Oh, you've gone and done it now, Miles.

You've really gone and done it now.

Four Years Ago

It was finals week.

Nothing more, in Jaune's mind, need be said. Silence alone could fuel the rather foreboding implications of such words, and more so rung about the halls of usually boisterous and animated youth of Beacon. In the last few days and for the coming weeks, that was all she could expect, with no reason to believe otherwise from a rational bunch. Nothing but the dull cries and anguished screams of frustrated, tired, and ultimately grumpy students, stuffed with the duty of advancing the greater cause of essays and tests, would sound through the ages.

Every. Single. Day.

Amusingly enough, the few people he had come to acquaint himself with had proven to belong to some other place far from the aforementioned bundle of supposedly superior, logically oriented individuals. No, the people she knew of that day somehow decided to enjoy a nice pot of hot chocolate and fluffy pancakes to celebrate the coming days of terror. Compliments went to Ren, who'd specifically prepared the exact ingredients to Jaune's specifications for this precise occasion, with the intent of "calming the irascible mind" that was Nora, lest the latter's cramming kept everyone awake at night.

Not that a sugar rush would have helped, as they would probably end up wasting what precious hours remain before their unreasonably significant assessments of intellectual prowess. Rather, a gathering of such strange nature merely intended to calm their nerves, if any form irony should cause a fit of internal laughter. Laughter would wait until his abdominal muscles stopped twitching from overexertion, though. That, and the dull emptiness in circling his head from a nasty fall in his collapse not too long ago. Until those sensations waned, however unlikely given that they tended to worsen before he could go numb, he would spare his body the strenuous declaration of amusement, and quench his agony with tears and sweat.

Across the room, Pyrrha visually shook herself awake and tried to stand, even though he repeatedly insisted that she remain seated, all with a goofy smile to match his crackling voice. He gave the best amount of reassurance he could, but even he found himself rather unconvincing. Regardless, his dashing companion heeded his orders, and perched herself by the chair in the corner, trying her best to stay upright by wincing her pain away.

"I'll get the door," he insisted.

She tried to rise, but whatever amount of pain and prolonged fatigue she endured had prevented her from rising past her headrest before flopping backwards in a gentle moan. Arousal called to his masculine nature, and Jaune bested the chains of human limitation that bound him to launch himself up. Only a few steps stood between him and the ultimate salvation in the company of his close contemporaries. Thus he trudged forward, dragging his body across the room to plant a single hand on the doorknob. A twist and a click later, Ruby stood a few inches short of his nose with a wide smile on her lips.

"Hi Jaune," she chirped.

And though the smaller bundle of energy that was Zwei bounced about in anticipation, Ruby's excitement caused her body to rapidly sway from left to right. Jaune chuckled against his own wisdom, and quickly doubled over in with a groan, before flinging his head backwards to stand straight back up. Behind him, Pyrrha must have somehow struggled to her feet, and limped over the help keep him upright. He flashed a quick smile of appreciation before turning his attention back to their esteemed guest.

"Come on in, Rubes. Hot chocolate's all ready."

"Sweet."

Ruby took tiny steps, dragging the soles of her feet across the ground but, in doing so, scrupulously drifted across the lacquered floor in an ease her slippers conferred. Such fascinating footwork, in conjunction to a pair of atrociously stylish footwear, warranted praise at another time. Only a onesie kept him in tow, that and a pair of bunny slippers not unlike those of his fellow suite mates. Nora had bought them as a set not too long ago, and it only seemed right to coordinate the team as an exercise of unity, at Pyrrha's suggestion.

But still, even Jaune had to admit just how ridiculous they looked; who in the right mind would want two pairs of sky blue bunny ears flopping about on their feet as he or she shuffled around a more comfortable domain? In fact, ludicrous as it would seem for grown men and women, one of whom seemed more juvenile than humanly possible, far more preposterous was the apparent truth in that this, to all of them, felt entirely normal. Not in such a way that one would call, say, doctrine or protocol, this normalcy resulted more from relativity, the natural standard to which the world had held much for definition. Amid the rest of the already iconoclastic student populace, or the impossibly fantastic world they lived in for that matter, no measure of eccentricity would warrant particular concern; even within themselves, nothing would justify such a definition, for, if anything, it was their capricious nature that'd defined most of them.

Yes, it was a normalcy forged from the most strange and foreign things placed together; a type of bond that allowed them to watch each other walk across the suite in just their underwear unabashed, found only among those with the mutual respect and admiration, risen in synchronous proportions. Such was the bond that now let Pyrrha, in a rather revealing nightgown, white of all things, entertain herself with the careless banter between her, and the rest of her team, as Ruby quickly sauntered past him, and towards the bewitching smell of the brainchild, a confection of dumb luck and sheer genius. Sadly, Ruby had tripped on the tiny gap in the frame between the entrance corridor and the main suite, clambering up from the ground enough for her head to land just before the table shortly afterward. Jaune laughed a little closed the door behind her.

At times, he had wondered if this oddity would persist. Who could say they could remain like that, neither young nor ultimately careless with respect to the debt they owed to the world, yet strange and quirky enough to uphold their virtues without acquiescing to to convention. Sooner or later, he'd have expected to have sworn more pledges and oaths to the service of Vale than he would accumulate eccentricity. Either that, or his family would take him home, in seeing his growth from the mostly useless chump who left home in search of power, and finally indoctrinate him to the family legacy as the only male descendant. Then again, his only real, material purpose would have been to continue the family bloodline as the next dominant figure, but his siblings would inherit all the glory.

With those thoughts of worthlessness in mind, Jaune continued to find little reason in staying, or returning home in shame for that matter. Somewhere in those endless trails of despair, the once hopeful descendant of one of Remnant's finest heroes actually found no reason to exist at all. In all likelihood, even if he'd managed to save the world or become a martyr, they would unlikely have wanted him involved with any important matters his sisters had undertaken in lieu of him, anyways. He'd have appreciated the offer for a relatively care-free existence then, letting him pursue other, less violent or intense professions for a more peaceful time. Yet through his wildest of dreams, Jaune had long since spoken of how he believed that the powers beyond this world gave him a sacred duty of protecting the world from evil, to become a savior. No one believed him, of course, but since they were family, they never once dismissed the possibility, and so let him apply to Beacon, though his chances seemed distinctly nonexistent.

So either a large stroke of luck or fate had successfully allowed his faked transcripts to fool the admissions officers, and Jaune chose to fulfill his destiny to become something that he, clearly, was anything but. His parents even told him that he was welcome to come home if things didn't work out as well as they initially had. Jerks, he'd briefly thought them, he'd show them. However, just a few weeks in, and Jaune had already wanted to go back and see them again. Homesickness, as they called it, struck him like the plague in a part of Remnant's darker history where a third of the total human population had perished, just as a third of his psyche had. Ren spoke to him one night, and they spoke extensively on family: How Ren never really knew his, how Jaune couldn't quite live up to his, and how they'd then sworn to keep each others fears a secret, before cementing a bond that would make them brothers to the end of their team membership, likely in death. Their little private conversation felt incredibly cheesy now that he'd thought about it, but it'd decidedly forged the fraternal unity they shared today.

Since then Jaune enticed his imagination with the idea that his team could have formed something of an estranged family on their own, a rambunctious band of misfit orphans from the same parents by the names of Circumstance and Misfortune: Nora would be the youngest child, with Ren just barely wrestling the higher authority in their kinship. Admittedly, Jaune didn't really know where to place himself in that hierarchy, and promptly dismissed the idea when the prospect of having a stature lower than that of Nora in maturity came to mind. Maybe he would have served better as a distance cousin, or just another close friend to their blood relation in the Orphanage that is the cruel world.

The same thought had remained some few days later, and Jaune took to writing the possibilities down in his journal, as Professor Goodwitch has suggested some days after she noticed his aptitude for writing. In words he tried to pencil out the greatest puzzle of them all, to ponder upon what more incentive he would need to stay with his team that his mother would approve of, or that his father would accept. Perhaps the approach in possibly implying his renouncing of family ties didn't seem like the brightest of ideas, but inferred meaning aside, he found a good place to begin: That he'd finally found a place that he felt, if not entirely, then partially like he'd belonged, and he was meant to be there.

As if it were, in a serious rendition of his thoughts, his destiny.

"Jaune," Pyrrha hymned. "What are you standing at the door for? Come join us."

And then, there was that wonderful red-haired goddess from Mistral, who, if not for the principle of it, was pretty much destiny incarnate. He'd first thought her no more than just a sister shortly after she rescued him from a tree, and soon a mentor to guide his hand, but, once more, distant enough of a desire that he could limit her but to the comically pathetic status as a friend. With respect to his improbable fantasies of belonging to a second family, Pyrrha, despite all of his shortcomings, probably played the largest part in that twisted family of theirs, and accounted for the majority his willingness to stay. What any man would have given just to meet, let alone lay eyes on, her! She alone could have rationalized his decision to remain at Beacon, on the day that his father had asked him the question. Yet, in either his folly or resolution, he'd claimed that he had finally found a sense of duty beside his friends as both a team leader and a budding Huntsman, to which his father gave a hefty approval and a vow to support his son's pursuits thereon.

