Mit Livs Eventyr [RWBY]

You have a body now. That is, you have had many bodies before, but this time you have a Body. Having to be cognisant of the same number of limbs at all times is already disorienting enough, if you cannot shift at all any more you might... might... do something, the prey's mind had an appropriate idiom (an appropriate what?) on the tip of its tongue and then you lost it. No matter. First order of business - further prey.

You lean closer to the mirror and open your mouth, turning your new head this way and that to try and peer inside. Eventually you just reach in and feel at your teeth by hand - rounded and blunt, even the sharper ones are no substitute for fangs. You drop your spittle-slick hand to the sink again and look at the mirror. Your body is frowning when you take the time to examine its face again. You study the expression intensely, keeping it perfectly still. Noting the subtle details of the instinctive reaction. You must memorise it all if you're to reproduce it later.

And then you open your mouth.

Wider.

Wider.

Wider.

Twin, hollow crunching noises ring in your ears as the jaw dislocates. The pale flesh of the cheeks tears, spilling not blood but shadow. As thick as smoke, as black as night, billowing from the rents in your body and from the back of your darkening throat. Your makeshift maw splits open from ear to ear, the shadows solidifying into finger-long fangs. Darkness billows from the infinite black pit within, translucent wisps swishing and grasping, seeming to absorb the light itself.

You close your mouth again, and the prey's form becomes pristine once more.

"Good," you say out loud, just because you can.

You turn and leave the bathroom (what a strange room, what do prey need it for?), needing more space for what comes next. As you cross into the living room you feel softness beneath your new feet - like but unlike the softness of grass, the sensation instantly draws your attention. You stand stock still for several seconds, flexing each smaller appendage on your feet individually. Several seconds later you realise something quite important. You have no shadow. That is something that a human is supposed to have.

"Hm," you say out loud, because that is another thing the boy's mind tells you humans do, and straighten up. You turn your consciousness inward, beneath the thin skin of the human's stolen form, the intricate little biological contraptions beneath that, into the core of yawning darkness that you glimpsed within your maw. The past meals of a lifetime are still there, swirling and combining, digested but never gone. To call them forth is as easy as breathing.

You spread your arms wide, and the skin ripples. The air comes alive with the rustle of furiously flapping wings, feathers the colour of oil flying in all directions like black snow. A murder of crows sprout from you and take flight, cawing hoarsely, flitting back and forth until they finally settle on their various perches. Long talons flexing almost eagerly, little heads twitching and turning this way, the better to get a good angle as they stare at you with their beady, burning orange-scarlet eyes. One specimen in particular stands out to you, larger than the rest, and older enough to have almost fully formed a scarlet-etched mask of ivory bone over its face and beak.

You look at them all, and you see 'yourself' from a dozen different angles at once.

"I think I remember you," you say.

"Rawk," caws the eldest.

"Oh," you reply. Even it had a voice, the process of being digested into a familiar would have robbed it of that gift anyway. You half-turn and raise one arm, as if offering it as a perch. The crows take flight in another flurry of flapping wings, returning home with all due haste. They overlap each other, phase through each other, losing form and definition, until what seeps through the pores of Jaune's skin and back into your core is little more than black smoke.

You waste no time attempting a second call. You raise your hands once more, palms down, as if commanding the carpet itself to rise. For just a moment you possess a shadow, a simple ring of darkness around your bare feet. It divides into four, streaking off across the room like painted black arrows, seeking out shaded nooks and crannies of their own from which to emerge.

They rise slowly, slinking out of the darkness to greet you. Rangy lupine forms, lean enough to see ribs were they not plainly visible as external armour. Their fur is shifting and indistinct, just solid enough to break up their outlines with unruly spikes of faux-hair, claws digging deep into the soft carpet with every step they take. All four of them are masked just like the crow, fully matured - proven survivors. A low growl erupts from one, its burning eyes narrowed as if in suspicion of your new form.

You turn your head and you look at it. It whines softly, ears flattening, and sinks low. You look up, satisfied.

Another set of familiars dismissed. In their case they simply sink to the floor, through the floor, dissolving into little more than oily stains, until even those slither back into your feet to rejoin you. The results are promising. You did not notice any significant trouble or strain in the summoning. You decide it would be prudent to test the limits, attempt to call the greatest of your prey. You focus again, and reach deep into the well of shadow.

The well responds, rising up around your feet. Darker than any other shadow in the room, cast not by light but by what lies within you. It stretches out before you in a single solid mass, pooling in the empty space just behind the couch. From within that inky pool something begins to rise, higher and higher, high enough that it almost touches the ceiling. A simple black mass slowly growing more defined, features coming into focus, eyes-

Someone knocks on your door. The familiar collapses back down into the floor with a silent splash, flowing back to you. You idly direct it to remain around your feet, moulding it to copy one of the pieces of furniture nearby, taking a step - oh, shadows are meant to move with you. That is going to get exhausting.

