Parts of this chapter have proven to be far more controversial than I anticipated. The author's note at the end has been updated to provide an explanation of the thought process that went into this.

Ruby hobbled through the corridors of Beacon, taking in the familiar stonework with a definite sense of relief. She was glad to be back.

Her doctors had declared her free of any Grimm-borne diseases just that morning, so she had been allowed to check out of the hospital on the condition that she wear a cast and boot for the next week. It had seemed like it wasn't a big deal at first. Really, choosing between wearing a boot and staying in bed in a cold room with no teammates and stupid TV shows? That was almost easier than deciding whether it was worth skipping study time to hide Blake's weapon in Zwei's bed and blame the whole thing on Yang. After all, she wore boots all the time. Easy peasy.

NO! Not easy peasy! She hated the boot already. It didn't bend, it wasn't comfortable, it wasn't the same height as her normal boot, and it didn't even look cool. It threw off her balance, 'cause it only weighed like half of what her combat boots did. Worst of all, she couldn't run. SHE COULDN'T RUN! What was the point of life if you couldn't run? It was like...words failed her. There wasn't even a good comparison to make. Breakfast without milk, or something equally horrible.

The hospital had offered to call Yang and arrange for her to be picked up, but she had refused and checked herself out instead. She was fine with her sister and her teammates helping her - not that she really had a choice - but they could be smothering even at the best of times. Yang would fuss and worry, Weiss would scold, and Blake would…well, she would either agree with Weiss and Yang or simply give her a hug while being quietly worried. It was always hard to tell with Blake.

Either way, she had wanted some time by herself to enjoy her newfound freedom. She had used the hospital's shuttle to get to the airship docks and then taken the public transport to Beacon. By the end of the trip, she almost regretted not calling Yang - almost. Stupid boot.

She limped down the hall and cast a curious eye towards JNPR's room. The door was closed. Making a mental note to stop by later, she paused before the door to her own room and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small bottle of medicine and swallowed two of the pills, then took a deep breath. Here goes.

The door swung open at her push.

"Ruby!"

Yang practically flew to the door and pulled Ruby close. Her hair tickled Ruby's face, her strong arms circled Ruby's back, her nose pressed into Ruby's hair. Ruby smiled ruefully into her sister's shoulder and hugged Yang tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of designer shampoo. After a long moment, she relaxed. Yang took the hint and stepped back (but not before giving her a good squeeze), her eyes already flying over Ruby's body.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed. "How did you get back? Why didn't you call?! You're in a boot! You shouldn't be walking!"

"She checked herself out of the hospital, obviously," Weiss interrupted tartly, rising from her usual spot at her desk. She crossed the room to give Ruby a gentle hug before pulling back and glaring at her. "Although why she didn't call us is entirely beyond my comprehension."

Ruby felt abashed in spite of herself. "I know you guys were going to come get me," she mumbled, looking at the floor. "I just wanted some time to myself."

"While that is completely understandable," Weiss admonished, exasperation obviously warring with relief at Ruby's return, "you were just released from the hospital. You should have let us know, at least."

"I'm fine, Weiss," Ruby objected, reaching up to return a warm embrace from Blake. "They would have made me stay in the hospital if I wasn't."

"Speaking of hospitals, what did the doctors say?" Yang asked anxiously.

Ruby groaned and lifted her boot from the floor before letting it thump back to the ground. "A week. A week, Yang! I can't run in this stupid thing! What's Professor Goodwitch going to say?"

"That you should be more careful," Blake opined as she made her way back to her bed.

Ruby whined expressively. "But I don't want to miss combat class! It's the best one!"

"Look on the bright side," suggested Weiss. "You have more time to catch up on the work that you missed." She nodded towards a piece of notebook paper that sat on Ruby's desk. "I even talked to our professors to procure a list of assignments and organized them into a schedule for you. Without combat class, you can be caught up in a few days. If you started now, you should be able to finish at least one essay by tonight."

"Weiss." Ruby looked at her best friend in disbelief. "I'm on pain medicine and I just got my freedom back. You're crazy if you think I'm studying today." The odds of her doing any homework right now were only slightly better than the odds of Yang deciding to cut her hair in a bob for fun. The odds of her doing homework well were even less than that. She could feel the buzz of the meds kicking in already, now that she thought about it. Her work suffered when she was sleepy. It would probably be worse when she was all dopey from whatever this stuff was.

"Thanks, though." She flashed a smile. It never hurt to be polite. Well, polite-ish.

She looked up at her bunk with longing. It was weird that she still wanted to sleep, 'cause she hadn't done much but sleep in the hospital, but whatever. It still sounded amazing. The question was how she would get up there with this boot on. She usually climbed up from the end of Weiss' bed, but the boot would make that hard. The sheet that blocked her bed off from the outside world fluttered in the breeze from the air conditioner, almost mocking her inability to reach it. Stupid sheet. Stupid bed. Whose idea was it to have bunk beds, anyway? They were in a combat academy! Someone was going to get hurt eventually!

Oh, right. Hers.

Yang followed her gaze and grimaced, realizing the issue immediately. "Oh. That's going to be a problem." She stared contemplatively at the bunk. "I could always just toss you up," she suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous," Weiss said crisply. "She can take my bed."

Ruby immediately shook her head. "Where will you sleep, then?" she protested.

More importantly, why was Weiss being nice and ignoring Ruby's rejection of her get-Ruby-caught-up-on-classwork-today plan? That was suspicious, or her name wasn't Ruby Rose. Which it was. In case anyone was wondering.

Weiss gave her a pitying look. "Obviously," she spoke as if to a particularly slow child, "I'll sleep in your bed." She scowled as if to forestall any further disagreement. "And don't even think about arguing. That deathtrap has held up all year. The odds of it killing me in the next few weeks are miniscule."

Ruby considered the offer. It did make sense. Getting into (and especially out of) Weiss' bed would be easier than her own. Also, pillows. Weiss had awesome pillows. Not that her own pillows weren't really comfy, but Weiss' were fantastic.

"Although," Weiss added thoughtfully, "you can protest as much as you like, I suppose. You can't exactly climb up there to stop me."

Ruby whined in indignation while Yang cackled with amusement, but it was more for show than out of any actual offense. She had missed Weiss' snark. It was nice, in a prickly kind of way.

She limped over to her side of the room and hauled herself onto her partner's mattress. The boot caught on the sheets and kept her from bending her knee, but she managed. Shimmying back against the wall, she looked at her teammates quizzically as she began to work the combat boot from her non-broken leg.

"So, did I miss anything?"