At the time, his reconstituted faith had come in great, vivid detail. And little did Jaune, himself, so had the affection he sought. The realization felt surreal at first, and then viscerally condemning when the brunt of his conceited beginnings finally cracked and shattered in the face of a reality far better than he could have asked for. Soon after the Vytal tournament had begun, he'd finally realized all those past months of affection that he'd missed completely in his mad chase for an improbably romance with the Snow Angel. In all his fantasies of romance and affection, he had never thought to receive a confession; So when he followed Pyrrha to the rooftops where they'd candidly spoke, her words smacked him wide awake and shoved him to the right side of the road.

Jaune Arc, professional dunce stuck in a tree, could not take a hint.

Everything changed from that night onwards, from when his heart felt no heaving dismay from cross-dressing to keep his word, in holding the hands of a girl other than those of his sisters, and by taking the deepest of looks into sincere, green eyes of pure bliss. Not a worry of the innumerable stuffed deep within his ego mattered anymore, and by the looks of the dreamy grin on his partner's face, neither did she leave much to concern. All was well, for a short while until his red-headed companion asked to go home, wherein he'd furiously avoided making any more physical contact he would have made on any other lady. Most of his peers berated him shortly afterward, claiming that his partner would have expected more from him, his sisters in particular when they learned from their friends that he basically shot the idea of beginning a relationship with her down. But Jaune knew better than to impose. What better words to live by than those of his own, and by extension his mother, after all?

Even after she'd made things blatantly obvious the night before. It took the student population's pestering him with praise, confusion or jealousy that the arguably most talented member of their class had publicly presented him with a rose as a token of her gratitude the next day for the idea to finally settle in. Well, that, and Weiss' rant to him in private about how much of an idiot he was not for his bumbling antics, which she thought endearingly of, but instead for how he hadn't picked up on the possibility that maybe she'd refused his advances because she knew of someone else's: Although a night's worth of waltz wasn't enough for him, the motions and gestures of implicit feeling were for his partner.

Ensuing the overture of her advances, Pyrrha kept interacting with him on a daily basis as if nothing happened, never once mentioning the moment she handed him the symbolic representation of her fidelity, or when he politely set her in bed after their time of halcyon. At least, she tried to, and Jaune eventually noticed that she couldn't hide, as much as he, how she never stopped thinking about it: Every time they crossed glances at each other, she instead waited expectantly, patient and candid, hesitating to speak when they simultaneously opened their mouths in stuttering preparation. Far from a normally impressed or intensely interested gaze she used to hold came a softer glint, of a longing he recognized because he once woke to face in the mirror: Charily searching for a tangible sign of a distantly improbable future to come, locked within the foolishness of their young souls, and blind to everything else but... Hope, blind in itself to something the mind couldn't quite touch, the heart couldn't quite taste.

Senseless clods on their odyssey through youth as they were, Jaune winced at the pronounced sensation of his muscle fibers tearing the longer he stood, and tasted the bland bitterness of dry saliva out of thirst. While the others proceeded the go about their escalated conversation over the latest episodes of the television drama they shared a common interest in, he calmly inched over to the spot beside his partner, her red mane still loose and curly from her recent shower. Thereupon Jaune sat, shifting his weight to the back of his waist as his thighs cushioned much of the impact. Pyrrha quickly tapped him on the shoulder, other hand extended forwards to present his white and yellow mug, labeled simply with a big letter "J," filled with the triple chocolate concoction he forgot about in his trance.

"Here," she chimed. "I poured a cup for you just in case the other two children finish everything before you had the chance."

Timid hands accepted her gift, but even beyond the shock they'd experience from the contact between their limbered fingers, Jaune almost immediately lowered his arms and hung his head in the guilt of having forcing her to exert herself further. He could not stand for forcing her to move about from his standing at the doorway, idle in his rumination.

"Pyrrha, you shouldn't have," he stammered. "You're tired today, and I'd already stood up so-"

But instead of qualifying herself, or teasing him in obliging his ego with the palpable distortion of reality wherein he found himself the obligation of taking a superior role to her membership in the team, Pyrrha gently covered his hands cupping the mug and gave a maudlin smile.

"Jaune. Please?"

Needless to say, he accepted her plead with a nod, and her hands had moved the mug up to where his lips were, and slowly tilted it forwards. Alone, they remained as they had when they danced, while he quietly sipped away at the thick chocolate melting through his teeth and tongue until she pulled the mug away. Again with those dazzling pupils, and that smile, she captivated him. Most of his senses had gone dull again, as they had before during their waltz, and now even the hypothetical brainchild of an evening beverage imparted no lasting impression than its horrendously thick texture. Hastily, he widened his eyes slightly and turned his head to peer over at the other three inhabitants of the suite, who'd all fallen to silence before he had noticed.

"Wow this is pretty good," he choked. "You trying to euthanize me or something?"

The palpable lull between them persisted, and after no one produced any registrable response, Jaune shamefully lowered his head far below the level of such a lame joke with a grunt. The room, however, suddenly broke into a fit of laughter before he could mumble in self deprecation. Like a whip, their wheezing guffaws snapped him straight, in that tired and earnest gratefulness from a long day during a time they could ill-afford merriment. One after another, they leaned upon various chairs, tumbling over to the counter or the table; and when he finished watching Nora clenching at her stomach or Ruby finally tumble onto the floor, Jaune felt the lady who held his hands gently remove them to cover her mouth to give a quiet chuckle.

No other thought occupied his mind, now, than to join in on a laughter he didn't understand. Although, this time, not because he had nothing else to do, but because there was nothing else he wanted to do. He could do something stupid, and here, the people he'd learned to care so much about would enjoy themselves, despite this perilous time, when even the only among them with a perfect GPA indulged in their idiocy, there was a small measure of solace: Happiness, doing what one loved, with whomever one loved, it was nice. Maybe he sought this from the start, wanting nothing like the dreams of valor or heroism he wanted to live up to, nor any place in society to command reverence or savor his pride. Here, in the absence of feeling incomplete, where his numbness had subsided, when he stopped itching to grasp a vague idea of what it is that he was supposed to be, he belonged.

Although, that thought could wait. Now he needed a glass of water.

–

Be calm, be still.

To effect, people oft mistook stillness for idleness, thinking that to remain still differs not from to do nothing, when, in truth the two are nothing alike in their intent, purpose and action. Does not responding to a call immediately imply an indifference, as society presently considers inaction? Among other absurdly profound considerations, Ren had but to choose between pretense and sophistication, neither of which his pupils and peers had differentiated, save those prodigies who commanded their vocabulary as well as Jaune did. Yet, the rest of the Remnant's population could care less. Indeed, one might have also said that they could not care more. What difference such an order of antonyms yields in their nearly identical implications goes less noticed, still. Not many would care for semantics, after all.

Run silent, run deep

It was the sad state of the world, and a truth construed from fact, not a fact considered a truth, as many of the dull citizens of Remnant have misunderstood. Truth is, indeed, a direct result of one's perception of fact, to which the mind would assign meaning that is truth to that individual. Needless to say, it depended on the individual to decide what it was after all, and the truth in the fact of truth remains that truth comes from fact and differs only in how the mind chooses to perceive fact. Certainly a mouthful that most of disciples still struggle to understand, yet entirely fundamental for the greater understanding of many things: Why do we immediately decide to consider what the masses true so when we see so much to indicate otherwise? Why, in the stupidity of man, do we decide to believe without question to affirm our belief such that it may go without question?

Such a simple concept caused much conflict and misunderstanding, and to his dismay, Ren discovered that enough of the same mistakes occur in the recursive history that need not warrant such disdain of the subject, but more admiration for its, funnily enough, truth. Of course, that was how Oobleck might have explained it. They so often saw such mutual truths in those facts, after all, and so grew close enough for Ren to actually depend on the caffeinated prodigy to write his recent dissertation on such a topic. Perhaps, for a Huntsman, he might have chosen a better profession than to dwell on intellectual matters, but the mind requires as much guidance as the soul or body. Time and again, Ren justified his The only regret they shared was the fact that nobody, in the right mind of the modern world, would bother trying to dig his work up, and recognize some semblance of truth put in words.

Truth.

He arrived where he began, anon, in reflection of the way all things were: A cycle, proceeding along a linear path.

"Ren~!"

A Paradox

In a textbook example of irony, so often come matters of this complex world to an unexpectedly simple conclusion that the listing of all those instances ran many other trivial minutiae or anecdotes to substantiate its pervasive nature through his scrambled conscience. Whole dumps of fragmented schemes poured through his mind, seeping through his nerves as the jolts of confusion made him shudder in fear as they streaked across the corners of his mind. By the time he'd finally set aside the many other musings he probably should have written down before they drifted away, he'd already lost himself. What had he thought of first, again? Where did he start from? None of this made any sense.

No no, he forced. Clear your mind, Ren. Clear your mind. Focus. Find your center. Maintain inner peace. Conjure thoughts of peace

Thoughts of peace.

"Ren~?"

Peace.

Was it a lie? If the world believes in a lie, that lie becomes the truth. Again, back to the entirely-

"I'm back~!"

Such was how the world knew peace before, and so did the world know of it today; and like most things of fleeting perfection, the evanescence of his thoughts scampered away with the thunderous greeting of reality. Ren woke from his trance momentarily, to acknowledge the impeccably timed distraction currently trying to sneak her way through the house, at first, but soon realized that he couldn't enter his little world of words in free construction again. Try as he might in the following moments of silence, a second holler rang throughout the penthouse, and he shuddered at its intensity.

