The last exam of my high school's over, it's been a long time since I last picked up my keyboard and type. Trying to find the passion again, you know? So, I'm gonna jump from story to story, just toying around and writing whenever I see fit.
Selfish and despicable, I know, but I write for fun, and I can't stop ideas popping up in my mind after a long session of daydreaming. It's just how I role, I apologize in advance.
In any case, if you happen to enjoy it, great!
But, if not…
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Oh well~
P.S: Pardon my terrible grammar and sentence structure. In fact, pardon my everything, my English has been terribly rusty after not touching it for a while, please bear with me.
Acceleration
A boy walks into a bar in the middle of the night.
"Sup," Jaune Arc says, waving lazily at the bartender at the far side of the room as he approaches.
Junior, Hei Xiong, the hairy man in the cool suit, blinks at the sight of the platinum blonde entering the room, but more importantly, at the aluminum briefcase he carries in one hand.
"Arc? The hell you're doing here?" He inquires as he wipes a drinking glass clean, not bother stopping, "another errand for Torchwick?"
"You know it," Arc shrugs, sliding into an empty seat that was directly in front of the bearded bartender, "goddamn slaver driver, but at least he pays well." he places the briefcase of the bar top with a heavy clang that makes Junior raises his eyebrows.
"That sounded heavy," the man said, putting down his cleaning kit in favor for the briefcase placed on top of the table. Jaune does not stop him from doing so, but instead reaching over the table and grab himself a shitty beer he knew Junior would have stashed under when he goes through a shitty day.
"You know," Junior begins, lifting the hefty case and taking note of its weight, "till this day, I still have no idea where you bunch manage to get so much money. But at the very least, I know stealing alone can't earn you this much."
Jaune shrugs.
"Eh, I guess we're pretty resourceful," the kid says, face bland as cardboard as he takes a swig from the bottle, "We are… very well sponsored."
For some reason, that pyromaniac bitch, she sure has a lot of money stored up, more than enough to imbalance the entire economic system of Remnant if she decides to.
But well, money is money, well-earned or stole. Don't ever wonder where it's from, for the answer to those types of questions are usually better left unknown.
"Sponsored, huh?" Junior returns the case back to where it was, leaning against the countertop and comments curiously, "don't know that a thief like Torchwick has a sponsor."
Jaune does not say anything, but instead resolve to smile disarmingly at Junior. It instead only serves to creep the man out as he maintains the expression without moving a single facial muscle.
Reluctantly, the information broker Junior sighs and backs off, just as Jaune intends.
"Alright, you've made your point. Let's just get down to business before trouble finds us."
Jaune agrees. He retrieves a key from his pocket and tosses the thin piece of metal, which Junior catches with ease.
As the info broker opens the briefcase with said key and checks the money with proficient and practiced movements, Jaune eyes the club for anything suspicious—or more specifically, for plainclothes cops and huntsman.
At last, Junior finishes counting and closes the case with a quiet snap. "Alright, all good as usual."
Jaune scoffs. "Of course, regardless of how Roman often behaves, he takes businesses very seriously."
"I don't doubt it, the man doesn't mess around when it comes to money." Junior nods and puts his weight on the table, leaning over and lowers his voice, "so, what is it that you want to know?"
Jaune is quiet for a moment, pale sapphire eyes distant and glazed like orbs of glacial ice.
"A list of names of Beacon's first years, together with their transcripts," the Arc replies finally, pausing and pondering for a second, "and a bit info on their semblance, if there's any."
At that, Junior frowns incredulously. "Why do you want that kind of information for?"
Jaune shrugs.
"Don't know. Don't care. Just doing my job."
Acceleration
"So… I can't help but overhear a bit of your conversation. Torchwick huh? One good and honest lad he is."
The Arc twitches, but remains mostly still as he hears a man slurs from his behind him.
Junior has headed inside to grab the information he needs, leaving the bar empty save for Jaune.
Or so he thought.
Damn huntsman and their hypersensitive hearing.
"You'd probably heard wrong, then," Jaune puts down his bottle of beer and spins in his seat to face the man.