The sudden silence that followed prompted a swell of suspicion in Ruby's gut, even through the drug-induced tingles. She looked around at her teammates. Blake's poker face was in full effect, and Weiss bore a carefully sculpted neutral expression. Yang…Yang stared abashedly off at the ground, avoiding her gaze in a way that she shouldn't be doing after Ruby just got out of the hospital.

Yang should be fawning, hugging, or hovering in a way that was simultaneously endearing and annoying. She should be having difficulty figuring out the line between big sister and mom. She shouldn't be acting like Dad caught her sneaking out at night to go to a party.

"What?" Ruby asked, narrowing her eyes as she dropped the boot to the floor. The thud of rubber on carpet sounded loud in the quiet room.

Yang spoke, her eyes never leaving the floor. "Guys, would you give us a bit?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea." Weiss looked to Blake. "Shall we?" she suggested.

"Of course," Blake drawled as she stood with smooth grace.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Ruby glared with growing impatience at her sister.

"Yang."

If it was possible, Yang looked even more ashamed. Her shoulders were slumped over and her mouth was pulled into a grimace.

"I…I messed up, Ruby."

Ruby sighed. If this was going to happen, it needed to happen the right way. Sleep would have to wait until later.

"Come here," she ordered, scooting sideways on the mattress.

The mattress shifted and rocked as Yang climbed up next to her sister. Ruby leaned against her arm, letting her head rest on Yang's shoulder. She didn't know what was going on, but affection never hurt anything, especially where her sibling was concerned.

"What happened?"

Yang shifted beneath her, but did not speak immediately.

"After you got hurt," she began finally, hesitantly, "I was really angry. You didn't have to be out there. Pyrrha didn't have to break the rules."

"Yang, it wasn't…"

"No, wait. Let me finish, okay?" Yang leaned her head over to rest on Ruby's briefly. "I went to talk to her while you were in the hospital. And I swear, Ruby, I meant to just talk it out with her, that's all."

"…You meant?"

Yang hung her head. "I made her fight me," she mumbled.

Ruby stiffened and whipped around to face her sister, face blazing with indignation. "Yang!"

"I know, I know, I shouldn't have. I was just…angry."

"That's not an excuse!"

"I know, alright?"

"What happened?! Did you hurt her?"

Yang covered her face with her hands. "No," she admitted, sounding more grumpy than angry. "I got her once, good, but…I was almost unconscious by the time Weiss and Blake pulled her off of me."

Silver eyes widened, momentarily distracted by this news. "Wait, what? But you two always fight great in class…"

"I. Know." Yang forced out though gritted teeth. "It surprised me too." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

Ruby rubbed Yang's leg comfortingly, her brow furrowed in thought. Yang getting into a brawl was pretty much normal, but Pyrrha? What was that about? Self-defense was one thing, but needing Weiss and Blake to pull her off was bad. Like, really bad. Like, there-was-something-Yang-wasn't-telling-her bad.

"Why did Pyrrha fight you?" she asked.

There was no response.

Ruby twisted around to look at Yang, who again refused to meet her eyes. Her cheeks burned red with shame.

"I made her," Yang answered dully.

And that wasn't the answer Ruby was looking for. She waited, narrowing her eyes to indicate her displeasure.

"Fine. I insulted Jaune, okay? I didn't mean it, but it got her to fight me."

The air left Ruby's lungs in a whoosh of disbelief. That was…she didn't blame Pyrrha at all. She collapsed against the wall and stared off distractedly. Pyrrha would still be angry, then. Probably Ren and Nora, too. Her team would be fine, if a bit upset at Yang. And all because…

"She didn't even do anything wrong." Ruby pointed out. "Maybe she meant to break the rules, but I was out there with her. She had a partner, even if she didn't know about it."

"She shouldn't have been out there in the first place!"

"I would have gone with her if she had asked, and I don't care that she didn't. It could have happened to anyone."

"That's...aaggh." Yang sprung out of the bed and stormed across the room. "That's the point, Ruby! It could have been Blake, or Weiss, or Ren, or Nora," she turned to face Ruby, anguish etched clearly in the lines of her face, "and I really don't think any of us can handle losing someone else."

Ruby slid off of the mattress at that, limping across the room to bury her face in Yang's shoulder. Small arms closed tightly around her sister's waist, squeezing tightly. Finally, the source of the problem.

"I'm okay, Yang. I promise." Her voice was muffled by the fabric of the leather jacket.

Yang returned the embrace fiercely, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over to drip down on Ruby's head. "They thought you were going to die, Ruby. I thought you were going to die."

Ruby looked up at Yang, her expression serious. "I know, and I'm sorry, but…I'm going to get hurt again, Yang, and you can't hurt people when it happens. Especially not our friends."

"I know," Yang sniffed.

"Go talk to Pyrrha, okay? Really talk. Sort all this out."

"I will."

Ruby hugged Yang tightly once more, trying not to feel guilty. She suspected that telling off her older sister would always feel wrong, no matter how long she was team leader.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Pyrrha lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. She was thinking.

At least, that's what she would say if anyone asked. In reality, she was brooding, running through a steady stream of self-recriminations and worry over and over again.

She knew, as surely as she knew anything, that she was good. How could she not? She had heard it since she was young, whispered by proud parents and coaches, shouted from the throats of thousands of fans, spewed across the headlines of every major news agency in the world.

Winning was what she did. With any weapon, in any arena, by any standard rulebook, she would win. The betting agencies long since stopped offering anything less than 2 to 1 odds on the prospect of her victory - lower odds were just a waste of money. She simply didn't lose.

She was, without a doubt, the best warrior in Mistral, and possibly anywhere. None of her peers were close to her level, and most fully-fledged Hunters couldn't even compete. Everyone knew her for her skill, and everyone who was anyone in the fighting world knew her for her discipline as well. In the arena, she never lost her cool. Her mind was always sharp, always analyzing. If there was a way to beat an opponent, she would work it out. She always did. Out of the arena, she never missed a training session, never deviated from her diet, and never gave the tabloids anything at all scandalous to talk about. Every coach in Remnant told their students to follow her example. She was the perfect role model.

Only now, she had made a mistake.

She shouldn't have hit Yang. Her frien- that girl - had deserved it for what she said, but Pyrrha herself had made the fight physical when it didn't need to be. Where was her vaunted self-control?

Apparently, it all flew out the window when someone insulted her crush. It was a pretty serious crush, granted, and he was her partner to boot, but that didn't excuse the violence.

Or maybe it did. She couldn't imagine a way out of that situation without some sort of violence. Yang had obviously wanted to fight, and Pyrrha had been happy to give one to her. If you could call what happened a fight.

Pyrrha rolled onto her side and sighed, curling up into herself. She just didn't know what to do.

The heart of the problem was that she didn't have so many friends that she could afford to lose them. She wasn't experienced in all the intricacies of a close friendship, but it didn't take a genius to know that her relationship with Yang was going to be strained, and that it might not ever recover.