So much for peace.

"You can stop hiding now! I brought some more syrup, something different this time. I think Pyrrha'll love this one."

Nothing would move him, not when he'd frozen in place in anticipation of a subsequent demand that he stop playing the fun game of hide and seek that grew old several years ago. Though, at that time, Nora seemed to have more luck with finding him that she did, but even Ren had to admit that he'd gotten better at disappearing too. He would test her capacity as a Ranger to find him, to seek something less than an ultimate purpose or fulfillment, other than the source of all things gourmet on the fourty seventh floor. Nevertheless, find him she did, and not a second too late.

"Oh! There you are! I knew you were home!"

It came from the right, just beyond the edge of his vision, but barely within a hair's width of the shadowed border of his lashes. From beyond those curtains and sliding windows, a pair of eyes with boundless energy carefully peeked out, soon allowing an impressively fit body to follow through gracefully, as to not disturb more than the tranquility of his water garden; and for the first time in two weeks that passed faster than a day, he laid his eyes upon the dearest of friends. Resistance wouldn't have served him well, would it?

"Guilty as charged," he smiled. Although, the only guilt he felt was a sort of remorse that he couldn't finish that train of thought before she scared the poor creature away. "Welcome home, Nora."

"It's good to be back," her pupils softened for just a moment before leaping to yet another unprecedented level of enthusiasm as she lifted two stacks of enormous, bulging paper bags from behind her. "I brought a lot of stuff this time, too!"

Ren pulled his legs downwards as he rose to his feet from his cross-legged position, hastily pacing himself to the kitchen, where she likely plopped the fruits of her usual habit in buying more groceries than ever necessary in one run. After all, if not placed in the proper micro climate conditions, as Nora had the tendency of doing, most of her efforts simply have gone far more to waste than just a peace of mind. Ren quickly set his journal back in its chest, and locked it back into the stone cubicle by his meditation platform, and followed Nora back into the apartment with haste. To his surprise, however, she'd already set aside the perishables, stacking the fruit in the bowl, vegetables into the cooler and several of the occasional meats Ren would cook for her in the fridge. Impressive for someone who knew little responsibility but to seek a career with the least, but certainly odd for her to remember what she didn't in the last few years.

"I put the flour up in the cabinet," she mused from behind. "That's where you normally put things like that, right?"

"Most exemplary," he smirked. "You even arranged everything correctly according to its content."

"They ran out of that gluten free stuff you keep talking about. So I got what was supposedly the next best thing. Not sure I did, though, 'cause sometimes you say something else."

Funnily enough, further perusal did reveal one or two misplaced items, but he could wait until after he took inventory of her purchases to rearrange them. As she moved over to wash her hands at the sink, Ren shuffled to the less occupied area of the kitchen top counter, briefly scrambling for a seemingly misplaced pen as he inspected his replenished trove of potentially delicious goodness, mental focus switching between a now open notebook and shelf. Again, she'd bought far more than they would need for the week in stockpiling what would easily last him a month. But When Nora handed the peculiar bag of pancake mix over to him, he felt his pupils dilate somewhat to mirror the disbelief at what he held in his hands. A pure batter mix from the Fairfield Farms, far off in the Mistral Countryside? That's rare.

"It's quite alright." He quickly replied. "You actually managed to find something I've been looking for. Where did you get this?"

"Why, the same old place we always go," Nora pointed backwards with her thumb, only to follow her symbolic direction and swirl around with the cheesy grin she always produced after doing another silly thing. "Ol' shopkeep said that he'd thought you asked about whether or not he had that stuff sometime ago. Wanted me to pass on the message that he's managed to pull some strings for private orders "

She made no mistake, even if this stroke of lucky acquisition was an accident: He looked for this particular signature flour blend from Valentine for ages, and couldn't find it on any market in Vale, resorting to his monthly trips to Mistral to find this marvel of an ingredient to the perfect pancake. Now, it had come one step closer to home, only too much of a coincidence for things to auspiciously arrive at their rightful places.

"Interesting," Ren mused. "Thank you."

"Hey, this kinda means that I'll get to try that super pancake you made that other time, right?"

Nora snickered a little, a tiny idiosyncrasy that she'd developed over countless months of fighting, maybe. Or, perhaps, it constituted some long established mischief he paid no mind to from its inception, and only in these moments did he finally consider it slightly disconcerting. Nevertheless, he indulged her rather obvious desire.

"I'm afraid so."

"Good," Nora chimed. "Let me put the rest of this stuff up there. You can get started with the whole alchemy thing that you do to make food."

It's called cooking, he thought, and snickered as she turned away to reach the upper cabinets. Part of her new uniform showed slightly more skin on her back than he would have liked, but the view of her backside had revealed a more slender build of a gymnast than the bulkiness of years past. No doubt a direct result from her physical maturity, in the dearth of intellectual development, Nora's new form still conferred the strong figure of a hardened warrior that she was. Nature, so it seemed, had designed her for the Huntress' creed even today, a comfort that affirmed his belief that she had always meant to live for the choice she made to enlist even after all those atrocities they witnessed together. Having one of them continually neglect the comfort of a home they could finally return to was enough; someone had to take care of the place, after all.

Suddenly, he'd noticed a disturbing discrepancy in the shade of her skin, between her shoulder blades. At first believing it just the form of a shadow from the nearby light, Ren soon realized that the large gash across her back possessed a more opaque pigment than he natural color. Closer inspection from a few steps forward revealed the mark's stretched texture across a darkened patch of flesh, which he'd carefully ran a two fingers across, causing Nora's shoulders to shrink.

"That's new," he frowned. "How did you get this?"

"Oh that? Just a little souvenir from the last tour. Nothing like a bump, really, but still really nasty."

"Well, I won't lie," he hissed. "This thing looks pretty nasty. What were you doing?"

"I overcharged my hammer and I kinda flew backwards into a sharp rock," she chuckled. "It was super awesome! You should have seen that thing explode. Everything turned red, and blood started flying everywhere like those confetti things at Lunar New Years!"

If he had the luxury of a more flattering view, Ren would have entertained the possibility of laughing at what actually may just rival the horrendous burnt corpses, dimly lit by the embers of the villages scorched to contain rampant infestation.

"Sounds... exciting."

"Well, I guess it'll show when I wear my swim suit, but that's about it. Hey, who knows, maybe it'll be my little badge of pride out there, you know?"

"Badge of pride or not, I intend to see if I can't make it look a little less... flagrant. Just wait a minute, alright? Oh, and please, take a seat."

Fortunately, she'd complied, and more fortuitously enough, she'd held still until he returned from the meager minute Ren took to retrieve his "alternative solutions" to both common and intensive combat injuries that he'd learned during his tenure at Mistral. All natural, unrefined and organically cultivated materials rested in his large, black box, tucked away near the dining table, and when he'd snapped the locks open, Ren quickly prepared the scarring and recovery set from it's rather large section on the upper layer. After pulling a set of surgical gloves on, he tore open an alcoholic wipe, and intended to disinfect the area first, before implementing his drastic measures.

"Ren, can I ask you a question?"

Her voice had broken his concentration, but Ren took a moment to answer her question before beginning to wipe away at visibly nonexistent germs and other undesirable examples of imperceptible sanitary concerns.

"If I haven't answered enough of them, I'd have refused. But, you know I'm here to entertain your amusing thoughts. What's on your mind?"

"If you could go back in time," she began, at a low whisper at that. "Would you do everything differently?"

At first, he'd tried to excuse himself while he finished fumbling with the ointment, but then he'd taken note of the gravity behind her voice, let alone her question, and leaned away for a second just to process the severe change in mood she projected.

"What's this all of a sudden?"

Still, he'd given what she had said some thought: It wasn't like her to suddenly spurt demand for an answer to a dilemma of such moderate profundity. Perhaps she'd finally picked up on their candid capacity for conversation one would have expected from people who knew each other? Or had the Rangers actually taught her to use her mind more than her muscles? Although, technically, brain function did bear some operational similarities when one considered how actual muscles develop...

"Come on, Ren, if you had the choice. Would you do everything differently?"

Uncharacteristically recondite or not, unless he gratified her curiosity, her inquisition would not cease.

"Well, if you wanted me to answer logically," Ren began. "I would tell you that I would not, in that all that I have done has come to define me to this day, and the lack of any such moments, including the less productive ones, might lead to a complete divergence from my current disposition. You would, then tell me that I am no fun, to which I might scoff at your immaturity and simply dismiss your silly question with an indifferent panning grunt of my own. So I shall answer simply, in the best interest of maintaining a certain balance between logic and personal conviction, that no, I would not."

At first, he'd expected her face to turn from the sour look of boredom to one of slight confusion, but he could almost see the cogs churning about in her mind, before smashing a fist into her open palm with an enlightened face that beamed with pride in understanding his rhetoric.

"So no?"

Clever girl.

"Yes. I mean to refuse such an offer."

"So yes or no?"

"No."

"Oh."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because every step in the past has taken us to our present selves, and it's unlikely that we would've chosen differently."

"Sounds reasonable enough."

Although her proclamation didn't sound entirely convincing, it made sense to him immediately why she didn't; This wasn't about her question at all.

"Is this because of Jaune?"

Nora didn't nod, but Ren didn't need any motion to learn, in the silence that followed, that he was right. His normally jubilant partner wouldn't have fallen from her naturally excited attitude otherwise.

