Hold It In (RWBY/Transistor)
- Thread starter Prok
- Start date
- Crossover
- Location
- In my Lair, on my Hoard
[X] Help Haru, Tell Ada- "You know he likes you, right?" you say, just absolutely ripping the bandaid off as quickly as you can.
THatWhichWillBe
The Squiddly One
- Location
- In The Darkened Deep
Y'all cowards
I'm still holding out for a teamwide polycule with Weiss included
Prok
Go play Star Fetchers
- Location
- Scotland
Voting is now closed!
And with that, letting the intrusive thoughts take the reins wins! Update will be up HAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
I really should just bite the bullet and get some art commissioned.
And with that, letting the intrusive thoughts take the reins wins! Update will be up HAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
You know, I hate AI art for, a lot of reasons ranging from personal preference to unleashing a mere 1% of my ho-scaringly extreme political views, but as far as actually accurate goes, these aren't too far off! The only thing that's entirely off is Lumen having quite so good a beard, but besides that, you're not bad! I also just have to appreciate the utter insanity in the first Lumen picture, Jesus Christ.Loving the quest so i tried to make the team with AI. Hope you like it.
I really should just bite the bullet and get some art commissioned.
Tilo of void
Franken-Snake of Chaos
- Location
- hurtling through space
[X] let the intrusive thoughts win- I'm not elaborating. I'm just saying it'll be really really funny.
As an agent of chaos, I have no choice to pick both the mystery box and the obvious trouble causing option. Like the scorpion upon this quest's frog back, it is simply my nature.
As an agent of chaos, I have no choice to pick both the mystery box and the obvious trouble causing option. Like the scorpion upon this quest's frog back, it is simply my nature.
- Pronouns
- They/Them/Their
Voting is already closed. Intrusive Thoughts was the winner.
- Location
- Hyperborea
Ah, wretched procrastination.
[] Help Haru, Tell Ada- "You know he likes you, right?" you say, just absolutely ripping the bandaid off as quickly as you can.
[] Help Haru, Tell Haru- "I get where he's coming from," you say, before making your excuses and then sprinting after Haru to shake him for info.
Would've voted for these two, not that it matters now.
What might matter to some is that for the next 9 days (and 3-4 minutes at the time of this post) Transistor is 80% off on the 2023 Indie Festival sale on Good Old Games.
- Location
- {Redacted}
- Pronouns
- She/They
Love you too, daddy~ <3
How _dare_
Love the update, and definitely love the implication that we're gonna become some sorta bard. Music as a bridge to the soul, huh? Also, kinda hope we're able to keep messing with that music box. That is 100% a fidget cube, and a way to be just the _worst_ little shit lol.
Is this an actual song? Because ngl you painted for me a sound and if there's an original I do wanna see how my imagined version lines up. Also I just want more good songs to listen to. In the meantime lemme finish the chapter and edit in a vote.
Edit: so i missed the vote window, but that's fine. Process is adorable!
Last edited:
nmWarden
Webcomic Glutton
- Location
- Texas
Gonna be honest. Professor Port playing music at the campfire to ease the minds of his teammates or refugees? It fits nicely with the sort of hero he aspires to be.
Giving teen soldiers a tool to help themselves and others, specifically a methodology which is practical for a huntsman on the move? A good lesson. I think it is important for writers to capture the soul of a school's course if said course is supposed to influence the character and teach the audience about the world. We don't get to see and hear a year's worth of classes, so authors should remember to break conventions in order to display the core at the heart of the teacher.
It is important to make a scene like this if you cut out a scene like Weiss's leadership discussion with Port. With a little more input from Port himself, this is just as great as Dr Oobleck's scenes in canon.
Giving teen soldiers a tool to help themselves and others, specifically a methodology which is practical for a huntsman on the move? A good lesson. I think it is important for writers to capture the soul of a school's course if said course is supposed to influence the character and teach the audience about the world. We don't get to see and hear a year's worth of classes, so authors should remember to break conventions in order to display the core at the heart of the teacher.
It is important to make a scene like this if you cut out a scene like Weiss's leadership discussion with Port. With a little more input from Port himself, this is just as great as Dr Oobleck's scenes in canon.
Civil_Debate()
Prok
Go play Star Fetchers
- Location
- Scotland
Fuck, it's been a while. College took too much out of me to think about anything but college, then I had to start looking for a job, then I found out that I live in a fucking economic black hole and if I want a job as anything other than a lunch lad, I'm looking for a job in places in Scotland I haven't even heard of, found myself in a relationship with a girl who's just the sweetest creature I know, various illnesses occurred, my left wrist now likes to pop a tendon out of place and leave me unable to turn it towards a keyboard- you know the song and dance.
None of it's an excuse, just a series of explanations.
Then, a couple days ago, I had a rather empowering revelation. It happened while desperately looking for something to numb myself to things we won't talk about in polite company- I realised that I am, in fact, a writer.
I am the distraction. I have an obligation to be the distraction.
And right now, people need a lot of distraction from a lot of things.
It's time to get bite something hard and get to work.
It's a well-known fact among the Arc family that all people have two squirrels inside their heads.
Some people might call these two wolves, or a shoulder angel and a shoulder devil, but in your opinion, that misrepresents how much weight the squirrels should be given. Right now, the two squirrels are looking at what's just happened and they're having a field day with it.
One says, 'Tell Ada that Haru likes her! She needs time to digest her feelings about this so she can make a levelheaded decision!'
The other says, in a distressingly familiar voice, {Do something funny!}
You're used to listening to the first squirrel, who makes sure you're doing something sensible when you do, anything. It's the sensible squirrel- why wouldn't you listen to it? Being sensible is good for you and the people around you- but something's different, this time. You can't quite put your finger on it, and then it hits; this entire thing is just… kind of harmless?
Haru likes Ada. Ada seems to be unaware of this. You aren't obligated to keep this a secret.
… Buuuuuuuuut, you're also not obligated to tell either of them what you know.
"Jaune?" Ada says. You seem to be unaware of this.
You have the heady realisation that these are about as low as the stakes have ever been for you, and that you don't need to be sensible. You can… have, fun with this? You immediately understand that that's just a term adjacent to what you mean, but your grasp of Valish fails you so you move on.
You prod Squirrel Two for more information.
{Just set things up so he tells her! Give them the chance to talk to each other! Create the perfect meetcute!}
"... Jaauuuune? Remnant to Arc?" Ada says again, a little sing-song to her voice to try and catch your attention.
You snap out of it.
"Huh?"
Picture of eloquence, you are.
"You good? You were spacing out," Ada tells you, a thread of concern in her voice.
"Oh, sorry, no, it was nothing big. Just… let my mind wander for a moment."
Ada hums, slurping a spoonful of soup while she forms a response to that. Unfortunately- for her, that is- her watch starts to beep well before she can come up with anything. She glances at it and gives a panicked hum.
"Dammit, I promised Lumen I would help him out at the docks!" she says once her mouth is clear. "Sorry, I have to go!"
Ada begins shovelling hot beef broth and bread into her gullet, miraculously not choking or burning her throat, until the bowl is empty and the crusty bread has been devoured.
"Uh, have fun?" you manage to say by the time she's finished.
"I will, bye!"
Ada rushes off, poncho billowing as she sprints through the hall. You watch with some bemusement as she eschews taking the door at the end of the dining hall and instead rushes towards an open window, leaping about 20 feet in the air and scrambling out of it like some kind of feral creature.
… What could she be helping Lumen with?
{His glider, maybe? Anyway- Squirrel Two?}
Right, right- what was your plan, Squirrel Two?
{Look, you have the Process! You have the Transistor! Between those, you can just throw together any situation you want for these two to figure it out!}
You dunno, Squirrel Two, the ethics of this are starting to feel tenuous at best.
{Okay, Jaune,} Squirrel Two says, placing a tiny paw on your shoulder, {I get where you're coming from, but, I want you to trust me. And if you trust me, I need you to do something highly experimental. M'kay?}
… Go on.
{Ya gotta talk to a girl.}
Uh.
{Possibly several girls.}
YOU'RE NOT SURE WHERE THIS IS GOING, SQUIRREL TWO.
{Wh- for advice, doofus!}
Okay, you're back in somewhat familiar terri- WAIT NO ARE YOU INSANE, THIS IS GOING TO GO HORRIBLY-
{No, no, Squirrel Two's got a point. Look, start small- ask Weiss.}
Why is your best friend conspiring against you with your personification of horrible, impulse-based decisions!?
… And how would Oobleck react if you said that out loud?
Day-drinking.
Your texts with Weiss pop up- the last of which was a confirmation from her that she'd managed to get Officer Cole off your ass and that he wouldn't be contacting you further. Not, that he had, something you chalk up to Blue's suspiciously innocent whistling whenever you ask about it.
… Then again Weiss seems like she might be in a bit of a mood so you're not sure if you should ask her- OH SCREW IT JUST DO SOMETHING WITHOUT WORRYING YOURSELF MAD OVER IT
-So… about Haru and Ada.-
A moment passes. It's long enough to nearly end up driving yourself to a panic attack over how much of a foul mood she left in and if you've made a horrible mista- the response pings and you relax.
-You saw it too?-
-I'm shocked he didn't at least try to ask her out. Or pass out trying.-
-hahaha-
-What about it, though? If you were just looking for idle gossip, I assume you'd text Yang.-
-Well, I'm hoping to do something about it.-
-Possessiveness isn't a winning trait with most girls, Jaune.-
-Not like that! I wanna… help them along. Any ideas?-
-'help them along?' What?-
-Look, I've put a fraction of a second's thought into this, but I'm committing to it anyway. I just want to get them to the point where one will ask the other out, and not have, you know, directly informed them that I know, you know?
-Okay, seems relatively harmless. What were you thinking?-
-Organising the perfect meetcute. Setting things up to go well and, hoping they go well.-
-Hm. That's… one moment.-
A moment passes.
-Sorry, I had to search the word- no, yes, I'm familiar with the idea. So, initial thought- you understand that you're suggesting something insane, right?-
-You're telling me you've *never* wanted to just bump into a guy and hit it off?-
A very long pause occurs, and you wonder if you've somehow offended her.
-It won't work. Well, your specific idea won't work, anyway. For one thing, they already know each other- they can't *meet* for a second time, no matter how cute it is.-
-Actually, give me two seconds.-
You hold on.
-A new chat "Cupid's Stupidest Angel And Consultants" has been created.-
-Yang Xiao Long has joined the chat.-
Ah- in the process of listening to Squirrel Two, the aneurysm popped, you've died, and this is Hell. Spectacular.
