Hold It In (RWBY/Transistor)

[Prok]

This update brought to you by your childhood

Also this absolutely would have been out on Monday but I just had way too much fun with Gideon and Tucker, they really took that ball and ran for the hills with it. God, I hope they don't end up being a just-for-me joke.

---

You stare over the edge and down the cliff edge, and remember how small it looked from the airship. It isn't small now, that's for sure.

… You look over at the Transistor. It has been a while, after all.

{Jaune, last time you did this, you almost lost a tooth and had to fix a fence. You think doing it down a 300-foot cliff is a great idea?}

Never gonna get better if you don't try- besides, if it goes badly, you can just Process yourself a soft landing.

Blue just sighs, and the Transistor lays itself low to the ground.

{Just watch the eye, this time.}

"... Jaune, what are you doing?" Creme asks.

"Eh, something stupid. Hopefully it'll work this time," you say, stepping onto your sword.

{Watch the eye, watch the eye-}

You are, relax, you big baby!

"No way," Ada breathes. "No fucking way."

Absolutely way. The Transistor lifts itself up a few inches, and you stay steady- woah- okay, maybe you need a little help. A flash of Process matter forms a bar along the bottom side of the Transistor, and tightly grips your shoes on all sides. It's not quite as good as your plans to figure out how to upgrade the Transistor, but it'll do.

For one thing, if your sword has a little too much fun with this, you're going in one direction, it's going in another, and everything below the ankles is going with it. But that's anxiety for another time. Instead, you turn and give the girls a playful wave, feeling a grin tug at your face.

"Try not to be last, you two!"

With a quick adjustment to the Transistor's flight settings, you're now basically riding a truly massive snowboard. With a crouch and a leap, you launch yourself off the edge of the cliff, and, honestly just feeling yourself at this point, manage to throw a full flip in- Creme and Ada's shocked faces are somehow only funnier upside down. Inertia pulls you through the flip, and you ride down the cliff face at breakneck speeds, whooping with what is definitely joy and not pants-browning fear, less than an inch away from burying the Transistor so deep in the stone face of Beacon Cliff that whoever pulls it out next will probably be crowned the new King of Vale.

Also, instantly killing yourself. Can't forget that bit.

It's what makes it fun after all oh, Gods, you are Jools's brother.

About halfway down, you launch yourself off a ledge, the ground pulling away as you spin, once, twice, crouching low to increase the centrifugal force you've imparted on yourself, before angling the board back down to the ground, just in time for the stone to warp and ripple next to you, turning into a perfectly smooth surface. You look back up the mountain face, and see a buck Faunus riding down a slab of rock jutting perpendicular to the cliff, his antlers now free of the velvet they were in last you saw him. Behind him, others are taking their chances on it as well, the angle smooth enough to not be a sheer drop anymore.

"Hey, Jaune! Long time no see, man!" Mel Saff says, riding up next to you. "You know, I ain't had a chance to talk to you yet- I just wanted to apologise for the whole thing at the Signal exit test, turns out I wasn't really in a great place mentally, lotta low-level anxiety and some mild depression exacerbated by stress, little bit of undiagnosed OCD, and I was just lashing out at people that I could internally construe as acceptable targets- but yeah, went to therapy, got medicated, doing a lot better now, but yeah, none of it's an excuse- just wanted to say sorry about that! Here, lemme make it up to you a little-"

"... What-"

Before you can really react to, any of that, Saff throws a lazy hand out, and the smoothness blasts out in your direction, ending in a long, gentle ramp that will definitely make translating all of this vertical momentum into horizontal momentum way easier for you, and everyone else following Saff down the ramp. Creme falls past you with Ada holding onto her back for dear life, muttering something to herself. You take the ramp so quickly that Port has to jump over you, before you angle the hilt of the Transistor down as a brake, the sound of glass rated for anti-tank armour against concrete deafening as you slowly come to a stop.

{Good job. I'll admit, that went way better than I expected.}

How much of it was you?

{All of it, man. All I did was keep you an inch off the ground.}

… Well hot diggity, guess you should've taken up snowboarding.

You look back and see Creme land, fully absorbing the landing for both herself and Ada, who quickly scrambles off and away from her teammate, who herself is frozen in fear.

Wait. Not fear. Exertion.

Creme starts to turn a beet red, veins actively bulging in her neck and temples as the sheer force of her landing is, contained, every muscle in her body tensed as hard as it can go, before she slowly, so painfully slowly, lifts one foot up at the heel, and then taps it back down on the dock.

A spiderweb of cracks blasts out from that point, ten feet in every direction, and Creme finally exhales, stumbling away. You rush forward, gently catching her by the shoulders before she can fall, as does Ada.

"Ooh- woah…" Creme manages, leaning against you for support.

"Creme! Are you okay?!" you ask.

"Y-yeah, yeah… Jaune, can I ask you an important question?" Creme says.

You blink, but nod.

"... Is anyone hurt?" she asks.

Blue?

{No injuries caused by her landing, no. Jury's out on Russel and Dove.}

Wait, what?

{You'll find out in a minute.}

"Y-you're fine."

"Oh thank God," she breathes, a relieved grin on her face. "That was… awful, but I'm glad it worked."

"What was it?"

"I… I'll tell you in a bit, I need a second," she says, pulling away from you, placing her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

Boys? Any ideas?

We've always assumed that Creme's force redirection was instant, but this points to it not being the case. Perhaps it's held in some kind of internal reservoir for a moment, then instantly transferred to another target. She has also shown the ability to pull force from other sources and amplify her own strikes with them. Perhaps she's learned to… pull self-inflicted force into that reservoir, then hold it for a strike?

… Her Semblance has evolved?

… Semblances can evolve?!

{Jaune, you made the Process six years after you made us. You are intimately familiar with Semblances doing new things.}

"Miss Daylaw!" Port barks. "Are you sure you're well?"

"'M fine, Prof… professor. Just, gonna take a minute to make sure everything's still in one piece."

Port's eyebrows knit together, forming the most impressive monobrow you've ever seen. You swear you can see individual hairs locking together, like velcro straps.

"... Well, as long as you're sure."

The vast majority of the class takes the express slide down, courtesy of Mel, followed closely by Naia and Haru who have quite amicably taken the stairs down without doing anything to hinder each other's progress, and in fact seem to have picked up Cardin, who's quite happy talking shop with Naia.

"... Well, now that we're mostly down here, I see Mister Bronzewing and Mister Thrush making their way down- boys, no roughhousing on the stairs!- well, I suppose that's everyone… except… hm! I suppose Al's getting the egg this time-" Port starts, reaching into his coat pocket.

"Ah! N-no I'm not!" a voice calls, making Naia jump.

"Gah! What the-" Naia says, turning to see where the hell the invisible boy is.

Slowly, the oil slick of visibility fades in, revealing Al, looking surprisingly- and if you're honest, earnedly- pleased with himself about his position on Naia's back, hanging around his neck like a baby monkey. Though, filtered through his usual baseline anxiety, it looks less like a smug grin and more like a manic rictus.

"Th-thanks for the ride, Naia!" he says, hopping off and immediately fading out of existence to avoid possibly reprisal.

Naia, devoid of a target, just stares at the ground in numb horror.

"I didn't even notice he was there…" he mutters, sounding almost shell-shocked by the revelation.

"Well! I have my doubts as to the sportsmanship of your methods, Mr. Cadwallader, but I can't argue with the results! Which means that last place is…"

Russel and Dove finally make it to the last flight of stairs, having spent more time hindering each other than making their way down in a timely manner. Every step taken is accompanied by a yanked collar or a tripped foot, and more incomprehensible angry yelling than a barfight. The free show ends with the pair of them tumbling down the last set of stairs, and landing at the bottom at the exact same time- the exact same outcome as if they'd just walked shoulder to shoulder.

"... I think I'll call that joint last, any objections?" Port says.

"None here," Lumen says.

"I'm okay with it," Ada replies.

"Actually I think Dove hit fi- ow!" Salem says, before Naia swats him on the arm, an action on par with slapping someone with a frying pan. "Alright, yes, joint last."

The general rumble of agreement simmers over the class, and while you revel a little in watching Dove's imminent misfortune, a man hobbles up to the group from the ship.