"Can you imagine," she began. "Coming home to a world where everyone knew you that you no longer know? Or for someone that you love to come back and forget about everything that you are?"

"An unfortunate outcome to the say the least. But no purpose lay in denying reality."

"How long do you think he's going be like that?"

"I defer to whomever might do batter to determine that."

"Is that your fancy way of saying that you don't know?"

Clever girl.

"Well, that aside, I wouldn't know how to determine such a thing."

"But if you had to guess."

Come subjects like these, even Ren would have differed to Sun's expertise. But he thew what educated approximation he could.

"Years, maybe," he offered. "Amnesia's a strange and fickle matter: If not induced, then by some wayward means coincidental and entirely by misfortune, disaster takes responsibility for such a tragic outcome. Thus, all the more difficult to reason."

Cardin once said that when presenting devastating news to patients and affiliated relatives, the best medicine, and the worst of tortures in the following minutes is silence. Absence of all words evinces an air to rupture, and satiate, in catalysis, the liquid emotion from their eyes, or mercurial winds from their mouths. Moments like these, Ren dreaded not for himself, but for those who could share it with him. In such a time as this, nothing could carry or mitigate that shattering of happiness made of glass. And though this reticence did not parallel the background to Pyrrha's despairing sobs when she first shared news of Jaune's disappearance, Ren imagined that something similar, among them now in their solitude, permeated the very fabric of the universe when they realized Jaune hadn't truly returned.

Meanwhile, Nora momentarily winced at how cold his homeopathic ointment felt when the cotton had made contact with her skin, but quickly settled down as the Mentholatum soothed and massaged the knotted flesh below. Ren could tell just from her reaction that his traditional solutions took quick effect, and so proceeded further in generously applying a second layer of healing aloe to help with the actual scar. His lifelong sister of different blood still shifted slightly in her seat in protest, but he'd ignored her discomfort, as did she. A few seconds passed and still, no answer to his conclusion came in words, instead asking for more of his attention by placing a gentle hand atop his, clasping his wrist by her thumb and index finger as to keep him close. Try as he might have in previous years, he had allowed himself to share this moment more raw than the muscles beneath her nasty scab.

"It's possible that he'll never go back to normal, huh."

Possible? Ren clenched his fists at the harassing idea. If only: If only they could have fathomed the possibility that their leader could vanish to begin with, that he couldn't simply have disappeared, leaving no intention or will to carry a last message than the empty words before he left them of idle importance; If only he left a trail, some way to find him whenever they would need him most; If only they didn't need to agonize over such a needless loss, to spend whole months trying to forget, or reason or mourn.

If only it were that simple!

"You and I know best that anything's possible," the sage heaved, and looked at the cloudy skies above to the domain of whomever controlled the fate of all they could only see in retrospect.

"We'll just have to hope that he does."

Under normal circumstances, Pyrrha would have followed a prescribed protocol designed to avoid much unneeded attention to the return of a man disappeared: Call a car, wait for arrival, ensure no witness see her entry with Jaune, and speed off to wherever they went. It worked, for the most part. Not a single journalism column, forum or source had managed to directly confirm Jaune's identity, for the most part. She knew, too, that on another end, her consistent appearances on Remnant media took much suspicion away from her daily activities than it did with a mad focus on trying to decipher the words of a champion, also long lost. Although, logic did dictate that such actions, when taken, should've attracted more curiosity to her daily habits that might have explained her resurgence in the absence of most her team and previously proclaimed reason for life. Thankful thinking could not have gone better appreciated for a swift defiance against rationality.

But today, she had forgotten to do as told. In neglecting this banal procedure of reasonable import, she decided to take Jaune on a more... informative route through the city towards what should begin to help him in reacquainting with the others; Today, she would take him to Ruby's by way of the Metro, which ran to a stop not far from the other team leader's humble villa at the very last stop. Figures, she would have needed to show him these modern methods of transportation sooner or later, lest he grow entirely pampered or disconcerted with the extremely strange treatment of security that she believed would disturb him. That, and the fact that Ozpin would inevitably ask for Jaune's proper rehabilitation soon enough, made her forfeit the rather depraved idea of keeping him entirely for herself, for a sort of empty pleasure in knowing that at least the husk of a man she loved remained.

"I'd like for you to meet someone," she'd told him, but gave him no more hints as to exactly who. Mannerism likely prevented him from openly expressing his curiosity in recent days, much to her chagrin, and Jaune had kept quiet for the duration of their travel until Pyrrha tried to initiate meaningless conversation about how the sky never looks the same, or about what had happened in other news. Upon all subjects, they'd shared just a few sentences of opinions and thoughts before her companion drifted off into the silence that he'd woken with. Only until they'd reached their stop in the suburbs had they the need to speak again.

"We'll have to walk a little," she warned him. "Nothing like the distance we generally travel when we head to the park, though. It's just a few blocks down."

"Lead the way," he confided.

Thus, the maiden did, out of more than just the obligation that she had as a maiden, or a Huntress, and even the prospect of meeting an old friend. Nothing could best the walks she took with him by her side, marveling at all the new and wonderful things around him, the suburbs more or less entirely foreign to him now. The look in his eyes that shimmered from the Autumn soon, and the way his hair had waved from the gentle breeze, displayed the amplified serenity anyone would have felt in escaping to the rural areas after so long a time in the city. If only she'd asked about the local bike trails, fabled by many a peer from work, maybe next time they could spend the afternoon doing just that, wandering about in an unknown place of quiet beauty.

Instead, the red maned Goddess of Mistral had to rein in the softhearted beast she'd tamed to the conspicuously large mansion just up ahead, a large rose engraved onto the pure, white walls of painted brick. At any other time, she would have given herself a mouthful of reprisal for personally unlocking the residency's gate from the outside, though Ruby had given her the expressed permission, and preference, that she welcome herself in upon arrival. Thereupon, they trekked a few more meters up the inclined garden path to the main door and rung its bell. Ruby arrived at the door shortly after hollering through the house, Zwei in tow, to welcome them in.

And she was beautiful.

Over the last year, Ruby's womanly features had continued to develop. Her frame matured, showing curves and contours not as pronounced but certainly rivaling in grace to her sister. Black hair, once with highlights at their ends, became a sweet red dye from her neck to what was almost Ruby's waist. Grey eyes turned to silver under the moon, but softened when she turned to match the endearing face of wisdom and kindness, complete with the matching garb of no longer just red and black, but white as a superior theme to honor her lineage. This small town adventuring girl, once of pint size, stood just two inches taller than before, neither a student of Beacon nor the leader of RWBY, but as the titular "Angel of Vale," for her valiant efforts throughout the Second Grimm Conflict.

Her newly earned sobriquet wasn't unbased: While Pyrrha distinctly remembered that the war had their teams mostly separated, RWBY fought mostly on the frontline, something of a publicity stunt that would show a most versatile and diverse team at their best for all to admire and worship. Many said to have witnessed the little lady's arrival as a swift descent, carrying the sanctimony and judgment of the noble and righteous with her jubilant battle cry. Everything from her uniform to her weapon, the now fabled Crescent Rose, rose to legend, and earned its preservation in the Beacon Vaults for limited presentation at the Dominion Museum for special occasions. Here, Ruby's fame shone most, and there, had she decided to take a path Pyrrha understood more than most: Humility.

Two months after the ceremony of her new title's coronation, Ruby publicly announced her intention to retire from active service, leaving many perplexed as to why one of humanity's greatest defenders would resign her post. Thankfully, no measure of public outcry incited any sort of belligerent protest, and many began to sympathize with Ruby's rationale: She'd wanted to pursue a more simple path, a road of teaching, to fulfill her promise to Ozpin that she would help raise, nurture and establish the next generation of heroes. If she had continued with her service, she would not have allowed herself the possibility of teaching an age group of such great importance at Elementary School. Every academy across the globe soon scrambled to have her sign a contract with them, but Ruby had chosen to return to settle in the quiet town of Sunset Hills, and to teach at the local private Academy, recently re-established in Penny's memory.

Regardless of her majestic feats, however, Ruby hadn't exactly grown up. But maybe that was for the better. For immediately after she'd opened the door, Ruby's face and voice brightened at the sight of her guests, as expected.

"Hiya, Pyrrha~" the angel chimed.

"Hello Ruby," the maiden responded in kind.

But before they could continue with their pleasantries, the young petite shoved her attention towards the marginally taller and hardened form that was Jaune, eyes bulging with what seemed like surprise and excitement. Zwei, on the other hand, had charged over to greet him, meeting rather confused resistance, before ceasing his attempt to crawl up the poor amnesiac's leg. Stifled whines of yearning followed suit, and then the poor canine waddled back into the warmer domain of Ruby's residence.

"J-Jaune," Ruby stammered. "Wow, it's been... A long time. I-I wasn't expecting you."

"Forgive me if I sound rude," the Blonde thus replied, training on Ruby when he spoke. "But I don't remember such a lovely acquaintance... If I may?"

Much to Pyrrha's amusement, Jaune leaned forward slightly to match Ruby's height, extending a warm hand of welcome and greeting. Even Ruby, herself, didn't seem to understand the need for such formality, until a small frown came across her lips as a tiny pout before breaking into a chuckle, arm raised for a firm shake in return.

"Ruby Rose," the relatively shorter woman hymned. "It's nice to see you, Jaune."