She shouldn't have hit her.

Even worse was that she hadn't just hit Yang; she had thrashed her. In a contest the judges would have called the fight early, simply out of mercy. Yang would be all the more defensive because of that, and she could only hope that Blake and Weiss wouldn't be defensive on Yang's behalf. She wouldn't blame them if they were - Nora and Ren were furious with Yang, and it would only make sense if Blake and Weiss were angry in turn.

She sprang up from her bed and began to pace nervously. What if this was what finally split JNPR and RWBY? What if RWBY closed ranks around Yang, and Ren and Nora protected her in turn? What if they never got over it? Worse, what if they just pretended to get over it and eventually drifted apart when things never went back to normal?

All because she hit Yang. Really, she shouldn't have done it.

Unless, maybe, if she had waited for Yang to strike the first blow? Maybe that would have been better.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.

"Hello?" she called, regarding the door with trepidation. Please, she begged whatever gods might be listening, not Yang. Anyone but her. She didn't know what she would say if it was.

She didn't feel the relief she expected when Weiss stepped through the door. The heiress was, as usual, collected, proper, and utterly unreadable. A small part of her (she hoped it was a small part) roared in defiance. Let her be angry, it said. Let her come. Let her try. Pyrrha's gut sang with tension as her eyes darted over the woman's face, looking for any sign of disapproval or anger, but she could see nothing.

"How is Yang?"

The question burst from her mouth before she could stop it, leaving her with a sudden feeling of foolishness. Of all the ways to begin the conversation, of course she brought up the most awkward part first. Maybe it was for the best. Hopefully.

Weiss took a tentative step further into the room. "She's…fine. Physically, at least." She gestured back across the hallway towards her room. "Ruby is pretty upset at her, though."

Ruby! She was back, then. Oh, that was good to hear. She would have to go see her soon, whenever Yang wasn't around.

"When did she get back?"

"About fifteen minutes ago," Weiss replied evenly. "May we sit down? I want to talk to you about something."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Please." Her cheeks burned in sudden embarrassment. Of all the people she had to forget her manners around, it just had to be Weiss. No one else would have cared (or even noticed, in some cases), but Weiss would probably think she was being rude intentionally. "Please, come in."

She led her friend away from the door and perched on the edge of her bed, her back ramrod-straight. Social niceties had never been her strong point, and Weiss' solid composure only made the contrast between the two girls all the more clear. She was more than familiar with the code that existed in the arena, but it was a rough and unwritten thing, born of metal, sweat, and hard-won respect. The dainty, scripted motions of the interactions that were second nature to Weiss felt awkward and unfamiliar to her.

The heiress glanced at the chair that sat by Pyrrha's desk, but came instead to sit next to her on the mattress, one hand rising to tuck an invisible strand of hair back into order. The women regarded each other for a moment in silence.

"I wanted to check on you," Weiss said at last, "and to apologize for Yang's appalling behavior."

Pyrrha shook her head immediately. "That wasn't your fault."

"No," Weiss agreed. "But I should have intervened sooner than I did."

"Would it have made a difference?"

A pale shoulder rose, then fell. "Perhaps."

"And perhaps not."

Another shrug, short and dismissive this time. "Whether it would have changed anything is academic. Regardless, I should have realized Yang's intentions and attempted to stop her." Piercing blue eyes swept up to her face. "You haven't said how you're doing."

Pyrrha hesitated. Weiss didn't appear to be angry with her: quite the opposite, in fact. More to the point, Pyrrha had yet to talk - really talk - to anyone about Jaune's absence. As supportive as Ren and Nora had been, there was very little that actually needed to be said between them. They knew already, knew from hours of bonding and interaction, from their own observations, and, more than anything else, from the loss of a man who was their own friend and leader. It was a situation they all understood without needing to speak, and while that was a wonderful thing, maybe talking about it would help.

"I miss him," she admitted, and once she started the words came out in a rush, "more than I thought I could miss anyone. I know he wasn't the best fighter, and that he could be awkward, and I know that Yang thinks he didn't pull his weight, but he meant so much to me." To her mortification, the room blurred behind a haze of tears. She blinked furiously to clear them.

"We wouldn't have become a team without him. He could love Nora for herself, but look past her enough to see Ren. He didn't care that I'm famous. He was funny, and a good leader, and hot, and he learned faster than anyone I've ever seen. He was my partner, and my best friend, and…oh, Weiss, I was so sure that he would be more. I wanted him to be more."

The heiress laid a slim hand on her leg and leaned against her comfortingly.

"That's not how Yang sees it," Weiss mused. "Not really. She thinks…well, she thinks you two are kind of cute." Blue eyes flicked over Pyrrha's face. "Don't take that the wrong way. She just sees you both as…innocent. Like Ruby." A smile ghosted across her lips. "I think she sees the two of you the same way she would see Ruby dating. Cute, sweet, a first romance kind of thing, you know? She thinks it's refreshing, when she isn't trying to start fights - frankly, we all do."

"Jaune isn't the first guy I've been involved with, Weiss," she snapped, although the effect was ruined when she sniffled to keep her suddenly runny nose under control.

What did she mean, a 'first romance kind of thing'? What did they think she was, some whinging pre-teen in the throes of her first crush? She was Pyrrha Nikos. She could go into any bar in the kingdoms and walk out with someone. Not that she would, or that she even wanted to. The guy she wanted wasn't in a bar, and would probably feel incredibly awkward if he ever was.

"Oh," Weiss was taken aback. "The way you danced around Jaune…I thought…well. I was wrong, obviously. I apologize." Seeing the irritation in Pyrrha's face, she backed away on the mattress, eyes wary. "Please, Pyrrha, I didn't come here to start a fight of my own."

Pyrrha shook her head, instantly contrite. She didn't need to alienate another friend, and she was self-aware enough to realize that her anger came more from defensive embarrassment at her tears than from any actual affront.

She disagreed with Weiss about 'dancing around', though. She hadn't been blatantly forward, but she hadn't tried to hide her burgeoning attraction towards her partner, either. Then again, Jaune's idea of forward was the emotional equivalent of stamping an invitation to date on the side of an anvil and throwing it at him.

"I'm surprised you managed to keep it away from the tabloids," Weiss remarked, attempting to move the conversation away from her mistake.

She smiled at Weiss in silent apology and thanks. "I made that any dates I went on were discrete, and I was lucky. The rest weren't...well. They weren't really relationships, I suppose."

"Plenty of people have had failed relationships, Pyrrha," Weiss disagreed. "The fact that they were shorter than they could have been doesn't make them magically not count."

