor, they began to rise.
"They should bring us in. They have been after Roman Torchwick for years and failed."
Any time they had him cornered, he somehow escaped. As though he could disappear into thin air. He also had some powerful allies. The fireball that had been directed at Glynda had been no ordinary projectile.
Someone with a powerful Semblance was involved. They were strong enough to push her, a huntress with a decade plus of experience, to the limit. The police were out matched.
"I agree. However, we must respect procedural boundaries. They are wary from the last time huntsmen got involved in the chase for Torchwick."
Both educators knew this was a flimsy excuse. The consequences for that blunder had been profusely apologized for. Whatever property damages had been sustained were reimbursed long ago. In addition, one of the huntsmen involved had their license revoked.
The police were trying to avoid being shown up by the academy. Their ego was getting in the way of bringing a dangerous felon to justice. It was disgraceful.
"This latest turn is concerning. He no longer targets banks and museums. He is going after Dust. The lifeblood of our society."
The pattern was clear. The end objective was opaque. What did a thief need that much raw fuel for?
"Strange that you know this much about a notorious burglar."
"I follow the news. Cyril Ian did a ten-part series on him for VNN."
"And you say you just happened to be in the area of his latest crime?"
"...No comment."
They reached their floor. Crossing the threshold, the familiar sounds of turning gears surrounded them. A large desk towards the back of the office was their destination.
Ozpin went around to the other side. He sat in his red backed chair, letting out an 'oof' at contact. A thin vanilla folder was pulled from a stack. His eyes traced the inside contents.
"Nevertheless, VPD is quite put out with the number of favors I have been pulling. Let's not burn any bridges." He closed the folder and pushed it across to her. "Speaking of favors, could you finish approving this student's application?"
Glynda did not need to look to know whose papers they were. "Let it be known that I object to her participation."
"We are providing a unique opportunity."
"She is fifteen!"
"Hence 'unique.' If she fails initiation, she can try again later. If she passes, then she is ready. I'd rather not stunt her personal and professional growth by forcing two more years of superfluous preparatory schooling."
"Fine." His mind was clearly made up. "And the rest?"
"Continue monitoring the situation." She would be doing that regardless, which his smirk signaled he knew. "If events change, I will call in the big gun. Until then, stay diligent. Nothing must fall through the cracks. We are already at a disadvantage due to unforeseen events."
It was those 'unforeseen events' that made Glynda apprehensive. Any and everything looked like a threat. She would rather be proactive in dealing with Torchwick or whoever was behind the murders.
But the headmaster was in charge.
She gave her assent and re-entered the elevator. There was paperwork to attend to. Trust had to be placed in the police officers to comport themselves well in their inquiry.
/ / /
Leroy Browne let out a ragged gasp.
The pain in his shoulder was nigh unbearable. To keep from screaming, he had chewed his lips bloody. Hints of metallic dashed his tasting palette. Pinpricks of lights danced before his vision. Buzzing from the fluorescent overheads pulsed in rhythm with his heart.
The door guard was familiar with these symptoms. He was about to pass out. That would have been a nice relief.
Instead, the agony receded. Left behind was a throbbing, pulsing discomfort. He glanced at the affected area. The sutures over the gunshot wound held firm, but dark liquids leaked around previously pristine gauze.
Prodding the grazed skin was a gloved fist. A palm over the knuckled hand threatened to compress the lesion once more. His sight followed the hands up to the tormentors in blue looming over his hospital bed.
The one with the curly mustache spoke. "What do you think, Officer Piper? Is he ready to cooperate?"
"Not sure, Officer Fiddle. Why don't we check?" His partner replied before pushing his face real close. "Be a good boy and tell us what happened."
The faunus wanted to slam his forehead into Piper. Break that already crooked nose. Odds were the officer wanted that as well.
Any opposition could be used as leverage against Leroy. It did not even have to be as extreme as physically assaulting the policeman. Just cussing at them could be classified as resisting arrest. All they needed was a judge to sign off and he would be back behind bars.