"And I, you." Jaune smiled. "Though I suppose I must apologize. I'm afraid I've forgotten most of our prior encounters, so I've recently discovered."

"Oh, nonsense! None of the past matters now that we have the present to enjoy. Right?"

Even in silence, Pyrrha answered such an obviously provocative question at heart before nodding at Ruby in an attempt to prompt the young woman to stop probing Jaune's mind. Whether Ruby managed to pick up on her insistence remained largely unknown; but the small brain behind the blazing red hair somehow deciphered a gesture of mutual agreement from her contemporary's quick change of subject, swirling over to the other side of her door port, head peaking out from behind the edge as per her childish tendencies never lost with age or wisdom.

"Oh, where are my manners? Haha. Enough formalities. Come on in."

Curious, Jaune peered back at her with furrowed brows, and Pyrrha, aside from resisting a total collapse from that endearing look of confusion, gently nudged his shoulder with as reassuring of a smile as she could produce. Both guests took a few steps into the hallway before taking their shoes off and setting them along the side where the racks lay. Ruby had then instructed the both of them to find their slippers, to which Jaune had visibly choked at the bunny-eared slippers, exasperatedly dangled from the edges of his fingers as he raised a brow in slightly mischievous attempt at mockery. Pyrrha waved it off with a careless laugh, and proceeded to wear her cougar-faced ones, complete with cute ears and comically embroidered face.

Once properly adorned in their respective footwear, Ruby had guided them into her large living room space, adorned with classic, wooden and stone furniture to match a more classical theme that the Angel of Vale enjoyed. Along the fur carpeting before the coffee table, Zwei had craned his neck as his jaw lay flat against the ground until Jaune turned the corner, to whom he'd raised his ears and began his panting again. Though they still hadn't interacted too much, Jaune had quickly rekindled his liking to Zwei when the latter decided to follow him to the couch, whereupon the two leading members of team JNPR took their upright seats. Their host, however, had commanded her childhood companion to go away, and with one more excited look at Jaune, he barked and sauntered off, up the stairs in the far corner.

"So, how have you adjusted to the new world?" Ruby spat.

"So far, pretty well." he mused. "Orientation has occupied me for the first week or so, but I think I've gotten a handle on most things, and, well, Pyrrha's been taking me around Vale as of late."

Months have passed since she last spoke with the humble hero in her presence, yet Pyrrha could not have expected such a radical change from a small time apartment to a mansion. Sure, she heard from Blake that Ruby had moved to Sunset Hill, but not that said move would place the girl mere weeks away from drinking age to live alone in a condominium of such immense size. The district governor must've really appealed to either the fact that Ruby was a war hero who'd decided to settle down in his jurisdiction, and so graciously appropriated her all this land; or Weiss' proposal for property ownership involved a rather large sum of money, lest this feat be nigh impossible even for the upper class.

Upon their seats lay a variety of cushions, blankets and miscellaneous cloths, some originating from their days in Beacon. Most of the furnishing possessed a brown hue, ranging from the soft toffee across the occasional segments of carpeting on the floor, to the dark cedar in the structural frames that held crème walls from toppling one way or another. None such textures any more fair as the skin of her clueless roommate inexplicably was, they served their purpose by imbuing the place with a roomy, and quaint aura that visibly calmed the one person who would normally begin hopping all over to a restrained shuffle.

"Oh, silly me, you're probably still kind of freezing from the wind outside. How could I have forgotten?" Ruby piped. "What can I getcha, hot chocolate or hot chocolate?"

Confusion sent Jaune's concerned look towards her, and Pyrrha gestured him to ignore the young girl's intentional lapse in sentence structure. Try as she might, however, his intention to mockingly respond raced through as her guilty conscience followed.

"Are you sure you hadn't meant to offer an alternative?"

"Well, there's Hot chocolate and then there's Hot chocolate. I can offer either."

Pyrrha had come close to admiring Ruby's rather oblivious nature, intentional or otherwise, but even the former had begun to ponder upon the distinct possibility that the Angel of Vale was no more than a sugar crazed little girl with no sense of orientation. She could see a shared interest deep in the appreciative laughter of the other psychological mystery in the room. Her Blonde contemporary offered tacit commentary in return, presumably a token of appreciation with what had followed, by chuckling at the Angel's insistence.

"Either one will do then," Jaune shrugged, a slight trace of amusement barely hidden behind that smug downward curve of his lips when he pursed them. Pyrrha, herself, tilted her head to the right in a slight fit of laughter before nodding her head in affirmation.

"Coming right up!"

No sooner than she'd zipped off, Ruby returned with two mugs, each one imprinted with Beacon's sigil, on a tray, still piping hot from wherever she managed to retrieve them. Jaune stammered upon receiving his bounty, and frankly, Pyrrha knew better than to let the sweet primary teacher spoil her children, or in this case, a relatively older adolescent. And now that she'd thought about it, Jaune looked marginally older than the puerile adult she remembered in, certainly, acting the part as well. Though biologically 22 years of age, so Vale General Hospital claimed upon his retrieval, he seemed to carry the persona of a gentleman of likely thirties: His jaw, even when shaved, held a few gritty hairs that barely protruded from his skin, saturated enough to give an artificial shadow about his head, flawless skin marred only by inclement weathering and maturation. Everything about his chiseled complexion only seemed more honed and ardent, yet so very tender.

But it was his golden hair and sapphire eyes. Gods, those had never ceased to bewitch her first. Although, they had lost that innocence she admired and envied, replacing its infantile virtues were a valiant set of determined rays, and buffered glows. Most of her complaints went to how she couldn't allow herself to touch it, unless during those rushed seconds when she urgently wanted him to follow her without question, and for the most part he did. Ergo, while he marveled at the thick chocolate before him, all from her wrist and forward swelled with the pressurized tingling she could imagine that it'd felt like to run a hand through that pure silk. It'd kept her hands locked by her knees, largely inconveniencing and worthlessly tense as their host set aside a few glasses of water, duly prepared, especially for what opulence sloshed around in Jaune's hands.

"Looks delectable," he remarked.

"Yeah, pretty amazing huh," Ruby held her stance, akimbo. "Glad to hear that you can appreciate the beauty of molten goodness."

"Call it a theoretical interest," he chided. "I'll never know for certain until I try a cup of your liquid death that may, as rumors would have it, liberate me from this mortal shell."

"Very flattering of you, dear Prince," Ruby bumbled.

From where she sat, Pyrrha watched Jaune smack his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and sloshed the residue chocolate down his throat, before fiddling with what remained on his teeth. Just barely had she managed to catch herself leaning forward, mouth agape and tongue extended, and so threw her weight backwards and clenched her jaws with an empty swallow. She'd quickly given him her glass of water to drink from, and he'd expressed his thanks with a quick raise of his brow while he sipped away. When he'd finished clearing his palette, Pyrrha herself rushed to drink from the exact same spot upon which he'd placed his lips to quench her sudden, inexplicable thirst.

"Your verdict?" Ruby grinned.

"It's really sweet and creamy," Jaune admitted, his words slurred from the vicariously tacky sensation of Ruby's signature delicacy. "What'd you put in here?"

"Chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate. Though not necessarily in the same form."

"Well it's nice," he stuttered. "Keeps me from talking properly, but it's nice."

Much to Ruby's pleasure, Jaune had just admitted to enjoying something he spent the first year of his Beacon career to developing to near perfection with her in the day, so well that with his memories gone, his old masterpiece had no equal in the modern day. Pyrrha knew, she was the first one Jaune had poured a cup of it for, at a distant time not too different from then, although slightly more merciful without Nora or Ren to interfere with her admiration. Nonetheless, the little Angel clasped her hands together in front of her chest and leaned forward with a largely exuberant grin before flopping back onto the plump chair behind her.

"I knew you'd like it," she'd chimed. "It's an old recipe o' ours. Something like a best kept secret."

Yes, Pyrrha smiled, an old recipe, indeed, the secret that the very man before them had made and but the first of many to uncover in the following hours. Perhaps even Ruby hadn't lost sight of the irony either when the smallest hint of a maudlin frown passed the young teacher's lips in the guise of a sigh. Nevertheless, the two women kept their guises straight: Even if Jaune couldn't recognize his own creation, at least his temperament's inclination aligned with what was, to possibly what will be. Sign of recovery or not, it'd given them all the confidence they required, to nod their heads, and begin the long road to recovery.

"So," Ruby patted her thighs. "Where shall we begin?"

–-

Not many people she'd known enjoyed trips to large warehouses and wholesale complexes, but Blake herself didn't mind taking a gander about the incredibly massive spaces dedicated to the propagation of capitalism. If not the Schnee company, some other huge franchise or corporation that controlled or distributed a vast majority of common products and/or luxuries probably owned these ubiquitous fortresses some few kilometers away from major cities. Heck, some of them even managed to find a large lot within the metropolitan areas if they were successful enough!

Since many of her contemporaries opted for more discrete approach to obscure, boutique stores to allow for more private lives, no one came to join her when she did, either. Alone, she would brave the rather intimidating enclosures of these massive wholesale depots as she navigated through the truly confusing aisles that made the place seem more like a White Fang strong house from back in the day. A nice set of boxes stacked here, some other stores of packaged food and perishable goods over there, Warehouses made for the perfect residence for the delinquents she once associated herself with, but nor more: With a place to call her own, Blake rarely ever step foot into those places anymore.

