Mit Livs Eventyr [RWBY]

"Is something the matter?" you ask under your breath. It takes Russell a moment to realise you're talking to him. He double-takes, eyes narrowing as they lock with yours.

"Hell d'you care?" he hisses back.

You blink. You were really hoping this wouldn't be a repeat of your performance with Weiss. Your avert your gaze a moment to collect your thoughts, then try again. "It's only that if I can do-"

"We have work to do," Russell interrupts, jabbing a finger to the front of the room. "Don't wanna fail every fucking class my first day here."

That fear seems a little premature with so many more classes to go, but even Jaune knows that would be dumb to say. With just a hair of reluctance, one half-formed thought that you at least wanted this time to go better, you drop it. You turn your attention to the workstation and oh wow it looks even more complicated than it did when you last looked. The three women are forging straight on ahead and you're already lost, you squint to try and decipher the notes Skuld's leaving on the blackboard but they look like complete gibberish to you.

"... did you-?" you start.

"No 'cause someone distracted me," Russell snaps.

"Oh."

You stare at the desk. It seems about as productive a course of action as most of what else you've tried recently. Russell's gaze flicks rapidly between you, the equipment, the board and the teachers. He purses his lips, tongue swirling nervously around inside his mouth.

"Look man let's... let's just do whatever, okay?" he says, a little less harshly. "Can't get too pissed if we tried at least."

"Got it, sure," you reply. Scanning the glassware, guessing guessing guessing, peek at everyone else's workstations for hints - ah, there's Cardin and company, filtering their bubbling white-gold liquid through the loopy straw bit. Liquid, means you should dump it right in the... flask with the water in it over the first burner then. You make to turn and ask Blake for the canister back only to find her already handing it over.

"Oh. Thanks!"

"No problem." She glances at the workstation and pauses a moment. "You know if we really want to show her we know what we're doing-"

"(If we go off-book she'll probably just fail us no matter what we do and we'll deserve it too because you don't fuck around with Dust so can you please just tell us what they're writing on the board)" Russel hisses.

She shrugs. "Alright." She indicates the steaming flask with a flick of a single razored black nail. "Dump it in then, let's get started."

You're good at following instructions, so that's exactly what you do. Every last speck of Dust goes into the flask, glittering and swirling in the simmering water as a translucent golden cloud puffs up through the neck. You wave it away and set the empty canister down. Russell all but cowers away from the bubbling substance, but after a little terse coaxing from Blake he at least helps out a little bit; chasing down the dense cork stopper for you to plug the flask with when the time is right, sealing in the precious fumes as you turn a small spigot and send it all racing away through the attached curling glass tube.

Blake points out where you have to do what and when as best she can, but as you work you sense the irritation slowly creeping into even her voice. She even stumbles at a few of the steps, needing extra precious seconds to squint at the board and puzzle out what a particularly arcane piece of instruction means. Once it gets to the part where you have to filter the mixture between two chambers and coordinate with Russell to heat them at different temperatures them combine them again, it all breaks down. You think you heard one thing while Russell thinks he heard another, she really meant the exact opposite to both of you, it devolves into a furious under-the-breath argument that only stops once Verthandr coughs pointedly at the three of you.

Time ticks down, closer and closer to the moment of truth. You've never been flustered before, but now that you have you hate it and you want it to go away forever. Now you're barely even focusing on Blake's instructions, you're just trying to stop banging into Russell. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, no doubt trying to puzzle out how to throttle the distiller. Blake gives you the final instructions and just stares up at the ceiling, silently disowning the abomination she helped create. You whisper to Russell that you've got it, fhurriedly shake the last few drops out of the spout, giving the it one last frantic stir-

"And time!"

The frenzy finally ends. The time of judgement has come. The four groups stand up straight at their workstations as Verthandr strides down the middle, eyeing the results of each of your efforts in turn. Cardin and Weiss are standing proudly before perfect golden brews, the scent of Dust wafting enticingly across the classroom towards you. The intoxicating aroma only makes your heart sink even lower as you drop your gaze and stare into the murky copper depths of your own work. Your nostrils flare, you lift your head as you catch the scent of the last group's. You don't know what Nora did to it (because it would obviously be Nora) but it looks like curdled iron and smells like nothing you've ever encountered before. The sight of it up close seems to be making Pyrrha reconsider her dedication to the path she's chosen.

"Nominate a member of your group to do the honours, and we'll see how well you did," Verthandr reminds you all. Weiss and Cardin need no deliberation, they just down the lot in complete confidence.

You look at your lab partners in turn. Blake looks like she'd like nothing better than to pitch it against the wall and say 'oops I slipped'. Russell looks like he'd rather walk out the door. Blake lifts her gaze, notices it as well. Russell takes a deep breath and forces himself to speak.

"I really don't-"

"Look I'll-"

You just drink it down in one hearty swig.

Blake and Russell stare at you in shock as the last dribble of coppery fluid trickles down your throat. You set the flask down again heavily. You figured if anyone would have an easier time with it it'd be you, not actually being human and all, but you quickly begin to consider that maybe you've made a terrible mistake. You're fairly certain your pupils are dilating and contracting at independent rhythms, your mouth is dry, your muscles are drawing taut, and the well of shadow within is rippling. Verthandr shoots you a very concerned look, having noticed the no doubt alarming expression on your face. You cradle your stomach, for all the good that will do.

