SAPR

by Scipio Smith

The Heart of Mistral, Part One (New)

The Heart of Mistral, Part One

The lights were on in the dorm room, and when Ruby opened the door, she found everyone else up, waiting for her.

Sunset was sitting on her bed, one leg outstretched, the other cocked upwards, bent like a mountain rising to a peek at the knee. She was looking at her scroll, but she looked up as Ruby came in.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Pretty good, I think,” Ruby replied. “He offered me a job.”

“With Rutulian Security?” Pyrrha asked, taking a step towards her.

“Uh huh,” Ruby answered. “Of course, I said no. That’s not what I want to do. It wouldn’t be what I wanted to do even without all the stuff with Salem and everything else that we know. I’m sure he believes in what he’s doing, but it’s not what I believe in.”

“How forcefully did you put your opinion across?” asked Pyrrha mildly.

Ruby chuckled. “I thanked him, but I told him that I wasn’t interested. He told me that the door was open if I changed my mind. Which I won’t, but I guess it was nice of him to offer. Oh, but he also asked if I’d like to come down and shadow his people tomorrow night when they work security at the Mistralian Embassy for that thing Pyrrha and Jaune are going to, and I said I’d do it.”

“Why?” Jaune said. “I mean, you already told him that you weren’t interested.”

Ruby shrugged. “No, but unlike some of the stuff they do, this sounds kind of important.”

“Protecting a jewel?” Sunset asked. “I mean, it probably is important, but it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you’d think was important.”

Ruby put one hand upon her hip. “What does that mean?”

“It means there aren’t any lives at stake,” Sunset said flatly.

“But there are,” Ruby replied. “The First Councillor is going to be there, and the Mistralian ambassador, and a whole bunch of VIPs, and Jaune and Pyrrha.”

“That’s true,” Pyrrha said, “but on the other hand, I can’t imagine there’ll be much risk involved to any of us. At least, I certainly hope not.”

“Maybe don’t tempt fate,” Sunset muttered, although the smile on her face as she said it suggested she wasn’t being serious about that.

Pyrrha gave a smile that was kind of a grimace at the same time. “Point taken,” she allowed. “But my point is, who would want to attack or disrupt an event like this?”

“Jewel thieves?” Jaune suggested.

“Perhaps, but jewel thieves probably wouldn’t attempt a robbery in the middle of a party,” said Pyrrha.

“You obviously haven’t seen enough movies,” Sunset said, the smile still on her face, “but you should be fine as long as you keep your eyes peeled for a charming, refined, and handsome con artist, an alluring femme fatale, and an awkward computer expert in glasses.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Pyrrha said dryly.

“Ruby,” Jaune said, “you never said why you wanted to do this?”

“Well, it isn’t like I’ve got anything better to do tomorrow night, right?” Ruby asked. “And I kind of like the idea of being on guard while you two are having fun. And just because I don’t want to take a job with them doesn’t mean it might not be cool to see how they operate. I might even learn something, in case I get hired for a job like this when I become a huntress.”

“You’ll be bored,” Sunset said. “Hopefully, at least.”

“That might also be good practice for when I graduate,” Ruby said.

Sunset snorted. “Maybe. Chance would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it? So, you’re all going to be leaving me on my own tomorrow night, are you?”

“You could come with me and work security?” Ruby suggested.

“Or I could see if I could get another ticket—”

“No, it’s fine,” Sunset assured them all. “I was only kidding. I’m not going to intrude where I’m not wanted. I’ll find something to occupy myself while Pyrrha and Jaune are … ordinarily, at this point, I would playfully and fondly mock how sickeningly sweet you are, but in this case, with Lord Rutulus around, I’m not sure it’s going to be as much fun as all that. And Ruby will be getting bored in the company of … who are these people anyway?”

“Some are huntsmen or huntresses who wanted what you might call a regular job, compared to the vagaries of depending on the job board for their livelihood,” Pyrrha explained. “Some are ex-police, others are simply people who had a talent for fighting but for whatever reason didn’t fit in or make it into Haven Academy. The kind of people who might have joined the army in Atlas or Vale, but Mistral doesn’t have an army, and so people like that tend to concentrate into private security companies or mercenary groups.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad,” Sunset said.

“It depends on what they do, I guess,” said Jaune.

“Turnus seems okay, actually,” Ruby said. “I mean, we didn’t talk about Pyrrha at all, and I won’t defend … that, although he does seem to think that your mother promised—”

“Yes, I’m well aware of what he believes my mother promised,” Pyrrha interrupted her, in a voice that was almost but not quite a growl.

“But other than that … he’s not perfect, he babies his sister too much and tries too hard to control her rather than trusting her to do her own thing and make her own choices, but even that I can kind of get, what with his parents and all. But apart from that … he seemed okay to me. Honestly … while it wouldn’t suit me, taking orders from someone, doing what someone else thinks is right, I couldn’t do that any more than I could become an Atlesian specialist, but for the kind of person who doesn’t mind taking orders, who doesn’t mind letting other people do your thinking for you, I can get why people want to work for him.” Ruby paused for a moment. “Sometimes…”

The others waited a moment to let her finish.

“Sometimes … what?” asked Jaune.

Ruby folded her arms. “Well, you know how we captured Torchwick and stopped the train robbery.”

“Mhm,” Sunset said.

“Well, it wasn’t just us; it was Team Rosepetal too, and Blake,” Ruby said. “And if they hadn’t been there, if we had been the four of us on our own, then maybe we wouldn’t have had so much luck.”

“We would have done okay,” Sunset said a little defensively.

“And then we were with them in Mountain Glenn, right?” Ruby said. “That … didn’t go so well, but … the point is that we were lucky to have them with us, both times, and I was reminded about that because of something that Turnus said about huntsmen working on their own and how he couldn’t imagine doing that, even if he’d graduated from Atlas.”