Grizzled face, unkempt black hair and murky crimson eyes, and an eye-catching red cape over his shoulders. Also, judging from the slur in his words and the smell… most definitely drunk.
But that doesn't make the man any less of a threat.
"See, that's what I thought at first too," The man exclaims loudly, sliding into an empty seat beside him with unhindered grace.
Jaune leans away and inches towards the edge of his seat, anything to be away from the man's heavily intoxicated breath.
"But then I heard something interesting… something about Beacon first year entries!"
Jaune twitches again, face carefully blank of expression.
"And that's something I can't ignore, kid," the man says, the playful attitude fading. In turn, his features turn razor-sharp and deadly serious, as though there's never alcohol in his systems in the first place.
Jaune remains generally unmoving, resorting to giving the man the silent treatment as he spins in his seat again and looks away from the man in favor to study the condensed droplets of water on the bottle which he has been drinking.
He ignores the man blatantly.
It's a very rude gesture, any mother would've thrown a fit if she sees their son behave in such unbecoming way.
But as far as he remembers, he doesn't have a mother, so no shit is given.
"Oi kid, don't ignore me. I ain't messin' around here."
The man put emphasis on his point by poking the sharp end of his sword against his ribcage, somehow unraveling the weapon without any of the henchmen around noticing.
Jaune ignores him again, picking up the half-finished bottle and takes another long swig from it.
Empty threats. Bounded by Vale's laws and the Huntsman Protocol. It's not like he'd actually hurt him with it anyway.
"Aren't you too young to drink?" The man changes the topic, seeing how Jaune isn't going to talk anytime soon. The tip of the weapon is still lightly pressed against his side.
"Aren't you too drunk to properly use your brain?" Jaune retorts, suddenly acknowledging the man's presence again by shooting him a side-glance. "Apparently so, huntsman, if you figure it'll be fine to threaten a citizen at sword's point without giving any sound prove that he's done anything remotely wrong."
The man scowls, displeased.
"What I've heard is enough of a proof, kid, so listen here closely—"
Jaune tunes him out.
Junior cannot choose a better time to reappear. He emerges out the shadows cast by the door, holding a conspicuously thick file in one hand. He closes the door behind him and locks it before turning around.
Almost comically, Hei Xiong freezes at the sight of the Jaune and the man, and his big-ass sword that is almost as wide as the bar table itself.
Like a growling bear, Junior the bat wielder fumes, hands clenching into fists at his sides. The man with the weapon stills and shifts uncomfortably as Junior takes three deliberate deep breaths to calm himself.
"Okay, maybe you haven't seen the sign outside, huntsman..." Junior seethes, his thick arms crossed and an intimidating glare is directed head-on to the man he is addressing.
For all the bravado he has displayed earlier, the huntsman flinches.
Jaune turns away sniggers quietly.
Don't ever mess with the bartender.
Taking pleasant notice of the unnamed man's reaction, Junior carries on.
"But I've put up a new ground rule since last time a huntress came and wrecked my club…"
"And that," Hei Xiong points at the sword the drunk holds, "is clearly a weapon. Anything sharp or pointy or remotely capable of collateral damage is not allowed inside the club, huntsman or cops be damned."
Silently, all henchmen in duty come and gather a loose circle around the bar.
"So, whether you like it or not, you either leave your weapon at the rack outside, or you stay out of my club."
There is a moment of tense silence, but only for the henchmen.
They are nervous. Last time they face someone with huntsman training, they got their ass thoroughly kicked, and it had been a little girl.
Granted, she can punch a fully-grown man through a wall, fight their two best fighters and boss at once and win, light herself on fire. But still a girl in her teens.
Now, at the sight of a man with distinct crimson eyes, a sword long as they are tall, they certainly don't like their chances.
However, lucky for them, the huntsman hesitates.
Perhaps he realizes that offending with the club owner is a big no-no, or perhaps he decides that it isn't worth the trouble, or maybe his sense of justice as a huntsman catches up with him, he disgruntledly collapses the sword and swings it around his back and into its sheath, all in one smooth movement.