"A-are you okay man?" Russell asks at last, voice faltering.

You have consumed men and Grimm alike, you can take a little sour Dust. You take a few deep, deep breaths.

"I'm fah-khh" you splutter and cough immediately, thumping your chest to clear it. At last a cloud of bronze Dust erupts past your lips, dispersing in the cold, still air. "-khmm. Fine. Great. A+. In my opinion."

"Ah," says Verthandr, trying to conceal her surprise that you even remained standing. "Good, good. Now, the final group-?"

Pyrrha is hunched over the workstation, pale as a sheet, soaked and slick with sweat, emerald eyes wide and staring fit to burn a hole straight through. She seems to be muttering "(m'good)" over and over again in a madenned mantra, to the mild consternation of even Ren. Verthandr slowly edges closer.

"Miss Nikos?" she asks.

"(m'fine)" Pyrrha replies, unconvincingly.

"I think it might be best if you see Urdr."

"(nope. m'good. all fine.)"

Pyrrha doesn't resist as Verthandr gingerly leads her over to Urdr's side. The eldest professor offers her a peppermint. Pyrrha accepts it with the most miserable expression you can imagine plastered across her ghost-pale face.

In the end, Pyrrha doesn't vomit either. She drinks something else that Urdr made and retakes her place with Nora and Ren, steely eyes forward, utterly refusing to acknowledge what just happened. Verthandr picks up her lecture, explaining the limitations inherent in using Dust supplements to empower your Semblance; dependence, increased tolerance, addiction, everything the detective already warned you of. The reason why none of you are permitted to mix brews outside of strictly-supervised classwork until at least your second year. You sure wouldn't mind that privilege sooner rather than later. That potion tasted like a meal - a light, rancid meal but a meal all the same. You've gnawed on raw Dust deposits in your time, but now that you're undercover it might be the most consistent form of sustenance you have. And the smell, oh the smell of the successful ones. The aroma lingers around Cardin and Weiss still. You strive to ignore it, lest you do something embarrassing like slobber on them.

"Hey."

You look right. Russell's still staring resolutely up at the board, refusing to budge his neck so much as a degree for fear of missing something crucial again. But you catch him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"... thanks."

"Anytime," you reply. Apparently that's the proper response.

Everyone seems glad to be out of there when class finally lets out. Skuld is merciful with the homework, merely telling you all to take down certain titles for later research in the library, whether responsible for a failure or not. The three professors chat amongst themselves as the class filters out, but it doesn't seem important enough to warrant sticking around to eavesdrop and making yourself late for your next class.

It's not underground this time but it's hardly much more airy or charming. It's a simple hall nestled deep in the guts of the castle. Grim, windowless grey, lit only by sickly stark-white bulbs affixed to the walls and ceiling. Featureless save for a series of bolted-down workbenches with corresponding arrays of tools, some sort of attached antechamber beyond, and a flight of stairs leading down into glowing orange forge-light. Your new professor awaits, an absolute mountain of a man, seeming as if all the hair on his scalp had been drawn back through the skull to add to the steel-grey mass growing from his chin.

"No groups," he says in a voice like gravel and coal soup once you're all inside. "Weaponcraft is solo work. Grab your weapons and take whichever bench you'd like."

He jabs his thumb to the left-hand wall where your weapon cases all wait in a neat line. Most of the class starts over immediately. You linger long enough to catch Russell shoot the professor a quizzical look. The rough-hewn forgemaster just inclines his head towards the collection of cases. Russell hesitantly follows his classmates - and sure enough there's a spare waiting for him, name neatly stamped on the lid. He double-takes, bewildered.

"Oh my gosh I forgot to show the rest of you guys Crescent Rose on account of the airship crashing and nearly exploding!" Ruby exclaims, practically throwing open her weapon case. She leaps to her feet and deploys the scythe, twirling it in a well-rehearsed flourish that seems custom-tailored to show off every part of the intricate assembly magnetically snapping into place, and not once does she stop talking. "If you haven't named your weapon yet you totally should I mean all good weapons have names but it just feels cool to have a name for it too and you should see what it-"

The professor simply closes one shovel-like hand around the body of the scythe and yanks it away. Ruby clings to it for a moment, dangling clear off the ground for a few seconds until he shakes her free like a leaf. He turns and strides away with it, leaving Ruby rubbing her wrists with a despondent look on her face. Yang slides in by her side instantly, throwing an arm around the younger girl's shoulders as she glares at the forgemaster's back. He simply inspects the weapon in a thorough, businesslike fashion. Squinting at each part of the frame. Testing the weight with smooth, circular flourishes and swings. Testing the switches, collapsing and expanding it again and again, sometimes mid-swing, before fluidly dropping into a crouch to use the scythe-blade as some kind of stable firing platform while he aims down the line of the haft.

"Hm."

He straightens, collapsing the scythe back down into its boxy compact form.