“Not all huntsmen or huntresses work alone,” Pyrrha pointed out.

“I know, I told him that,” Ruby said, “but the most that you tend to get are just huntsmen working with the teams that they went to the academies with, and that’s fine, and I get why that happens, but … maybe there should be a time and a place for huntsmen to work in larger numbers, more often than they do. We spend four years learning to work as a team, and yet, so many huntsmen go solo afterwards, why?”

“Numbers?” Sunset suggested. “Teams of four wouldn’t be able to cover enough ground to do everything that needs to be done?”

“Or is it simply that most missions that a huntsman is called upon to undertake can be undertaken by a single huntsman?” suggested Pyrrha.

“But can they, though?” Ruby responded. “Can one huntsman defend a whole village from an entire tribe of bandits?”

“It depends on how well-trained the bandits are, I guess,” Jaune said.

“What’s your point, Ruby?” asked Sunset. “That huntsmen should work together more often?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Ruby said. “My point is that if you have a situation where one huntsman, or maybe even a team of four — if you can get one — isn’t going to cut it, you have to look to the Atlesian military or to private companies, organisations that are dependent on the decisions of one man, be it General Ironwood or Lord Rutulus or someone else; the fact is that it’s someone making decisions for everyone else, and everyone else just blindly going along with it, which isn’t what a huntsman is supposed to do—”

“Okay,” Sunset said, getting off her bed and getting to her feet, “but you see the inherent tension here, don’t you? You say that huntsmen should be open to working together, because there is strength in numbers, and sometimes, that kind of strength is necessary, but on the other hand, you say that huntsmen need to be answerable to no one but themselves and their own consciences, but how is that supposed to work in a group? Someone needs to be in charge.”

“Why?” Ruby asked. “Why can’t the group make decisions collectively?”

“How?” Sunset responded. “By a show of hands? What if everyone doesn’t agree, either the ones that don’t agree sit out the operation, in which case, you don’t have numbers any more, or they subordinate their feelings to the decision of the majority, which isn’t much different from obeying orders, except it’s less effective. And in battle, someone has to be in command, or you lose all coordination and the advantage of strength with it. I just … I can see your point about numbers, I can see your point about us working with the Rosepetals and with Blake, and it worked, and it does seem odd that we train in teams only to go our separate ways, and maybe more organisations that could bring huntsmen together as necessary would be a good thing, but they would need to led in order for them to be effective.”

“Maybe,” Ruby conceded. “But that leader could be elected, because there’s a difference between the majority deciding and everyone agreeing to go along with it even if it’s not what they would have done and one person just deciding for themselves without reference to anybody.”

“Yes, the one person is likely to make better decisions,” Sunset muttered.

“Sunset,” Pyrrha said reproachfully.

“I’m sorry,” Sunset said, “but I will never agree with Ruby on this; leadership should be the province of the best, the one.”

“What if the best isn’t the one?” Ruby asked.

“If the best were not the one, they would not be the one,” Sunset answered. “But, rather than get into that because we’ll never convince one another, Ruby, what are you going to do about it?”

Ruby blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you really think that this is a new model of huntsman … huntsman-ing, hunting, what’s the verb for what we do?”

“I think it’s just hunting,” Ruby said.

“But that describes taking a gun and shooting rabbits in the woods,” Jaune pointed out.

“And we take guns and shoot beowolves in the woods; it’s not that different,” said Ruby. “Although why would you want to shoot cute little bunnies? That’s awful.”

“Yeah, that’s why I never did it.”

“Whatever it is,” Sunset said. “if you think this is a good idea that deserves consideration, what are you going to do about it more than standing here talking about it to us?”

Ruby thought about it for a moment. “Uh … what could I do?”

“Why don’t you write a paper on it and submit it to…?” Sunset trailed off. “Is there a magazine for huntsmen? I feel like I should know this, but I don’t.”

“Blades of Honour sometimes runs articles on huntsmen and huntresses, although the publication is mostly focused upon the tournament circuit,” Pyrrha said. “I’m not sure they’d be interested in a logistical consideration, though.”

“Why don’t you submit it to Professor Ozpin, see if he knows anywhere to publish it?” Jaune suggested. “Even if he doesn’t, if he likes your ideas, maybe he’ll put his weight behind them.”

“You think?” Ruby asked. “What if he’s too busy to read it?”

“I think he’ll make the time to read it, if it’s from you,” Pyrrha remarked.

“Really?” Ruby said. “Okay then, I’ll do it!” She paused. “Did I just give myself homework?”

“Yes, yes, you did,” Sunset declared. “It’s the reward of virtue.”

Ruby groaned.

“Do you think this would help us at all?” mused Jaune. “I mean, there are so few of us who know about Salem, who Professor Ozpin can trust—”

“But that is because there are so few whom Professor Ozpin dares to trust,” Pyrrha pointed out. “Larger forces of huntsmen would be irrelevant, even counterproductive, if Professor Ozpin could trust them with the knowledge of what was really going on.”

“Not necessarily,” Sunset said. “If something like Ruby is suggesting became commonplace, then there’s no reason you couldn’t have a high echelon of leaders who knew the truth and a force of followers, footsoldiers, however you want to call them, who don’t know about Salem but only know that the cause is a righteous one and that they are doing good, fighting off the grimm.”

“That would hardly square with elected leaders and strategy by common consent,” Pyrrha pointed out.

“No,” Sunset acknowledged. “But you already knew those were the bits I didn’t agree with anyway.”