-heyy ho-
-... Wait.-
-Blake Belladonna has joined the chat.-
-Weiss what is this.-
-Took the question straight out of my mouth. What -is- this, Weiss?-
-I'm gathering second opinions- both of you, read this. [image attachment]-
-Yang, could you invite Creme to this chat? I don't have her number yet.-
-what's going on in h- oh-
-Oh hELL YEAH GIMME A SECOND-
-Ah, I see now.-
-... So we're in agreement that this is stupid, right?-
-Creme Daylaw has joined the chat.-
-Uhhh what's happening Yang?-
-JAUNE'S TRYING TO GET ADA AND HARU TOGETHER-
Creme begins to type. She stops. She starts typing again.
-U know what-
-Fuck it-
-I'm in, just for the chat name-
-YES GIRL-
Maybe you shouldn't listen to Squirrel Two more.
{Are you kidding? This is the most fun we've had in years.}
|||
After about 30 minutes of chatting you finally manage to slip away from the group chat, leaving the girls to their own devices- a thought that does send chills down your spine- and you to the rest of your day.
Beacon's library is, as usual, a shockingly quiet place. However, the more you come here, the less it feels like the quiet that itches at your ears, setting your teeth on edge. Nowadays, it almost feels… comforting. Like a weighted blanket to curl up in, the sound of flipping pages and distant footfalls like listening to rain against a window.
You decide that you would quite like to wander for a short while, just to familiarise yourself with the place.
{... Hey, Jaune- doesn't Beacon have a restricted section?}
Vague memories bubble to the surface, of Jools telling you about her attempts to sneak in just because the curiosity was too much, and being warded off by the Librarian- you still don't know her name- for trying.
On one hand, you feel that listening to your impulses has caused enough chaos today. On the other…
{... We're just gonna go and find it.}
We're just gonna go and have a look.
{Just gonna take a peek.}
Just a peek!
This feels like a poorly thought-out plan that will do little besides garnering the ire of someone whom we rely on for access and navigation of this place.
… Naaaaaaah-
{Naaaaaaaaah-}
{Naaaaaaaaaah-}
It'll be fine! You're just going to go and find it.
You wander for a while- you might have this fabled restricted section in mind, but that doesn't mean you know where it is. When the library has three floors, each of which is about half the size of the sports pitch back at Signal- and none of that accounts for the apparent spatial nonsense that occurs once you get deep into the stacks- you don't put too much hope in finding anything without help.
… Okay but seriously you'd swear in court that the rows grow deeper, twistier, the further you go- even the Transistor sometimes seems confused about where you are.
You glance at a random book on the shelf next to you and find its author to be J. P. Baltimore, a name which just sounds like it belongs in one of those Lords' Genealogies you found last time.
Then you read the title; 'Against The Insupportable Maundering Of Ivor Ravenheart Of Moncrieff-Upon-Elden, Worm-Servant Of The Animal God And Layer With Mares,' a sentence so startlingly caustic that you have to stop yourself from giving a shocked laugh.
Stifling it to a couple of still too-loud snorts then composing yourself, you make a mental note to pick it up later, because it would not physically fit in your satchel without more force than you'd like to apply to a book you don't personally own. Instead, you keep walking, almost immediately stumbling into wrought-iron grating laid into sandstone. You almost mistake it for the wall of the library, before you realise there's stuff behind it.
Taking a step back from what you realise is a small clearing in the paper forest, you take in where you've wandered, and realise that you've found exactly what you were wandering for.
The restricted section is less… blatant than you imagined.
For one thing, no sign of it exists beyond the height of the stacks surrounding it. It simply looks like part of the wall from out in the main sections. If someone didn't know it was here, they would never find it but for good luck. Once you look below the level of the book stacks, it's a much harsher story. Great bars of wrought iron punched into sandstone, more like the cell of a Royal oubliette than a cordoned-off area for books that are too rare or controversial for public opinion. Considering the seminal works of J. P. Baltimore over there, you think- hope- its contents might skew towards the former than the latter.
Above the door, in silver lettering, is a series of symbols you must assume means something, but you don't even recognise the alphabet. You feed it through the Transistor's OCR and turn up zilch. Not, that it doesn't recognise the characters- you review the images you sent, and they aren't there. Just- vague blurs of gold on marble, and your eyes are too 20/20 to justify that, so the Transistor has no excuse.
You're overcome with the sudden and entirely explicable urge to curse Ozpin.
You peer through the iron bars, and see ancient wooden desks, with inkwells and chained pens on them, alongside equally venerable bookstands, polished brass page-holders chained to them as well.
{Hm. The librarian must do maintenance.}
Then, of course, there are the books. Shelves of books. Stacks of books, all perfectly dusted and waiting for someone to have a look. Some of them appear to have steel bindings, locked in place. You see some other oddities- small dolls, and large quilts along the wall. What a shame it's locked up.
… Unless.
Melt the lock?
Wh- no! Scan the books!
{We've already done that, Jaune.}
You look over at the Transistor with some minor spark of glee in your heart, waiting for it to tell you something interesting.
{... What? What's up?}
… What's in the restricted section?
{In the restricted section? Did you ask us to scan something there?}
Glee rapidly shifts to concern. You pull your eyes from the books and turn to look at the Transi- HELL'S HORSES-
The Librarian, when you turn around, is about six inches from your face and it takes every ounce of restraint to not jump back and concuss yourself on the iron bars.
"Mr Arc!" she says, voice all bright and smile all sly. "Does your family have a congenital medical condition that might explain its members' disproportionate propensity to being so inadvisably curious?"
"M-Ms, uh, Librarian, ma'am, I was just-" you scramble to try and explain yourself, your efforts devolving into wordless stammering before you just shut your mouth, a moment too late to truly save your dignity.
The look on her face softens from the smile of a mad housecat to just impish.
"Oh, relax- looking is all you've done," she says. "A courtesy neither your sister nor father showed."
"Oh…"
… You realise this may be the first time anyone has acknowledged that your sister and father attended Beacon. None of the teachers have mentioned it, even though most of them should have taught Jools. You expected Ozpin to have mentioned your father, at least.
"... What were they like?" you ask. "Nobody ever talks about them. I mean, my dad, sure, he probably went to school here with half the teachers, but I haven't heard a thing about Jools."
"Oh, hellions, the pair of them," the Librarian says. "Your father and his team were all but the definition of too smart for their own good, and Julienne, well- she was a good student, all told, just…" she trails off.
"Easily stressed out?" you venture a guess.
"No, not even that, she… had a habit of taking on unwise challenges. In truth, she was a bit of an adrenaline fiend."
… Jools, an adrenaline fiend? The Jools you know can't even get rid of spiders in case they might be venomous.
"I take from the look on your face that the years after Beacon mellowed her out somewhat?" the Librarian says, giving you an unreadable smile.
"... Well, she works as a chef now," you tell her, prompting a drawn-out noise of comprehension. "So, um… what's in the restricted section?"
"Nothing you can read, dear," the Librarian tells you patiently.
Your face flushes with embarrassment.
"... I mean, I gathered that."
"No, Mr Arc," the Librarian says through warm giggling. "I mean nothing you can read. Very few books in there are written in Valish, or any modern language. Some of them aren't even written in any language you or your friends or any of the other students, or perhaps anyone besides Ozpin and I, would recognise, let alone comprehend."
There it is again- this insinuation that she knows about the Transistor, with a chaser of knowing about Ozpin. You don't really know how you feel about that, but it makes your skin prickle.
"... What kind of languages do you think my friend wouldn't recognise?"
The Librarian tilts her head, closing the eye not hidden behind a monocle as she considers something- then seems to consider if she should even be considering it. After a long moment, she begins to speak.
"... There was a river nation, in the lowlands of Vacuo, when the land was fertile, and the sand was lush oases… who did not have a written language. Instead, they had a woven one."
"... Woven?" you ask, unsure you heard her correctly.
It's a trick- a moment where your eyes are distracted by the glint of her monocle, an instant where you aren't watching her hands- you're sure of it. Any other explanation for how the doll, small enough to sit on your palm, and well-kept in its old age, made its way into her hand is too much for you to consider.
"Yes. Its name was Teiji'sásil," she says. "'The Woven Light.' Their canvas was mommets of tightly woven thread; dolls, in a word. They believed that spirits- or their ancestors, the translation is unclear and the difference is moot- would inhabit the mommets, and speak through them the wisdom the creator wished them to share, or cast spells on a person if their blood and hair was woven into the doll."
The Librarian moves forward, letting you look closer at the doll in question- at the way the chaotic starbursts of colour never form distinct rings, instead forming great spirals of patterns that you can… almost… spot… no, you've lost it.
"However- the creator had to put that knowledge into the doll, or the spell they intended to cast. So a language arose in the weave- one that people had to teach their children, so they could capture spirits to hand down their teachings and cast their spells. Then, in the end, myth and legend fell away, and the language remained."
"What… does that one say?" you ask, staring at the mommet on her palm.
"A warning," the mommet says with a high, echoing voice, string-cross eyes glowing. "No-Soul chase the Soul. Soul and No-Soul go into the cave, and Soul come out, No-Soul stay. Now the Soul wander there every day. Other Soul wander in too. Not-grown no come out. Not-men no come out. No Soul come out but the not-known Soul. Cave dangerous now, stay away..."
Your eyes bug out a little as you watch this little doll speak.
"Some depth of meaning is lost, naturally. Teiji'sásil doesn't mark plurals, for example, or have proper descriptors; just a negative modifier to verbs and adjectives. You only refer to the singular, and with very few exceptions, you only refer to what it is not. Only names, places, and the word 'Soul-' humans and animals, in essence- are consistently given without modification. Weaving the language is like hewing a statue out of marble."
"Ventriloquism. Cute," you say flatly. "The glowy eyes were a nice touch, too- your Semblance?"
"Oh, the eyes weren't mine," the Librarian says, clearly enjoying every moment of this. "It just does that sometimes."
A moment passes, and you feel like you're being royally fucked with. Deep breath. Remove yourself from the temptation to start asking questions with answers that won't make sense. It's what she wants.
"How do I get into the restricted section, for future reference?" you ask, quickly changing the subject.
The Librarian chuckles softly, shaking her head as she looks at you.
"I do mean it when I say there's very little that would be of use to you in there," she says. "But if you must- ask Ozpin to write you a permission slip, and I will accompany you to handle the items inside on your behalf."
You frown- why is she so convinced that an entire section of ancient history would be of no use to you? Surely, if only by laws of statistics, something in there should come in handy someday. You look back, eyes glancing up at the sign that you cannot read, and the Transistor cannot translate.
"... What does it say?"
You don't need to look back to hear the smile- the warmth in her words. The slight pause that might just contain silent laughter.
"'A book is a soul preserved. A library is mankind saved.'"
And you don't need to look back to know that the Librarian is already gone.
|||
[This is the next entry of Piranesi's diaries that mentions Penseur, dated roughly 3 months after the last.]