He's a sailor, there's no doubt about that- though by the looks of it he's been through the wringer more than your favourite hoodie. One of his legs is missing, replaced with a cheap motorised prosthetic that he still needs a cane to move on, his opposite hand is missing, replaced with a split hook, and most of his head, including one eye, is covered in bandages- some of which still have dried blood on them. A medical device on his hip which you take a second to identify as a miniaturised blood filtration unit slowly beeps and whirs, one of the cheapest replacements possible for, you know, a functioning liver and kidneys.

{Gods, you could build a small child with the bits he's missing.}

"... Brother's nuts, Petey, you get this batch from a C.A.M.P compound?"

You wince in unison with just about every single Valish-born student there.

{Jackass.}

"Gideon," Port says, his voice low, disapproving- in the right light, you might have even called it dangerous.

"Alright, alright, raw nerve, I know," Gideon says, waving the professor's tone off with his hooks. "Alright, future threats to my profit margin, I'm Gideon Vuur, and my job is catchin' you brats yer training dummies. 'S risky business, in case y'couldn't tell- but it is lucrative business."

The old sailor grins, showing off no less than half a dozen teeth made of gold, silver- you're pretty sure that incisor is platinum. He has the down payment for a home jammed into his jaws.

"Very lucrative business."

More cages begin to be lowered onto the docks, onto waiting pallets, stacked a half-dozen high.

"So- the first step to catchin' a Grimm, any Grimm, big, small, old, young, Nuisance, Storied-" Gideon gives a horrible snort of laughter, then a sound like if a garbage disposal could retch, before spitting a wad of phlegm over the side of the dock. "Nah, I'm tuggin' yer tits, we don't mess with aught above Vampyr unless they pay us upfront. The first step, is to remember that they are not stupid creatures. They may not be animals, they might not have animal instincts, but they's still smarter'n some people you's've met over the years. They learn. They adapt. None of that matters much t'Untsmen and 'Untresses, though, because you lot just care about killin' the bastards. Nowt any creature, Grimm or otherwise, that'll adapt t'bein' dead. And if you can correct me on that- don't, I don't get enough sleep as is."

"Uh… stupid question-" Salem starts.

"Expected, you are a first year," Gideon interrupts.

"-is it more dangerous than Hunting?" Salem finishes, not giving the man the satisfaction of his offence.

Despite his initial reaction, Gideon does seem to consider the question for a second.

"Mm… containment is, inherently, easier than murderin' the bastards, sure. But then y'have to transport the bastards. And Grimm don't take t'sedation, outside of some niche stuff. Got a lad on board with a- actually, 'ang on-" Gideon turns back towards the ship, "TUCKER! GETCHER WAXED LITTLE ARSE OUT HERE!"

"Coming, cap'n!"

A few moments later, the most beautiful boy you have ever laid eyes on rushes down the gangplank. You don't mean that in the sense of some bisexual awakening, you mean he could have stepped straight out of the ceiling of a church- thick, curly blond hair, eyes a shade of blue you'd need oil paint to recreate, a coverall with the top tied around his waist, and a white and blue tank top that was just a little too big for him, leaving one strap artfully hanging off a shoulder.

{You sure that wasn't a bisexual awakening?}

Quiet, you.

{Hey, just saying, I'm a little attracted to him, and I'm… wait- BRACKET STOP MESSING WITH THE EMOTIONAL BOUNDARIES.}

Ha. Gotcha.

"Sir?" he says as he approaches.

"Tucker, tell these people what y'do on my ship."

"O-oh, um-" Tucker stares out at 40 wide-eyed teenagers, about two-thirds of which are violently ripping his coveralls off in their head, and stalls a little. "T-Tucker Vuur-Celeste, Junior Morale Officer and Grimm Tamer. I, um, keep the Grimm calm while we're at sea."

"Semblances! Aura! Hate the fuckers, wouldn't take 'em with a gun to my head even if they wouldn't kill me stone dead, but I'm no fool that acts like the right 'uns ain't useful in the right places. Like a boy who calms things down just by being near 'em on a ship full of Grimm with nowt better to do than plot how best to eat my face."

Weiss puts her hand up.

"Yes, you, girl, an' before y'ask, e's- whatcher say y'were again, Tucker?"

"... Vegetarian?"

"No, you dimwit, th'other one, as- ace- the one that makes me think of pilots. An' the other one that almost sounds like that stuff Chef keeps puttin' in stew."

"... Aroace?"

A chorus of disappointed groans simmers over the gathered crowd, much to Port's mild disapproval.

"Students, some focus, please."

"Wuzzat?" Gideon asks Tucker.

"Aromantic and asexual."

"Right, them's the buggers. 'E's those."

Weiss rolls her eyes, keeping her hand up until Gideon refocuses and points to her again.

"How exactly do you pacify Grimm, anyway?" she asks.

"Well, my Semblance helps, but I've gotten quite good at understanding exactly when I'm not in danger. Not every Grimm is a mindless killer- only the young ones. Once they're older, they tend to start weighing cost to benefit. You just make going in the direction of the trap the better decision, and once they're trapped, I… help them sleep."

"How do you do that?" Creme asks.

"M-my Semblance gives me a very calming demeanour, but it's mostly when I start to talk to them that it helps. Sometimes I sing."

"Could you show us?" Ruby chimes in. "I've never seen a calm Grimm before."

"Oh- no, no, I can't. Genuinely- I can't. When I use my Semblance, it puts people straight to sleep where they stand."

"'S true, nearly crashed the ship once because 'e pacified a Boarbatusk too close to me while I was helming the ship. 'Ow much did that little escapade cost us again, Tucker?"

Gideon's voice is bland, but Tucker's full-body cringe says it all. He mumbles something.

"Come on, you know I'm deaf in this ear," Gideon says, pointing to his bandaged ear. The one facing away from Tucker.

"200,000 Lien in repairs."

"227,536 Lien, to be precise. Anyway- Tucker here's half the reason we can operate at the scale we do. Without 'im, we'd be doing a tenth of the Grimm at twice the cost."

Gideon slaps Tucker on the back, pulling him by the shoulder into a side-hug.

"Never think I ain't grateful for yer help, lad," he says warmly.

"Th-thank you, sir," Tucker says, a little smile creeping up his f-

"NOW GET BACK TO WORK BEFORE THE GRIMM WAKE UP!"

Tucker yelps and runs back onboard.

"Now- any other questions?"

Lumen raises his hand.

"You."

"Vuur-Celeste?"

"Ain't drunk enough to get into that, try again."

"Worst Grimm-"

"Same problem, next!"

Lumen stops, thinking for a second.

"How much do you make off a shipment like this?"

Gideon shrugs.

"Off this shipment? Slated for about five million. Beacon's getting maybe… 40% of our stock. Rest goes all over the place."

You frown.

"... Who else buys Grimm besides the Academies?"

"Arenas, fighting pits- the usual people you'd suspect, and usually people who pay me enough to not ask pointed questions."

"You sell to criminals?" Yang asks, a hard tone in her voice.

Even through the bandages, Gideon's face settles into a thunderous expression.

"I sell to people who pay me for my services. Nowt more. Nowt less. Now, do you have another question, or should I just go before the moralisin' starts?"

"Miss Xiao Long, Gideon is a long-time friend," Port says. "He might be a touch…"

"Ye can call me a dickhead, Petey, I know what I am. Been tryin' t'get practice in on that self-actualisation bollocks Tucker keeps gibbering on about."

"-rough around the edges," Port grinds out, "but I assure you he has no more interest in letting Grimm run amok than you do- not in the wild nor in the keep of criminals. Now, do apologise to him, and I won't see fit to give you detention."

Yang sighs, deflating under the browbeating.

"I apologise, Captain Vuur," she breathes, clearly unhappy with it. Neither is Port, but he seems to accept the effort made.

Vuur just waves her off.

"Ach, y'get used to it. Nobody thinks highly of trappers. We bring Grimm into the safe places of the world- no doubt about it. I won't even do ye the disservice of saying I know fer a fact none of my catches have ever ended up in criminal hands- but I know they didn't end up there because of me. Least, like you're thinking."