"I don't know," she said vaguely, shifting in discomfort. Weiss wasn't supposed to comment on that part - maybe bringing up her past relationships hadn't been a good idea. Ask about the dates, she begged silently. Please, please, just let the other go.

"Well, I do," insisted Weiss. For once, she appeared to miss the conversational cue. "I've had shorter relationships as well, usually with suitors that my father found attractive and I didn't. They're still relationships, they're just…well, short."

Weiss wouldn't understand not with her proper upbringing and perfect, traditional moral code. Her dates probably included chaperones, or took place in exclusive, expensive clubs where the purpose was to be seen as much as it was to see. She and Weiss were so similar in some respects, so used to the struggle in eking out a private life underneath the constant gaze of celebrity, but in this...they simply couldn't be more different.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Weiss observed.

Why couldn't she just let it go? She probably thought she was helping, or something. Building up her friend's low self-esteem. There was no way out of it, either, short of ending the topic completely. She couldn't do that - after her near-disastrous snap at Weiss earlier, another break would derail any chance this conversation had at a decent ending.

"…It was sex, Weiss," Pyrrha mumbled at last. "Not an actual relationship." Her gaze was fixed firmly on her lap, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She couldn't bear to see the hard light of disapproval change Weiss' eyes. Hearing no reply, she continued in a dull voice.

"Everyone did it. During the tournaments, I mean. It was...expected."

There was still no answer from the heiress.

"I didn't, at first, but...oh, Weiss, I was so tired of being alone. I just wanted to feel like someone wanted me," Pyrrha dragged a hand across damp eyes, not caring that it undoubtedly smeared her makeup. "Not because of championships, or fame, or anything else. Just me." Her eyes welled up again as soon as her hand passed. "And he didn't. He just wanted..." She trailed off into miserable silence.

A gentle hand cupped her chin and raised it until green eyes met sky blue.

"What you have done is between you and the gods," Weiss said gently. "You are still Pyrrha, and you are still one of my first and only friends."

There was a moment where Pyrrha looked at her in disbelief, and then the tears, held back until now by sheer force of will, spilled over.

Pyrrha was vaguely aware that small arms settled around her and guided her head down to Weiss' lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto the skirt beneath her. Weiss said nothing, but lifted her hand and feathered delicate fingers through Pyrrha's hair as she cried.

She cried for the pain of her past, for the betrayal of her trust. She cried for Jaune and for lost possibilities, for her helplessness in the face the danger he faced. She cried because she didn't know what to do, or how her plans for the coming years would change. She cried because she was tired of worry, tired of pain, tired of uncertainty.

She cried because Weiss wasn't disgusted by her after all, and because maybe that meant that everything would be okay.

She did not know how long she cried, but she did know, and would always remember, that Weiss never once ceased to comb her hair.

But, as they always must, sobs gave way to tears, tears to sniffles, sniffles to hiccups, and hiccups, at long last, to silence.

"Thank you."

"Of course." Weiss smiled and rubbed Pyrrha's shoulder.

Pyrrha raised her hands and scrubbed them over her face. They came away much cleaner than she expected. She stared at them and tried to force her muddled brain to work. She had been wearing makeup. Then she cried. She had been resting on Weiss' dress. Her head whipped around to see that the white cloth now bore smudges of foundation and the unmistakable, spotted streaks of mascara.

"Weiss-"

"Don't you dare," interrupted Weiss, holding a finger up in command. "It's just a skirt."

"A nice skirt!"

"But a skirt, nevertheless," she chided. "And the stains will come out, anyway."

Pyrrha sighed, accepting that Weiss could easily afford bleach - and a new skirt, if it came to that - without batting an eye.

She lay back on her bed, arms splayed out over the mattress. It was amazing how much a good cry helped, sometimes. Her problems were still there, of course, as big and imposing as ever, but they felt…manageable. She had Weiss. She had Nora. She had Ren. If Weiss was right, she had Ruby and Blake. Things were going to be okay.

"If we're confessing things," Weiss said gently, "I should say that I didn't come here just to check on you."

She hummed a questioning sound, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the moment.

"Do you remember when Jaune called us?"

Snort.

"Stupid question," Weiss conceded. "Did you notice the Schnee statue behind him?"

"No." She had only seen Jaune at the time. Unobservant, perhaps, but she felt she could be forgiven for it.

"Well, I did. He turned around when I asked about it, but it was there. I had to do some research to be sure I wasn't seeing things, but..." Weiss hesitated. "I think I know where he is."

Green eyes flew open.

"Where?"

One wouldn't normally associate the unexplored, untamed lands beyond human civilization with the feeling of boredom.

And yet, Jaune was bored. He was even bored while working in an airship, which had to be some kind of record for him. Usually he was sick from the time he stepped aboard the aircraft until he stepped off, and while that was unpleasant, it was decidedly not boring. Granted, the airship wasn't flying at the moment, but still.

With painstaking care, he picked up a small, locked case from the stack before him. It was an official-looking thing, molded from matte black polymer with the Schnee snowflake stamped boldly on the front. It fit perfectly into a slot in the large, aluminum rack before him. A pair of locking bars swung down in front of it and snapped into place, securing the case in a rack of shelves with several hundred other cases just like it. The rack itself extended from a bank of similar racks that took up the entire back half of the cargo hold in which he worked.

He turned and bent to grab another case, lifted it up, slid it into a slot just above the last, and locked it in place. The rack, now full, rolled back into a space in the bank just large enough to accommodate it. Jaune took two steps to the side and rolled out its empty neighbor, then went back to grab a case.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

It was a monotonous task, and not one he enjoyed. He didn't mind repetitive work - training was nothing if not repetition - but this wasn't training. It lacked the concentration of forms, the reaction and analysis of a spar, and unlike drills, it held no promise of improvement.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

He had noticed that the color of the Schnee emblem changed, indicating the type of dust inside the case. They were all blue at the moment. They had all been green before. Maybe they would all be green again. Who knew? Just as unimportantly, who cared?

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

Some Schnee executive, probably, stuffed into a suit with briefcase in hand, boasting about the yield for the quarter to some board or other. (Was yield even a thing? It sounded business-y enough to be a thing). Or maybe some pencil-pusher farther down the corporate ladder who spent the day locked in a tiny cubicle crunching numbers.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

Although, maybe the pencil-pusher loved the numbers. Maybe it made the pencil-pusher happy when the little columns added up to a big, pretty, final number.

Who knew? Not him.

Who cared? Also not him.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

Weiss probably cared, at some level anyway. Maybe she should come and help him load cases into this stupid airship if it mattered to her so much. (The thought of Weiss doing manual labor in an airship hold made him snort). Or maybe she didn't care, as long as it kept her father happy.