"No maker's mark," he goes on. "The materials are substandard, the assembly spotty, the transformation catches, the bolt-action mechanism was a poor choice and the weight is completely excessive for a girl your age. You really did make it all by yourself."

"I... figured it'd be easier to just grow into it," Ruby mumbles, fiddling nervously.

He turns to face the class once more. "I'm Forgemaster Regin. Call me 'Professor' or 'Sir', I don't much care which. What I'm here to teach you is that this-" he raises Ruby's scythe, jabbing a finger at it with his free hand "-is a deadly weapon to humans just as much as it is to Grimm. And you will respect it as such, in my classroom and everywhere else. Is that clear?"

There's a general murmur of 'yes professor' and 'yes sir's.

"Rose, front of the class with me. You can have this back once I'm confident you won't take someone's head off swinging it around everywhere. Everyone else, get to work. If you can't disassemble and reassemble your weapon by the end of class, you stay until you can."

"But sir, we still have one more class," Weiss pipes up slightly hesitantly. "Professor Jaeger-"

"-won't teach a Hunter that doesn't know their weapon inside and out, so he'd thank me," Regin says bluntly.

"... yessir." Weiss half-hugs her thin-bladed sword to her chest as she double-times it to an unoccupied bench with a wide-eyed grimace. It's a look that only a few of the trainees present don't share. You take the back-right bench and lay your banner down, taking a moment to simply stare at it speculatively.

It doesn't... seem too complicated, really. Jaune doesn't know a damn thing about it that could help you but it's breathlessly simple compared to some of the deadly contraptions you see the others setting down. It's basically just the collapsing haft and the banner itself, right? You check on how whoever's in front of you is going - ah, it's Blake. All you can see of her weapon is a curved, single-edged sword sitting in a chain-wrapped, segmented black sheath. As you watch she flicks a hidden switch, deploying a cruelly hooked blade from the bottom of the sheath.

You hear a hissing, keening crackle and spark closely followed by a hastily muffled "(ow)" off to the left. It's Sky at the bench right next to you, wrestling with his weapon to little success. It's a whip, the handle made of steel and the cord some kind of tightly-wound filament, the latter of which keeps crackling and sparking with bolts of power every time he tries to turn it off for safe disassembly. He's nervous, and only getting more nervous with each new failure, constantly casting furtive glances over his bench to check if he's distracted Regin from lecturing Ruby. You think for a moment - on the whole more people have seemed amenable to your efforts to help them than not, and that can only aid your mission.

You cross-reference what Jaune and the detective know. The latter's no help to you at all, but Jaune figures out what the problem is surprisingly quickly. You let that guide your actions, stepping left to gingerly elbow Sky out of the way and fiddle with his weapon for him. With a soft grunt of "(here)" you find the safety switch concealed out of the way at the bottom of the handle, just below the maker's mark of a sabre and rifle crossed over an oak leaf - Sky must have thought there was some trick to using the more obvious button instead. The weapon falls inert at last.

"Thanks man," he says, equal parts grateful and simply relieved it's stopped shocking him.

"Don't mention it," you reply. That seems to be standard with humans. You glance at his arm. You seem to recall him hurting it yesterday in the entrance exams, but it seems to be troubling him a lot less today. Smalltalk. Yes, that's another way to get in people's good graces. "How's your arm?"

"O-oh." He cradles it, as if only just remembering it was injured. "Fine, yeah. Pretty fine now. Thanks. Got sent to Professor Urdr's office and she cooked me up something that fixed it pretty quick." He pauses. "And gave me a lolly. She really is their old grandma, huh?"

"Yeah," you say in agreement, having only a vague idea what a 'grandma' is.

"Hey um-" Sky shoots another furtive glance at Regin's broad back. Ruby must have improved to his satisfaction because he's moved on, hunched between Nora and Ren's side-by-side benches to murmur advice and instruction. "-it was pretty cool how you chugged that potion back in the other class. How'd you do it? I only had a couple before I came here, they all tasted weird as hell so I had to take a couple goes."

"Oh." You blink, quickly rifling through Jaune's memories like a filing cabinet. "I just didn't really think about it I guess. It's been a little while since I've had one myself. I guess I just got it over with as soon as possible."

Sky laughs a little. "Fair enough, man." Another lull as he clearly racks his brain for something to continue the conversation. It finally clicks. He's trying to make a good impression on you. What a pleasant coincidence, that makes this a lot easier. You take a half-step back to your bench so you can at least look busy, but remained angled towards Sky to continue the conversation.

[ ] Ask him where he's from. Cardin said he's a farmer and/or from the country but he might've just been being... Cardin.
[ ] Ask about his weapon. The maker's mark is familiar - Forge of Vale it looks like. Commissions aren't so cheap just anyone can have one.
[ ] Ask how the exam went for him yesterday. You know in general terms how everyone else did, but you're curious to know the details - how he hurt his leg, how everyone came together, how Cardin did as a leader, everyone's Semblances, etc etc.
[ ] Ask him why he came to Beacon. You know what the teachers think of course, but there's no reason to assume they're infallible sources of information. You'd like to know why Sky thinks he's here - it may prove illuminating.