"Like I'm thinking?" Yang asks.

"Well there's a difference between a fighting pit without a license and someone who wants a Boarbatusk to let loose in someone's office, in't there?"

"C-cap'n! Problems! An Imp got Dawn!" Tucker yells from the ship railing, his striped shirt and blond hair now spattered with blood.

Gideon wheels around, eye wide with fear.

"What?! Where the hell is it now?!"

"Th-the cage is empty! It's-"

You hear it. The Transistor makes sure you do, focusing everything into a scan of the ship. Echoing through the steel walls, you hear the clunk of a padlock large enough to kill a man hitting the floor. Then another. Then another. You see Blake, Creme, and Mel all react with the same wide eyes.

"Evacuate the ship," you tell Gideon.

"Are you stupid, lad? The other Grimm-"

"The other Grimm are being freed by the Imp right now, it has her keys!" you hiss.

Gideon looks at you like you're mad, then sees the reaction of the scattered Faunus confirming your statement.

"TUCKER! ABANDON SHIP! ALL HANDS OFF, FIVE MINUTES AGO!"

Tucker rushes back on, relaying the captain's order at volume. Gideon stands there, clearly worried, even as he tries to school his face down to something calculating. As comes naturally to you and every other Hunter here, you ready your weapon, the Transistor flipping around and placing its hilt in your hand as you rush past Port and Vuur to get the entire ship in range of your sword's sensors.

"Do your crewmen have Scrolls?" you ask, turning to Gideon.

"Most of 'em, but they won't get signal below deck-"

You ignore the non-issue and call 27 Scrolls at once, the Transistor projecting the open lines against the air to make sure people know what you're doing. They all connect in a few seconds, whether answered or not, and you put all of them on speakerphone.

"Crewmen of the S.S Argo, you are currently in danger. There is an escaped Imp on your ship, and it has prioritised freeing more Grimm. Make your way above deck and onto the docks as quickly as possible. Stay in groups, move quickly but calmly. Prioritise your safety and the safety of others."

Announcement made, you hang up- but not before you hear panicked yelps and a bestial scream through one of the connections.

Dammit.

People begin streaming out, most fine, a couple with bites and claw marks, one poor bastard whose ankle is pointing the wrong way being carried by two others- but almost everyone makes it out. Almost.

The Transistor projects a cutaway of the ship, showing the Scroll signals against the pair of decks- the vast majority are out, with only two or three unmoving signals. A half-dozen red circles show the movement of Grimm, with one in particular stopping every now and then- the Imp, trying to unlock more cages.

Dammit!

"They're dead, boy," Gideon says, more gently than anything else he's said so far. "Don't try to be a hero."

You shoot Gideon a glare that actually makes the man step back, feel the ground beneath your feet bubble and foam, turning white as the Process reacts to your sheer rage.

"Fuck that," you say, turning towards the rest of your class, and Port.

You see Port staring at you for a moment, a moment too long- and then he nods once.

Whatever happens next has his blessing.

First question: what's your plan?

[] Slash And Grab- This is a bad idea, but it's a fast one, and speed is of the essence right now. Between you, the Transistor, and the Process, you can probably make it past whoever's escaped and save the stragglers. Once that's done, you can fight the Grimm without worrying about people. Don't bother with fighting if you can help it, just get in, grab the civvies, and hoof it.

[] Team Distraction, Team Extraction- You need a distraction. Someone- or 30-odd someones, really- to capture the attention of the Grimm, and, yeah, kill 'em, while you and some others go downstairs and rescue the rest of the crew.

[] Write-In

Second question: is it time to use the Process?

[] Keep It Secret, Keep It Safe- No. There are over forty people here trained to kill Grimm. No matter what you do, that will be enough for a cargo ship full of them.

[] Strike Team- a gaggle of Badcells, some Creeps, and maybe a couple Jerks. Enough to protect you and the others while you work. It's time to reveal them to the class, but the scale… you can hold back on the scale, right?

[] The White Tide- Hiding it from your class went out the window with Initiation- anyone who sees them, who looks at your feet, will make the connection, and immediate danger to civilians is not the time to hold back. Every single Process unit you can muster, now, for the sole purpose of saving those people and killing those Grimm. Damn the consequences; let loose the bots of war.

 

[Prok]

I don't have anything to say, just that this all sounds really good.

...Kinda wish we had Juane take cooking classes.

Click to shrink...

I'm kinda glad you didn't, I've been losing weight recently and not having a reason to tease my appetite every time cooking classes come up is a blessing in that arena. On the other hand, actually cooking the food and photographing it after every class.

Ah, the art we lose in the decisions we make-

As a hobby chef, the probable sausage used would be a different part of the same animal. Which after being butchered, at least half of all megafauna would be jerkied or treated like pemmican (a form of jerky that can last up to three years without refrigeration because how much fat it's coated in). Or treated like hard tack and baked until Death Valley in summer has more water than it. Which is probably how "hunter" rations are made nowadays. Then again, dust is a partial fix for some of these issues, especially water and fire dust.

Click to shrink...

Not always, look at crab and sausage jambalaya. Or chicken and sausage gumbo.

Or half of Cajun cooking, now that I think about it. But yes, most likely in this case- turtle would have the right consistency for sausage. Crab... less so. Maybe if you find a softshell one, them suckers is tender, give it a fine grind and I'M MAKING MYSELF HUNGRY AGAIN

So perception filtering, and apparently it work on the transistor as well.

Click to shrink...

Just regular invisibility. The Transistor isn't going to spoil what little fun the neurotic little bastard finds around here.

I am not the most knowledgeable of identity stuff but this makes me think of a really fancy mattress, is such a good name for a mattress that I had to check if there were any on sale.

Click to shrink...

Aromantic and asexual, are the untruncated terms. Basically, Tucker has very little interest in romance or sex.

I based that purely on the other guy saying "a dozen times" and the fact that a normal sedentary human consumes about 2000 a day.

Click to shrink...

... Eh, Past Prok remains unabsolved of his sins.

He knows what he did.

Also the ship, please remind me, do the grim need to breathe? If they do we can just sink the ship and then rescue it whit the process when it's safe.

Click to shrink...

Grimm breathe, and drown, unless they're amphibious or aquatic like the Nereid was. However, sinking the entire ship is maybe a mite beyond what's necessary here.

That said, I could see Atlas not having made a blueprint of a large railgun that doesn't make use of Dust to function. Unlike with a laser, you'd probably want to use Dust to take care of problems like not warping/scraping the rails into uselessness with each shot, and the Process can't make Dust.

((Railguns are probably not as loud as conventional guns because the mechanism they use is electromagnetism, not a chemical explosion of gasses. It's still loud because you're hurling a slug of metal at supersonic speeds, but magnetism and electricity don't make sound by themselves.))

Click to shrink...

Oh, no, Atlas has railgun plans without Dust- for Atlas City. Wonder why that might be

Also, a railgun firing, because of said slug moving at supersonic speeds, is anywhere up to 180 decibels- the equivalent of standing next to a rocket at launch. 150 decibels is enough to rupture a human eardrum instantly- 180 is enough to rupture organs.

Remember- sound is just a pressure wave. So are explosions. The line between those two things is somewhat blurry.

Anyway, long time coming, it's finally here, a day after I said I'd post it, and two years after I started writing it.

---

You can pinpoint the exact moment that you decided that messing with Weiss was going to be your new hobby.

It was in Port's class where he needed a volunteer to stab a Boarbatusk to death. It was when you tried to volunteer because if you didn't you were going to fall asleep, and he picked Weiss instead- and then it was the point where you watched her get angry enough to grab the Boarbatusk by the latter half of its name and suplex it, before stabbing it in its soft underside seven times after it was already disintegrating, only stopping when she breathed in enough smog to give herself a cough for the rest of the day.

The shift, from the prim and proper little princess strutting out there with perfect form and perfect footwork to try and kill a Grimm as gracefully as she could, to this beast of primal anger, who could no longer give a damn about something so unnecessary as grace, ending the fight about two seconds away from just throwing her sword down and punching it to death, had Port not broken the spell, that...