She kind of missed the boxes though, and so bit her lip at the prospect of pouncing on to of that glorious stack of cardboard to find the one that'd fit her perfectly, nice and snug for those sleepless winter nights.

Even then, Blake never liked malls. No, not even in her childhood did she ever find them amusing, when many others would consider malls a fairytale world of wonderful things, had the curious cat devoted some of her natural intrigue to the fascination over the sheer manifold of products sold there. Even when Weiss and Yang took her shopping for a more... diverse wardrobe, as Weiss had politely surmised, she would never enter a shop until the other two turned around and urged her to join them. It wasn't the money or anything. She had plenty of liquid assets from stealing that truly large reserve of dust on the Black Market. It was just that she never enjoyed indulging the consumerism she'd spent so much of her life fighting against that she would end up purchasing her personal affixes from unorthodox vendors instead... After browsing the conventional inventory of the public domain for whatever enticed her. Books, mostly, but sometimes a few pieces of apparel she thought would go well with her convoluted sense of fashion. Other than those little luxuries, she refrained from moving her suspiciously magnanimous stash of assets, as to avoid unwanted attention.

Little changed when she began to open up, though. Not until the times of the war, when the Black Markets flourished beyond her reach, had she forced herself to do so for Yang's sake. Out of an obligation made a pact to swear upon the protection of one another, her near complete failure kept the boisterous blonde quieter than the mice of a derelict church, decrepit and tattered. Yang sat, immobile, and unconscious for weeks, until she'd woken up, and vehemently refused to participate further in a conflict that'd taken her friends, arm, and home city for months, as the scabs where her forearm once was continued to itch, burn, and every so often, peel. Even on the days when the crippled bruiser tried to maintain a brave smile or a courageous laugh, Blake left the room every other day with a cringing scowl, eyes narrowed as she'd twisted and flexed her own arm, wondering just how much it truly hurt. Then onwards, when Uncle Tai, as he insisted she call him, asked for favors or errands, Blake personally attended to them.

Only her guilt kept her going for the first dozen or so times, still desperate to keep low, constantly paranoid about every turned corner, or suspicious of any individual looking in her direction. It was just like when she and Adam snuck around town to buy necessities, new books for the excitement of discovering a world beyond theirs, for fear of recognition or potential documentation of their obscured identities. Last she remembered, until she'd run into Sun, who came bearing gifts of varying degrees in maturity, every expedition to the wilderness of towering lampposts and the ample vines of street railings and thick shrubs of security barricades was no different sneaking around a battlefield. Life or death, as Adam had said, no one knew what would come next.

But of course she'd known what would happen soon after they casually spotted each other at the crosswalk: They never left. With Sun by her side, all those varying degrees of awareness, all that constant vigilance had faded away, far more welcome of a change than she wanted, though. Warmer than the morning rays before the skies turned gray, Sun rose early in the mornings and came knocking on her door, spending the remaining months of recovery in a secluded town amidst Vale's still untouched countryside, left every night with a warm hug for good night. Those days alone were a dream, a story worth writing a book for in itself that she would have loved to read as a child, when she couldn't have imagined having such wonderful company during such dark times.

Then, predictably enough, came even darker days: By way of a tiring year long war, Blake returned to a life she understood better than most to adapt effectively enough, thankfully with the experience of her childhood to help the rest of her active team adjust. Once more every step carried the weight of mortality, every crack of boots against the floor or creek in the surroundings a harbinger of doom. They crossed the arid fields and scaled jagged mountains, sullied back lit streets of desecrated cities with the blood of her former comrades or the black discharge from the corpses of slain Grimm. Little to no support from the Kingdom's official military forces came to their aid; fewer brave souls left abandoned on tarnished battlefields or crumbling ruins joined them for their still largely undefined cause towards the greater good; and more of Blake's journeys proved perilous, suicidal to most than to her saguine heap of idealism and innocence. Yet all the while they skirmished their way through to where the fingers of arm chair commanders in their luxurious little bunkers would point, Sun and his team followed unquestioningly suit: Even when met with vehement refusal out of guilt, or insistent warnings at Ruby's astonishingly nonchalant behest.

"Hey, friends die together," the monkey reasoned. "Besides, you could use all the help you can get."

And he was right: On multiple occasions where Blake barely managed to save the skin of her mates she grew so attached to, Sun's expertise on illegal transit, coupled with her survival instincts, kept them all functional, if not alive. That sharp vision of his, that gut he rolled around on when words kept filing out of his internal radio broadcast for their entertainment, it'd saved them more than a few times when even Blake couldn't grasp the dangers lurking everywhere they went. Thereafter, when all the fighting died down, and they set up camp for the day, his limited medical training helped set broken bones back, cover up gnarly gashes, suturing wounds too big to heal on their own. More often than not, they were in his debt for numerous acts of unexpected grace and gentleness. Each instance an exemplary degree of care and concern, his quotidian and routine check-ups eventually became something she looked forward to, and soon enough, their bond had strengthened. Just beyond the mantle of friendship, they soon shared the same bunks, insisted on keeping watch together. It was hard not to notice how much closer they'd gotten when everyone else kept leaving them alone.

Blake would lie if she said she didn't miss those horrible evening watches, though. After the war ended, unanimous decision appointed her to the paragon she was today. Between that and what remained of her schooling, she had so little time to engage in irenic banter that she even grew distant from her own team. And by the time she managed to work away most of her political drudgery, he'd already announced that he would leave to study psychology elsewhere, seeing as now that they had a world to rebuild, he would tend to the people so she could focus on the world. Out of desperation, or regret, exactly which Blake still didn't know, she met him once more before he left, at a quaint little bar off the corner of Wright and Hemmingway, just to say goodbye. Her well-intended farewell, however, turned into a fantastic send off starting with casual persiflage and ending with her waking up sprawled across her own bed, pleasantly sore and completely nude. As for what they did through the night into dusk, Blake could only remember the sensations from the aftermath of fervent intimacy, but nothing in between. Faster than the morning dew, he vanished, just as she had on occasions too innumerable that she guiltily forgave his one, and only, transgression, vowing to wait until he returned from his tenure a licensed shrink. Hopefully then, or unfortunately so, he could help her remember. Or they could try doing it all over again, whichever comes first.

How long had it been since then? Almost a year? Maybe more? Even then, Blake felt their distance span an era apart: A fraction of their lives that took more away from their existences in peace, where war had defined them best. Following a largely placid, but not sedentary, life as an appointed Ambassador with direct ties to the Schnee Corporation, Blake found herself under subjugation not from the oppression she still fought against, but a limited serenity in bureaucracy. Much of her honed muscles continued to shiver and flex at times, yearning for a fight, or, at the very least, a free run across rooftops she could ill afford given her position in civil service. After all, watching a representative of a species skitter across property both private and public, wouldn't make great publicity for a cause other than for war or one of those impressive action films.

Suppose now she had Jaune to thank, for giving her the excuse of wandering alone, adorned not in suits or pencil skirts and loose heels that her occupation had mandated as a form of proper dress, but in the ribbons, cloth and lace that made her skin tingle to wear just once more. His return, as she chalked up, presented a "troubling apprehension pertinent to the continued stability of human-faunus relations." Pending High Council inquiries thusly proceeded over several painstaking days, and Blake emerged from those dark chambers temporarily relinquished from her official burdens. Those hours of reciting and defending her proclamations already detailed on censored paper cost the betterment of a week's worth of sleep. But suffering from a deprivation she grew habituated to in her youth was a negligible price for the greater degree of freedom to act beyond her simple jurisdiction of diplomatic authority.

Or, as Layman's terms would have her intentions, the perfect excuse to conveniently recruit whomever she required, for whatever reasons officially justified as a necessity towards her continued investigation.

So fate would have it, the first individual on her proposed roster enlisted her assistance first, by requesting that she accommodate for his indefinite stay in Vale on official business. Dismay followed suit at the gradual recognition that Sun told her he'd have come over within a couple of days, but already a week had passed; Though she long knew of his horrible tendency to arrive so perfectly on the dot, she feared he decided not to come at all. But the scattered hints of faith in her dear friend's loyalty deep kept blinking away, flashing the faint, empty idea that he would come. For if even the last direct, male descendent of the Arc family line could somehow materialize out of thin air in the middle of a street, a semi-retired stowaway stood the chance of legitimately traveling between two kingdoms. On that sliver of slim possibility, she wagered her happiness, and so she presently stood, before a near endless choice of paints, layers and coatings.

Today, she would focus on redecorating, not in compliance with seasonal changes, but for the sake of accommodating her imminent guest of great importance, sentimental importance at that. With Sun's imminent arrival, Blake decided to advance the redesigning of her home in the frantic days that would follow. True enough, he never liked the sky blue or white configuration she currently had her apartment in during the winter, claiming that it'd made him feel the horrible effects of his seasonal affective disorder. Frankly, Blake had agreed with him, but still preferred her abode to parallel the seasons out of principle, even if it meant making her feel cold and alone, as her constitution would subconsciously suggest she do. Weiss would have agreed.

Speaking of the Snow Angel, Weiss called in for friendly conversation, lest she use a more secure line for communication. As the feline kept aimlessly loitering about, the two fire forged companions exchanged more personal matters; Weiss spoke extensively on her plans to improve upon Ruby's birthday gala, including raising the budget to allow for chauffeurs and gourmet cuisine, and maybe even a larger orchestral compliment for musical entertainment. Blake, however, shared her less extravagant intentions.