---

Junior's was not exactly in the heart of Vale. The club to which Bon Bon and Tempest had been summoned was located in an old industrial district, the kind of place that put Bon Bon in mind of Mantle, or perhaps what Mantle would become in a few years time: derelict and empty, abandoned old factories and closed down mills, with graffiti on the walls and boarded-up windows.

It was a strange place to put a nightclub, although Bon Bon was surprised to see people drifting in and out of the arched building, the shining and shimmering dresses of the girls, the glittering straps of their stiletto heels, looking out of place in this dark and dismal part of the city.

They also made Bon Bon herself look and feel pretty underdressed, wearing a white hoodie with the hood up so as to cover her face, with nondescript blue jeans and white trainers.

Tempest was wearing a dark grey suit with a white shirt, no tie. It … suited her, to be honest.

"Why do you think Doctor Watts wants to meet here, of all places?" Bon Bon asked as they approached the club.

"To be anonymous, I think," Tempest murmured. "No one respectable is likely to show up here. We can talk away from prying eyes."

"This club isn't exactly empty of eyes," Bon Bon replied.

"True," Tempest conceded. "But quiet doesn't always mean security, and a crowd doesn't always mean you'll be noticed."

"Mmm," Bon Bon muttered. "It was a surprise to hear from him. Or was it?"

Tempest stopped, looking back at Bon Bon over her shoulder. "Meaning?"

Bon Bon shrugged. "Have you heard from him lately?"

"Not before I got this summons, the same as you," Tempest said.

"We're not exactly the same," Bon Bon said. "Are we?"

Tempest's green eyes narrowed, even as an amused smirk sprung up on her lips. "Are you … jealous?"

Bon Bon thrust her hands into her hoodie pockets. "No."

The smirk remained on Tempest's face. "You should be pleased," she said. "My elevation means you're not working for Cinder anymore. You're working for me."

"Is there a difference?"

"You wound me," Tempest said, putting on a hurt expression. She turned around and sauntered back towards Bon Bon. "What is it that you want, Sweetie? What is it that you desire, above all things?"

Fame, glory, recognition, respect, power? No. None of those, not anymore. Sky's death had burned them out of her. "I want to protect Lyra and Dove," she said. "I want to keep them safe; I want them to be safe."

"And they will be," Tempest assured her. "I'm not like Cinder; I won't tell you to throw your friends into the fire for the sake of some little charade. I understand the desire to protect those closest to you, no matter the cost." She placed a hand on Bon Bon's shoulder. "Vale is going to bleed as a result of this, that is inevitable. Our victory cannot come without a degree of base violence. But when the shots of war break out, I guarantee to you that Lyra and Dove will be far away from it all; it will not touch them."

Unless they choose to put themselves in the middle of it. They might, being brave people, good people. Bon Bon … she would just have to ensure that they did not, by whatever means.

"You guarantee it?" she asked.

"I will give you the word," Tempest said. "And you can make the arrangements for them, as seems best to you."

Bon Bon nodded. "Thank you," she whispered.

"As I said," Tempest replied. "I know what it's like. You would rather … you would rather die than see them come to harm. Whether they deserve the care you show them or not."

Bon Bon knew that Lyra and Dove did deserve it, absolutely so — it was she who didn't deserve them — but nevertheless, she nodded. "And now?"

"We'll find out inside, won't we?" Tempest said, turning away and resuming her walk towards the club.

Bon Bon followed her, over the cobbles of the road outside and through the metallic doors into the club. A flight of stairs led down into the dancefloor, where revellers shook and swayed and raised their arms, illuminated by the spotlights of brilliant white.

Rose petals floated down from the ceiling, while wordless music thumped out across the club. Trees grew in glass cases at the corners of the dance floor, while more trees were projected by holograms, pale shadows that seemed almost ghostlike.

Tempest led the way, and Bon Bon followed, descending the stairs as the lights on the dance floor changed from white to a dark, bloody red. They skirted the edge of the dancers, moving around the trees in their cases, walking to the back of the building, where tables sat in secluded booths half out of sight.

In one such booth sat Doctor Arthur Watts.

His smile appeared from underneath his moustache. "Girls," he said. "How delightful it is to see you again."

"Likewise, Doctor," Tempest said, with more warmth in her voice than Bon Bon had ever heard from her before. She ducked into the booth, sitting close to Doctor Watts, even as she reached out to take his hands. "It was a wonderful surprise to hear from you."

Doctor Watts chuckled. "Don't take my silence for indifference, Tempest, take it for praise; I had such confidence in your efforts that you didn't need to direct you or to check up on you. And look at how my faith has been rewarded: Cinder's equal now, joint leader of the operation here in Vale." He turned his attention to Bon Bon. "Sweetie Drops. You look well."

Bon Bon threw back her hood. "Doctor."

"I feel a little chillier all of a sudden," Doctor Watts muttered. "What is the matter, child?"

Bon Bon did not sit down. She remained standing, looking down on Doctor Watts where he sat in the booth. "You gave me to Cinder," she said frostily, her voice crackling.

"I put you to work," Doctor Watts said. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"I wanted to work for you," Bon Bon snarled, "not for that mad dog!"

"Sweetie—" Tempest began.

"Shut up!" Bon Bon snapped. "This doesn't concern you."

Tempest started to rise, but Doctor Watts held up one hand.

"Sweetie is due her candour," he murmured. "Sit down, Tempest."

She sat down.

Doctor Watts' eyes were fixed on Bon Bon. "You feel that I have misused you?"

"I think you have used me badly," Bon Bon replied.

Doctor Watts was silent for a moment. "You are probably right," he admitted, "and I am sorry for it. All I can say in my defence is that I, too, have those whom I must obey. I was ordered to assign one of my operatives to assist Cinder, and I did. And while I was well aware of Cinder's deficiencies, I had no idea she would turn out to be quite so … ill-suited to her task and position. All I can say is that I'm sorry. It won't happen again. And you don't need to worry about Cinder anymore. You don't need to obey her, you don't need to listen to her, and if she tries to make an issue of that, then I will deal with it. You must believe me, it was never my intent to do you wrong."