… Yeeaahh, that had you at half-mast for a while and you're not sure how you feel about that.

The thing is, now, now, you know that underneath that shell of primness and propriety and noblesse oblige and generally being a stuck-up cow to everyone she meets, there actually is a fire that is burning green and white like the one in you and every other human on the planet, and you want more of that on display. You can draw that out of her.

As with all things to do with Spiral Power, it's just a gut feeling. But you'll be damned if it ain't one you're going to follow.

A few months have passed since then, and what a few months it's been. You suplexed Cardin into a lunch table; found out Blake was a Beastman, which, honestly with those teeth, how no one noticed earlier is one big question mark; that Weiss is (was? She's pretty chill with Blake) an unrepentant human supremacist; that Penny's a robot that fires Bullhead-bisecting laser beams, a fact that does more things to Little Jaune you don't know how to feel about; and that SDC cargo containers are actually built to withstand bulk Dust explosions, but the door hinges aren't.

So when they go up, they funnel the whole affair out one end or the other, turning the damn things into God's personal party poppers.

That, you have no qualms about having a kink for.

Now that everything's quietened down, though, something rather important has changed, after all that. Everyone notices it, of course. Even you.

Especially you, actually, considering you've spent the few months you've known Weiss actively going out your way to figure out exactly what she considers proper behaviour then doing the exact opposite whenever she was around, and gauging her reaction to it. You've turned annoying her into a science, and now your tests are bringing back much more extreme results than they did even a few weeks ago.

Stuff that would normally get an annoyed scoff out of her is now apparently worth yelling at you for. Stuff worth yelling at you warrants being slapped. For fear of escalation, you've exercised the little caution you possess and not done any of the stuff that usually gets you slapped yet.

You're pretty sure that's how you get find out what getting sodomised with a rapier feels like.

Regardless, there's no other way to put it- Weiss Schnee is losing her shit.

Everyone can see it, but nobody knows why- if the rest of her team know, they're staying quiet about it, but judging by their reactions to her now regular outbursts, they're just as clueless as you to why she's teetering the deep end. All they've been willing to share is that she's been getting calls regularly, that she's taking them as well as she can without breaking her Scroll against the wall, that she refuses to divulge their source, and that those are the good days.

Something is happening, and it's doing its best to make her angry, and bitter, and jump at every shadow…

You're not angry at her, God no- you know full well you deserve the shit you get from her, you're going out of your way to piss her off. Jaune Arc ain't no hypocrite, even if he is a laundry list of other fifty-Lien insults.

So when Goodwitch calls you to her office, sits you in the chair across from her, and tells you that one of Schnee's cousins was in a guarded hospital after an assassination attempt that happened a week after the night of your pro bono dock security gig, and that the attacks have continued since, you realise you really should learn to school your face a little more.

"Is that funny to you, Mr Arc?" Goodwitch asks you, a caustic hiss to her voice.

It isn't, of course, a relative of someone you care about is in the hospital. That makes you angrier than you can put into words. No, you're smiling, because now you're starting to piece things together.

You may be smiling, but it's not a nice smile, by any means.

"Nope! But, now I know what's got her panties in such a twist." You tell her bluntly. "Papa's pulling her leash."

Professor Goodwitch's face twists, barely concealed anger turning to wary curiosity.

"... And how, pray tell, do you deduce that?"

"Well, she's not grieving. If her bastard cousin's still alive-"

"Language."

"-then Schnee money will keep him that way, for better or worse, but, the attempt scared people. Specifically, it scared daddy, and now daddy wants his dear little heiress back in Atlas, where he can personally keep an eye on her safety. Now look, I'm not going to say I like Weiss, but she really likes her independence, and I can respect that. So, constantly being yelled at to come home, by a man she's probably not on the best of terms with, considering she moved to a completely different continent to get away from him? Yeah, that'll give anyone a short fuse."

This is it. This makes so much sense.

This is what you've been looking for.

The professor looks at you like you've grown a second head, but slowly nods, genuinely considering your theory.

"... While… that, does make a degree of sense, it doesn't excuse your constant antagonism of her."

You raise an eyebrow at her.

"I'm just being me. She's the one taking offence to my perfectly normal behaviour. She can't handle me not being all high-class and proper, that's her problem." You half-truth through your teeth.

An idea comes to life in your head, the final thing to tie all the threads in your mind together, a crystallisation of your anger, and it takes everything you have not to yell it at Professor Goodwitch.

"Lemme fight her!" you most definitely do not yell.

She blinks at your statement.

"... Mr Arc, why on earth would I let you two fight, when she's already two seconds away from skewering you at any given moment?"

You stop, trying to think over what exactly it is you want to say in defence of your idea.

"... Sometimes… it just really helps you feel better when you get to punch someone in the face. Especially someone y'don't like."

Goodwitch raises an eyebrow.

"Or stabbing them over and over again," she raises a totally not valid point. "In case you've forgotten, 'Spiral Power' doesn't afford you some of the same perks that normal Aura does, and I heavily doubt Ms. Schnee, in her current state, would have the restraint to respect that, if I put you in the ring with her."

You sigh.

"Look, fighting's good for letting off steam, and I can take whatever she can throw at me! I just… fuck me-"

"Language!"

"-I wanna help her, and I know I'm too much of a moron to do anything but this! Maybe I ain't done anything to earn this, fine, but it's not like I'm asking for a miracle, I just…"

You break eye contact, looking at your hands for a moment as you try to let out some frustration with a sigh. It doesn't help.

"... I just want you to trust me. I know it ain't earned, but... this'll help. I know it will."

Something in your face or your words softens Goodwitch's eyes a little, and eventually she gives a tired sigh.

"... I'll consider arranging something during class time. Under strict supervision. Should that happen, I trust you'll have the good sense to not make the situation worse."

You thank Professor Goodwitch, telling her you'll try and let up on annoying Schnee as best you can, and leave. Elation, determination, and a wave of bone-deep anger towards the things that'd break your friend like that fills your chest to bursting. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, the drill under your hoodie is spinning like a top.

Combat class can't come soon enough.

… No, like, it actually cannot come soon enough, you realise, as greenish-white flames begin to form on your knuckles, spiralling out and licking their way up your forearms. Now you need to find a way to blow off some steam- you almost regret leaving your sword in your dormitory, but a seven-foot length of steel is a bitch to carry around if you're not actively using it.

After some rushing through the halls, you find somebody who isn't doing anything too important and all but drag her to a sparring ring with you, her team following along with no dearth of amusement at the scene.

As you haul your chosen opponent over the ropes, hopping up after her while she straightens her beret, you take up a fighting stance. She does the same thing, unhooking the handbag from her shoulder and holding it low.

"... I know you. You're the guy that Schnee keeps railing on for no good reason."

You snort at her, dashing forward and going for a gut punch, fending off her surprisingly weighty handbag with your other hand, feeling the bones creak under the force.

"Pfft, nah. I give her plenty of good reasons to get angry at me."

"Why, though?" She asks as she effortlessly swings the ton-weight bag at your head, and you just dodge by a matter of hairs. You bring a hand up and push at her shoulder as she completes the swing, throwing her off balance for a moment.

"Because she's already angry! Underneath that shell of ice-cold bitch and acting better than everyone else, she's just as, as bullheaded and determined and pissed off about the world as any other red-blooded human being! And I need her angrier, if I wanna get through to her."

Watching her footing as she stumbles, you manage to hook her ankle with a foot and pull it out from under her, only for her to turn it into a graceful flip/heel to the forehead. Stumbling back yourself, feeling exactly where the sniper's dot is going to form later, you grit your teeth and set your stance once more.

"... And what, pray tell, do you want to get through to her so badly that you need to mess with her rapidly deteriorating mental health?" Your opponent asks you over her sunglasses, dark chocolate eyes drilling into yours, a sharp undertone in her question.

You completely ignore said undertone and the accusation accompanying it, and give her a wide grin.

"I just wanna see her grit her teeth."

|||

The day is here!

It's time for combat class!

The rest of your team is ever so slightly scared by just how restless you are, through the day; your usual boredom in class replaced with such a single minded focus on Weiss that they're amazed she can't feel your eyes boring a hole into the back of her head.