"…Tch, I'll see myself out."
The huntsman stands and strolls towards the door, but not before sending one last glare at the drinking Arc.
Jaune ignores the man as though he's never here, and returns back drinking.
As the doors swing close, Hei Xiong and his legion of henchman let out a collective sigh of relief. Junior gestures and returns his men to their respective stations, while he himself goes back behind the bar and leans slack against the table, dragging a palm down his weary face.
"Thank goodness, finally there's a sign of common sense in a huntsman. That weapon he had there? Not sure if that's him trying to compensate for something he's lacking or what, but there's definitely no way my boys can handle something like that." He rubs his forehead. "Jesus, I'm not ready to have my club trashed twice, not when I had it barely fixed and reopened last week."
Junior vents, and Jaune choose not to reply.
Instead, he chooses to sip the last trickle from his bottle and places it on the table. As the sound of empty glass meeting hardened wood snatches Junior's attention, Jaune catches the man's eyes with his own and stares at him expectantly.
At the blonde's unamused look, the bartender grunts.
"You seriously need to get that fucking stick out your ass."
"It's a twelve-feet long pole, get it right."
Fondly exasperated, Hei Xiong sighs and passes the file to Jaune by pushing it subtly across the table, which the blonde picks up.
The file is very heavy, a fact he realizes when he holds it up.
"Here's what you need, first-year entries and their transcripts. Some kids still don't have their semblance manifested, and some hide it well or never uses it, but aside from them, we pretty much have all the other students covered."
Jaune nods and opens the file, flicking through a couple pages and notes the detailed entries and descriptions.
"Pyrrha Nikos… Sky Lark… Jupiter Runners… Russel Thrush… Nicholas Hearth… Yang Xiao-Long..."
Not so subtly, Junior scowls and rubs his nether regions.
Jaune skims through the file quickly, going through three pages at a time. The list goes on and on, at least a couple hundred pages and a couple hundred words each.
He ain't gonna read it all, that'll require some serious brain cells. He'll leave the job to someone else, probably Roman.
The blonde closes the file and stands, unsurprised that his head is still clear after the small amount of liquor he'd consumed. Without wobbling on his feet or feeling sluggish, he nods at Junior and accepts the elder man's extended hand in a firm clasp.
They shake hands for the twenty-fifth time.
"Pleased doing business with you."
With that said, Jaune turns on his heels. He pushes through the dancing crowd and walks out the open door.
Acceleration
A boy walks out of the bar in the middle of the night—
—and gets slugged in the face by a brutal right hook.
A thunderous smack resounds, loud enough to wake a few sleeping neighbors nearby.
Subsequently, a body is immediately sent flying at extremely high speed.
It crashes through the side of a building and through its exterior wall—not Junior's club, thankfully, or else his entire business would be in ruins—and skips once across the floor, and hits the other wall further inside, hard enough to crack spiderwebs in the concrete and denting it.
Dust kicks up at the impact and rubbles are sending tumbling down as the construction shudders, the noises of the commotion no doubt has wakened all the sleeping neighborhood in the district.
As the cloud settles and sound stopping echoing in the alley, the embedded and bruised form of Qrow Branwen slides down from the side of the wall and falls to the ground in a boneless heap, consciousness robbed and right arm shattered in three places.
His eyes remain wide in pain and surprise, long after he lost the ability to function.
A couple hundred meters away, file tugged safely under an arm, Jaune Arc stands stares at the trench on the ground he had dug out with the huntsman's body, and the carnage it leaves behind when it hits the building across the street.
Jaune snorts in a derisive manner.
"To be fair, that's all justifiable self-defense."
Wiping his fingers on the smooth and unblemished skin of his cheek to brush away imaginary dust, the pale Arc shrugs and turns away from the damaged site, leaving the damaged body behind half buried under a small pile of rubbles and dirt.
As the approaching police sirens wail streets away, Jaune whistles a steady tune and treads merrily away, long gone even before the cops arrive.
Acceleration