So, Leroy did the smart thing. He kept quiet. Endured.
"No? Oh well." He pulled back and said to Fiddle. "Still looks a tad uppity to me. Maybe a few more minutes of pressure will get this animal really roaring!"
They did their best to make that happen. The bed creaked as they leaned in, placing as much of their body weight on the injury as possible. Leroy dug his heels into the sheets.
The need to focus on something else to block out the pain took precedence. He landed on the fourth person in the hospital room. A woman with the coldest pair of greens he had ever seen was watching all that happened.
She stood beside the pocket doors, just tall enough to block the window. The officers had told her to do so after chasing off the attending nurse. She obeyed enthusiastically. Amusement at the suffering radiated off her.
Supposedly she was fresh out of the academy. That could not be true. Leroy had seen plenty of rookie cops. It took years to get that desensitized.
Something was up with her. Something dangerous.
Not that the others noticed. They were too busy trying to squeeze information out of an injured man. The officers were going to have to try harder than that.
Leroy Browne was no one's stool pigeon. Especially not to pigs like them. He would rather die.
At last, he was given no choice. He let out a scream. Fiddle clamped a dirty rag over his mouth. The room spun.
"What's going on in here?"
It was the stern question that caused the pressure to let up. Leroy hacked up mucus before turning over to the entrance. A man in a blue suit stood there, eyes switching between everyone present. The cadet had hopped back to avoid being pushed aside.
"Hey there, detective." Piper casually backed away from the bedside. "We were just conducting the pre-interview."
"Yeah. He's all warmed up for you." Fiddle chimed in while ditching the rag.
"That's funny. I radioed ahead with specific instructions to hold off any interviews until after I reviewed the evidence."
"Must've missed it. You know how things get lost coming down the chain."
There was a charge to the atmosphere. The suit judged his fellows lacking. Those harsh feelings were returned two-fold. Eventually, he broke the standoff.
"No need for you to stick around then." He stood aside to hold the door open for them. "I can handle things from here. Why don't you find something more worthwhile to do on the city's card?"
"Always so practical." Piper scoffed.
Despite the sass, the message was clear. They filed out one after the other. All except for the woman. The cadet remained with a cocked head. The detective's gaze descended on her, questioningly.
She gave him the thousand-yard stare. Then, abruptly, she followed the two that had brought her in. The doors slide shut, leaving them alone.
He turned. "You alright Roy? Should I call a doctor?"
"I'm fine, Earnie."
The patient propped himself up against a pillow and straightened out his hospital gown. Green cotton fabric had been ruffled by his last visitors. He wanted to be somewhat presentable. Now the discolored flesh was hidden away.
"Right…" Conflict twitched on Detective Shoat's face. At last, he dragged a chair over to straddle. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to press charges against them."
"Nothing happened."
"You know, we can't get rid of rotten apples like that when the harmed party doesn't speak up. Without you, it's just my word versus theirs."
"Nothing happened."
Leroy Browne was no snitch. Not even on cops to other cops.
"Yeah. Figured as much." He pulled out a pocketbook from his inside jacket and turned to a blank page. "Anyway, you know why I'm here. We've done this before. Do you consent to questioning?"
"Might as well."
Declining now would simply postpone the inevitable. Leroy was in no mood to answer a subpoena. He had seen enough of the inside of a courtroom.
"First off, how are you?"
Leroy was unsure of the relevance. "Doctor said the bullet was through-and-through. Should heal in a few weeks and full range of motion in three months. Sooner if I'm rigorous with my physical therapy."
"Really?" Earnie sounded genuinely surprised. "I assumed the timeline would have been reduced with Aura boosting your healing."
There it was. "I'm not that proficient."
"When did you unlock it? There was no record of you having any in your health records."
"About three years ago."
"Around the time you got out of prison."
Obviously, Earnie would bring that up. Everything always led back to that little tidbit. No matter how legit Leroy went, he was always under suspicion.