"Jaune, uh, not to tell you how to spend your time, but… this is a little creepy, by your standards," Nora mumbles at you on your way to Goodwitch's lesson.

You imagine the low, machine-gun chuckle you give in response doesn't help assuage her fears. But that's fine. You've got bigger fish to fry.

Fresh Atlesian salmon, to be exact.

As you settle into the crappy vinyl chairs of the auditorium, Goodwitch announces the first fighters- Dove Bronzewing and Blake Belladonna, and you can't help but put your obsession aside for a moment when you see that knife block grin of hers.

God, you love Beastmen. Beastwomen? Beastettes?

Do grammatical gender noun rules really apply to the name of a species?

Do you particularly care, also sidebar, is this another kink forming?

The answer is 'nah' to the first two, and after some consulting with Little Jaune, a solid 'yeah sure why not' on the third, but you're still going to enjoy watching Dove get his face bounced off the stage.

"Combatants, at the ready!"

They draw their weapons, Blake her sword and cleaver, Dove his single sword with the revolver in the guard, and take up their stances.

"Fight!"

The 'fight in progress' klaxon blares out, warning people to not be near the stage unless you're fighters or Professor Goodwitch.

Seconds. It takes seconds for her to dodge the overhead swing, slash at his eyes as a feint to pull him off balance, drop low, sweep his front leg when the weight's off it, transitioning from a kip up to dropkicking him in the chest, sending him, quite literally, bouncing off the stage.

"Cease!"

Dove blinks, from his place in the lane between the cheap vinyl chairs you're all sitting in, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"Mr Bronzewing, are you injured?"

"Only my pride, professor..." he mumbles, slowly getting up, wincing a little the moment he has to use his back.

Goodwitch catches it, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses.

"Go to the infirmary to be sure," she tells him, and with a nod, he shuffles out of the auditorium, looking every bit like he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

You catch Goodwitch's eye as it scans the room for victim two, and try your best to silently plead with her. On reflection, you think you might just look a little constipated, but hey, if it works-

"Mr Arc. You're up."

You stand up, trying not to grin too much as you rip your shirt and coat off, only then realising Goodwitch didn't tell Blake to sit down. You frown deeply as you make your way down the aisle, up the stairs, and stop near the professor.

"I don't know if you've developed a sudden case of face blindness, but Weiss Schnee is the one without cat ears," you mutter to her as you pass.

"I can't just pair the two of you up without drawing suspicion- get through Miss Belladonna, and you'll earn your chance at pugilistic therapy," she mutters right back.

A less than pleased tch leaves your mouth as you face the beastwoman, placing a hand on the hilt of the katana at your hip. It's not that you feel like you can't beat her, you're just not a fan of unexpected obstacles—especially ones with such big teeth.

Blake finally seems to notice you and quits picking at her teeth with the corner of her cleaver, instead giving you the same knife block grin that Dove got.

When you don't return it, she realises that, for once, you actually look kind of serious about a fight, and the grin shifts to a look of quiet concern.

In truth, you've drawn so far into yourself to try and figure out how to either, A, beat her without looking too nasty about it, or B, convince her to throw the fight as quickly as possible.

"Combatants, at the ready! Three-strike rule!"

You lock your thumb under the tsuba- ready to pull it the second the klaxon goes off.

A second passes.

Another.

… Goodwitch, hurry the fuck up-

"Fight!"

FINALLY.

You draw your blade, and feint out an overhead swing, stepping back from the eye slash and putting your weight on your front leg when she goes for the sweep, putting her just where you need her for many things, but right now, grabbing her by the back of the head and driving your knee into her nose works for you.

Blake's head snaps back with a snarl, black Aura fading away as you press the offensive, slashing down at her and- GODDAMN SHADOW SEMBLANCE- wheeling around just in time to pull your saya and block her own sharpened cleaver, biting into the lacquered wood as you dodge her sword, then slap it away with your katana, then pull away when it shifts into a sickle, which is also a gun, because she can't make her mind up like every other Huntress you know.

You take a few steps back to create some distance to use your sword with, and Blake presses the advantage- then stops. She stares at you for a long second, tilting her head in confusion.

"... You're not smiling," she says. "You're usually grinning like a maniac right now."

You blink.

"... I don't grin like a maniac, hell you talking about?"

"Language."

"Sorry, Prof."

You can feel the change in the hall- people are taken aback by you actually apologising to Goodwitch without a fight. Or, at all, for that matter.

Blake narrows her eyes, ears flattening against her head in something like concern, you think.

"You… always smile when you're fighting," she says hesitantly- almost… like she's disappointed?

... Oh. She is.

"I got bigger fish to fry, kitty cat," you say bluntly. "Any other time I'd be havin' a blast, but right now you're just in the way of me doin' something important. Goodwitch's just usin' you to test me, I guess."

Blake's eyes flick to the crowd, your gut says to Weiss, and you barely nod, once. A moment of conflict happens- she obviously wants to fight you. On any other day, you'd be enthusiastically obliging her, but you only have eyes for one girl right now.

Yes you're aware of how you made that sound, that was the joke. The joke is sex. The Huntsman thing is just a side-gig to your burgeoning career as Remnant's next open-mic night menace, you're sure of it.

In the time it took you to have that minor internal segue, Blake's heaved a great sigh, and sheathed her weapons.

"I yield," she says, hopping off the stage, stopping by Goodwitch to say something, who just nods.

"Miss Schnee," Goodwitch says. "Approach the stage."

"Absolutely not. I'll fight anyone else, but not him," she sneers, her teammates genuinely a little shocked by her reaction, in the same way they were shocked by yours. Weiss Schnee, giving lip to a teacher? Perish the thought, after all.

"It wasn't a request, Miss Schnee. Up on the stage. Come now- think of it as a chance for some catharsis."

Something about Goodwitch's tone- patient, almost sweet- seems to both put Weiss on edge, and stop her from complaining any further as she strops her way up to the stage. You move back to your square as Weiss enters hers, glaring at you the entire time.

"Combatants, at the ready! Three-strike rule!" Goodwitch calls.

You didn't even get a chance to sheath your katana, nor do you trust your saya right now, so you just loop it through your belt and bring your blade into position. Weiss does the same with her rapier. Green flames begin to form along your knuckles, your fingers, licking at the tsuka.

The look in Weiss's eyes almost makes you think the three-strike rule won't save you- then you look closer.

"Begin!"

Weiss rushes forward, going for a killshot immediately- if you didn't redirect her attack, it would be in your heart right now. As is, you had to lean away to keep it out of your jugular.

She's vicious. You can see it in her face, that curled snarl of disdain, the way she wants to just finish this and go back to her brooding. So the cycle goes, block dodge blockdodgeblockdodgeredirect, you hear the sound of a Glyph form behind you, and suddenly you're yanked off balance.

The entire time, you're just focused on her eyes.

Weiss is empty. Devoid of spirit, just- driven by inertia. A ball, rolling down a hill, pulled by gravity, not moving under its own power. All just so it can stop at the bottom.

The fire is dead. There ain't no drill left in her.

The revelation shocks you enough to miss a slash, and the Spiralless creature in front of you takes first blood- a light slash across a pectoral, a burst of Spiral flame pushing the blade away before it becomes any more than that.

"One strike!"

"... Weiss?"

"Shut up. Shut the hell up," Weiss snarls.

"Language."

Weiss's sneer turns venomous, but she doesn't respond to Professor Goodwitch.

"Weiss, this ain't you," you say gently between blocks, dodges, and exploratory slashes of your own. "What happened?"

"What happened?" she asks incredulously. "You did. You, and your neverending quest to piss me off-"

"Language! Miss Schnee, I will not tolerate-" Goodwitch starts.

"Hey, can you just keep a tally of these for the end?" you interrupt. "This is bad enough without havin' ta-"

Weiss very nearly slashes your arm open, and you're forced to leap backwards, landing with your toes gripping the edge of the stage. You windmill your arms, only just managing to keep your balance, until your opponent rushes forward, forcing you to leap over her. It leaves Weiss doing the exact same thing until you pull her back onto the stage by an arm.

You are not getting blue-balled by a ring-out, goddammit.