The Age Of Bright Arts, Year 52, Month Of Beating Sun, Week 3, Day 6.*
I cannot put a name to Penseur's breed of Grimm. It has the same general outline as the Auguries; a tall, thin creature, of vaguely humanoid shape, with arms about two-thirds the length of its body tipped in claws the size of daggers. Where it diverges in form is the large flaps of leathery skin connecting its arms to its sides. Its face is long, and the bone plating on its head resembles a human face- a death mask. A long, frowning face, with a bent nose- pensive even in death.
Penseur's face almost seems peaceful until it opens its mouth. Its teeth are not human; they put me in mind of an eel's, thin and needle-like, bar a pair of large fangs, like a jungle cat's.*
It speaks, sometimes, now; the need for children's toys to communicate is past. Its voice is like that of a man who has been alone in the desert, hoarse from lack of water or use. Yet there is a power behind its tone- its speech fills the cave and beyond, settles upon my bones like Solitasian hoarfrost.
But it speaks, and this is enough for questions.
ME: Do the mirrors hurt you?
PENSEUR: What is hurt?
ME: Do they cause you pain when they shine the sun on you?
PENSEUR: Pain?
ME: Pain is the bad feeling that happens when something happens to your body that shouldn't. If I stuck my hand in a flame, I would feel pain as it burnt me.
PENSEUR: Flame bad. Big flame bad. No flame is better.
ME: You prefer it when it is night?
PENSEUR: Moon good.
ME: You like the moon?
PENSEUR: Like?
ME: How… how you feel about stone doves.
PENSEUR: Mm… Like nest, like many stone doves. Looking at moon like many stone doves for me. Like-
It hesitated for a moment, looking away as it thought, inferred more things it liked from what I had said.
PENSEUR: Like the moon like many nests.
ME: Why is that?
PENSEUR: Want to do that. It… what is the word you used? Natural?
I admit to a moment of hesitation- confusion, really. I had used the word 'natural' in passing, many meetings ago. It remembered that much?
ME: … Natural? Natural to do what?
PENSEUR: Break something big as the moon. Like Papa did.
|||
[The next entry is, unusually for Piranesi, entirely undated, and surprisingly short. Due to the way On The Souls Of Grimm is formatted, you are left staring at a quarter-filled page.]
Two people are missing from the village below the cave. Mother and child. I barely avoided a confrontation with the father today. He said their son had wandered into the cave, and his mother after him, and they had not been seen since. I told him I hadn't seen them, truthfully. He told me he was going into the cave tonight. I told him he shouldn't. He called me a coward.
He is right. I am a coward. I should have said something, yet I could not bring myself to. If he killed Penseur, it would be the end of this unique glimpse into the minds of Grimm.
I did my due diligence. I put up warnings. Made sure anyone, of any age or education, could understand them- but what mother listens to warnings when her child could be in danger?
What child listens to warnings at all?
I could not stop him- anymore than I could stop the tide. Instead, I wished him luck, and gave him some charms with Glyphs written upon them, as shown below:
[DIAGRAM CENSORED BY ORDER OF THE JADE BUREAU]
I did not sleep well last night, though not for this news.
I did not sleep, because I could not stop shivering.
|||
[???: +1] (Current [???: 2])
It seems that Piranesi was adversely affected by the Grimm he had captured. It's not an uncommon story, especially if it was indeed Vampyr-adjacent. Its intelligence was developing rapidly, too. Also in line with younger members of the species.
Vampyr… you have a Library() entry on them, don't you?
{My gods! You're gaining the gift of prescience, Jaune!}
Quiet, you. Still, that's… who is 'papa' to a Grimm?
{Brother Dark? Is the book implying that he's the one who shattered the moon?}
It's implying that Grimm believe Brother Dark shattered the moon.
It's implying that Grimm believe anything, which is horrifying in its own right.
… You think you've done enough reading for the day. You look up from your comfy nook and see the sky painted in pinks and oranges through the skylights.
Has it been that long? It was only mid-afternoon when you came in- you thought you'd only been reading for ten minutes. Then again, a lot of reading this book is extricating the important parts from ranting about sailors and shellfish recipes. And working around the Jade Bureau's censorship. So, you close the book and make your way out of the library.
Tomorrow, after all, is your first Civics class.
|||
You don't think you're going to enjoy this. It's just a gut feeling, but it's enough to make the walk to your Civics class feel like a trip to the gallows.
{Got some good news if you want something to take your mind off it.}
Shoot.
Your parietal and occipital lobes are now fully healed. No lingering trauma detected from the incident at Initiation.
{Your brain is now certifiably squeaky clean.}
And smooth.
{So smooth. Like a big, jiggly cue ball.}
You snort, happy for what little distraction your friends' stupid commentary provides.
"Jaune?" Lumen asks. "What's up?"
"Uh- not much, why?"
"You're just looking a little," he gestures to his cheeks, "faint. Everything cool?"
A lot of orange in today's mix, then.
"I-I'm fine. Just, antsy, I guess."
Lumen raises an eyebrow, question unasked but perceived.
"... You remember what Civics class was like at Signal?"
"Sure, it was a glorified debate club," Lumen says. "Didn't really pay too much attention to it, 'cept for when there was a screaming match going on- why?"
"I saw the sign-up list for this one. Blake and Creme."
"Okay…?"
"Weiss, and Salem."
"I'm sure you're trying to make a point, but I'm not seeing i-"
"And Dove, Cardin, and Leathers."
Lumen makes a sound like a strangled goose, his ever-changing eyes going wide with fear.
"Oh it's going to be like a pressure bomb in there," he manages, his voice a strangled whisper. He runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling for a long moment. "Okay. Okay."
Orange luxin forms in one of Lumen's palms, quickly wrapped in a dark green leather, which he begins to squeeze rhythmically. After a second, he creates a second ball and throws it to you. You give it a squeeze- the green luxin stretches, and the orange bulges out like those gooey stress balls that only seem to exist in museum gift shops. It's cathartic, in a way- something to focus on besides your own head.
"We'll just- let today happen, get a lay of the land, then plan from there. That sound good?" Lumen says, putting a steadying hand on your shoulder.
You nod, not trusting yourself to words, and you continue on.
The classroom for the Civics elective is a smaller room on the ground floor of Beacon, just a set of tables put together in the middle of a room with chairs around them, and larger desks around the perimeter with a few computer terminals. At the front of the class, a large blackboard takes up one wall, same as every other classroom you've been in so far. Creme and Blake are already in and sitting together, a little bit away from Leathers, occupied with what looks like a notepad that you can't make heads or tails of.
Blue?
{It's all Mistrali to me too.}
"Jaune! I didn't know you were taking this class. Or Lumen, actually," Creme says as you sit down.
Lumen shrugs.
"Had to pick something besides Securities," he says. "And if this is anything like Civics at Signal, it won't have much homework."
Blake snorts. "Here I thought you were here for the stimulating conversation."
Lumen looks to the door in response, and no one comes in. A long moment passes, and he looks away. "Dammit, I was hoping-" the door opens, revealing Dove and Cardin, "-there we go," he says.
Your teammate nods sagely, as if some great wrong has been righted.
"Ooh, more people than I expected," Dove says, that same placid smile on his face as always. "Blake, Creme, radiant as ever. I know I can trust you two to provide stimulating conversation for a class like this."
The girls in question respond by aging 40 years in 2 seconds.
"J-man!" Cardin says, clapping you on the back on the way past, but moving to sit with Dove.
You feel three accusatory glares aimed your way immediately- two from the girls, and one from Dove.
{Ooh. Someone's possessive.}
Creme raises an eyebrow in a way that makes you feel like a pinned butterfly.
"J-man?" she asks incredulously.
"... We spot for each other in the gym," you say. "Helped me get my new one-rep PB for deadlifts."
"I understood about 60% of that sentence," Creme says, though there's no bite to her words.
"Lifting 800 pounds above my head is a hell of a feeling, and so's feeling safe doing it."
"Hell yeah it is, man!" Cardin says, clocking the conversation. "J-man here helps me with cardio- my new sprint record's twice what it used to be!"
"He's been working out at his max heart rate every time," you explain. "It's better to aim for about 75-80%, it's more sustainable. Cardin's up to 40 miles an hour on the manual treadmills already, but he can sprint at 50 for a full 30 seconds now."
You can't help but keep a hint of pride out of your voice, considering you've spent the past few weeks helping him get above 25. Now he's legal for the highway! You look over at the girls, and see them both smiling at you.
"... What?"
"Just glad you're having fun, I guess," Blake says cryptically.
Salem and Weiss are the last in, followed by Professor Teach himself. The last pair sit down, Weiss between you and the girls, and Salem nearer Leathers than not but still giving him some space. Leathers seems unaware of this.
"Apologies for being late, had admin duties to attend to, and news to gawp at in numb horror," Teach says, placing down a cup of coffee.
He doesn't look like he's slept. More so than usual, his eyes are baggy, even a little bloodshot- there's this wildness to them that wasn't there last time you saw him.
"... What… happened?" Creme is the first to venture.
Teach takes a long breath, one you recognise- the breath of trying desperately to condense a sprawling topic into one or two notable sentences that somehow gets the gist across.
"... Riots have taken Vacuo by storm," he settles on after a moment's thought more. "Half the city is in flames, the other half is breaking out into brawls."
"... Sounds like a regular day out there," Dove says after a moment, to a wave of disgust from everyone but Cardin. "What?! Vacuo's defined by its complete lack of formal law and order- the city's cultural state of being is basically a series of rolling bar brawls. What makes this one any different?"
You haven't seen the crime statistics for Vacuo. It never would have occurred to you to look them up unless you were visiting. By the looks of everyone around you besides Cardin, that seems to be a shared sentiment- except for Professor Teach, a truly thunderous look on his face.
"Alright, Mister Bronzewing," Professor Teach grinds out. "Thank you for choosing our topic for today's Civics class."
He stands up, and writes on the board, in sharp, stabbing strokes that send fragments of chalk flying:
… Oh you're not going to last twenty minutes in here.
|||
The first ten minutes are spent on finding information on why the Vacuo Riots started, and after some independent reading between the nine of you, the group notes one name popping up consistently.
Caesius Azar.
"Who is this guy?" Salem asks. "Some kind of… teacher? Now leading mass riots?"
"Local lawyer, turned public educator/philosopher, turned would-be revolutionary," Weiss explains. "He used to educate children and uneducated adults in the slums- reading and writing, mostly, but he also advised people on their legal rights, as much as Vacuo has those. Helped make sure companies could be held accountable by people for unsafe waste disposal, wage and time theft, so on. Then he turned towards teaching Massist philosophy to, well, the masses."