"Four months later, actually."
"Someone do that for you?"
"It got unlocked the hard way."
Earnie peculiarly looked over the spiral holding the note pad together. "How?"
"Took a short-term logging contract outside the walls. We got attacked. Lost a lot of folks before a huntress saved our bacon."
The moment when they heard the howls closing in was still etched in his brain. Inky creatures poured out into the field they were working. Men and women, torn apart before him. Fear swelled in his body.
And then another power surged forth.
"Sorry to hear that."
"Me too. After that, I decided that jobs in the city were better for me."
"That's when you started working as a night guard?"
"Yeah. A friend put me in touch with the building's owner."
Given the clientele, the owner liked the idea of Aura enhanced security. The pay was surprisingly decent, despite his priors and heritage. She could easily have stiffed him.
"This friend of yours... Are they an associate from your old life?"
Leroy frowned. "She is an upstanding member of society."
Legally. No one had ever arrested her. Unless she changed her operations to be less morally gray, that was unlikely to change.
"I have to ask. Given your history-"
"Get to the point."
"There are around a dozen dropped bodies and you, the Aura capable ex-con, are the only survivor. Considering you were imprisoned for staging a robbery, which involved faking evidence, these questions have to be asked."
"I was tangentially connected to that mess." Which was why his sentence was lighter than the others who had been in on the job. "Allegedly."
Leroy Brown could have ratted out the crew. That had not been his score they screwed up. He kept his mouth shut, though. Those were the rules, so he rode the rap.
"Fair enough. Tell me what happened last night."
The guard walked the detective through the evening of his shift. Told him all about how he was subbing in for another worker. Then about how everything went sideways when he got jumped in the lobby.
Earnie took plenty of notes. Six flips of them. He interrupted right before Leroy got to the part where he climbed the stairwell after the assailant.
"Could you back up and describe who attacked you?"
Leroy could. He had memorized every detail. If a sketch pad were made available, he could have created a decent rendering of the guy.
Male. An inch shorter than himself. Late teens to early twenties. Light gray hair. Proficient in kick based martial arts.
But again, Leroy Brown was no squealer. Not even on those that tried to kill him.
"I didn't get a good look at them. Everything went by so fast. The power went out and suddenly I was fighting for my life. Couldn't even tell you how many there were."
"Hmmm. Okay. Moving on-"
They chatted for a few hours more. Ernie asked similar questions with different phrasing. This was his attempt at getting his interviewee to slip up. Leroy never did. He had experience playing these games.
Eventually the detective gave up. Rising from his chair, he fished out his wallet. If Leroy had not known better, he would have thought Earnie was about to try and buy the information. In place of lien, a bone-white business card was withdrawn.
"If you do think of something, do not hesitate to call."
The contact information was placed in Leroy's hand. In a show of manners, he accepted the card even if he had no intent of using it. Alienating the one affable policeman he knew on the force was counterproductive.
"Will do."
Earnie nodded. He then excused himself. His last words were a polite goodbye.
Once the doors shut, Leroy was out of the sickbed. With his official statement taken, the police had no legitimate reason to keep him. There was no way he was sticking around and having that change.
He pulled on his clothes that lay in a pile near a nurse's station. The shirt he had been admitted with was unsalvageable, having been cut to ribbons to treat the wound. His jacket was intact, so he buttoned it all the way up.
The tug in his shoulder stung. Whatever damage had been done by the officers could wait for another examination. Preferably by someone far away from Vale General Hospital.
While preparing to leave, the image of that boy from earlier was never far from his mind. Finding him would be a top priority. Plots on how to flush him out bounced about the ex-con's head as he slipped out of the medical ward.
Leroy Browne did not snitch. He got even.
/ / /
"Is this the place?"
"Sure is!"
Jaune gulped. The building was not as extravagant as he would have imagined. It was a quaint brownstone, twice as wide as tall, nestled among more modern storefronts that advertised spirits and bath soaps.