Who knew? He didn't.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

The work wouldn't even be so bad if he had been expecting it. Instead he got to deal with boring work and the disappointment of not getting to train. Seriously, was knowing his schedule too much to a-

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped and gave a yelp of surprise, which drew a hearty laugh from the large man behind him.

"Don' start like tha' around a Grimm," the man chortled. "Jump righ' to your own grave, tha' way."

Jaune squashed his embarrassment, reminding himself that the miners would ignore him if they didn't like him. They were a tight group, but shy to outsiders.

"Yeah, I know," he said as he rubbed the back of his head ruefully. "I got lost in the work."

"It happens," the man shrugged. "Ye'll learn tae stay focused. But back tae the mine wi' ye, Branwen needs help. I'll take care o' this."

Jaune thanked him quickly and ducked out of the hold into the warm summer air. He snatched up Crocea Mors from where it leaned against the hull of the airship and clipped it to his belt. The hilt was warm where the sun had shone on it. The heat felt good, but he tried not to notice too much. One of the greatest drawbacks of working underground was that the weather never changed - it was always chilly and sunless in the mines. That could be wonderful when it was raining outside, but it did get old after a while.

A hard hat, backup flashlight, a pair of rubber boots, and he was back underground. Familiar walls passed by as he jogged down the corridor to the first and largest chamber, which he privately dubbed "the office". There were no crystals or mining activity there, beyond the carts that passed through on the way to the surface and the group of tables that served as the command center.

As usual, there was a knot of people clustered around them, their voices reverberating around the room and blending into an incomprehensible mix of noise. Jaune jogged over to them.

Qrow was in the center of the huddle, gesturing and talking rapidly to Jasper. The big foreman stood next to him with his arms crossed, interrupting occasionally, but apparently receptive to what he was saying. They appeared to reach some sort of conclusion as he approached, with groups of people hurrying away to disappear down various tunnels.

Qrow looked up when Jaune stopped by the tables. The portable floodlight by him threw his shadow along the floor to the far wall, where it merged with the dark that spread beyond the range of the lamp.

"Hey, kid. Got your gear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Don't call me sir."

He went back to browsing the map laid out before him. It was in poor condition - tattered, stained by muddy hands and the scribbling of pens and pencils, but still readable. The lines on it followed the layout of the mine, as seen from above. Other, half-open maps lay around it, discarded for the moment.

Jaune cleared his throat. "Um...you wanted me, right?"

"Yeah," Qrow said absently. He stared at the diagram for another second before shaking his head and rolling it into a messy cylinder.

"Do you feel good? Muscles warm?"

"Uh," Jaune hopped up and down and waved his arms, feeling his body move and stretch. The work outside, although boring, had his muscles loose and limber. "Yeah, I feel fine."

"Good. Come here and take a look at this." The Hunter shuffled through the papers and spread out a map that was, if anything, in even worse condition than the previous one.

"You see this wall?" He pointed to one of the longer lines roughed onto the parchment. "It's the back of area eight. You've been there."

Jaune squinted at it and tried to remember if he had been in that area of the mine before. It didn't look familiar, not that it meant much - he was lost at least half the time he was here, anyway. If Qrow said he was there, he probably was.

"Maybe?"

"You'll remember it when you see it. Survey team thinks that there's another room behind it, so they're going to crack it open." Qrow shoved the map aside and turned to Jaune. "That's where we come in. We're still close to the surface, so that room might open somewhere above ground."

"So…there might be Grimm?" Jaune guessed. Or other things, he supposed. What else lived in caves?

"Exactly. These guys are going to blow a hole in the wall, and if something comes out then we stop it."

He swallowed and nodded. The memory of the terror and wrongness he felt at his last encounter with the Grimm prodded at him, and images of him running through the cave as something gave chase flashed before him. He pushed them aside with a swift shake of his head. He would do better, now that he knew what to expect. Qrow was with him, just like last time, and so were the miners.

"When are we doing it?" he asked quietly.

"Jasper just went to make the final preparations. If you want to do anything first, now's the time."

Jaune shook his head in the negative and stared off across the chamber. At least the lack of training today now made sense. His questions about the lack of a schedule, however, were still very much unanswered. This seemed like something he should have known before now.

"Did you know this was going to happen?"

"What, do you think they decided to open a new mineshaft because they felt like it this morning? Of course I knew."

"You could have told me," he said.

"Right. Because Hunters usually have schedules," Qrow said mildly. "You have to get used to the unexpected eventually. Might as well start now."

Jaune grunted his annoyance, but acquiesced.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with."

"One thing first." Qrow leaned back against the table, looking for all the world like a man at home rather than a man about to fight humanity's worst enemy. "When you're fighting, I want to to try to suppress your emotions."

Jaune's lips thinned in irritation, but because Qrow raised a hand in caution he said nothing.

"I know you don't like it. I know it goes against everything they taught you at Beacon. You're supposed to allow yourself to fear to help distract Grimm from the civilians, but think about it for a minute. There are no civilians here."

Jaune raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Everyone here wasn't a hunter. With only four schools, there just weren't enough of them to populate a town. Not that anyone would want to try; the schools were crazy enough. A whole settlement of Hunters would be insane.

"Everyone here isn't a hunter," he said flatly.

"No," Qrow agreed, "They're not, but do you really think that anyone comes to live outside the kingdoms without knowing that they will have to fight for their lives?"

They...well, he guessed they didn't. Beyond the protection of the cannon batteries and border defense forces that circled the border of every kingdom, fighting would have to be a part of life. Citizens of small communities would have to pick up the defensive duties that the kingdoms delegated to their armies.

Seeing his hesitation, Qrow pushed on. "Every man and woman here has fought the Grimm before, and every one of them will fight the Grimm again. There's no drawback to holding back your emotions. No one will get hurt because of it. Just try it this time and see what happens."

Jaune sighed. It seemed like a bad idea, but Qrow was right. With no civilians (or no defenseless ones, anyway) to worry about, there wasn't any downside to trying his idea out.

"Fine."

"Great." Qrow stood briskly and picked up his scythe from where it rested next to him. "I'm not expecting you to be able to do it yet - not well anyway - but do your best. Watch me if you get a chance; you might learn something."

Frankly, he wasn't planning on watching anything besides Grimm or thinking about anything besides how to not die. Add trying to control his emotions around that...aura, or whatever Qrow had called it, and his plate sounded pretty full.

He figured Qrow didn't need to know that, though. It might make him sound like a bad student.

They walked quickly to the back of the room, to one of the many tunnels that led away from this central hub. A large "8" was painted in a garish, industrial yellow next to to the exit.