"Massist? Wasn't that the stuff the old Mantle regime worked under?" Salem asks, frowning as he tries to figure out if he's right or not.
"Nah, they was jus' fascist feelin' police," Leathers pipes up. "Massism's th'idea that erry'un should get wot's comin' to 'em."
"... Beg pardon?" Dove asks. For once, you're with him, you have no idea what Leathers means.
"Massism's the idea that labour power shouldn't be separated from the labourers- that everyone should be working towards a more just society, rather than to fuel an economy that doesn't contribute to that directly," Blake says. "Labour unions, universal basic income and public services, that kind of thing."
... Which makes-
{'Wot's comin' to 'em' is the end result of Massism, yes.}
"So… he's leading a Massist revolution?" Cardin asks. "I mean… it doesn't sound so bad, besides setting half the city on fire."
"Well… depending on the half of the city, it might deserve it," Blake says, to some odd looks. She responds with a shrug. "Vacuo's a heavily stratified society- it's not quite as bad as a caste system, but there are families out there whose name is as good as a free pass to do whatever they want to people. The aristocracy isn't as dead as the commoners hope, and the aristocrats would like you to believe."
"So much for accepting anyone who can make it out there," Salem grumbles.
"They accept anyone who can survive out there, yes," Blake responds. "But surviving isn't the same as living- it's why so many working-class people become Huntsmen and Huntresses."
"The pay or the power?" Dove asks.
"Nobody argues with someone who can crush your skull between their hands."
Dove makes a little noise of comprehension, and you get the feeling it's the most polite thing he's going to say today.
Where is the Academy in all this, actually? Shouldn't Shade be, you dunno, putting this down? At least putting out the fires?
{No formal response as of yet, though students have been seen taking independent action. But even if they weren't busy settling their own affairs, Shade's students come from all over Vacuo, former nobility or otherwise.}
… So if they take a side, they alienate half the Hunters in the city.
"Okay, so the riot's politically motivated," Dove says. "Shocking."
"Hell d'you mean shockin'?" Leathers says, taking his feet off the table and leaning towards Dove. "You's the one who said this weren't special for Vacuo."
"At its usual level, yes, but on this scale? No. But hey- that's what you get for letting in every waif and stray that comes to you," he says, leaning back. "Bound to get some bad apples eventually."
You do a really quick, definitely legal check of something. Honest.
"... Azar's a Vacuoni native," you point out. "The bad apple was in the city from the day he was born."
Dove frowns at you.
"How do you-" his eyes flick to the Transistor. "Stupid question. Okay, fine, Azar's native- but his ideas aren't. Massism started in Vale. It's not a native idea to Vacuo, to its culture, to its systems- you can't just drop something like that into the mix and not expect things to grind against each other."
"I think the idea that labour should aim towards making the world a better place is a pretty universal one," Lumen says. "Edwin Mass wasn't the first person to come up with it, and he won't be the last."
Dove rolls his eyes, and Lumen raises an eyebrow.
"... What, it's such a bad thing to think that people should show some merit if they want to benefit from society at large?"
Before anyone can respond, Cardin slowly turns to Lumen, a question bubbling away.
"W-wait- his name was Edwin Mass?"
"... Yes? How did you think it got the name?"
"Because it-" good lord there's smoke coming out of his ears, "-it's a political system that benefits the masses?"
"Where do you think the term 'the masses' came from?" Weiss interjects. "It started as an insult based on him- the upper classes just trying to make everyone else sound unimportant. Soon it just became everyone below a certain tax bracket, and by then his supporters had already taken up Massists as a new name."
Cardin blinks, and you can't tell if he's entirely uncomprehending of what he's just learned, or if he's having an existential crisis.
"Glass houses," Dove says.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you saying you haven't benefited from being a member of the upper class?" he says, voice turning placid and sweet. "More importantly, haven't you benefited from a distinct lack of Massist influence in Atlas, after the old government fell?"
Weiss sputters, slowly flushing with anger. Blake reaches out and touches her shoulder, just enough for Weiss to reel it in, close her eyes, and take a deep breath.
"... I am not oblivious to the benefits my family and status have given me. However, I am also not the topic of discussion, thank you very much. So- the riots are occurring for ideological reasons. Clearly, it resonates with people extremely."
"And they just had to start rioting about it," Dove says.
"The outer city barely has running water, let alone a functioning government to petition," Creme says. "I don't like it and I don't condone the things they've done, but I…" she frowns, and you can almost see the bullet she dodged. "... Actually, have we found any kind of inciting incident?"
|||
20 minutes in. No inciting incident found yet. You've stopped looking, because it stopped being relevant roughly 19 minutes ago.
Your stress ball was getting a hell of a workout. Was. You managed to burst it somewhere around Dove asking Blake if she agreed that White Fang tactics did work, even with the cost of life and long-term detriment factored in, and Lumen quickly got rid of the evidence before it managed to get into anything that the dust would stain.
"YOU CANNOT COMPARE THIS TO THE WHITE FANG!" Creme screams, her voice hoarse from how much of that she's been doing. "THESE AREN'T TERRORISTS, THEY'RE PEOPLE TRYING TO MAKE A BETTER LIFE FOR THEMSELVES!"
"How's it any different? Shops being firebombed, people being beaten in the streets, it's all the same hallmarks!" Dove yells back. "You just want to sympathise with them because-"
"And time!" Professor Teach says, finally- oh nope yep the argument is just bulldozing over him, amazing.
"BECAUSE WHAT, BRONZEWING?! BECAUSE I'M THE KIND OF PERSON YOUR FRIENDS IN THE HUMAN DEFENCE UNION WOULD WANT TO STRING UP?! BECAUSE I'M THE KIND OF PERSON YOU THINK WOULD JOIN THE WHITE FANG?! BECAUSE, YOU THINK EVERY FAUNUS WOULD JOIN THE WHITE FANG, DON'T YOU?!"
"It's, the Human Defence League-"
Creme turns to look at you, and you flinch. You've never seen her this angry, and you certainly didn't want to see it turned on you.
{Don't worry. She isn't angry with you. She's just angry.}
"Creme, chill," Lumen says. "This isn't a productive argument."
"A PRODUCTIVE-" she stops- realises who she's talking to. That train of thought crashes, so she breathes. "A productive argument?"
"What have you two achieved, besides needing a drink of water?" Lumen says placidly. A small window pops up in the corner of your eye, showing you the small blue birds in his palm. "This is not productive, it is just inflammatory at volume. Now calm down before you throw a chair at Dove, and Dove, shut up before I throw a chair at you."
Creme shoots him a genuinely venomous look, but sits down. Dove, at least, manages to look somewhat contrite about his contribution to the noise complaints this class you're sure this class will get later.
Oh you could kiss that man on the lips right now if he wasn't in a relationship. And you weren't heterosexual.
{Easy, tiger, don't start putting on lipstick just yet. We're not out of the woods, and I don't think he'll manage it a second time.}
Everyone is quiet for a long, blissful moment. All you can hear now is your heartbeat, hammering away in your chest. Deep breath. Deep, deep breath. You can do this.
"I just… don't understand why this happened," Blake eventually says. "Azar is a respected, known name, even outside of the slums- even outside Vacuo. He was already at a point where people were listening to him. This is…"
"... Din't need t'turn into a punchup," Leathers finishes.
"Yeah…"
Everyone takes a blissfully quiet moment to think about that.
"... So why did it happen?" Cardin says.
"Well clearly something happened," Dove says, holding up placating hands when people turn to him. "We may not all agree on what, but it's clear that it did. There's no such thing as cause without effect, and for all I don't agree with him or his vision for Vacuo, Azar doesn't seem like someone who spends years of his life building up a following like that just to turn it into a coup overnight."
"Mm," Salem hums.
"AND, TIME!" Professor Teach yells suddenly, punctuating it with a single clap that sounds like a gunshot going off.
You're so keyed up that it actually makes you jump out of your seat, sending it skittering back. You see Creme behind you, looking to you with concern- then genuine mortification as she realises what had happened just a minute earlier.
"Goodness gracious, 20 minutes to get through your first screaming match as a class! And you resolved it all on your own, well done!"
Everyone stares at Edward Teach like he's just grown a second head.
"... What," Blake says flatly. "I- these two nearly started a full-on fight! How is this in any way a success?"
"Last year, someone threw a girl through that wall," he points, "after she said that she thought people over the age of 80 were just drains on our resources when we're due another Black Sun Winter," Teach explains. "This is an improvement! Now- you've got information gathering down, but let's see what we can do about having actual cogent debates, yeah?"
Ohhhhhhh this class is going to kill you.
|||
More screaming matches come about. Even with Teach moderating, they get bad. Creme does actually end up throwing a chair at Dove. Being fair, he deserved it for trying to pivot the blame on the number of Faunus immigrants that the City of Vacuo gets every year, both from inside the Kingdom and out.
Bell rings. You walk out.
"Gonna be a while, need some time to decompress," you say to no one in particular.
"Jaune-" Creme says, but you're already mindlessly walking down the hallway, aiming nowhere in particular.
Self-Directed Sparring? No. Not the mood. You can't really deal with other people right now. Not now. Not for a while. It's been a long while since you went but the demerit is worth more than having to fight feeling like this.
When did you get upstairs?
{Jaune.}
You ignore Blue.
Sysadmin?
You don't respond to 01.
Jaune-
"Can you all just… leave me alone, for one minute? Please? I really need to just be- I don't-"
You disconnect from the Transistor's sensors, from Blue, from Bracket, from the Process, it's all just too much right now it's all just- you only barely stop yourself from disconnecting it from your Semblance altogether.
Creme got angry with you. Dove made her angry and then she turned it on you because you tried to correct something that was incorrect and maybe it was a bad time to do that, maybe it's always a bad time to do that but nobody ever got angry with you about it before because you've learned how to do it nicely how to phrase it as a question how to oh god Creme is angry with you, your friend is angry with you that's never happened before, that's not good, it's bad, it's-
You can't calm down. Can't breathe, it's like something's squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart's beating too fast, too loud, BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM just this constant barrage in your ears, BOOM
your temples, BOOM
your neck, BOOM
your chest-
"... Jaune?"
New person, really
BOOM
don't
BOOM
need a
BOOM
-ing new person right now, you're-
You feel a hand on your arm. Focus. Ground yourself. You turn around, and see Yang looking at you but you can't read her face
BOOM
it's just blank it's just two dots and lines for a mouth and a
BOOM
nose.
She places both her hands on both your arms. Double the focus, double the grounding.
BOOM.
You focus on her eyes. They grow out from dots to those big, lilac things, you've never seen anyone else with a colour like them.
BOOM.