"Sun's coming over soon," she chirped. "Was thinking about redecorating to fit the mood."

"Really?"

"Yeah," came a sheepish grin. "He never likes winter themes. So I thought I might make the place a little more accommodating is all."

"That's nice."

In her strange trance of wonderment, Blake had accidentally lost track of their conversation, and so returned to the digital front with a confused query.

"What is?"

"You know, the whole moving mountains and parting seas for your special someone."

"Says you," Blake teased. "As I recall, you've parted the mountains by hosting a gala, but still haven't found a present for Ruby just yet."

"Who told you that? Did Yang spread that rumor?"

"Rumor? Well now I know that's true."

"I'd like to hear what you got for her, Blake. Surely you've upheld your social obligations better than I."

"A book, that new bestseller by Patrick Aurelius, Between our Woven Trees, it's called. Hardcover too, just the way she likes it. You?"

On her end, Blake received a palpable silence unmarred by the static that would have indicated a slight loss in signal. Though what with Schnee Corp's newly developed wireless systems that Weiss herself had a helping hand in, the heiress hadn't the excuse of poor reception to deflect her guilt to.

"Okay, fine, well maybe I haven't gotten her a present just yet, but I suppose the future of Remnant's economy might warrant a little more attention than some petty object of no material but incredible sentimental value."

"Hey, at least you went through all the trouble to make her birthday worth a gala. What I wouldn't have given to invite just the most affluent and influential individuals across the globe to come celebrate the Angel of Vale's coming of age."

"That's your fault for insisting that we not celebrate your birthday," Weiss sighed. "Besides, I'm sure your lovey dovey monkey has other plans for a wild night on that very special day."

"Ew. I don't know how you managed to think of that first."

"People mature, I guess. Hadn't you caught on to that, Ambassador Belladonna?"

"Hadn't caught on to your maturity, Snow Pea."

"Well, I'd love to exchange endearing insults with you, but I really have to go. My meeting starts in a few minutes, and I still have to find the right present for Ruby before tomorrow."

"You do whatever you need to, Weiss," Blake chimed. "Things will work out well."

"Thanks, Blake."

"Anytime, Weiss."

Weiss wouldn't normally entertain such childish affairs like affection, not that the heiress had much time to. But Blake supposed that the princess had changed far more for the better since they'd first met that even the slightest bit of care, wherever affordable in her indubitably relentless schedule, seemed markedly significant. The feline had her own forms of affection to attend to, though, and soon set her phone aside in the pocket of her black trench coat, before returning to scanning the massive selection of wall paint colors displayed in front of her.

Maybe she should have changed her furniture as well, switch out the covers and duvet's while she was at it. The apartment's largely chromatic scheme of black, white and all hues in between had suited her purposes enough to not simply satisfy her aesthetic desires, but placate her what intricate differences lie in between to remind her of such subtle things as perspective and justice. Ethics deserved time for conversation at another day, perhaps, in the company of Ren or maybe Yatsuhashi in lieu of those pesky conferences mandating her presence. Her sagacity mattered little while she still had trouble choosing from one of theoretically infinite possibilities to accomplish aesthetic satisfaction.

Beside her, a young, male faunus had tried to approach her from the side, cautiously pacing himself as to not alert her, but shrunk away slightly when she immediately noticed his presence by turning her head and smiling. Nonetheless, he composed himself with a gentle laugh of guilt, or nervousness, whichever of the two Blake could not tell apart, and kept his hands in front of him, fingers laced, arms slack.

"Picking out new colors, I see." He began.

"Yeah, well," she turned back to the selection of colors before her. "It's about that time of year again."

"If you want, I can try and help with pairing a few things to help set the new theme."

Distract her as he may, Blake still kept herself in place with a hand thoughtlessly placed by her mouth. Pair a few things to match with a predetermined image. Ordained and conventional, words to which Sun might have incredulously scoffed, "since when would that work well?" Simple patterns won't work; easy compliments wouldn't hold. Of the many themes displayed here, none could capture his volatility, his wacky and whimsical ways that shone upon the empty stage of her adoration. No, to think plainly upon such things amounted to insulting his nature. But what was there? What in those so perfectly blended colors could she hope to find something that did not belong?

Where among such vivid emotions lay the one she felt at the hint of his name?

"Miss, are you alright?"

Blake removed her fingers from the slime that was her drool between her lips as she shook herself awake, peering at the packet of duvets she held in the other hand with widened eyes of sudden attention. How long had she stood there for?

"Y-Yes, I'm fine. Sorry, it's just been something of a long day."

"Oh, I see," the young faunus offered. "So, do you need some time to gather your senses?"

"No, no thank you. I actually wanted to defer to your expertise on the matter of changing the color of my walls."

"I might not possess the expertise that you wish for," he modestly chuckled. "But I'll help you however I can, Miss."

"That's alright. See, I was aiming for something a little more…"

Tropical? No, far too extreme and way too detailed. Hot? Possibly misunderstood or mistaken for something too off. What about warm? Maybe that sounded too soft, Thankfully, the store worker had patiently waited for the words to churn through her mind, finally producing a winsome smile when said good will began to thin. Rushed, still, for time, Blake settled upon one that Jaune would have approved of.

"Vibrant."

Exoticism aside, though not uncommon for most faunus, the eccentricity of her preference did not go unnoticed. The young staff member clicked his tongue for a few seconds, and then raised his brows before folding his arms. Blake herself had joined in on his dramatics, making little adjustments to her shift in weight and posture to nearly mirror his. Rumor, though more like Sun's education, had it that mimicking someone else's poses made them more partial to the imitator's desires. Today wasn't the first day she'd tried it, but out of habit from when she met more... important individuals of modern society to varying degrees of success, the ambassador could afford another instance for practice.

"Quite an extraordinary theme for this time of year" he mused, scratching at his non-existent beard for an emphasis on his confounded disposition. "Huh, that's a first."

And though she couldn't exactly scratch at facial hair that just didn't grow on her, Blake placed the two curious fingers of her other hand across her chin.

"Yeah," she excused. "I just thought I might spruce things up a little. Maybe not feel so cold through the winter."

"I see." He hymned. "I will assume that you've already arranged for the furnishing and placement and all that?"

"Oh I've got that covered, thanks. Just wanted to deal with the walls, is all."

"Excellent," the young boy perked. "Well, let's see... If I may, what sort of impression did you have of what you wanted the place to look like?"

"Someplace welcoming," Blake mused. "As if to greet someone who has come home after a long time away."

"Ah," her temporary confidant grinned. "For the special someone?"

Even the thought of him made her blush. Between that, and how her contemporary's cheeks seemed to rise just a little more with every shade of red she'd deepened, she looked away to gather of her damned thoughts again. Still, his image persisted, and radiating embarrassment condemned her to honesty as the only means of emancipation from its distressing influence.

"Something like that."

"Well then," ruffled the assistant's snout as he scratched his nose. "Why don't we start with yellow?"

Yellow? And accommodate entirely to her ego maniacal companion and her closest associate? Tempting and appropriate as the idea felt, Blake had decided against it the very moment it'd arrived at her attention. Better the consistently mellowed primate continue with his more... welcoming personality that his career had established, than to encourage the hidden fraction of his youth to emerge from the fray of obscurity. Yellow... and maybe White, to retain a part of the past, and celebrate the return of more than just he who left for a professional life, not unlike someone whom still held the key to what threats lay beyond, heroic in his absolute purity, yet so strangely empty in the complete absence of substance.

Yes, that was a perfect place to start.

"Of course," Blake grinned, "show me what you've got."

– -

The sun rose every day in the same manner: It crawled up the side of the mountain, and crept over the peaks, tearing through the trees in the forest yet sparing the eyes a sharp reflection from the water but still providing its warm glow to admire. And though, some hours later, the true source of light for their world would inevitably depart, it set in the exact same manner, a tired and slow crawl to its rest. This view hadn't changed, not since she'd come to Beacon, not even when the world teetered on a thin balance when darkness threatened to topple the world, and certainly not now, when everything had just begun to fall back into place.

Well, not everything. In fact, upon further cogitation, she might have just told herself the greatest lie that the world would return to how it was. Contrary to the most ideal of beliefs following the fantastical endings to mythological tales, nothing had fallen back into place, not in the same places, at least. Where most affairs would gently boil down to a simmer, reality would have it split ahead in some precarious direction. Yet in the most confusing of ways, between the end of the war and today, nothing had actually changed. It was strange to allow for such a paradox to exist, but with sufficient contemplation, her thoughts seemed to make some sense. After all, Velvet couldn't look at the sunset in the same way as she would have a few years ago: Rather than a sign of anticipation for the next, great day, Velvet just marveled at how she had the fortune to see another day end, let alone if the night would respond in turn.

No one thing caused such a major shift in paradigm in its entirety. School taught her one a many line of wisdom; Friends shared what fantastical tales of childhood and upbringing prior to their enrollment; Strangers traded names and lessons to lead more fulfilled lives as they bonded together to face a common enemy. All of this, however, war made possible. So, perhaps, Velvet could blame War for occupying their attention, twisting the lines of their thought and blurring the edges of what clearly defined measures had lost their meaning when no order presided over these lands. That is, the War, and one too many fights where people lost limbs, lives, and spirits, pretty much everything that would had allowed them to conduct their joyful existences.