The tunnel ran through a series of switchbacks, working upwards at a slight angle. The tunnel was a square, unremarkable passage that bore the curved striations of the diamond-tipped cutters used to excavate it. As far as Jaune could tell, they were going up inside the mountain, probably to a cavern that lay just beneath the surface of the mountainside.

"Remember the aura," Qrow growled softly. His shoes made a sharp tap against the stone as they walked, in hard counterpoint to the soft tread of Jaune's sneakers. "Remember what it felt like. Expect it."

Jaune listened and nodded in acknowledgement, although he thought the advice was completely unnecessary. How could he forget fear like that? He unclipped Crocea Mors from his belt and drew it, popping the wings of his shield out into position. THe blade gleamed in light of their headlamps, the only source of illumination in this passage.

Before long, the glimmer of light ahead announced their arrival at the eighth cavern.

There were people everywhere.

A group of miners stood back against the walls, armed with an eclectic assortment of weaponry. A second group of people argued among themselves and made adjustments to what appeared to be a collection of explosives. Two massive bulldozers rumbled around, pushing rubble into two discrete piles against the far wall. Between those piles, the Dust scientist - Aria? - stood in a high-visibility vest, taking measurements with a tape and marking them on the rock with bright orange spray paint. Still others seemed to have no job at all, content to stand around and observe the work.

Jasper stood in the midst of it all, yelling instructions and scribbling on a notepad. A massive sledgehammer rested beside him with the haft leaning against his leg. One of the men called out and pointed at them when they entered, and he looked around with a smile.

"That was fast," he commented. "Not that I'm complaining. We're almost done here."

Qrow looked around the room with a raised eyebrow. "Doesn't look like it."

"As soon as Aria finishes her calculations, the explosives team will set the charges on her marks." Jasper explained. "We all take cover, and boom. There's a new hole in that wall."

"What about the rock?"

"If things get too hairy, just give a yell. The operators will push those piles into the breach to seal it." Jasper paused. "Just, for the love of all that's good in the world, make sure you get out first. That's at least an standard ton of rubble. Maybe a ton and a half."

Qrow scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. "Of course. There's a bottle back in town that I want to get to know better. Can't do that if I'm buried before my time."

"A bottle or a girl?" Jasper teased. "Don't say you haven't noticed the cleaning woman at that inn."

"What, like you've noticed that scientist of yours?" retorted Qrow. "Those looks you were shooting her weren't exactly innocent."

Jasper held up both hands in protest. "Hey, Aria's single, but I'm not makin' any moves on her."

A sly grin crossed the Huntsman's face. "Really? So you don't mind if I ask her out?"

"No," insisted Jasper stubbornly. "No, I don't have a problem with that."

"Right." Qrow raised a challenging eyebrow, smirked, and stepped past Jasper. His had rose to smooth back his hair. "Wish me -"

"Okay, okay!" The miner grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back. "Maybe a bit, all right? Damn, man, I didn't think you were actually gonna do it."

"I wasn't," he said smoothly. "Just wanted to clear things up."

Jasper shook his head and looked around quickly, obviously relieved that no one heard the conversation. "Just don't go spreading it around, all right? She should find out from me, not through the grapevine."

Qrow gave him a wide-eyed look and pointed to himself. "Who, me?" He chuckled and slapped Jasper on the shoulder. "Go get her. No PDA in the mine, though. I don't want to walk in on something I shouldn't."

Jasper gave a booming laugh and swung his sledge up to his shoulder. "One of these days, Branwen, I might just do that. MILLER!"

Jaune jumped in alarm at the unexpected shout.

"Yes, boss?" A small, skinny man hurried up to their group, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

"How's progress?"

"She's ready to blow when you give the say-so." He gave a reedy laugh. "Call me a poet with the rhymes, boss."

"Just don't quit this job to pursue that dream, okay?" Jasper looked around one last time. "Okay. Get everyone out. Time to roll."

Miller gave a signal. The wail of a siren rose to split the close air of the cavern. It echoed through the space, high tones mixing with low and bouncing from the walls, loud enough to shake Jaune's teeth.

The miners responded instantly and universally. All joking was immediately put aside as everyone hurried from the room to crowd into the tunnel around the nearest switchback. Jaune and Qrow were pushed to the front along with the two miners who were to operate the bulldozers. Behind them crouched those who had weapons of their own. Everyone else clustered in the far back.

The siren continued to scream for a full minute after everyone had left. Part of Jaune's mind realized that it was probably for safety or something, but this fact was tucked away for later along with other, extraneous thoughts. His world now consisted of his sword, his shield, Qrow, and a sharp awareness of his immediate physical surroundings.

Qrow bumped his shoulder and motioned for him to cover his ears. Jaune immediately crouched down, dropped his sword, and shoved his fingers into his ears. A few seconds passed.

CRACK

The explosion shook the ground beneath him and the shockwave ruffled his hair. Instantly, he grabbed Crocea Mors and stood, listening to the pitter-pat of debris bouncing along the floor of the cavern.

Qrow held out a hand and lifted three fingers, then began to lower them.

Three.

Two.

One.

They sprinted around the corner into the main chamber with the two operators hot on their heels, Qrow's scythe deploying with a metallic whir as they ran.

The chamber was empty, but a jagged hole gaped in the far wall. No light was visible beyond it. Jaune and Qrow came to a stop just before the rubble piles, weapons up and ready. One operator hauled himself up into the cabin of the bulldozer. The engine rumbled to life a second later.

The other operator seized a small bag that lay on the tracks of the second machine and tossed it to Jaune before climbing up and starting her own engine. Caught off guard, he caught it instinctively and looked inside. Thick, silver rods? He held it out to Qrow, assuming that he would know what to do with it.

Qrow grunted and leaned his scythe against the rubble, but kept a wary eye on the opening. Jaune gripped the hilt of Crocea Mors tightly. If something came through, it was on him to stop it now. Qrow pulled one of the rods from the bag and fiddled with it, causing the tip to burst into sputtering, white-blue light.

The flare sailed through the opening a second later, falling out of sight to the floor of the new cave. It was immediately extinguished with a hiss, but it brought no reaction; no howls, no roars, no screeches of Grimm who had found prey.

Qrow drew a second flare from the bag and sent it spinning after the first. They heard it skitter along the floor and roll to a halt. The light held, but again there was no response.

"Follow me," Qrow ordered, shifting his scythe back into a sword. "Be careful."

They approached the opening warily, ready for any hint of an attack. The floor beyond the breach was several feet below the hole. Qrow dropped down first, and Jaune followed.

The ground sloped down at an angle to form a natural bowl of sorts. Great pillars of stone rose at intervals, along with stalagmites and stalactites that would, one day, form pillars of their own. The floor of the cave was damp and muddy, but not impassable, although there was a shallow pool of water at the very bottom. A few, scattered leaves hinted at an opening to the outside, somewhere. This cavern could fill with water when it rained, if that opening was in the right spot.