"-listen to ya interrupt every two freakin' seconds just because the language's gettin' a li'l blue!" you finish.

Past the stage lights, you can see Goodwitch's wide-eyed expression, somewhere between rage at being talked to like that, and shock that you might actually have a decent point.

… Okay it's mostly the rage, but if you aren't an optimist, the hell are you doing here?

With a sigh, she gives you a dismissive wave, then sets to rubbing the headache out of her temples.

Good enough for you!

When Weiss turns around, it's with that same snarl.

"What happened is YOU! YOU'RE WHAT'S WRONG! YOU, AND YOUR ATTITUDE, AND YOUR ANTICS, AND YOUR PATHOLOGICAL NEED TO BE A THORN IN MY SIDE FOR REASONS I CANNOT BEGIN TO COMPREHEND!"

Every word, every beat, every syllable, is accompanied by no less than three rapid strikes of the rapier, putting you fully on the defensive- even though you don't need to try too hard blocking them. They're too sloppy, too mistimed- footwork all over the place, swings wild and unaimed. This is a child using a rapier, not a trained combatant.

The danger is all in the blade. This isn't a fight anymore- it's a temper tantrum.

Her heart isn't in hurting you anymore- it's in… nothing, anymore, but it's trying to be in those words, that burst dam that just getting a chance to stab you has opened, Gods, she must have been about to snap already if it took this little to get this far.

Weiss's eyes are still dim, behind the snarl and the screaming. You don't think she's even aware that she is screaming anymore, because she's saying shit a trained therapist would have to torture out of you.

"AND IT'S THE WAY YOU SMILE, AND THE WAY YOU LAUGH AT EVERY STUPID THING NORA AND YANG SAY LIKE IT'S THE FUNNIEST THING EVERY TIME, AND THE WAY YOU MAKE FRIENDS LIKE IT'S BREATHING FOR YOU! WHILE I SPEND EVERY DAY I LIVE HERE BEING CRUSHED A LITTLE MORE, A LITTLE HARDER, ALL BECAUSE I FINALLY MADE A DECISION FOR MYSELF, YOU'RE RUNNING AROUND LIKE THE FREEST MAN ON REMNANT, LIKE THERE ISN'T A THING THAT COULD KEEP YOU DOWN, STOP YOU FROM DOING WHAT YOU WANT, AND ALL OF IT JUST MAKES ME SO FUCKING ANGRY! ! HOW DARE YOU?! HOW DARE YOU TAUNT ME WITH HOW MUCH HAPPIER YOU ARE?! I JUST-"

The need to finally inhale rips the voice from her lungs, the voice from her throat. The constant barrage stops, and Weiss seems to come down from her rage, straight into hot tears and shuddering breaths. The rapier dips to the ground, as she just sniffles, wiping her eyes on a sleeve.

You lower your sword as well, waiting patiently for whatever comes next.

"... I just… I'm so… damn tired, all the time, and it's only getting worse, and I don't know how long I can keep it up…"

You hear a sniffle out in the audience. Pretty sure it's Ruby. Makes sense that it's Ruby. Might be Nora. You're not turning to look.

"... I'm sorry," you say quietly. "I went into this all wrong. Thought you were holdin' yourself back. Didn't realise it was somethin' else, and that I was just makin' it worse. That's on me, and no one else. I'm sorry- and I mean it."

Weiss doesn't respond.

"... You wanna know why I'm free?" you ask. "It's because I know I ain't the same person I was. I know I'll be a different person later. Because I know I'm moving forward from who I was, into who I'm gonna be."

Weiss scoffs, then sniffles again.

"How very enlightened of you."

"I mean it," you say, holding the pendant up from your neck. "Every year, every week, every day, every second that passes, I move forward. I evolve beyond the person I was. That's how a drill works."

"And that's all it takes? Thinking you're a drill?"

"So are you. So is everyone else. Stayin' who you are is how you stop bein' a person. And if somethin's holding you down, holding you back, or just pissin' you off- then screw the consequences and punch it in the damn face. Gettin' mad ain't a bad thing- you just gotta use it right. Turnin' it on people, on the people you know, the people you love, turnin' it on yourself- that's just a slow suicide."

Weiss dries her eyes, and looks at you. She looks- and then she laughs. It's not much of one, more like a funny cough, but you see it, there. That fire. The fire in her eyes that made you fall in love with Weiss Schnee bursting into green, spiralling flames all those months back is there again- dim, and guttering, but there.

You sheath your sword- then pull the katana, saya and all, off your belt, and throw it to the edge of the stage.

"Do you yield, Mister Arc?" Goodwitch asks.

"Nah," you say, bringing up your fists. "Just wanna change it up."

Weiss looks at you incredulously, before shaking her head and throwing her sword to the side of the stage too.

"Fighters! Reset," Goodwitch calls, and you swear you can hear something almost, but not entirely, like a smile in her voice. "Begin on my call."

The Schnee heiress brings her fists up, and when you swear you can see the little glitters of green in her eyes, you feel that manic grin tugging at your lips again.

"Grit your teeth, Schnee."

She just smiles back, and you feel your heart flutter like a tiny bird.

"BEGIN!"

 

[Prok]

I love the contrast between the weapons of Team JACL:

You've got a cludged-together simple axe with a derringer pistol attached to it.

You've got a simple straight sword.

You've got a machete.

And then you've got a giant glowing blue sword that has more computing power than the rest of the world combined, can generate almost arbitrary amounts of energy, can use hyper-advanced math to magic high-dimensional physics into existence and analyze and quantify souls, and is a super-intelligent AGI on top of all of that. It even has the potential to develop a soul. (And that's not even counting the Process.)

Jaune absorbed all of the complexity and creativity for weaponry for himself, it seems. What do Ada and Lumen even do in their Weaponsmithing class? Sharpen the edge? Build a new weapon now that they've got a blank check and safety to make something?

Click to shrink...

Be fair, the derringer's not exactly taped on. Lumen is working on something as far as you can tell, you always got the feeling his sword was very much a 'what he could make at the time with what he had' kind of deal, and Ada... well, yeah, the former. Much to Mulberry's disapproval, but that'll come up another time.

Anyway, this is your first Christmas present. Sorry it's late, you know how the mail is. Your second one is- oh, sorry, hold on, almost forgot-

[sladevoice]IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT'S CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISTMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS[/sladevoice]

-where was I? Right- your second christmas present is going to come in a couple days. On January 1st, another thread is going to appear in my signature, and with any luck, it'll gain the traction I need it to, to actually keep interest in it myself. With any luck, it'll gain the appeal it needs to… become its own thing. Even separate from me.

God help me, it's going to be the first original thing I've published that wasn't a quest, and we all know those don't count.

(also I don't care what you all think, I genuinely believe the Slade joke only gets funnier, a) the more I do it, and b) the further away from Christmas I do it- one of these days I'm going to hit a six-month hiatus again and do it somewhere in the middle of June and it's going to actually burst the aneurysm on my brainstem from laughing so hard)

---

The Process matter bubbles beneath your feet, and you begin to think through your options. A certain clarity seems to lay itself over your mind, not the time dilation of Turn()- just… more thoughts in the same amount of time.

Immediately, you discard the idea of directing the class as a whole- it's too slow. It's too unreliable. You're not their leader. JACL's, sure- but not a whole class of Huntsmen.

Immediately after that, you discard the idea of bringing the Process to bear in its entirety- too much, too fast. It's exactly the kind of molecular horror show you're trying to avoid by going so slow with it in the first place. At the same time, it's impossible for you to completely hide it, now- even if you put the dock back together.

So where's the happy medium?

{Coordination.}

Coordination.

The Process matter bursts into motion as you leap up and onto your sword, ready to ride into the ship as quickly as it can take you. From the white pool, several units that are almost, but not quite, exactly like Cells if they had been put under a negative filter then grew to the size of small children form, rushing out towards the group.

Some people bring their weapons to bear, before you yell back at them.

"The Badcells will guide you through the ship and keep you in contact! Listen to them! I'll explain later but right now just trust me!"

That breaks their focus from the Badcells to you, and the looks of confusion you get just point to uncomfortable questions in your future.