She looks sad. No. Wrong. There's nothing. Just wide eyes looking you up and down and trying to figure out what's wrong. Let your focus expand out from her. Relink to the Transistor's sensors. When did you get outside?
BOOM.
"I…"
"Hey, it's okay- don't talk, not yet. Can you just take a deep breath with me?"
You nod.
BOOM.
"Okay. In through your nose."
You breathe. She breathes. She stops. You stop.
Boom.
You feel Yang rubbing little circles into your arms. It helps.
Boom
"And out through the mouth… In… out…"
boom
You don't know how long it takes to fully pull yourself out of the attack, but Yang is with you every breath of the way, still holding on, still rubbing little circles into your shoulders, as patient with you as you could ever hope for. It all helps. Of course it helps- it always helps, every time, and you forget it every time.
Well. You haven't had a panic attack since you were 12, so you suppose you're a little rusty about riding that bike.
You try to swallow, but your mouth is too dry, so it's more just moving your throat up and down a little. Hurts when it sticks.
"... Thanks. Sorry." Voice is croaky. You definitely need water.
Yang gives you a little grin, and a playful punch in the arm.
"What for, dude? Panic attacks happen. You've got nothing to be sorry for."
You smile, and rub your arm a little. Didn't bring your Aura up in time. That hurt a little.
"... Wanna talk about it?"
"... Not… just yet, no. I- you don't need to worry, really."
Yang gives you the concerned smile of someone who is taking your advice and, politely, throwing it in the trash to worry anyway.
"Well… you wanna just talk? I don't care about what."
Let's get back into this with an easy one.
[] "... My brain's healed. We can, test that thing you talked about?" (Start "Funk Soul Sister" now.)
[] "... Maybe later. I don't, really think I can handle other people right now." (Leave it for later.)
None of it's an excuse, just a series of explanations.
Then, a couple days ago, I had a rather empowering revelation. It happened while desperately looking for something to numb myself to things we won't talk about in polite company- I realised that I am, in fact, a writer.
I am the distraction. I have an obligation to be the distraction.
And right now, people need a lot of distraction from a lot of things.
It's time to get bite something hard and get to work.
It's a well-known fact among the Arc family that all people have two squirrels inside their heads.
Some people might call these two wolves, or a shoulder angel and a shoulder devil, but in your opinion, that misrepresents how much weight the squirrels should be given. Right now, the two squirrels are looking at what's just happened and they're having a field day with it.
One says, 'Tell Ada that Haru likes her! She needs time to digest her feelings about this so she can make a levelheaded decision!'
The other says, in a distressingly familiar voice, {Do something funny!}
You're used to listening to the first squirrel, who makes sure you're doing something sensible when you do, anything. It's the sensible squirrel- why wouldn't you listen to it? Being sensible is good for you and the people around you- but something's different, this time. You can't quite put your finger on it, and then it hits; this entire thing is just… kind of harmless?
Haru likes Ada. Ada seems to be unaware of this. You aren't obligated to keep this a secret.
… Buuuuuuuuut, you're also not obligated to tell either of them what you know.
"Jaune?" Ada says. You seem to be unaware of this.
You have the heady realisation that these are about as low as the stakes have ever been for you, and that you don't need to be sensible. You can… have, fun with this? You immediately understand that that's just a term adjacent to what you mean, but your grasp of Valish fails you so you move on.
You prod Squirrel Two for more information.
{Just set things up so he tells her! Give them the chance to talk to each other! Create the perfect meetcute!}
"... Jaauuuune? Remnant to Arc?" Ada says again, a little sing-song to her voice to try and catch your attention.
You snap out of it.
"Huh?"
Picture of eloquence, you are.
"You good? You were spacing out," Ada tells you, a thread of concern in her voice.
"Oh, sorry, no, it was nothing big. Just… let my mind wander for a moment."
Ada hums, slurping a spoonful of soup while she forms a response to that. Unfortunately- for her, that is- her watch starts to beep well before she can come up with anything. She glances at it and gives a panicked hum.
"Dammit, I promised Lumen I would help him out at the docks!" she says once her mouth is clear. "Sorry, I have to go!"
Ada begins shovelling hot beef broth and bread into her gullet, miraculously not choking or burning her throat, until the bowl is empty and the crusty bread has been devoured.
"Uh, have fun?" you manage to say by the time she's finished.
"I will, bye!"
Ada rushes off, poncho billowing as she sprints through the hall. You watch with some bemusement as she eschews taking the door at the end of the dining hall and instead rushes towards an open window, leaping about 20 feet in the air and scrambling out of it like some kind of feral creature.
… What could she be helping Lumen with?
{His glider, maybe? Anyway- Squirrel Two?}
Right, right- what was your plan, Squirrel Two?
{Look, you have the Process! You have the Transistor! Between those, you can just throw together any situation you want for these two to figure it out!}
You dunno, Squirrel Two, the ethics of this are starting to feel tenuous at best.
{Okay, Jaune,} Squirrel Two says, placing a tiny paw on your shoulder, {I get where you're coming from, but, I want you to trust me. And if you trust me, I need you to do something highly experimental. M'kay?}
… Go on.
{Ya gotta talk to a girl.}
Uh.
{Possibly several girls.}
YOU'RE NOT SURE WHERE THIS IS GOING, SQUIRREL TWO.
{Wh- for advice, doofus!}
Okay, you're back in somewhat familiar terri- WAIT NO ARE YOU INSANE, THIS IS GOING TO GO HORRIBLY-
{No, no, Squirrel Two's got a point. Look, start small- ask Weiss.}
Why is your best friend conspiring against you with your personification of horrible, impulse-based decisions!?
… And how would Oobleck react if you said that out loud?
Day-drinking.
Your texts with Weiss pop up- the last of which was a confirmation from her that she'd managed to get Officer Cole off your ass and that he wouldn't be contacting you further. Not, that he had, something you chalk up to Blue's suspiciously innocent whistling whenever you ask about it.
… Then again Weiss seems like she might be in a bit of a mood so you're not sure if you should ask her- OH SCREW IT JUST DO SOMETHING WITHOUT WORRYING YOURSELF MAD OVER IT
-So… about Haru and Ada.-
A moment passes. It's long enough to nearly end up driving yourself to a panic attack over how much of a foul mood she left in and if you've made a horrible mista- the response pings and you relax.
-You saw it too?-
-I'm shocked he didn't at least try to ask her out. Or pass out trying.-
-hahaha-
-What about it, though? If you were just looking for idle gossip, I assume you'd text Yang.-
-Well, I'm hoping to do something about it.-
-Possessiveness isn't a winning trait with most girls, Jaune.-
-Not like that! I wanna… help them along. Any ideas?-
-'help them along?' What?-
-Look, I've put a fraction of a second's thought into this, but I'm committing to it anyway. I just want to get them to the point where one will ask the other out, and not have, you know, directly informed them that I know, you know?
-Okay, seems relatively harmless. What were you thinking?-
-Organising the perfect meetcute. Setting things up to go well and, hoping they go well.-
-Hm. That's… one moment.-
A moment passes.
-Sorry, I had to search the word- no, yes, I'm familiar with the idea. So, initial thought- you understand that you're suggesting something insane, right?-
-You're telling me you've *never* wanted to just bump into a guy and hit it off?-
A very long pause occurs, and you wonder if you've somehow offended her.
-It won't work. Well, your specific idea won't work, anyway. For one thing, they already know each other- they can't *meet* for a second time, no matter how cute it is.-
-Actually, give me two seconds.-
You hold on.
-A new chat "Cupid's Stupidest Angel And Consultants" has been created.-
-Yang Xiao Long has joined the chat.-
Ah- in the process of listening to Squirrel Two, the aneurysm popped, you've died, and this is Hell. Spectacular.
-heyy ho-
-... Wait.-
-Blake Belladonna has joined the chat.-
-Weiss what is this.-
-Took the question straight out of my mouth. What -is- this, Weiss?-
-I'm gathering second opinions- both of you, read this. [image attachment]-
-Yang, could you invite Creme to this chat? I don't have her number yet.-
-what's going on in h- oh-
-Oh hELL YEAH GIMME A SECOND-
-Ah, I see now.-
-... So we're in agreement that this is stupid, right?-
-Creme Daylaw has joined the chat.-
-Uhhh what's happening Yang?-
-JAUNE'S TRYING TO GET ADA AND HARU TOGETHER-
Creme begins to type. She stops. She starts typing again.
-U know what-
-Fuck it-
-I'm in, just for the chat name-
-YES GIRL-
Maybe you shouldn't listen to Squirrel Two more.
{Are you kidding? This is the most fun we've had in years.}
|||
After about 30 minutes of chatting you finally manage to slip away from the group chat, leaving the girls to their own devices- a thought that does send chills down your spine- and you to the rest of your day.
Beacon's library is, as usual, a shockingly quiet place. However, the more you come here, the less it feels like the quiet that itches at your ears, setting your teeth on edge. Nowadays, it almost feels… comforting. Like a weighted blanket to curl up in, the sound of flipping pages and distant footfalls like listening to rain against a window.
You decide that you would quite like to wander for a short while, just to familiarise yourself with the place.
{... Hey, Jaune- doesn't Beacon have a restricted section?}
Vague memories bubble to the surface, of Jools telling you about her attempts to sneak in just because the curiosity was too much, and being warded off by the Librarian- you still don't know her name- for trying.
On one hand, you feel that listening to your impulses has caused enough chaos today. On the other…
{... We're just gonna go and find it.}
We're just gonna go and have a look.
{Just gonna take a peek.}
Just a peek!
This feels like a poorly thought-out plan that will do little besides garnering the ire of someone whom we rely on for access and navigation of this place.
… Naaaaaaah-
{Naaaaaaaaah-}
{Naaaaaaaaaah-}
It'll be fine! You're just going to go and find it.
You wander for a while- you might have this fabled restricted section in mind, but that doesn't mean you know where it is. When the library has three floors, each of which is about half the size of the sports pitch back at Signal- and none of that accounts for the apparent spatial nonsense that occurs once you get deep into the stacks- you don't put too much hope in finding anything without help.
… Okay but seriously you'd swear in court that the rows grow deeper, twistier, the further you go- even the Transistor sometimes seems confused about where you are.
You glance at a random book on the shelf next to you and find its author to be J. P. Baltimore, a name which just sounds like it belongs in one of those Lords' Genealogies you found last time.
Then you read the title; 'Against The Insupportable Maundering Of Ivor Ravenheart Of Moncrieff-Upon-Elden, Worm-Servant Of The Animal God And Layer With Mares,' a sentence so startlingly caustic that you have to stop yourself from giving a shocked laugh.