A baby blue awning covered a short staircase to the entrance. 'La Maison Ta-Ta' was printed in block type across the canvas. The silhouette of a shapely pair of legs in fishnets jutted from the lettering.
"Ever seen a cabaret performance before?" Roman asked.
"N-no."
He fidgeted, adjusting his turtleneck. The cream coat had been left behind at the shack. Apparently, the item would have been unfashionable in the more casual environment.
The teen would have preferred to have kept the jacket. He felt naked without an extra layer. For whatever reason, he made a mistake and told Roman.
"Forget about it. Soon you'll feel overdressed."
"I can't do this!" Gallantly turning tail, Jaune made for the alleyway he had emerged from.
"Okay okay. Bad joke. Look, don't get too excited. This isn't a strip club."
"Will people be taking off their clothes for money?"
The ensuing awkward break failed to inspire faith in what followed. "Some might. There will also be music, dancing, drag, and comedy routines."
"With nudity."
"Don't be a prude. Everything is done tastefully. Do you really think they would allow that kind of establishment to operate on this end of town?"
There was some sense to that. This was the same street as a diamond wholesaler and a bridal store. Fancy places like those could have been set up anywhere. They would not purposefully open next to a den of sin.
Right?
"I can do this." He declared and reversed course.
"Atta boy!"
As Roman liked to remind him, this was not a field trip. They needed information. A true hero could handle a little discomfort if it meant bringing killers like Mercury Black to justice.
Jittery legs brought him across the street and up the stairs. Bouncers in white tie tuxedos pulled open the frosted glass entryway. The barrel-chested fellows bid him to enjoy the evening. Jaune returned the greeting before being urged forward by his passenger.
The insides were arranged in an amphitheater-like design. Rows of numbered tables sloped towards a velvet drenched stage. The raised platform was empty except for a piano off to the side.
In fact, the whole theater was lacking in warm bodies. The sole customers were an elderly couple three rows down. They chatted while working on a crossword puzzle.
"I was kinda expecting more people."
"They don't really get going until the sun goes down."
He was about to ask Roman why they let anyone in early when a curly-haired brunette in green rimmed glasses closed in on them. Her clothing was similar to the bouncer's attire. However, she was much slimmer than the guys at the front.
"Hello there! Can I help you? Is this your first time experiencing our offerings?"
"Yes, to both." He scratched his neck, obviously out of his depth.
"No worries! Everyone starts out as a newcomer. You are in for a treat. I can personally vouch for the talent on tap tonight."
"Oh, are you a performer?"
"Aren't we all? But no. Not in the sense you mean. I am not a part of the troupe. I am the maître d' of La Maison Ta-Ta." The hostess gave a deep bow. "Amyah, at your service."
Jaune felt out of sorts at the show of deference. He knew this was part of her job description, but that did not make the situation normal. Swanky surroundings like this were completely foreign to him.
She straightened out to continue her speech. "Now, can I escort you to your seat? The front rows are reserved, but we can still get you close to the action. If you are thirsty, we have a number of cocktails and imports on tap."
That was his cue to cut in. Drinks were not the name of the game tonight.
"Well Amyah, I'm actually here on delivery. Could you let Madam Amour know I carry a formal request for her services?"
Friendly airs dimmed as she became much more circumspect. "Can I let her know who the request is from?"
"An old friend who still carries a torch."
"Very well. Follow me."
Jaune cheered internally. The pass phrase had been delivered without issue. Roman had not even needed to coach him through the act like last time.
He was doing this.
She led him down the aisle towards the stage. At the overhanging apron, they diverted to pass through a side curtain. Behind it was a pink and white backstage corridor.
Numerous doors lined the walls. One was ajar, revealing a full chorus line practicing their routine. Another open room was filled with mirrors. Those inside were hovering around the reflections, touching up their make-up and costumes.
At the end of the hallway was a red door. A golden star hung from the wood. The word 'Amour' was scrawled in red cursive.