You get ready to blast off-

"Wait!" someone in the crowd yells, and in the instant before you ignore that and blast off, you feel someone land on the Transistor's handle and hold onto you. Turning around, you see a flash of a pink highlight and black hair, and a sharp, angular face set in a determined scowl.

"Ren?"

"Trust me."

… Yeah okay you deserve having your own words thrown back at you. You Process him a board extension and strap him in, before blasting off to view the damage.

The hold of the ship is open, the first layer of many, many cages now gone, and you can see others near the floor have been opened, and their Grimm nowhere to be seen. The Grimm in the cages above are going absolutely mad, and it only fills you with-

WARNING: INVASIVE SEMBLANCE DETECTED! COUNTERACT N-

{Bracket, BRACKET! Relax, it's… Ren, I think.}

Nothing. You feel nothing but peace. You look down at the scene below, and understand that it too will pass. That whatever happens happens, and you will do your best to make sure that what happens is what you want to happen. If that isn't enough… so be it.

"Let's go," Ren prompts you forward, and you dive down into the hold, past Grimm that simply do not react to your passing.

{I've never seen him this calm before,} you hear Blue say in the back of your head.

It's kind of unsettling.

You touch the ground, and begin scanning for free Grimm and injured people as you step off your sword, Ren hopping off with you.

A few Grimm are in here, but it seems most have moved to the next hold over, or up into the accommodations- the Process relays this through the Badcells, and focus on the people stuck in the hold- namely, one Dawn, and another Scroll signature.

You bring a hand up in a gesture to create a holographic scan of the ship with mobile markers of Grimm and civilians, and notice your hand is completely white. Actually, even the red liner of your blazer is grey, in direct sunlight.

"We're here to rescue, not fight. What are you doing to me, right now?"

"I-it's my Semblance. I call it Tranquility."

"Apt. It's making me reconsider whether I need anxiety medication. Anyway-rescue is our priority. Four people still alive here, one in here, three in the hold over. Vast majority of Grimm down here are in there too. I'll work on hemming them in- you think you can do this to two civilians at once?"

"Yes," Ren says confidently. "But… not two civilians and us at the same time. And if I let go of it on you…"

You'll put every Grimm on or near the ship into a frenzy because of just how angry you are underneath that veil of peace.

On the other hand, Process. You shake your head.

"Shouldn't be too much of a problem. Once the civilians are out of the hold, we'll join the others on cleanup."

A Boarbatusk walks by at the end of the row of cages, snorting and snuffling like a truffle hog as it searches for the person currently hiding on the catwalk above- female, mid-30s, wolf Faunus, no major injuries- covering her mouth and nose as if not breathing will help. It starts to come down the aisle towards you, still not noticing you're there.

Ren's Semblance is pulling its weight, that's for sure.

Saying nothing, you point to Ren, then the Boarbatusk- yourself, then up towards the civilian. Ren nods, and with a flick of his sleeves, a pair of machine pistols appear in his hands. Grabbing the Transistor by the hilt, you float up to the catwalk as Ren walks straight up to the Boarbatusk, which doesn't even register that someone is in front of it.

With two swipes, he cuts the cables that hold its mask on, the mask slides off, and the Boarbatusk falls down dead because it doesn't have a face anymore, going too quickly to make a sound. Even the Grimm in the cages above barely note its passing.

{Thank god it only makes Grimm blind, that's absolutely terrifying.}

If you can make people feel like nothing's wrong, is that any different?

{JAUNE WE'RE RAPIDLY RUNNING OUT OF REASONS TO NOT KILL HIM FOR YOUR SAFETY.}

You snort, taking Blue's joke in stride- and then the colour begins to enter your skin again, and… you're still pretty calm. Huh. Guess you were working out that anger in the background. Still, you feel the eyes of various Grimm snap to you as Ren's Semblance fades away.

This follows the pattern of a concrete plan contributing to your emotional stability.

Reaching the catwalk, you find the Faunus in question, staring at you with wide eyes and pricked ears as you ascend over the railing and land gently.

"Hello," you say gently. "Are you injured?"

She silently shakes her head.

"N-no, but- D-Dawn is, she's in the next hold over. I- God, that Imp… it just-"

"Hey, hey, don't worry about her. I'm going to get her out of here, okay?"

{Good news on that front- we've found Dawn, we think, and… well, she's alive.}

You're not hearing a but there, Blue. You're watching Bracket roll out a red carpet and direct photographers to it.

{... The Imp had fun. Process can direct people her way, probably stabilise her if you loosen the leash a little, but unless there's a healer in the class, there's… not much we can do for her beyond that.}

The news settles in your stomach like a glacier.

"... What? What is it?" the Faunus woman asks.

… How long has she got?

{Minutes at most. Blood loss is the main concern. She's already unconscious, so… at least there's no pain.}

You need time. You have time. Minutes are an eternity for you, when you need them to be. You just have to move fast.

The Faunus is still staring at you with concern, fear and comprehension, all at once.

"Oh God, she's dead, isn't she?"

"No, no!" you say quickly. "No. She's… alive. I can help her. But first, we need to get you out of here, okay? Can you stand?"

The growl of a Grimm interrupts her response, and you see the Beowolf behind you. The Transistor launches a Ping() salvo at it, and it yelps as it tumbles back down the sheer steps of the catwalk. You offer your hand to the woman, and she takes it with wide eyes.

"... H-how are we getting out of here?"

"I'm going to do something, and I need you to trust me, okay?"

She blinks, and you snap your fingers, a disk of Process matter voiping into existence beside her. The slim, featureless white disk honestly looks closer to luxin like this. Maybe you can play it off like that when it's not forming an actual unit. Or eyes. Or guns.

Maybe you're flying a little too close to the sun trying to crib Lumen's style.

"Don't worry- it's perfectly safe. Just step on it and it'll take you out of here."

The wolf Faunus blinks again, but does so, giving a little squeal as it starts to move slowly upwards, keeping her perfectly balanced no matter how much she flails.

"Oh, oh God, no, I hate this-" she says just before she floats out the hatch above, disappearing.

Okay. One down.

How many more?

{Four. Dawn's the most injured, but the rest aren't in great shape either. Looks like CRDL are extracting one, though- Cardin's doing the heavy lifting, the others are just keeping the Grimm off him.}

That's your boy.

"Ren," you call.

"Here. Civ out?" he says from somewhere below you as you hop down, Aura flaring to protect yourself from snapped ankles. The second you do, you feel that grey creep in again, the tranquility laying itself over your emotions.

"Done. Gotta move fast, there's a critical injury in the next section."

You watch him go a shade greyer.

"Student?" he asks, and even underneath the tranquil grey, you can hear that note of concern.

"Civilian," you reassure him, as horrible as that sounds. "Any more Grimm in here?"

"Saw a Beowolf, but I lost track of it in the stacks. Nothing else. Was that what you were shooting at?"

You nod.

"Let's move."

The Transistor marks out the quickest route to the next cargo section, and you both take up a dead sprint.

"Jaune," Ren says after a second. "I noticed something concerning earlier. Some of the locks had gouges taken out of them- others, what looked like teeth marks. I think… some of the Grimm are trying to learn from the Imp."

Well, that's concerning- and means you can't let a single one survive.

You nod, and he slams it open.

The other side is chaos- there must be a dozen Hunters in here, including PRLN, RAMA, and the rest of JACL. Initial scans show at least half over that many Grimm. Unfortunately, numbers are a hindrance in such tight quarters.

"Jaune!" Lumen calls out. "Critical injury up top! Plugged her wounds best I could, but- SIR WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP TRYING TO BITE ME-"

Interrupted by the Beowolf that leapt at him, Lumen forms a small stick of blue luxin, using it to hold the Grimm's mouth open mid-snap, ramming his sword down its throat.

"Where's the Imp?!" Ren says.

"En't here, the git's hidin' somewhere else!" Leathers yells, bringing down a chainsaw-bladed axe on a Boarbatusk's back at the same time Pyrrha puts her rifle to its faceplate and pulls the trigger.

A flash of yellow from the next row over.

"... I think we run into it in- AH!" Rashmi starts, before the warning hiss of a Grimm startles him.