Bon Bon hesitated. What he had done, the way that he had treated her, had seemed callous. It had been callous. But … but this was Doctor Watts. This was someone she had known for years, someone who had put her back together in every sense. Someone who understood her pain, even as he helped to heal it. Someone without whom, she would be nothing.

"Apology accepted, Doctor," she murmured as she sat down in the booth.

The smile returned to Doctor Watts' face. "Excellent," he said. "Now, you're probably both wondering why I'm here."

"The question had crossed our minds," Tempest said.

"I have no doubt that operations here in Vale will conclude successfully, now that you have taken command," Doctor Watts said. "Which means that I am looking ahead to the next phase: Mistral. I am preparing the ground, as it were. An opportunity has arisen for me to make a connection that will be very useful once the theatre of operations changes, but to secure that connection, I need your help. Now, here is what I need you to do…"

---

“Are you okay, Jaune?” Ruby asked as the cab carried them through the streets towards the Mistralian embassy. It was a spacious taxi, with enough room in the back for Pyrrha’s dress to sprawl out a little bit without getting crushed or creased, and with enough room as well for two rows of seats, facing one another. Ruby sat with her back to the driver’s compartment, facing the rear window and Jaune and Pyrrha, who faced forwards.

Opposite Ruby, Jaune’s legs were bouncing up and down a little bit, twitching as if he’d been shocked or something.

He smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Ruby admitted.

Pyrrha placed a green-gloved hand on top of his. “I’m sorry, Jaune,” she said. “There’s still time to have the cab turn around.”

“What? No,” Jaune said. “I’m not that nervous, not enough to ditch you.”

“I was thinking that possibly we could both not go,” Pyrrha replied. “I don’t want to make you unhappy.”

“Wouldn’t that embarrass you to not show up?”

“So?” Pyrrha asked.

“So, I’m not that nervous,” Jaune insisted. “I mean, I’ve faced way worse than this, right?”

“Who are you trying to convince?” Ruby asked.

Jaune let out a little laugh. “Okay, that’s … okay,” he admitted. “But the point is that I can handle this. It would be kind of stupid if I could risk my life in battle but not go to a party, right?”

“Well…” Pyrrha murmured. “That … rather depends on what you're nervous about.” She looked away from Jaune, and from Ruby as well, looking out of the window as the cab carried them through Vale.

Night had already fallen; the darkness closed in earlier and earlier as autumn stole over Vale, and while it didn’t seem so long ago that it had been light at nine thirty, now, it was dark by seven. By the time Ruby’s birthday rolled around, it would be getting dark by four thirty, and winter would be even worse than that.

Dark by seven wasn’t so bad, Ruby supposed, and it meant that all the stores and such were lit up, which was cool to see. Vale hadn’t officially switched on the lights for the Vytal Festival yet, but once it did, whole streets would be illuminated with special lights to celebrate the festival and everything it meant.

Ruby had been seven years old the last time Vale had hosted the Vytal Festival; Uncle Qrow had gotten four tickets to watch the final match — ‘cause I’ve got connections, kiddo’ had been his explanation for how he’d done it; Ruby now felt she had a better idea as to what he’d meant by that; probably Professor Ozpin had done him a favour — and he and Dad had taken her and Yang into Vale for the day before the big fight. Ruby had been allowed to stay up later than she normally would have too, so that she could see the celebrations afterwards.

It had been … it had been one of the most amazing things that she had ever seen: the lights strung up across all the streets with the symbols of the academies, doves of peace sitting alongside swords and axes. There were big screens set up all over the place so that people who couldn’t get seated in the arena could still watch the fights, with special meet-up points where the fans could gather.

And everyone seemed so happy. That was what Ruby remembered most about that, more than the lights or the bright colours, certainly more than the fight itself, was how happy everyone was. Everyone on the streets, everyone in the colosseum, they were all smiling, laughing, singing chants that were so complicated, it was amazing everyone could learn the words and keep the tune.

That, for Ruby, was what made the Vytal Festival worth it. It wasn’t about the fighting, that was … that was kind of silly, when you got down to it; it wasn’t what anyone should be attending Beacon or Atlas or anywhere else for, and it wasn’t what anyone should be focussing on as their ultimate goal at the academies. But the happiness, the joy that it spread throughout the kingdom and maybe throughout the whole of Remnant, the way that everyone could come together and celebrate — celebrate victory, celebrate peace, celebrate whatever they wanted — that made it worthwhile.

Only recently, Ruby’s main worry had been that she wouldn’t find it all as much fun as she had when she’d been a kid, that she’d find that she’d grown out of it, and it didn’t enthuse her the way it had done.

Now, she was worried that nobody would be made happy by this year’s Vytal Festival, that the grim mood that had gripped the streets of Vale and the hostility towards Atlas and the faunus that had sprung up out of nowhere meant that there would be no joy, no celebration, just a lot of moody and bad-tempered people watching a lot of pointless fights.

Ruby watched Pyrrha, staring out of the cab window, and doubted that Pyrrha was thinking the same thing as she was, not least because Ruby doubted that Pyrrha considered the fights themselves to be pointless or silly.

Ruby wondered what Pyrrha was thinking, then, as she stared out of the window. “Pyrrha … are you nervous too?”

Pyrrha glanced at her. “I thought I was being more subtle than that.”

“More subtle than Jaune, maybe,” Ruby replied, “but not that subtle.”