Amyah knocked below the star. She waited a moment out of courtesy. When there was no reply, she turned the knob and ushered him in.
This new room was homier than the rest. Plush carpeting and cream walls complemented the large loveseat that served as the interior focal point. This was the furniture that Jaune was directed onto.
"Madam Amour will be with you soon. Please, make yourself comfortable."
Before he could thank her, the hostess went off through a separate side door that could have led to anywhere. Presumably to inform her boss. The ticking of a mounted heart-shaped clock synchronized with his breathing.
Alone again, Roman spoke up. "Are you ready for this?"
"I think so."
He pulled out a sealed letter. Contained within were a list of names and descriptions that they wanted the madam's network to dig up dirt on. A wax 'RT' monogram held the envelope closed. The teen was meant to hand the letter over and get out.
By acting as a neutral courier, Jaune could fly under the radar. He was merely the messenger, afterall. There was no reason to ask him too many questions.
That was the expectation, anyway. The Arc did not know if it would be that simple. Since arriving in Vale, nothing had been.
"Remember to keep your head."
"Got to keep my head." He recited the advice.
"Be prepared for anything."
"I'm ready for anything."
"You got this."
"I got this!"
"Oh how I adore a man with confidence." A sultry voice spooked Jaune.
Turning his head, he encountered a woman draped over the back of his seat. How she had snuck in on him, he was not sure. He was too distracted to investigate.
Madam Amour was everything her title suggested. The lady was conventionally attractive, with long straight blond hair and bangs. A golden tassel dress fit snugly over limbs that stretched for days. Her torso was purposely angled to provide an ample view.
"I heard you had something for me?" She purred, giving a shake for emphasis.
Traitorous eyes strayed south for a moment. A wink let him know she was aware of his peeking. She approved.
Jaune had lied earlier. He did not have this.
"Say something."
"Something." He tried hard to keep his attention on her face. "Uh, I mean, yes. Here."
His shaky hand held out the letter. She overreached, pressing three fingers to his exposed wrist before dragging down his palm to take the offered missive. A pulse of warmth invaded his whole essence.
"I always assumed our mutual acquaintance did not like me very much. Always so skittish. Always screening my calls. Now he sends me love notes. What am I to do with these mixed signals?"
"I'm… not sure that's what that is."
"Let a girl dream, darling."
Jaune came up with a new plan. While Madam A was smoking hot, she was also not too dissimilar in appearance from several members of his family. If he pretended she was his sister, maybe he would act normally.
This stratagem fell apart when she used her long legs to step over the back of the seat to settle in beside him. In transit, he was treated to a flash of lacy unmentionables. Hormones and racy ideas flamed up in response.
His mother would have killed him if he thought of his sisters like that!
"Details are inside." Jaune forced out. "The sender said their order was the usual commission plus twenty percent. There is also a bonus for anything extraordinary you discover. Are those terms acceptable?"
She moaned. "More than."
"I-I'll go let them know."
A light grasp to the shoulder halted his attempt to flee. "Why the rush? I'm interested in learning more about his newest assistant."
It took Jaune too long to remember his cover story. "I'm just a courier."
"Would someone as careful as Roman Torchwick trust his personal correspondence with just a courier?" Her fingers migrated to his neck. "Go on. Tell me about yourself. I'm a good listener."
An unnatural heat sweltered under his skin. As the fever spread, he cared less and less. Eventually it reached the tips of his toes. Then, nothing else mattered.
His brain was on vacation. The empty cavity filled up with sugar and spice. Cotton candy coated his tongue, gumming up the works.
She was saying something. Her grinning lips moved too fast for him to figure it out. Not that he minded. He was too busy fantasizing about the taste of her clear lip gloss. Her angelic features demanded praise. Something inside held him rooted to the spot.
His mouth was not as still. Words were let loose like balloons, but he was unsure of what they were filled with. It could have been babble. It could have been profound.
Eventually the pleasant feelings dissipated. Madam Amour retracted from him, still beaming. His body screamed out for the warmth to return.