The sound of rapid-fire plasma blast and several meaty thumps precede the surprisingly bony thump of a Grimm hitting the ground- a Myrmek, you see through your HUD.

"MY LORD, HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO STAY PRESENT IN BATTLE?!" Kapila roars, clearly angry with her partner.

"I'm sorry, Pila, it won't happen again!"

She gives a frustrated grunt that suggests he will not in fact stay present in battle in the future. You shake your head and start to float up to the catwalk above. There, you find Dawn, Creme next to her with her hammer in her lap and gently stroking the unconscious woman's hair. You've never seen her look so… fallow before. Lumen is looking over the edge, Alabaster and Tulip providing white light for him as he marks Grimm with thin strings of superviolet luxin from a gaseous cloud hanging in the air over the cages. You watch the strings grab a Boarbatusk charging at Nora, and yank it off-course, hooking a tusk around a cage bar and flipping it onto its back.

{Jaune, injured now, questionable mental health of your teammates later.}

You know, you know!

You turn your attention to Dawn.

It's… bad. But it could be worse, if Lumen didn't think so quickly. Large bandages of green and orange luxin stretch across her midriff, and after scanning, you realise they actually penetrate quite deeply into it- roots of green extending into her abdominal cavity as non-invasively as they can, taking the bare minimum material needed to plug all the bleeds and hold her organs relatively together. These bandages are holding all of her insides, inside, and plugging as many blood vessels as they can.

{It's sterile, and it stopped the bleeding. He probably saved her life.}

"Jaune? Oh thank God, can you- is there-"

"Gonna get her out of here to Port. She'll survive the next few minutes."

"Okay, okay, he- he called in for medical assistance, they should be down by now. God, I hope they're down by now, I-"

"I know. Now, move away from her for a second. Gonna just… encase her and send her out."

Creme nods, moving away from Dawn, and you raise a hand- immediately encasing her in a large pill of Process matter, which starts to float out, forming the same electromagnetic disks as the Jerk's arms to support her weight. It zips towards the ceiling, slamming into it and immediately assimilating a perfect hole in the hatch door.

The realisation of the Process's potential in terms of creating cartoonishly accurate cut-outs of you whenever you make a door where a wall was hits you like a truck, and you have to take a second to refocus.

{Dawn's landed, Cardin's dropped the civilian off. There's one more on the other end of the hold, but besides that, everyone's out. Lock the Grimm down and you can relax.}

Right. Right.

The relief is so strong it leaves you weak in the knees.

You know, this is going s- no. You've learned your lesson.

"Mark all free Grimm," you say, and the last ten or so Grimm are highlighted in your vision, still trying mindlessly to snap at your classmates and the Badcells slashing, stabbing, or blasting away at them, or in one enterprising Badcell's case, latched onto its head and trying to stab it in the eyes.

What a vicious little bastard. You just might keep that one for yourself.

You snap your fingers, and the sound echoes through the hold. Every free Grimm is suddenly caught on all sides by a wave of Process matter, encasing them in cubes three inches thick, mimicking diamond.

Not taking chances this far into it.

"Civilian on the other side of the hold," you tell Creme. "Gonna grab 'em."

"Hey, boss!" you hear the Badcell by Creme and Lumen say, its voice rougher and more aggressive than the friendly chirp of a regular Cell. "Still Grimm in the crew quarters, you want we tell people to go help stab 'em?"

"Anything bigger than a Boarbatusk?

"Nah, it's all shrimp!"

… Blue, do you want to explain-

{It's… a long story. We'll talk about it later.}

When isn't it a long story, these days?

"Blue, that the last civilian on the ship?"

{Looks like it. Pretty much everyone got off without much issue, it was just a couple unlucky souls.}

Great.

"Direct everyone to the crew quarters. This is a cleanup mission, now."

"You got it, boss!"

Every single Badcell floats through their assigned team, and the message is relayed through them.

""""HEY, KILLERS! LAST CIV'S EXTRACTED! THIS IS A CLEANUP MISSION NOW! FIRST, CREW QUARTERS, THEN WE'RE FINDING THAT IMP!""""

At volume.

You know- you went an entire week without something entirely surreal happening. That's a new record, for the past couple months.

Wait. Something's missing from this picture.

"... Where's Ada?" you ask your teammates.

"... You know it's pitch black and full of Grimm in here, right? She volunteered to stay outside with half of Team SSSC, watch for escapees," Lumen explains. "They killed a small den of Loxies a little while ago, and about half a dozen Beowolves."

You give a low whistle.

{Girl's really compensating for that nyctophobia.}

Quiet, you.

"Okay, fair," you say. "So, what next?"

"Crew quarters, yeah? After you extract the last civ, anyway," Creme says.

You could go into the crew quarters, but…

You stare at the far end of the hold, knowing there's a third section.

A knot forms in your gut.

"Jaune? Come on, buddy, leadership time," Lumen prods gently. "Something else on your mind?"

You shake yourself back to the present

"... Just a hunch. Wait here a second, I'll go deal with the civ."

Lumen and Creme nod, figuring you know what you're doing. You hop over the railing, and rush across the tops of the cages, their occupants making various displeased noises as you rattle them a little, and eventually find the final civilian, a large, bald man, cradling a mauled arm and clearly relieved by the timely intervention of a bunch of Hunters.

"Oh thank God, is it over?"

"Mostly. Here, let me bandage that," you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out a roll of quickly voiped bandages. Crouching down, you gently pull the arm away from his chest, the hiss of pain making you wince too, as you take in the full extent of his injuries.

{Bites and clawmarks. Dunno how he actually got away from it, the Beowolf should have... locked him down and torn him to shreds.}

You start to bandage his arm, and make small talk to distract him from the pain.

"... So, how'd you...?" you ask, gesturing to his arm.

"Beowolf," he says. "Little bastard jumped me from above, tried to pin me down."

Breath ragged, he still gives you a weary grin, then gestures to the very large pipe wrench next to him.

"Just meant it stayed still so I could crack it over the head, though."

You grin with him, finishing up your bandaging- it's not your best work, considering how quickly you went, but you tug the end, and the Process matter adjusts just enough to put on all the pressure it needs.

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Was just waiting for your lot to finish up. I can get out myself," he says, standing on slightly shaky legs, but waving you off when you try to help, and jogging off to the ladder, which he easily descends with one working hand. You watch him rush through the stacks to your classmates, who quickly direct him down a cleared path.

{Alright, Jaune, you wanna vocalise that hunch for us? Your subconscious isn't nice enough to lay it out in plain Valish for us.}

... Nobody's found the Imp yet. In any part of the ship that a Hunter has been, they haven't seen hide nor hair of it. So, either it's hiding somewhere really stupid, somewhere nowhere would think to look, or...

{It's somewhere nobody's looked, yet.}

What's in the third hold, boys?

Grimm cages. Big ones. We can't... scan what's inside them.

Well that bodes well. And if you were a shockingly smart Imp, looking for more Grimm to free to get you out of here, why not go for the biggest guys in the prison yard?

... Dammit.

{Sending Port a message- asking him to ask Gideon what's in the aftmost cargo compartment.}

Whatever it is, it's big enough to be a legitimate concern if they get out.

... And you'll be taking Creme and Lumen with you, whatever you do. You can't keep running off on your own, or, well, trying to before someone stows away on your ride. So whatever happens next lands on their heads too.

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit.

{One more and your next coffee's free.}

Dammit.

[] The Crew Quarters- considering the vast majority of the class seems to still be up there, you don't think there'll be anything in there for you to kill- but it'll be a good place to regroup, share information, and come up with a plan... at the risk of the Imp actually freeing one of those big Grimm, if it's not trying to hide in a barrel in the galley or something. Here's hoping ten teams of Hunters are enough for whatever's comihahahahaha ten teams of Huntsmen who made it to Beacon could kill God it'll be fine. Probably.

[] The Aftward Hold- you cannot risk a bigger Grimm getting out. One Imp, against three quarters of JACL, and the other teams down here? It'll be enough- at least enough to distract it so everyone else can get down here if your suspicions are correct. On the other hand, if the Imp isn't in there, there's a chance whatever is in there will be angry enough to break free on its own.