The corner of Pyrrha’s lips twitched upwards for a moment, and then dropped again. “This,” she began, “this will be my first public appearance since those allegations appeared, and while I think — while Arslan assures me — that I have convinced a lot of my doubters … I feel as though I’m bound to be asked about it.”

“I thought … I thought you were okay with that,” Ruby murmured. “You said you were okay if they decided to take your spot in the temple away.”

“I am,” Pyrrha replied. “I can bear it, at least. I have done what I can do, I have … proven myself to myself, and I hope that proves me to others also. But that doesn’t mean I relish the prospect of being asked about the whole thing.”

Ruby supposed that she could understand that. Her eyes narrowed a little. “So … why are you both going to this thing again?”

Pyrrha covered her mouth with one gloved hand as she laughed. “While I don’t really want to talk about Cinder, I’m not going to let myself be driven out of life by these ridiculous unfounded rumours. As Jaune said, having put my life on the line, it would be a little absurd to be afraid now.”

Ruby nodded. “That makes sense,” she said. “And Jaune, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. It is Turnus that you’re worried about, isn’t it?”

“There’s an extent to which it’s everybody else,” Jaune said. “But, yeah, it’s mostly that guy.”

“Like I said last night, I don’t think you’ve got much to worry about,” Ruby said. “He seems like a pretty decent guy. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.”

Jaune took a deep breath. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s all going to be public, right? So … yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. Maybe I am worrying over nothing.”

“Mmhmm,” Ruby said, nodding. “I like your suit, by the way,” she added.

“Really?” Jaune asked. “Thanks.”

He was wearing a bright blue suit that matched his eyes, with a pale yellow … sash — Ruby knew that wasn’t the right word for it, there was a word for when that kind of thing was worn with a suit, and it sounded like cucumber, but Ruby couldn’t remember what the actual word was, so sash it was — a pale yellow sash around his waist and a bow tie to match. The way they went together made even the white of his shirt feel fresher.

The taxi slowed to a stop.

“Here we are,” said the cab driver, an elderly cat faunus with tufts of white hair growing out of his feline ears. “Thirty-nine lien, please.”

“Here you go,” Pyrrha said, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning forward to pass some lien cards through the little gap in the plastic screen separating the driver from the passengers. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Ruby opened the door and was the first one out, her red cape falling behind her. She turned to watch Pyrrha and Jaune get out and also observed — as she had when they had gotten the taxi at the skydock — that the cab had two Valish flags on it, fluttering on either side of the bonnet like it was some kind of official vehicle. Ruby thought, uncomfortably, that this was supposed to protect the faunus cab driver from the kind of sentiments that were on the rise in Vale these days.

She wondered if it worked and inwardly lamented that it was necessary.

Pyrrha was the next one out, seeming to almost unfold out of the cab, her dress falling out around her, spreading across the pavement; Jaune followed, shutting the door behind him.

The cab drove off, and Ruby turned away to face their destination.

The Mistralian embassy sat in a very nice, old part of Vale; both the Mistralian and Atlesian embassies were in houses that had once belonged to aristocratic families, but which had both been sold after the war by their owners; Ruby couldn’t help but find that kind of ironic.

Anyway, it meant that this was a very nice, very high class neighbourhood, filled with old-fashioned houses, three or four floors high, built out of red brick and brownstone, all set back from the street by big gardens and wrought iron fences. It was the kind of place where the people who lived here probably lived very comfortably, even if a lot of the houses had been converted into flats by now because nobody wanted or could afford to live in such a huge house by themselves these days.

The grounds of the embassy itself were larger than most, with a lot of open space on either side of the building which stood proud in the midst of the well-tended lawns on all three sides of it that Ruby could see. Flowerbeds, blossoming with chrysanthemums of every colour, sat on either side of the stone wall, topped with iron rails, that surrounded the grounds, while more flowerbeds lined the path that led to the embassy itself.

The embassy was a tall building, six floors high, with lights burning in every window that Ruby could see.

The gates that would have barred the way onto the grounds were thrown open, and on the grounds themselves, Ruby could see armed men, and armoured; Turnus’ men, presumably, including Turnus himself, who seemed a lot bigger than he had the night before as he walked towards her.

“Ruby!” he called out to her. He was dressed in armour now, Atlesian armour covering his chest, his legs, and most of his arms, except for his left upper arm where there was only a black sleeve and a gold armband like the one that Pyrrha wore. His helmet was the only thing that didn’t look Atlesian; it was metallic and crested, and it hung from his belt, knocking gently against his hip as he walked. He wore a sword about his waist, and in one hand, he held a long spear, with a point at each end.

“Hey,” Ruby said, smiling.

As he drew near, Turnus bowed his head to Pyrrha. “Pyrrha.”

Pyrrha offered a very slight curtsy. “Lord Rutulus.”

Turnus turned his gaze on Jaune, staring at him for a moment.

Jaune stared back.

Neither of them said anything.

“Hmm,” Turnus murmured, before returning his attention to Ruby. “I’m glad you could make it,” he said.

“It’s no trouble,” Ruby replied. “It might even be fun.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Turnus said, “but I hope you won’t be too bored. Now, come, I’ll introduce you to some of my men.”

He turned away, gesturing with one hand for her to come with him.

Ruby did not follow immediately, but looked to Jaune and Pyrrha. “Well, have fun, you guys.”

“Thanks,” Jaune said. “You … you too, I guess.”

Ruby smiled at him, then caught up with Turnus in a couple of quick strides as they walked back down the path, stepping over the flowerbeds — but not on the flowers — and onto the well-kept lawn, to where a couple of men were stood waiting for them.

“Ruby, this is Lausus Agylla,” Turnus said, “and this is Ufens Aequius. Lausus, Ufens, this is Ruby Rose, Beacon student, Juturna’s friend, and up and coming huntress who has already done more valour in arms than any of us.”