"Would you look at the time." The clock's minute hand had advanced deep into the next hour. "Oh dear. I still need to wrangle up the stagehands for the night. Would you be so kind as to give a lady her privacy?"
Understanding was difficult until Roman interjected. "She's telling you to hit the road, lover boy."
"Of course." He zipped to his feet.
"Don't be a stranger, Mr. Courier. Be sure to send Roman my warm regards, would you?"
Hastily agreeing, he made a beeline for the exit. His steps carried him out of her room, through the hallway, up the now overflowing aisle, and out the front before Jaune fully gathered his wits. If Amyah or the bouncers had crossed his path on the way out, he failed to notice.
He had been in there too long. The sun was setting. Roman materialized beside him, matching his stride.
"What…" The fresh air only slightly lifted the mental fog. "What happened back there? What did she do to me?"
"She used her Semblance."
There was that word again. He did not know what that meant.
"Right. Yeah. I knew that."
Roman saw through the knowledge gap instantly. "Semblances are unique abilities that people with Aura can develop. Some are mundane, like being able to predict the weather. Others are destructive, like being able to shoot laser beams out of your hands."
Like a comic book superpower. Jaune kept that comparison to himself. He did not want to be mocked for reading those.
"What was hers, then?"
"Love."
"That was love?"
"Fine. Infatuation. Whatever term you want to put on it. She is like a living drug that can turn people into drooling messes. Makes them easier to play for information or, if they get addicted, into her willing thralls."
After undergoing a single dosage, Jaune understood why anyone would have submitted to her whims. He had never felt anything close to that. A voice in his head, other than Roman's, told him he never would again. The revelation left him in the dumps.
Life felt muted. Less colorful. Dreary.
"Did I tell her anything?"
"Other than how pretty she was?" His ears burned in embarrassment. "No. You did not give anything up. Not even your name. It was impressive, in a pathetic kind of way."
"How does it work?"
A tinge of desperation crowded his voice. Defying the urge to go back and beg for her touch was maddening. Talking about it might give him some relief.
"Not entirely sure. As you can guess, she does not advertise the ins and outs of her abilities."
"Then how do you know it was a Semblance?"
"There were plenty of rumors. Hardened gangsters would go in to shake her down. They'd leave hours later, proclaiming their undying devotion. That was the first time I saw it in action. We usually conduct business over the phone."
For a very good reason, given what Jaune knew now. He felt his blood simmer. This time, it was not because of a good-looking female.
"And you sent me in there without any warnings?!"
"Calm down." Those words failed to lower his internal temperature. "You were never in any danger. I'm shocked she wasted the Aura. You're a nobody. Once she figured out you had nothing to offer, she let you go."
"I could have blabbed about your current whereabouts."
"Even if she believed you, who would she sell us out to? Cinder?" The thief chortled. "That control freak would never agree to meet with Madam A. If she knows about this place, she would be much more likely to burn it all down than chance being influenced."
That seemed like an exaggeration. Jaune had to take Roman's word for it, though. Out of the two of them, he knew Cinder best.
"Incidentally, that is why we started with the good madam. I wanted to see how you would react against the lowest risk of our potential allies or enemies."
"She was low risk…" The Arc spoke softly in disbelief.
A woman who could turn people into love slaves was considered relatively harmless. The rest of their list, Junior Xiong, the Division, and Cinder, were far worse. Jaune would have to cross paths with all of them, sooner or later.
That was downright horrifying.
"Do you understand? I told you to be careful around these people and you did not listen. Repeat Rule 2 after me. Don't. Trust. Anyone."
"Don't trust anyone. I… I got it."
"I hope so. You failed this test, miserably. Next time, you may end up much worse off than just having a tightness in your pants."
Jaune kept whispering apologies to the spirit as they traversed the alleyways leading away from the theater. While doing so, he began to ponder the rule. There was an implied inference that he could not shake.
Was Roman included under 'anyone'?