Someone knocks again. You look up from your distraction, rifling through what you can parse from 'Jaune's' mind. The most recent memories are the clearest, and those are enough to tell that not only was he not expecting visitors, but someone arriving at his door unsolicited is possibly the most unlikely thing in the world. You stride to the door and open it.

It sticks. You see a piece of glove, a slice of a hip, and no more. You must have done it wrong. You shut the door and open it again. It still sticks.

"Y'need a hand there?" a voice asks.

You shut the door and open it again. It still sticks.

"... seriously you need uh-?"

You shut the door and open it again. It still sticks. You give it a few fruitless tugs.

"Look it's- there's a-"

You shut the door and open it again.

"There's a chain!"

You shut the door. Oh. So there is. You delicately pinch the knob of the brassy thing and slide it along the groove housing it until you find a slightly larger, rounded section. The knob slips out, and the chain falls free. Ohhhh.

You open the door again. You think you hear the man on the other side breathe in sharply, anticipating another doorway malfunction, before he realises you solved it. His demeanour changes immediately, his body snapping into a pose of practised laconic ease. He's leaning back, head cocked, one hand on the head of his cane with the other hanging loose and carefree by his side. Leaning is only just enough to bring him to eye level with your shorter body, albeit one of his eyes is completely hidden behind a very well-cared-for wave of flame-orange hair. The other glitters bright green with interest as he meets your gaze, perhaps searching for something behind your stolen eyes.

"Well I'll be damned," he says. "Know any tricks yet? C'mon boy, speak!"

"I don't follow," you reply.

"Oooh!" He lifts his cane off the floor, bringing his hands together for a few rapid claps. The gloves muffle most of the sound. "You're a keeper, aint'cha."

"I was expected?" you ask.

"Yep! Didn't think you'd be alone on this little outing did ya, sport? Oh no no, what you are is what we call a 'valuable investment'. And valuable investments get people looking out for it, from back at base and on the ground. Latter's where I come in." He deftly spins his cane in a circle and brings the tip down on the floor beside his boot. "C'mon, better we walk and talk. Easier to explain shit when we're out where the fun is."

He pauses, eyes flicking below your waistline for half a second.

"Also put some pants on. Mean I know it's bad enough you ate the kid, but you don't have to show his dick to everyone in Vale. S'just adding insult to injury."

Yes, clothes do seem to be a good idea. All your memories of humans involve them wearing clothes, so going without seems like it would attract undue attention. You wordlessly turn and leave the man at the door, rifling through drawers and closets until you find where Jaune left his clothing. It takes you quite a while to get a grasp on the process of putting it on, during which you sense the man in the doorway watching you in complete bemusement, but you make it in the end. You return to the door in a shirt, jacket, trousers and boots arrangement - and are immediately struck by its simplicity compared to the man's garb, between the long white leather coat with scarlet lining and gold buttons, light grey ascot and bowler hat. You search Jaune's mind for the correct term to describe it. Oddly the words 'dandy' and 'asshole' are seemingly equivalent.

"So!" the man says at last, drumming his fingers on the head of his cane. "Ya ready to go out and meet your adoring public?"

"I believe so," you reply.

"Nah, no you're not. Good news is nobody's ever really ready for Vale first time, so you're in good company." He pops his cane up with a deft flick of his wrist, shifting his grip further down the length while it's still airborne. "C'mon, we can pick in the elevator."

He chatters away the whole trip down the corridor, giving you a very brief overview of the possible locations to start your introduction to the 'Vale', whatever one of those is. He seems to enjoy the sound of his own voice more than your own company, but you see no reason to interrupt. There's a soft bing as the elevator arrives, followed by the sound of clattering metal as the man pulls the grille aside to admit the two of you. Once you're inside he pulls the grille shut behind him and hits another button, sending the metal box sinking down to ground level. Plenty of time to pick, just like he said.

[ ] The faunus district. The man says that it's 'colourful' there, excellent for business, and full of people willing to look the other way for the right price.
[ ] The docks. The man seems to give up halfway through trying to explain the greater concept of the place to you, and settles on saying it's Vale's mouth and fangs. You think you understand the gist of what he meant.
[ ] The Schnee Industries company town. It's a lot of words that elicit blank stares from you, so the man gets exasperated and settles on saying that it's probably important no matter what you get up to.
[ ] His favourite haunt. He doesn't give you a straight answer when you ask what its use will be in your purpose, but you suspect he just wants to go there anyway.
[ ] The shopping promenade. He once again gets exasperated and gives up trying to explain the concept behind buying and selling, but he does mention something about food. Perhaps he means it's the easiest place to find more prey?