Ruby laughed nervously. “That’s … you’re too kind.”

“None of us have looked a grimm horde in the face,” Ufens declared. He was a big man, even bigger than Turnus — who was looking rather large himself tonight — muscular, with broad shoulders. His head was completely bald, but there was a black beard growing around his mouth, covering his jaw and hiding his lips. Like Turnus, he wore Atlesian armour, but he had painted his black all over, and there was no armband on his arm. Across his back, he had a bow and an axe slung. “None of us are likely to either, gods willing. That you have, well, that’s something to be in awe of in anyone, especially your age.”

“Well, I…” Ruby wondered if she ought to tell them that she’d been unconscious for the actual fight at the Breach … but she had sort of looked it in the face down in the tunnel. And she found that she kind of enjoyed somebody thinking she was awesome. “I’ve always tried to do my best. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure, Miss Rose,” said Lausus with a bow of his head.

He was a man who looked about Turnus’ age, tall and gangly, a bit like Jaune; he even had the same floppy blond hair, although Lausus’ hair was even longer than Jaune’s, so Ruby wondered how he stopped it from getting in his eyes — eyes which were hazel, where Jaune’s were blue. Lausus was adorned with jewellery, gold bracelets upon his wrists, a thick gold armband upon his left arm and a smaller, slenderer one upon his right, a golden torque around his neck made like a serpent eating its own tail, rings on his fingers. Even his cuirass, which was made of white linen, had golden clasps joining the various parts of the armour together, most prominently at the shoulders. He had a sword at his hip, and across his back were slung a shield and a spear which was sufficiently heavy- and metal-looking that Ruby thought it might transform into something, although she couldn’t say exactly what.

“Lausus and I will be inside the building,” Turnus said. “Ufens will be in charge of everyone outside; you’ll be working with him. Not all of my personnel are huntsmen, but Ufens is a Haven graduate.”

“A few years ago now, my lord.”

“A huntsman is still a huntsman, right?” asked Ruby. “It’ll be a pleasure to work with you!”

“I have two men, Nisus and Euryalus, on the roof across the street watching the embassy,” Turnus explained. “I have another two, Tarpeia and Tulla, on the roof of the embassy watching the surround, and the remainder here on the grounds while I am inside with Ufens, who I will let decide how to best place you. Until later, Ruby. Ufens.”

Ufens nodded. “My lord.”

“Lausus, come with me.”

“At once, my lord,” Lausus said, and he followed Turnus as the latter set off towards the embassy, stepping back over the flowers and onto the path, before disappearing through the sliding doors into the embassy itself.

“So,” Ufens said. “My lord tells me you don’t fancy coming to work for him.”

“No,” Ruby said. “No, I don’t. To be honest, I don’t really like the idea of working for anyone. It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing a huntsman should be doing. Um, no offence.”

“None taken,” Ufens said evenly. “Though I’m curious why you think that.”

“Because huntsmen are supposed to use their own judgement on how to help people and when and … everything else, not just follow orders,” Ruby said. “You … don’t think so?”

“I can’t say I ever thought about it,” Ufens replied. “I come from a place called Nersae: hardscrabble place, bad soil, hard, you have to work to get the bare scrap of life out of it. As if that wasn’t enough, there are grimm about too. We plough the earth armed, because ploughing unarmed is an invitation to become dinner. We plough armed, and we hunt in the woods, and I decided that I preferred the axe and the bow to the plough, so I went to Haven. I can’t say I had any high ideals about what it would mean to be a huntsman, just … more of the fighting grimm that I preferred to farming.”

“Then how did you end up working private security?” asked Ruby.

Ufens scratched the top of his bald head. “Well, I didn’t end up doing a lot of grimm fighting in the end. My first job after graduation was backing up the police in a raid on … they were growing something illegal, I forget what it was. That turned into a couple more jobs, and in the end, the old lord — my lord’s father — said I might as well come and work for him full time, since I kept coming back regardless. And then … when the old lord passed away, and my lord asked me to come and help him out with this … it seemed like the right thing to do by his father, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “Yeah, I think I can get that.”

“If you were to ask why other huntsmen might do this, or go into mercenary or security work,” Ufens went on, “I think they’d tell you — certainly, Messapus would tell you — that when you’re twenty-one and newly-graduated, being a huntsman sounds grand: fight the grimm, fight the crooks, be a hero. And then you turn forty, look around, and realise that after twenty years of contract work, you’ve got no savings, no pension, no house, and nothing to fall back on when you get too old or too injured to keep doing that job.”

“That … that makes sense,” Ruby admitted. “My Dad became a teacher.”

“Good for him; that’s safe work if ever I heard of it,” Ufens said. “But being a teacher requires certain skills. Skills different from the certain skills you pick up in the field, so for a lot, it’s easier to get a job like this. Now, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, if I may: what’s your semblance?”

“Super speed.”

“And your weapon?”

Ruby proudly pulled Crescent Rose out from behind her, stepping back away from Ufens as she unfurled the weapon to its full glory. “A combination scythe and high impact sniper rifle.”

“Sniper rifle, eh?” Ufens said. “In that case, I think the best place for you would be up on the roof with Tulla and Tarpeia. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious that might be headed this way and shout up if you spot trouble.”