Stifling it to a couple of still too-loud snorts then composing yourself, you make a mental note to pick it up later, because it would not physically fit in your satchel without more force than you'd like to apply to a book you don't personally own. Instead, you keep walking, almost immediately stumbling into wrought-iron grating laid into sandstone. You almost mistake it for the wall of the library, before you realise there's stuff behind it.
Taking a step back from what you realise is a small clearing in the paper forest, you take in where you've wandered, and realise that you've found exactly what you were wandering for.
The restricted section is less… blatant than you imagined.
For one thing, no sign of it exists beyond the height of the stacks surrounding it. It simply looks like part of the wall from out in the main sections. If someone didn't know it was here, they would never find it but for good luck. Once you look below the level of the book stacks, it's a much harsher story. Great bars of wrought iron punched into sandstone, more like the cell of a Royal oubliette than a cordoned-off area for books that are too rare or controversial for public opinion. Considering the seminal works of J. P. Baltimore over there, you think- hope- its contents might skew towards the former than the latter.
Above the door, in silver lettering, is a series of symbols you must assume means something, but you don't even recognise the alphabet. You feed it through the Transistor's OCR and turn up zilch. Not, that it doesn't recognise the characters- you review the images you sent, and they aren't there. Just- vague blurs of gold on marble, and your eyes are too 20/20 to justify that, so the Transistor has no excuse.
You're overcome with the sudden and entirely explicable urge to curse Ozpin.
You peer through the iron bars, and see ancient wooden desks, with inkwells and chained pens on them, alongside equally venerable bookstands, polished brass page-holders chained to them as well.
{Hm. The librarian must do maintenance.}
Then, of course, there are the books. Shelves of books. Stacks of books, all perfectly dusted and waiting for someone to have a look. Some of them appear to have steel bindings, locked in place. You see some other oddities- small dolls, and large quilts along the wall. What a shame it's locked up.
… Unless.
Melt the lock?
Wh- no! Scan the books!
{We've already done that, Jaune.}
You look over at the Transistor with some minor spark of glee in your heart, waiting for it to tell you something interesting.
{... What? What's up?}
… What's in the restricted section?
{In the restricted section? Did you ask us to scan something there?}
Glee rapidly shifts to concern. You pull your eyes from the books and turn to look at the Transi- HELL'S HORSES-
The Librarian, when you turn around, is about six inches from your face and it takes every ounce of restraint to not jump back and concuss yourself on the iron bars.
"Mr Arc!" she says, voice all bright and smile all sly. "Does your family have a congenital medical condition that might explain its members' disproportionate propensity to being so inadvisably curious?"
"M-Ms, uh, Librarian, ma'am, I was just-" you scramble to try and explain yourself, your efforts devolving into wordless stammering before you just shut your mouth, a moment too late to truly save your dignity.
The look on her face softens from the smile of a mad housecat to just impish.
"Oh, relax- looking is all you've done," she says. "A courtesy neither your sister nor father showed."
"Oh…"
… You realise this may be the first time anyone has acknowledged that your sister and father attended Beacon. None of the teachers have mentioned it, even though most of them should have taught Jools. You expected Ozpin to have mentioned your father, at least.
"... What were they like?" you ask. "Nobody ever talks about them. I mean, my dad, sure, he probably went to school here with half the teachers, but I haven't heard a thing about Jools."
"Oh, hellions, the pair of them," the Librarian says. "Your father and his team were all but the definition of too smart for their own good, and Julienne, well- she was a good student, all told, just…" she trails off.
"Easily stressed out?" you venture a guess.
"No, not even that, she… had a habit of taking on unwise challenges. In truth, she was a bit of an adrenaline fiend."
… Jools, an adrenaline fiend? The Jools you know can't even get rid of spiders in case they might be venomous.
"I take from the look on your face that the years after Beacon mellowed her out somewhat?" the Librarian says, giving you an unreadable smile.
"... Well, she works as a chef now," you tell her, prompting a drawn-out noise of comprehension. "So, um… what's in the restricted section?"
"Nothing you can read, dear," the Librarian tells you patiently.
Your face flushes with embarrassment.
"... I mean, I gathered that."
"No, Mr Arc," the Librarian says through warm giggling. "I mean nothing you can read. Very few books in there are written in Valish, or any modern language. Some of them aren't even written in any language you or your friends or any of the other students, or perhaps anyone besides Ozpin and I, would recognise, let alone comprehend."
There it is again- this insinuation that she knows about the Transistor, with a chaser of knowing about Ozpin. You don't really know how you feel about that, but it makes your skin prickle.
"... What kind of languages do you think my friend wouldn't recognise?"
The Librarian tilts her head, closing the eye not hidden behind a monocle as she considers something- then seems to consider if she should even be considering it. After a long moment, she begins to speak.
"... There was a river nation, in the lowlands of Vacuo, when the land was fertile, and the sand was lush oases… who did not have a written language. Instead, they had a woven one."
"... Woven?" you ask, unsure you heard her correctly.
It's a trick- a moment where your eyes are distracted by the glint of her monocle, an instant where you aren't watching her hands- you're sure of it. Any other explanation for how the doll, small enough to sit on your palm, and well-kept in its old age, made its way into her hand is too much for you to consider.
"Yes. Its name was Teiji'sásil," she says. "'The Woven Light.' Their canvas was mommets of tightly woven thread; dolls, in a word. They believed that spirits- or their ancestors, the translation is unclear and the difference is moot- would inhabit the mommets, and speak through them the wisdom the creator wished them to share, or cast spells on a person if their blood and hair was woven into the doll."
The Librarian moves forward, letting you look closer at the doll in question- at the way the chaotic starbursts of colour never form distinct rings, instead forming great spirals of patterns that you can… almost… spot… no, you've lost it.
"However- the creator had to put that knowledge into the doll, or the spell they intended to cast. So a language arose in the weave- one that people had to teach their children, so they could capture spirits to hand down their teachings and cast their spells. Then, in the end, myth and legend fell away, and the language remained."
"What… does that one say?" you ask, staring at the mommet on her palm.
"A warning," the mommet says with a high, echoing voice, string-cross eyes glowing. "No-Soul chase the Soul. Soul and No-Soul go into the cave, and Soul come out, No-Soul stay. Now the Soul wander there every day. Other Soul wander in too. Not-grown no come out. Not-men no come out. No Soul come out but the not-known Soul. Cave dangerous now, stay away..."
Your eyes bug out a little as you watch this little doll speak.
"Some depth of meaning is lost, naturally. Teiji'sásil doesn't mark plurals, for example, or have proper descriptors; just a negative modifier to verbs and adjectives. You only refer to the singular, and with very few exceptions, you only refer to what it is not. Only names, places, and the word 'Soul-' humans and animals, in essence- are consistently given without modification. Weaving the language is like hewing a statue out of marble."
"Ventriloquism. Cute," you say flatly. "The glowy eyes were a nice touch, too- your Semblance?"
"Oh, the eyes weren't mine," the Librarian says, clearly enjoying every moment of this. "It just does that sometimes."
A moment passes, and you feel like you're being royally fucked with. Deep breath. Remove yourself from the temptation to start asking questions with answers that won't make sense. It's what she wants.
"How do I get into the restricted section, for future reference?" you ask, quickly changing the subject.
The Librarian chuckles softly, shaking her head as she looks at you.
"I do mean it when I say there's very little that would be of use to you in there," she says. "But if you must- ask Ozpin to write you a permission slip, and I will accompany you to handle the items inside on your behalf."
You frown- why is she so convinced that an entire section of ancient history would be of no use to you? Surely, if only by laws of statistics, something in there should come in handy someday. You look back, eyes glancing up at the sign that you cannot read, and the Transistor cannot translate.
"... What does it say?"
You don't need to look back to hear the smile- the warmth in her words. The slight pause that might just contain silent laughter.
"'A book is a soul preserved. A library is mankind saved.'"
And you don't need to look back to know that the Librarian is already gone.
|||
[This is the next entry of Piranesi's diaries that mentions Penseur, dated roughly 3 months after the last.]
The Age Of Bright Arts, Year 52, Month Of Beating Sun, Week 3, Day 6.*
I cannot put a name to Penseur's breed of Grimm. It has the same general outline as the Auguries; a tall, thin creature, of vaguely humanoid shape, with arms about two-thirds the length of its body tipped in claws the size of daggers. Where it diverges in form is the large flaps of leathery skin connecting its arms to its sides. Its face is long, and the bone plating on its head resembles a human face- a death mask. A long, frowning face, with a bent nose- pensive even in death.
Penseur's face almost seems peaceful until it opens its mouth. Its teeth are not human; they put me in mind of an eel's, thin and needle-like, bar a pair of large fangs, like a jungle cat's.*
It speaks, sometimes, now; the need for children's toys to communicate is past. Its voice is like that of a man who has been alone in the desert, hoarse from lack of water or use. Yet there is a power behind its tone- its speech fills the cave and beyond, settles upon my bones like Solitasian hoarfrost.
But it speaks, and this is enough for questions.
ME: Do the mirrors hurt you?
PENSEUR: What is hurt?
ME: Do they cause you pain when they shine the sun on you?
PENSEUR: Pain?
ME: Pain is the bad feeling that happens when something happens to your body that shouldn't. If I stuck my hand in a flame, I would feel pain as it burnt me.
PENSEUR: Flame bad. Big flame bad. No flame is better.
ME: You prefer it when it is night?
PENSEUR: Moon good.
ME: You like the moon?
PENSEUR: Like?
ME: How… how you feel about stone doves.
PENSEUR: Mm… Like nest, like many stone doves. Looking at moon like many stone doves for me. Like-
It hesitated for a moment, looking away as it thought, inferred more things it liked from what I had said.
PENSEUR: Like the moon like many nests.
ME: Why is that?
PENSEUR: Want to do that. It… what is the word you used? Natural?
I admit to a moment of hesitation- confusion, really. I had used the word 'natural' in passing, many meetings ago. It remembered that much?
ME: … Natural? Natural to do what?
PENSEUR: Break something big as the moon. Like Papa did.
|||
[The next entry is, unusually for Piranesi, entirely undated, and surprisingly short. Due to the way On The Souls Of Grimm is formatted, you are left staring at a quarter-filled page.]
Two people are missing from the village below the cave. Mother and child. I barely avoided a confrontation with the father today. He said their son had wandered into the cave, and his mother after him, and they had not been seen since. I told him I hadn't seen them, truthfully. He told me he was going into the cave tonight. I told him he shouldn't. He called me a coward.
He is right. I am a coward. I should have said something, yet I could not bring myself to. If he killed Penseur, it would be the end of this unique glimpse into the minds of Grimm.
I did my due diligence. I put up warnings. Made sure anyone, of any age or education, could understand them- but what mother listens to warnings when her child could be in danger?
What child listens to warnings at all?