Qrow pointed them out to Jaune. "Careful."

Jaune stared at the darkness around him, looking for the glint of a red eye or the sheen of white bone. If leaves meant that there were existing openings, then openings meant the possibility of Grimm. The the flare illuminated much of the room, but the edges were far, far darker than he liked.

Qrow began to light flares and toss them systematically out into the darkness while Jaune stood at his back. The guttering light sent the shadows into a crazed dance, suggesting at forms that disappeared as soon as he saw them. He kept his shield up, as much an emotional barrier between himself and the dark as a practical defense against unseen attackers.

More flares lit the room until they stood in a circle of light, the entire cave visible. It was empty of Grimm, and, as far as Jaune could see, it was empty of dust as well.

"That..." he said at last, "was the most anticlimactic thing I've done all week."

Qrow shrugged and slung his sword from his back. "It happens. Everything can't always be exciting."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," Jaune said feelingly. "It's just...you know."

Qrow walked over to the pool in the center of the room and bent over to fish out a blackened cylinder. It was the remains of the first flare, Jaune saw. "This is nice," he said approvingly. "Good quality stuff."

Jaune didn't know what to say to that, so he contented himself with looking around. Dust or no dust, the room was beautiful. The rock formations flowed into themselves with flawless grace. Veins of minerals wound through the rock, adding variation to the dull tan of the sandstone around them. Drops of water that hung from the ceiling caught at the light from the flares and their headlamps, gleaming like stars on the ceiling.

He began to circle a particularly large column, taking in the subtle variations in detail. It was shaped like an hourglass, with white lines (some kind of mineral, Jaune guessed) snaking along it, joined in lesser quantity by multicolored veins of stone. Some small crystals - not Dust crystals, but crystals nonetheless - crusted the top, refracting the light into multicolored prisms that danced along the textured surface of the mineral deposits. It was, quite simply, majestic. The bottom joined the floor in great swells, almost like the knots that form on tree trunks. These, too, were colored, some blue-green, some white, and some black.

...Some black?

He gave a shout of alarm, stumbling back and ripping Crocea Mors from his waist. Qrow heard and sprang towards him, scythe springing out to the ready.

At the noise, the black lump moved. It was not, as Jaune had first thought, an interesting stone formation. The Deathstalker that scurried across the floor, away from them and into the cover of a grouping of stalagmites.

Upon seeing it, Qrow lowered his guard slightly. "Did you see how small it was?" he asked, eyes darting around the room.

"Yeah."

"It's a juvenile. Very juvenile; I don't think I've ever seen one this young."

Jaune took a deep, shuddering breath. He could deal with young. Fortunately, Grimm didn't have parents, so there was no need to worry about that. No one understood exactly how the process worked, but they didn't seem to need them. Deathstalkers, in particular, tended to live solitary lives without packs, nests, or mates.

"Why is it running?" In his experience, Grimm usually charged straight at you.

"It's just being careful; we outnumber it. Look, we can talk about it later, okay? Right now, you need to kill it."

"I need to kill it?" Jaune asked quickly. "What about you?"

"I'll be here if you need me, but like I said, it's a juvenile. You should be able to handle it." Qrow smirked. "Just watch out for the tail."

Jaune adjusted his shield nervously and began his circle towards the Deathstalker's cover. Avoiding the tail was far easier said than done. The blindingly fast strikes made blocking difficult and dodging even more so. Any of his friends would have used a ranged option to disable the tail before closing in. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have one of those.

His sneakers squelched and sucked at the mud coating the cave floor, rendering any kind of quiet approach impossible. There was no doubt that the Deathstalker knew exactly where he was, even though Jaune himself had only a vague clue where the creature hid.

As he approached the stalagmites, he felt a flutter of that wrongness from before. His steps hitched, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth in anticipation, but the full brunt of the fear never came. It was still there, making the world twist (or maybe it was the fabric under the world that twisted), but it was subtle, like a constant, discordant hum that writhed on the threshold of his hearing.

His headlamp stabbed though the flickering shadows, pushing them back to the edges of his vision. He could see the Grimm. It was molded into an impossibly small divot behind some of the larger rock formations, not ten lengths distant. It didn't seem to realize that he could see it, half in shadow as it was. It waited with unnatural stillness for him to approach.

The problem was that he didn't want to approach. The stalagmites that provided it cover from sight would also prevent him from swinging his sword freely. Limiting himself to stabbing attacks was stupid - if the creature's carapace was hard, Crocea Mors could deflect onto the floor. The blade would dull at best, and chip at worst.

Awkwardly transferring the sword to his left hand, he looked around and grabbed up a chunk of rock. It was heavy, smooth, dulled by years of water flow. He hefted it for a moment, evaluating its weight, then drew back his arm and threw it at the Deathstalker.

The makeshift projectile fell short, smacking into the mud. His face flushed with embarrassment. He probably looked like an idiot right now, throwing rocks at a Grimm while holding a perfectly functional sword. He wasn't going to stop - it was a good plan - but he was painfully aware of the appearance.

His second throw was far better. The chunk hit the creature, albeit a glancing blow that did little to no damage. The Deathstalker screeched in rage at the attack.

Jaune scarcely had time to ready his sword before it was upon him. He leapt back to avoid a grasping pincer. For all that this was a juvenile, the claws were easily larger than his feet. The tail was curled back and low to the ground. It would try to grab him first, then hold him still while the venom was injected.

It scuttled forwards, tail bobbing wickedly, eagerly. Jaune led it away from the shadows, out towards the center of the room. Qrow was no longer there, but Jaune didn't have the time to look for him. Hopefully, he would be ready to help if it came to that.

A pincer jabbed, and Jaune swung his sword to counter it. The blade bit into the exoskeleton, but not deeply enough to penetrate. He pulled the sword away in surprise and stumbled back. It was still soft, not like the impenetrable armor of its larger cousins. It was an opportunity, but also a danger; if his sword became trapped in its body, the creature would strike.

He dodged around a pillar to buy time, thinking rapidly. If the exoskeleton was soft, perhaps this could be easier than he expected. It took a surprising amount of firepower to remove a Deathstalker's tail, but if it was as soft as the pincers then he should be able to cut it off.

The only problem was getting close enough.

He feinted close, jabbing at the thing's eyes, but was rebuffed with a screech and threatening jab of its tail.

He backpedaled in alarm, reminding himself that just because it might like to hold him still with its pincers while it stabbed him didn't mean that it had to.

Squelch.

His foot sunk into the mud beneath him. A hole in the cave floor, hidden beneath the sucking mud. He gasped in pain as his ankle twisted, trapped in the thick, clayish goo.