---

The ballroom in the embassy was a spacious chamber, with a mosaic floor depicting, if Pyrrha was not mistaken, the Emperor Theseus receiving the blessing of a wizard and a witch prior to assuming the imperial dignity. As the tale went, they had not only blessed him and his enterprise but also showed him visions of Mistral’s future, which gave the artists who had constructed the mosaic plenty of licence to surround the future first emperor with scenes of Mistral’s later glory: the wars it had fought and the heroes who had made it great. From the ceiling hung suspended a great chandelier, a magnificent work of crystal and glass, so many layers that it was impossible to count them all, showering the ballroom beneath with refracted light. The ceiling was painted in a contrast to the floor: while the mosaic’s tiles depicted events on earth, the fresco above concerned the doings of the gods, the play of Seraphis and Re and their hermai of the sky who danced and sang for their amusement. Serving staff in traditional Mistralian tunics of deep green moved around the room, passing amongst those guests who were already present, bearing trays laden with drinks or canapés.

Towards the back of the ballroom, a cluster of musicians played soft music that invited but did not overpower.

Pyrrha and Jaune were not the last to arrive, but nor were they the first; the ballroom was not full, but the floor was obscured in places by clusters of guests who mingled about, conversing in a soft hubbub in which no words or single conversation could be made out. Ladies and gentlemen alike were clad in an eclectic mixture of traditional Mistralian and more modern Valish or Atlesian styles, in a riot of colours which radiated beautifully under the light of the chandelier. Jewels glistened from around the wrists and throats of the ladies, sparkling like a field of stars.

The ballroom was reached by descending a wide, grand staircase, the marble tiles concealed beneath a red carpet, with ornate iron bannisters set at intervals for the air of those who might struggle otherwise. Down those stairs, the two of them descended, into the assembly below.

Pyrrha was dressed in a gown of rich green, with a halter neckline that wrapped around her neck and left her back and shoulders bare as it descended downwards, wrapping around her body beneath her armpits. The skirt was a full ballgown, with a layer of lighter, lime-green colour, decorated with leaf patterns running along the hem, at the bottom, partially concealed beneath a layer of the same rich emerald green as the bodice, which parted like curtains in the front and rode up at the sides, where a riot of red roses, leaves of green and purple and inky blue-black, large gleaming pearls, and golden chains were sewn at her hips.

A pair of long opera gloves, of the same lime green colour as her inner skirt, concealed her hands and arms beneath her honour band, while the neckline of her gown was hidden from view by the necklace that she wore: three thick bands of gold, on which were set three sparkling, diamond-shaped emeralds, and from those bands of gold descended three more gold ingots shaped like arrows or spearheads lancing down, with another emerald set in the central arrow. Chains of gold emerged from the outer arrows, looping around Pyrrha’s shoulders to fall down her back.

“Lady Pyrrha!” the slightly guttural, accented voice of Lord Wong, Mistral’s ambassador to Vale, hailed Pyrrha as she and her friends reached the bottom step.

It did not take long for her to spot Lord Wong himself coming towards them. The ambassador was a middle-aged man with a round, pock-marked face, a moderately thick moustache upon his upper lip, and a very modest goatee upon his chin. He was dressed conservatively but after the Valish fashion, in a three-piece suit of dark grey, with the chain of an old-fashioned pocket watch stretching across his waistcoat. In one hand, he gripped a cane with a golden head shaped like an eagle. With him were a woman about his age, with black hair in gentle curls framing a heart-shaped face, dressed in a red cheongsam with a white lotus flower print, and a little girl with the same hair and eyes, wearing a green dress and white stockings who bounced up and down eagerly as she approached.

“Lady Pyrrha,” Lord Wong repeated as he drew closer, his cane tapping upon the mosaic floor. “Welcome to the embassy. We are honoured and delighted by your presence.”

Pyrrha bowed. “The honour is all mine, my lord; thank you for your gracious invitation.”

“Nonsense!” Lord Wong cried, waving his free hand dismissively. “A party without the pride of Mistral in attendance would have been unthinkable. Allow me to introduce my wife, Meyrin—”

Pyrrha bowed once more. “Lady Wong.”

“Lady Pyrrha,” Lady Wong replied. “Welcome to our humble residence.”

“And my daughter, Soojin,” Lord Wong went on, a smile playing across his face. “Who is something of an admirer of yours, aren’t you, Soojin?”

“I’m your biggest fan!” Soojin cried, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

Pyrrha chuckled. “Is that so?” she asked, as she knelt down in front of the excited little girl. “Then I am delighted to meet you, Lady Soojin.”

Soojin’s smile widened yet further. “I can’t believe I get to finally meet you! I’ve seen all of your matches, but I’ve never been able to go to one in person because we live here, and Papa and Mama said I was too young, but I really hope I get to go one day, and while you’re here, can I ask you how you get your shield to—?”

“Soojin,” Lady Wong interrupted her reproachfully. “This is a party, not a fan expo; Lady Pyrrha is here to enjoy herself, not cater to your every question.”

“Although,” Lord Wong added, “perhaps a photograph or two—?”

Pyrrha got to her feet. “Of course, my lord; it would be my pleasure, but first, I would be remiss if I did not introduce my…” — her smile brightened — “boyfriend, Jaune Arc.”

Jaune bowed, as Sunset had taught him how to do. “My lord and ladies, it is an honour to be here.”

“Many would say that the honour is to be here on the arm of Lady Pyrrha,” Lady Wong observed.

Jaune let out a wry chuckle. “Believe me, my lady, I’m well aware of how lucky I am.”

“I am not sure if that can be true, foreign as you are,” Lord Wong said, making Pyrrha’s stomach grow cold at the thought of what might be coming, “but you are both young still, with many years ahead of you. I remember when I was a young man—”

Lady Wong cleared her throat, while glaring sharply at her husband.

“But those days are long gone and have little bearing on anything,” Lord Wong said hastily.

Pyrrha smiled graciously. “Now, about that photograph…?”

Lord Wong laughed. “Of course, of course! Lady Pyrrha, if you please. Mister Arc, perhaps you will do the honours.”