I could not stop him- anymore than I could stop the tide. Instead, I wished him luck, and gave him some charms with Glyphs written upon them, as shown below:
[DIAGRAM CENSORED BY ORDER OF THE JADE BUREAU]
I did not sleep well last night, though not for this news.
I did not sleep, because I could not stop shivering.
|||
[???: +1] (Current [???: 2])
It seems that Piranesi was adversely affected by the Grimm he had captured. It's not an uncommon story, especially if it was indeed Vampyr-adjacent. Its intelligence was developing rapidly, too. Also in line with younger members of the species.
Vampyr… you have a Library() entry on them, don't you?
{My gods! You're gaining the gift of prescience, Jaune!}
Quiet, you. Still, that's… who is 'papa' to a Grimm?
{Brother Dark? Is the book implying that he's the one who shattered the moon?}
It's implying that Grimm believe Brother Dark shattered the moon.
It's implying that Grimm believe anything, which is horrifying in its own right.
… You think you've done enough reading for the day. You look up from your comfy nook and see the sky painted in pinks and oranges through the skylights.
Has it been that long? It was only mid-afternoon when you came in- you thought you'd only been reading for ten minutes. Then again, a lot of reading this book is extricating the important parts from ranting about sailors and shellfish recipes. And working around the Jade Bureau's censorship. So, you close the book and make your way out of the library.
Tomorrow, after all, is your first Civics class.
|||
You don't think you're going to enjoy this. It's just a gut feeling, but it's enough to make the walk to your Civics class feel like a trip to the gallows.
{Got some good news if you want something to take your mind off it.}
Shoot.
Your parietal and occipital lobes are now fully healed. No lingering trauma detected from the incident at Initiation.
{Your brain is now certifiably squeaky clean.}
And smooth.
{So smooth. Like a big, jiggly cue ball.}
You snort, happy for what little distraction your friends' stupid commentary provides.
"Jaune?" Lumen asks. "What's up?"
"Uh- not much, why?"
"You're just looking a little," he gestures to his cheeks, "faint. Everything cool?"
A lot of orange in today's mix, then.
"I-I'm fine. Just, antsy, I guess."
Lumen raises an eyebrow, question unasked but perceived.
"... You remember what Civics class was like at Signal?"
"Sure, it was a glorified debate club," Lumen says. "Didn't really pay too much attention to it, 'cept for when there was a screaming match going on- why?"
"I saw the sign-up list for this one. Blake and Creme."
"Okay…?"
"Weiss, and Salem."
"I'm sure you're trying to make a point, but I'm not seeing i-"
"And Dove, Cardin, and Leathers."
Lumen makes a sound like a strangled goose, his ever-changing eyes going wide with fear.
"Oh it's going to be like a pressure bomb in there," he manages, his voice a strangled whisper. He runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling for a long moment. "Okay. Okay."
Orange luxin forms in one of Lumen's palms, quickly wrapped in a dark green leather, which he begins to squeeze rhythmically. After a second, he creates a second ball and throws it to you. You give it a squeeze- the green luxin stretches, and the orange bulges out like those gooey stress balls that only seem to exist in museum gift shops. It's cathartic, in a way- something to focus on besides your own head.
"We'll just- let today happen, get a lay of the land, then plan from there. That sound good?" Lumen says, putting a steadying hand on your shoulder.
You nod, not trusting yourself to words, and you continue on.
The classroom for the Civics elective is a smaller room on the ground floor of Beacon, just a set of tables put together in the middle of a room with chairs around them, and larger desks around the perimeter with a few computer terminals. At the front of the class, a large blackboard takes up one wall, same as every other classroom you've been in so far. Creme and Blake are already in and sitting together, a little bit away from Leathers, occupied with what looks like a notepad that you can't make heads or tails of.
Blue?
{It's all Mistrali to me too.}
"Jaune! I didn't know you were taking this class. Or Lumen, actually," Creme says as you sit down.
Lumen shrugs.
"Had to pick something besides Securities," he says. "And if this is anything like Civics at Signal, it won't have much homework."
Blake snorts. "Here I thought you were here for the stimulating conversation."
Lumen looks to the door in response, and no one comes in. A long moment passes, and he looks away. "Dammit, I was hoping-" the door opens, revealing Dove and Cardin, "-there we go," he says.
Your teammate nods sagely, as if some great wrong has been righted.
"Ooh, more people than I expected," Dove says, that same placid smile on his face as always. "Blake, Creme, radiant as ever. I know I can trust you two to provide stimulating conversation for a class like this."
The girls in question respond by aging 40 years in 2 seconds.
"J-man!" Cardin says, clapping you on the back on the way past, but moving to sit with Dove.
You feel three accusatory glares aimed your way immediately- two from the girls, and one from Dove.
{Ooh. Someone's possessive.}
Creme raises an eyebrow in a way that makes you feel like a pinned butterfly.
"J-man?" she asks incredulously.
"... We spot for each other in the gym," you say. "Helped me get my new one-rep PB for deadlifts."
"I understood about 60% of that sentence," Creme says, though there's no bite to her words.
"Lifting 800 pounds above my head is a hell of a feeling, and so's feeling safe doing it."
"Hell yeah it is, man!" Cardin says, clocking the conversation. "J-man here helps me with cardio- my new sprint record's twice what it used to be!"
"He's been working out at his max heart rate every time," you explain. "It's better to aim for about 75-80%, it's more sustainable. Cardin's up to 40 miles an hour on the manual treadmills already, but he can sprint at 50 for a full 30 seconds now."
You can't help but keep a hint of pride out of your voice, considering you've spent the past few weeks helping him get above 25. Now he's legal for the highway! You look over at the girls, and see them both smiling at you.
"... What?"
"Just glad you're having fun, I guess," Blake says cryptically.
Salem and Weiss are the last in, followed by Professor Teach himself. The last pair sit down, Weiss between you and the girls, and Salem nearer Leathers than not but still giving him some space. Leathers seems unaware of this.
"Apologies for being late, had admin duties to attend to, and news to gawp at in numb horror," Teach says, placing down a cup of coffee.
He doesn't look like he's slept. More so than usual, his eyes are baggy, even a little bloodshot- there's this wildness to them that wasn't there last time you saw him.
"... What… happened?" Creme is the first to venture.
Teach takes a long breath, one you recognise- the breath of trying desperately to condense a sprawling topic into one or two notable sentences that somehow gets the gist across.
"... Riots have taken Vacuo by storm," he settles on after a moment's thought more. "Half the city is in flames, the other half is breaking out into brawls."
"... Sounds like a regular day out there," Dove says after a moment, to a wave of disgust from everyone but Cardin. "What?! Vacuo's defined by its complete lack of formal law and order- the city's cultural state of being is basically a series of rolling bar brawls. What makes this one any different?"
You haven't seen the crime statistics for Vacuo. It never would have occurred to you to look them up unless you were visiting. By the looks of everyone around you besides Cardin, that seems to be a shared sentiment- except for Professor Teach, a truly thunderous look on his face.
"Alright, Mister Bronzewing," Professor Teach grinds out. "Thank you for choosing our topic for today's Civics class."
He stands up, and writes on the board, in sharp, stabbing strokes that send fragments of chalk flying:
THE VACUO RIOTS: WHAT MAKES THEM DIFFERENT?
… Oh you're not going to last twenty minutes in here.
|||
The first ten minutes are spent on finding information on why the Vacuo Riots started, and after some independent reading between the nine of you, the group notes one name popping up consistently.
Caesius Azar.
"Who is this guy?" Salem asks. "Some kind of… teacher? Now leading mass riots?"
"Local lawyer, turned public educator/philosopher, turned would-be revolutionary," Weiss explains. "He used to educate children and uneducated adults in the slums- reading and writing, mostly, but he also advised people on their legal rights, as much as Vacuo has those. Helped make sure companies could be held accountable by people for unsafe waste disposal, wage and time theft, so on. Then he turned towards teaching Massist philosophy to, well, the masses."
"Massist? Wasn't that the stuff the old Mantle regime worked under?" Salem asks, frowning as he tries to figure out if he's right or not.
"Nah, they was jus' fascist feelin' police," Leathers pipes up. "Massism's th'idea that erry'un should get wot's comin' to 'em."
"... Beg pardon?" Dove asks. For once, you're with him, you have no idea what Leathers means.
"Massism's the idea that labour power shouldn't be separated from the labourers- that everyone should be working towards a more just society, rather than to fuel an economy that doesn't contribute to that directly," Blake says. "Labour unions, universal basic income and public services, that kind of thing."
... Which makes-
{'Wot's comin' to 'em' is the end result of Massism, yes.}
"So… he's leading a Massist revolution?" Cardin asks. "I mean… it doesn't sound so bad, besides setting half the city on fire."
"Well… depending on the half of the city, it might deserve it," Blake says, to some odd looks. She responds with a shrug. "Vacuo's a heavily stratified society- it's not quite as bad as a caste system, but there are families out there whose name is as good as a free pass to do whatever they want to people. The aristocracy isn't as dead as the commoners hope, and the aristocrats would like you to believe."
"So much for accepting anyone who can make it out there," Salem grumbles.
"They accept anyone who can survive out there, yes," Blake responds. "But surviving isn't the same as living- it's why so many working-class people become Huntsmen and Huntresses."
"The pay or the power?" Dove asks.
"Nobody argues with someone who can crush your skull between their hands."
Dove makes a little noise of comprehension, and you get the feeling it's the most polite thing he's going to say today.
Where is the Academy in all this, actually? Shouldn't Shade be, you dunno, putting this down? At least putting out the fires?
{No formal response as of yet, though students have been seen taking independent action. But even if they weren't busy settling their own affairs, Shade's students come from all over Vacuo, former nobility or otherwise.}
… So if they take a side, they alienate half the Hunters in the city.
"Okay, so the riot's politically motivated," Dove says. "Shocking."
"Hell d'you mean shockin'?" Leathers says, taking his feet off the table and leaning towards Dove. "You's the one who said this weren't special for Vacuo."
"At its usual level, yes, but on this scale? No. But hey- that's what you get for letting in every waif and stray that comes to you," he says, leaning back. "Bound to get some bad apples eventually."
You do a really quick, definitely legal check of something. Honest.
"... Azar's a Vacuoni native," you point out. "The bad apple was in the city from the day he was born."
Dove frowns at you.
"How do you-" his eyes flick to the Transistor. "Stupid question. Okay, fine, Azar's native- but his ideas aren't. Massism started in Vale. It's not a native idea to Vacuo, to its culture, to its systems- you can't just drop something like that into the mix and not expect things to grind against each other."
"I think the idea that labour should aim towards making the world a better place is a pretty universal one," Lumen says. "Edwin Mass wasn't the first person to come up with it, and he won't be the last."
Dove rolls his eyes, and Lumen raises an eyebrow.