As for what actually changed, the philosopher's answer seemed most apt: Everything, in that how they seemed, but nothing, in what they were, had changed. But it was the uncannily identical nature of things in objectivity that irked Velvet most. Ren had elucidated this mystery to her as followed: A flower is a flower. To a lover, it means one thing, and to a soldier another.

Poetic as it had seemed, only now had her contemporary's riddle made complete sense, and Velvet chuckled at the moronic implication that it'd taken her a year or so to understand it. How far ahead the clever sage looked was, evidently, beyond her. Inasmuch, she felt horrible enough that her level of intellect could not rival his, no matter how much her superior instincts had urged that she soon reach a similar level of sophistication.

Just thinking about all of that made her head spin.

Mercy had Yatsuhashi tap her shoulder from behind, and for a moment, she felt pleasantly grateful for his conscious attempt at distraction. Afterward, he stood beside her a while, joining her for a few seconds as they kept watching the birds fly off into the horizon from the trees below. Not a word passed between them, but mutually sympathetic looks earned eager smiles in high hopes that they could, at least, watch the sun set again. This time, they had the luxury of thinking that neither had the end just begun, had the beginning just ended.

Although, she distinctly remembered the day the war ended, when they finally retook Beacon from the literal clutches of evil incarnate, when they stood, tattered and ragged at the top of that tower. On that day, the sun rose, clear for the first time in years. Since then, she hadn't ceased to look at the sun at least once a day to remind her of exactly how things used to be. Today, all of her friends who'd stood with her on that day had left the service, gone to do other things, or disappear entirely. Both RWBY and JNPR, in particular, never returned as a collective again, not unless for memorial galas, or celebratory events.

Maybe they had enough, grew tired of all the killing as anyone would have following the war. It'd made sense if anyone would just pause for just a moment and remember that behind their near mythical reputations lay but a human psyche, susceptible to the same traumas and fears as the average citizen. Velvet? She felt somewhat impartial to all the casualty when her cause was just, a piece of wisdom Yatsuhashi had given her from some time ago. Wherever he'd heard it, supposedly from a friend in the Imperial Guard, that logic kept her resolve cemented to the horrible deed of killing, something she still often did.

Two years and one or two trips to the hospital later, Velvet emerged a woman, still a virgin, and anything but innocent. Often times, she would look in the mirror after her showers, run her fingers down the almost countless scars from battles past, each one bearing a distinctive mark and texture from the variety of horns, blades and bullets that had riddled the flesh there. She wasn't sure if she'd actually accrued more than the others, given her weak constitution and lack of truly protective gear. Heal as they might, they never went back to the smooth skin that she used to have, largely calloused and rougher than most even with skincare. Maybe her faunus hormones had started to kick in. But that wouldn't explain how Blake still seemed so gorgeously young and beautiful. Then, again, Blake was a feline, and word has it that they generally tended to have fairer skin and hair as they aged.

Nonetheless, unanimous agreement kept her team in active duty, thinking that they still owed the world a duty in the debt from failing to protect it before. They'd quickly took the others' place as the Stalwart team of their Beacon generation. The Vale Council had since utilized them as something of a means for propaganda in urging graduated Huntsman and Huntresses to continue their heroic service when, indeed, Velvet had reason to believe was none the more heroic at all. Still, the Vale Ranger corps kept them busy. Between that, and their social events to promote Beacon or otherwise collaborate with the academy to teach the future generation, Velvet thought CFVY had plenty to do.

Tonight was no different. A representative from the High Council had tasked them with a strange assignment best left to the Ranger corps: A light recon thing, apparently, something about a potential Insurgent White Fang operation that would have posed a massive threat to the security of the Kingdoms, so to recall the council's insistent diction. Although, even Velvet found that rather extreme, or, if incorrect, slightly underestimated when they told Coco and her team to perform reconnaissance that would be anything but light. In fact, given their objective to probe the Stronghold's defenses, they might as well have called it a raid. But if the press ever managed to catch wind of their work, she supposed that "recon" might not attract as much attention as other terms more confrontational in nature.

Nonetheless, Velvet got to preparing right away, from polishing her weapon down and greasing its parts for smoother functionality, to apply a new coating on her armor to help defend against environmental factors that nearly cost them their lives in the day. The Vale Rangers spared them menial work of loading all the equipment they needed onto the dropship, but even then, they had to sort out the munitions just to be sure. Fox brought in a few more goodies from the workshop, and Coco had probably decided that her inclined approach would require some refinement. All in the few hours they had from the calling to their active duties, to the time that High Command had expected their departure. Everything had gone according to schedule, however rushed, and they had intended for all to fall into place when they arrived.

Just another day at the job, Velvet thought, surely they would encounter a few surprises, but there wasn't much that they couldn't handle. Shame that their assignment would take maybe a week or so to properly finish, though; she'd wanted to attend Ruby's birthday gala this year, and hoped that a small message of encouragement would suffice until the day they could meet up at a cafe for a proper presentation of the gift she prepared. But if they could hasten their progress a little more than they had planned every day, there was the distinct chance that they could just barely return in time. If anything, Velvet had hoped this would go as smoothly as pretty much every other operation they had conducted after the War had ended. This should be no exception.

"You ready?" Coco smirked.

She must have dozed out for some time, as everyone else had sat themselves down in the cargo hold when Coco finally resorted to poking her nose for attention.

"Huh?"

Thankfully, her teammate hadn't done anything more extreme, and Coco planted one hand on the railings of the boarding gate, and another firmly by her waist, head angled towards the rest of her team who waited patiently in the cargo hold. Velvet spread her weight evenly on both sides to look past her leader for a moment, as to inspect what had already been inspected, before returning to Coco's raised brows.

"Is everything ready?"

As if she had to ask.

"Of course. Let's get going."

You know, they say that a kiss can stop the heart of a man faster than a blade. I'd have much preferred the blade, because a kiss would likely give one a life of agony, as opposed to a swift end. Although, given the context of February 14th, I'd say an arrow is more appropriate...

….Too soon?

I wanted to make this a Sunday release in the week following the Finale, but, well, with writing, even the smallest details don't work out upon inspection. You may have noticed that this chapter, in particular, has a larger word count of about 15 k words. A third of which I'd added in during the time from the finale to today, edited and revised a few times, of course. However, I must ask you to forgive me if the quality of writing seems lackluster in comparison to previous chapters; I haven't exactly written anything properly since, well, everything went to shit, and I've only recently contemplated returning to writing, let's say, to tame a few phantoms of the past.

We didn't focus upon the estranged relationship between the two lovebirds today, but I assure you that the next chapter will have some... Interesting shifts in development. Much of today's text marks the initiation of Jaune's recovery (and analogously, that of my writing). As a fair warning, prepare for extreme mood dissonance, which may or may not disturb you. Most of you should be teens, or adults, after all, and while I have no confidence in the level of maturity that a large portion of America's youth possesses, I hope you, who have chosen to enjoy a story in a domain less known to most, do. So, you know, read at your own risk and take responsibility for your choices.

Today's chapter is brought to you by listening to really sad so- I mean, 水の星へ愛をこめて, (sui no hoshi e ai o komete, romanized) literally translated to "Love from a Watery Planet" or "From a Watery Planet, with love," the opening for Zeta Gundam, a show I absolutely adored watching even though I didn't really understand much of the profound stuff at first. It's a steady rhythm, with a slight similarity to Careless Whisper, except this is way better than that sax solo (that freaking sax solo though). I don't normally listen to this stuff, but sometimes, certain songs serve help evoke specific emotions better than others. A lot of Z Gundam's songs and pieces are actually REALLY good for its time, and even for today. But more modern shows, say, G.I.T.S., Psycho Pass, 00 Gundam or Macross, for that matter, obviously have substantially improved musical scores. Call this creative refinement or intellectual evolution, if you will. I'll recommend some of those later as I continue to upload more chapters.

Ren and Velvet bit brought to you by Skyrim Atmospheres. Jeremy Soule does a great job at creating clear, ambient pieces to help promote thought. I'd look for more atmospheric tracks, but I've come up a little short. Anyone have any suggestions?

Next chapter and the chapter afterward will come from raw text that I had set aside for editing before I stopped writing for a while. Honestly, it feels really strange to read the stuff I'd written two years ago, kind of makes you wonder if you can still tap into that magic, you know? But, then again, what's to say that it all wasn't for the better? On one hand, yeah, it's a shame that nothing really beneficial had occurred; on the other, we wouldn't live the way we do today if not for our days past. So really, I like to believe that it was all for the better. Maybe with that intoxicating drive to create and forge in the absence of source material back in my chest, things will pull through, somehow.

Leave a comment in the review section or ask me a question on my tumblr. I'm pretty busy this week so I can't guarantee that I'll respond immediately, but I'll do my best.

Let's all keep moving forward. I'll be waiting for you at the next chapter.

P.S. If you need some anesthetic for the heartache of the decade, I'd recommend Aquarion Evol. Amata, the protagonist, basically has all of Jaune's features with a palette swap, and Pyrrha's physical appearance has split into Mikono's personality, and Zessica's competence. Although, they both share a mix of the Maiden's attractiveness, too. Just expect a lot of CHEESE... And doughnuts.