He stumbled and hopped, straining at his shoe. It refused to move. Sensing its chance, the Deathstalker scurried towards him.

With a great wrench his foot popped loose, leaving his shoe behind. Jaune jumped to the side in time to avoid a dizzyingly fast strike from the tail.

Crocea Mors flashed, the creature screamed, and the tip of the stinger fell to the ground.

Jaune whooped in triumph and closed, holding his sword up to drive it down through the thing's body.

The tail flashed and slammed into Jaune's shoulder, knocking him back and leaving a bloody print behind. The deathstalker pressed forwards, undeterred by the lack of a lethal tail.

With a grunt, Jaune jumped over it, turning in time to bring his blade down in a flashing arc that cleaved through bone and soft, half-formed armor. The death screeches of the Grimm echoed through the cave, as he struck time and again, and yet it still struggled. Thin, pointed legs scrabble for purchase as the tail whipped back and forwards in a frenzy of hate. Several strikes found Jaune and left his chestplate smeared with blood from the thing's stump.

Recovering, he grabbed Crocea Mors and ran back, up the rise to the entrance where Qrow stood. Sword still ready, he stood and watched it struggle to move. The carapace was cracked open, legs splayed at crazed angles. It was obviously finished.

The screams quickly gave way to twitches, and no sooner had the twitches ceased than it started to dissolve. Dark tendrils rose from the corpse, obscuring the air around it. Jaune turned away. It was small, so it would take longer to dissipate. Larger Grimm went more quickly. Small bodies could linger, even up to five or six minutes.

Qrow's weapon whirred as it collapsed, folding until it fit snugly behind the Huntsman.

"Nice," he said approvingly. "I thought I might have to step in for a moment, but you handled it well."

A warm glow suffused Jaune at those words. "I thought you would, too," he admitted.

"Ah," Qrow reached out and ruffled Jaune's hair. "I didn't, though. It's a good start. We'll have you fighting like a proper Huntsman in no time."

Jaune ducked his head away, embarrassed but pleased.

Qrow reached out his arms and stretched, looking vastly pleased. "Well, I think that's good for a day's work. Let's go find Jasper and get outta here. I wasn't kidding about getting acquainted with that bottle." He looked at Jaune in consideration. "You can have some too, if you like. Probably shouldn't drink it all myself, anyway."

"I, uh...I don't really have much experience with whiskey," Jaune confessed. "Beacon's pretty strict about drinking during the week, and I'm not really the party type."

"And beer's cheaper, and you're a broke student, and yadda yadda," Qrow interrupted. "I know. I was there too, remember? Don't worry about it." He shot his student a grin, eyes glinting.

"Besides, ya gotta start somewhere."

Hi, guys and gals!

Yay for Jaune and Qrow bonding!

This chapter had more of me trying to flesh out Pyrrha as a character. She's still in her "Patroclus funk", if you want to draw the parallel back to Achilles, and that gave a bit of an opportunity to look into her past and her view of herself. This ended up being more controversial than I had expected - reviews are calling it everything from a fresh, logical way to approach the character to an story-ending travesty.

To start out, I don't think that the completely innocent, hesitant, naive Pyrrha that we see so often in fan-fiction relationships (both romantic and otherwise) is particularly realistic. She's a world-famous champion, a young adult, and a celebrity; there's absolutely no way that she doesn't know what a crush is, and it's highly unlikely that she has no social experience. Writing Jaune as some first crush or having her dither around over some mystical feelings that she's never had before and doesn't know what to do with just seems farcical. Think of people you have seen in your own life who are highly successful at popular activities, whether it be sports or whatever else. Provided that they aren't just incredibly strange, everyone wants to meet them or talk to them, particularly those who participate in the same activities. Celebrity attracts social attention and opportunities. With that in mind, writing Pyrrha as having no significant social experience seems unrealistic. Canon, possibly, but unrealistic. Much more likely is that she has been burned - and badly - by social interaction in her past, causing her current, highly cautious approach to social life. Also note that she isn't awkward in general social interactions. She can hold a conversation perfectly well, which doesn't support the idea of a sheltered, isolated life.

She is, of course, cautious with Jaune, and understandably so. Jaune is her best friend and partner - anyone is going to be cautious when ruining such an important relationship is a real possibility, regardless of how well-adjusted you are or how much dating experience you have. You never "grow out" of the fear that comes when losing the most important relationships in your life is on the table. She does initiate all the major moves towards a romantic relationship with Jaune during seasons 2 and 3, so it doesn't appear that she's too paralyzed by fear to make a move, but she is nervous, she is embarrassed by the immanent prospect of failure and her own emotional vulnerability, and she does move with quite a bit of caution.

In response to a few reviews, I want to be VERY clear: Pyrrha is not a 'slut', nor was she simply sleeping around. In real life, people who are dealing with serious emotional pain (loneliness, in Pyrrha's case, but we also see it with things like PTSD, rape, and physical abuse) will sometimes turn to sex for a temporary emotional high and a feeling of connection. This doesn't have anything to do with how they act normally, and certainly nothing to do with their value as a person. It's a coping mechanism to deal with emotional pain. In Pyrrha's case, while she had no close friends, a one-night stand pre-Beacon seems a realistic possibility, assuming that she is the one to step off her pedestal and make a move. I think that she would regret it afterwards, but the idea that she would try doesn't seem far-fetched.

By way of disclaimer; a reviewer pointed out to me that canonical Pyrrha is 17. I'm not sure if that information is accurate, but just to cover my bases I'm going to put her age at 18 for this story - Beacon has always seemed analogous to a college to me, given that you have to apply, have a diploma from a lower tier school, and are able enter a specialized career once you get out. 18 is the average age for incoming freshmen, most of whom had their birthday during their senior year of high school. The idea here was that Pyrrha ended up giving into peer pressure during her last, successful attempt at the Mistral tournament, which would have to take place during the summer to free up students from class. It went badly, and she comes to Beacon with a great deal of social baggage and emotional withdrawal. I'd be happy to elaborate more in a PM, if anyone wants. I'd be just as happy to sit and listen to your arguments if you feel that I made a bad decision in writing her, but please don't send raging, hate-filled PMs that are empty of all substance. It doesn't help me become a better writer, and it doesn't help you (because many of you are amateur writers too!) build structured critiques of a story.

On another note, I've gone back and edited the previous chapters. I was in a pretty dark frame of mind when I began this, but one year on I'm finding the angst to be a bit too thick. It's still there, but it fits the story better and (I hope) comes across as less ridiculous. I cleaned up the writing a bit, removed some of the more common character tropes that were just lazy writing, and added some details here and there to clear up things that will happen later.

Much love to you all,

Anthologion