"... What, it's such a bad thing to think that people should show some merit if they want to benefit from society at large?"
Before anyone can respond, Cardin slowly turns to Lumen, a question bubbling away.
"W-wait- his name was Edwin Mass?"
"... Yes? How did you think it got the name?"
"Because it-" good lord there's smoke coming out of his ears, "-it's a political system that benefits the masses?"
"Where do you think the term 'the masses' came from?" Weiss interjects. "It started as an insult based on him- the upper classes just trying to make everyone else sound unimportant. Soon it just became everyone below a certain tax bracket, and by then his supporters had already taken up Massists as a new name."
Cardin blinks, and you can't tell if he's entirely uncomprehending of what he's just learned, or if he's having an existential crisis.
"Glass houses," Dove says.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you saying you haven't benefited from being a member of the upper class?" he says, voice turning placid and sweet. "More importantly, haven't you benefited from a distinct lack of Massist influence in Atlas, after the old government fell?"
Weiss sputters, slowly flushing with anger. Blake reaches out and touches her shoulder, just enough for Weiss to reel it in, close her eyes, and take a deep breath.
"... I am not oblivious to the benefits my family and status have given me. However, I am also not the topic of discussion, thank you very much. So- the riots are occurring for ideological reasons. Clearly, it resonates with people extremely."
"And they just had to start rioting about it," Dove says.
"The outer city barely has running water, let alone a functioning government to petition," Creme says. "I don't like it and I don't condone the things they've done, but I…" she frowns, and you can almost see the bullet she dodged. "... Actually, have we found any kind of inciting incident?"
|||
20 minutes in. No inciting incident found yet. You've stopped looking, because it stopped being relevant roughly 19 minutes ago.
Your stress ball was getting a hell of a workout. Was. You managed to burst it somewhere around Dove asking Blake if she agreed that White Fang tactics did work, even with the cost of life and long-term detriment factored in, and Lumen quickly got rid of the evidence before it managed to get into anything that the dust would stain.
"YOU CANNOT COMPARE THIS TO THE WHITE FANG!" Creme screams, her voice hoarse from how much of that she's been doing. "THESE AREN'T TERRORISTS, THEY'RE PEOPLE TRYING TO MAKE A BETTER LIFE FOR THEMSELVES!"
"How's it any different? Shops being firebombed, people being beaten in the streets, it's all the same hallmarks!" Dove yells back. "You just want to sympathise with them because-"
"And time!" Professor Teach says, finally- oh nope yep the argument is just bulldozing over him, amazing.
"BECAUSE WHAT, BRONZEWING?! BECAUSE I'M THE KIND OF PERSON YOUR FRIENDS IN THE HUMAN DEFENCE UNION WOULD WANT TO STRING UP?! BECAUSE I'M THE KIND OF PERSON YOU THINK WOULD JOIN THE WHITE FANG?! BECAUSE, YOU THINK EVERY FAUNUS WOULD JOIN THE WHITE FANG, DON'T YOU?!"
"It's, the Human Defence League-"
Creme turns to look at you, and you flinch. You've never seen her this angry, and you certainly didn't want to see it turned on you.
{Don't worry. She isn't angry with you. She's just angry.}
"Creme, chill," Lumen says. "This isn't a productive argument."
"A PRODUCTIVE-" she stops- realises who she's talking to. That train of thought crashes, so she breathes. "A productive argument?"
"What have you two achieved, besides needing a drink of water?" Lumen says placidly. A small window pops up in the corner of your eye, showing you the small blue birds in his palm. "This is not productive, it is just inflammatory at volume. Now calm down before you throw a chair at Dove, and Dove, shut up before I throw a chair at you."
Creme shoots him a genuinely venomous look, but sits down. Dove, at least, manages to look somewhat contrite about his contribution to the noise complaints this class you're sure this class will get later.
Oh you could kiss that man on the lips right now if he wasn't in a relationship. And you weren't heterosexual.
{Easy, tiger, don't start putting on lipstick just yet. We're not out of the woods, and I don't think he'll manage it a second time.}
Everyone is quiet for a long, blissful moment. All you can hear now is your heartbeat, hammering away in your chest. Deep breath. Deep, deep breath. You can do this.
"I just… don't understand why this happened," Blake eventually says. "Azar is a respected, known name, even outside of the slums- even outside Vacuo. He was already at a point where people were listening to him. This is…"
"... Din't need t'turn into a punchup," Leathers finishes.
"Yeah…"
Everyone takes a blissfully quiet moment to think about that.
"... So why did it happen?" Cardin says.
"Well clearly something happened," Dove says, holding up placating hands when people turn to him. "We may not all agree on what, but it's clear that it did. There's no such thing as cause without effect, and for all I don't agree with him or his vision for Vacuo, Azar doesn't seem like someone who spends years of his life building up a following like that just to turn it into a coup overnight."
"Mm," Salem hums.
"AND, TIME!" Professor Teach yells suddenly, punctuating it with a single clap that sounds like a gunshot going off.
You're so keyed up that it actually makes you jump out of your seat, sending it skittering back. You see Creme behind you, looking to you with concern- then genuine mortification as she realises what had happened just a minute earlier.
"Goodness gracious, 20 minutes to get through your first screaming match as a class! And you resolved it all on your own, well done!"
Everyone stares at Edward Teach like he's just grown a second head.
"... What," Blake says flatly. "I- these two nearly started a full-on fight! How is this in any way a success?"
"Last year, someone threw a girl through that wall," he points, "after she said that she thought people over the age of 80 were just drains on our resources when we're due another Black Sun Winter," Teach explains. "This is an improvement! Now- you've got information gathering down, but let's see what we can do about having actual cogent debates, yeah?"
Ohhhhhhh this class is going to kill you.
|||
More screaming matches come about. Even with Teach moderating, they get bad. Creme does actually end up throwing a chair at Dove. Being fair, he deserved it for trying to pivot the blame on the number of Faunus immigrants that the City of Vacuo gets every year, both from inside the Kingdom and out.
Bell rings. You walk out.
"Gonna be a while, need some time to decompress," you say to no one in particular.
"Jaune-" Creme says, but you're already mindlessly walking down the hallway, aiming nowhere in particular.
Self-Directed Sparring? No. Not the mood. You can't really deal with other people right now. Not now. Not for a while. It's been a long while since you went but the demerit is worth more than having to fight feeling like this.
When did you get upstairs?
{Jaune.}
You ignore Blue.
Sysadmin?
You don't respond to 01.
Jaune-
"Can you all just… leave me alone, for one minute? Please? I really need to just be- I don't-"
You disconnect from the Transistor's sensors, from Blue, from Bracket, from the Process, it's all just too much right now it's all just- you only barely stop yourself from disconnecting it from your Semblance altogether.
Creme got angry with you. Dove made her angry and then she turned it on you because you tried to correct something that was incorrect and maybe it was a bad time to do that, maybe it's always a bad time to do that but nobody ever got angry with you about it before because you've learned how to do it nicely how to phrase it as a question how to oh god Creme is angry with you, your friend is angry with you that's never happened before, that's not good, it's bad, it's-
You can't calm down. Can't breathe, it's like something's squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart's beating too fast, too loud, BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM just this constant barrage in your ears, BOOM
your temples, BOOM
your neck, BOOM
your chest-
"... Jaune?"
New person, really
BOOM
don't
BOOM
need a
BOOM
-ing new person right now, you're-
You feel a hand on your arm. Focus. Ground yourself. You turn around, and see Yang looking at you but you can't read her face
BOOM
it's just blank it's just two dots and lines for a mouth and a
BOOM
nose.
She places both her hands on both your arms. Double the focus, double the grounding.
BOOM.
You focus on her eyes. They grow out from dots to those big, lilac things, you've never seen anyone else with a colour like them.
BOOM.
She looks sad. No. Wrong. There's nothing. Just wide eyes looking you up and down and trying to figure out what's wrong. Let your focus expand out from her. Relink to the Transistor's sensors. When did you get outside?
BOOM.
"I…"
"Hey, it's okay- don't talk, not yet. Can you just take a deep breath with me?"
You nod.
BOOM.
"Okay. In through your nose."
You breathe. She breathes. She stops. You stop.
Boom.
You feel Yang rubbing little circles into your arms. It helps.
Boom
"And out through the mouth… In… out…"
boom
You don't know how long it takes to fully pull yourself out of the attack, but Yang is with you every breath of the way, still holding on, still rubbing little circles into your shoulders, as patient with you as you could ever hope for. It all helps. Of course it helps- it always helps, every time, and you forget it every time.
Well. You haven't had a panic attack since you were 12, so you suppose you're a little rusty about riding that bike.
You try to swallow, but your mouth is too dry, so it's more just moving your throat up and down a little. Hurts when it sticks.
"... Thanks. Sorry." Voice is croaky. You definitely need water.
Yang gives you a little grin, and a playful punch in the arm.
"What for, dude? Panic attacks happen. You've got nothing to be sorry for."
You smile, and rub your arm a little. Didn't bring your Aura up in time. That hurt a little.
"... Wanna talk about it?"
"... Not… just yet, no. I- you don't need to worry, really."
Yang gives you the concerned smile of someone who is taking your advice and, politely, throwing it in the trash to worry anyway.
"Well… you wanna just talk? I don't care about what."
Let's get back into this with an easy one.
[] "... My brain's healed. We can, test that thing you talked about?" (Start "Funk Soul Sister" now.)
[] "... Maybe later. I don't, really think I can handle other people right now." (Leave it for later.)
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- Location
- Florida
[X] "... My brain's healed. We can, test that thing you talked about?" (Start "Funk Soul Sister" now.)
Very excited to see another update for this.
Very excited to see another update for this.
Eisenhelm
gran dutch of douchery
- Location
- Colombia
when you have the world's most advanced Artificial inteligence whit the greatest computational power but it justs helps you to make bad decitions faster.
BBBence1111
Harbinger of Bad Luck
- Location
- Magyarország
I have no memory of what Funk Soul Sister was, time to reread a bit I suppose.
Nice to see you back, awesome chapter as always.
Nice to see you back, awesome chapter as always.
- Location
- USA
IT LIVES! Good to see ya back and man our boi just went through the wringer. Well, not talking has never solved anything, so talking it is.
[X] "... My brain's healed. We can, test that thing you talked about?" (Start "Funk Soul Sister" now.)
[X] "... My brain's healed. We can, test that thing you talked about?" (Start "Funk Soul Sister" now.)
infinityDivided
Prince Of Doom
- Location
- USA
I had, roughly two hours ago, mentioned this quest elsewhere and said "Shame the quest is dead (maybe)".
You may thank me for manifesting the new chapter into existence
You may thank me for manifesting the new chapter into existence