Jaune’s smile lost a lot of tension as he said, “Of course.”

As Pyrrha knelt down once again with little Soojin, placing one arm around the girl’s shoulders, Jaune accepted the scroll which Lord Wong plucked from his breast pocket, before he and his wife retreated a short distance out of earshot.

Jaune opened up the scroll and held it at arm’s length in front of him, pointing towards Pyrrha and Soojin.

“Everybody say … everybody say ‘win’!” Jaune said.

“Win!” Soojin cried at the top of her voice, while Pyrrha hoped that her smile reached her eyes; in all her interactions with her fans, those with children were the ones where she hoped most to avoid disappointing them.

The flash on the scroll blazed out once, twice, three times. “There,” Jaune said, reversing the scroll so that Pyrrha — and Soojin — could see the picture. “How does that look?”

Soojin clasped her hands together. “Thank you!” she said brightly, with a bow in Jaune’s direction.

“Nothing would please Soojin better than to spend all evening with you,” Lord Wong said, as he retrieved his scroll from Jaune, “but we have other guests to greet and speak to, and so, farewell for now, Lady Pyrrha, Mister Arc; hopefully, we will be able to speak again later.”

“I … hope so too, my lord,” Jaune murmured.

“And I hope that you will cheer for me, and for my teammates, in the Vytal Festival,” Pyrrha added to Soojin. “We’re all counting on you.”

Soojin’s eyes widened at that. “I will! I will!”

“I have promised that if she gets good grades in school, then she may attend the tournament in person,” Lord Wong confided. “It isn’t every day one gets to watch their hero bestride the grandest stage in Remnant.”

Pyrrha coughed gently into one hand. “Well, I shall certainly do my best. Thank you, my lord, my lady; have a good evening.”

“And you, Lady Pyrrha,” Lady Wong said. “Come, Soojin.”

“But Mama!”

“Come,” Lady Wong repeated, taking her daughter by the hand and leading her away. “Pyrrha is not a toy for you to have all to yourself.”

Pyrrha watched them go. She slipped her hand into Jaune’s as the two of them began to drift leftwards, clearing the stairs for anyone who might come after. “That went well, I thought.”

“Yeah,” Jaune agreed. “Yeah, I think it did.”

“Although I do wonder,” Pyrrha added, “if she has seen my fight against Cinder. She said she’d seen all of them, but some parents might not consider a fight to the death to be appropriate.”

“Maybe you could ask her?” Jaune suggested.

Pyrrha looked at him. There was a smile on his face.

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Only a little,” Jaune assured her. “Does it matter? If she knows anything about what’s being said, it doesn’t seem to have dented her enthusiasm.”

“No,” Pyrrha said. “No, I suppose not.”

“And Lord and Lady Wong seem to be on your side as well.”

“Yes, although I’m glad neither of them felt the need to bring up the subject,” Pyrrha replied. She paused for a moment. “I sincerely hope that I don’t disappoint her expectations, especially if she’s going to be watching live.”

Jaune scoffed. “As if you could,” he said. “Who have you got to worry about?”

“Well, I’ll certainly try and make you worry,” Arslan’s voice slipped between them from behind.

Pyrrha turned around. “Arslan! You look … very nice.”

Arslan Altan was dressed in a gown of sheer gold, the fabric reflecting the light from the great chandelier above them, that flowed outwards in all directions and draped upon the floor at the hem. A pair of black lines ran horizontally across the bodice, one at the waist and one just beneath her breasts. An illusion neckline, a mixture of black lace and intricate gold scrollwork in swirling patterns covering her chest and wrapping around her throat. In place of her usual necklace of fire dust beads, delicate beads of amber hung from her neck to hang down across the illusion neckline, while a string of black pearls was clasped about one wrist. Arslan had taken the trouble to get her wild mane of flaxen hair under control — to an extent, at least — arranging it in artfully messy ringlets that fell down on either side of her face.

“Just because I don’t usually make an effort, P-money, doesn’t mean I can’t,” Arslan said, a little tartly.

“Of course not, I’m sorry,” Pyrrha said. “I’m just a little surprised to see you here.”

Arslan grinned. “Turns out, second place is still good enough to get you invited to the good parties. Jaune.”

“Hey,” Jaune said.

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised to see you here, Pyrrha,” Arslan said. “I knew you’d get invited, but I wasn’t sure that you’d show up, what with … everything.”

“I … I won’t be forced into hiding,” Pyrrha said. “I’ve nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all.”

“No, you don’t,” Arslan agreed. “I just wondered if you might take the easier path, that’s all.” She paused. “Especially since the press are here.”

“Are they?” Pyrrha asked.

“This is a news story,” Arslan reminded her. “Mistral’s been banging on about getting this ruby back for years; what’s so special about it?”

“It’s a symbol of our history, our heritage,” Pyrrha said.

“Your history, maybe, your heritage,” Arslan replied. “This isn’t exactly going to make people’s lives better down on the lower slopes, is it?”

“No,” Pyrrha said. “But the point is why should the Valish have possession of some of our history, especially when they looted it in battle?”

“The faunus might ask when we’re going to start giving back all of their stuff in our museums,” Arslan muttered.

“That … one would hope that faunus living in Mistral see themselves as sufficiently Mistralian that it is our shared heritage,” Pyrrha replied. “If not … then we have done them wrong and must do better, but if they really do feel that way, then by all means, their own treasures should be returned in … in turn.”

“But I don’t see it happening,” Arslan said.

“No,” Pyrrha murmured. “No, neither do I, not at this present moment. The point is … the point is that Vale has always snapped its fingers at Mistral’s demand for justice in this matter, but now—”

“Now, we’ve got them over a barrel, and we can put the screws to them,” Arslan said.

“A little crudely put, but … yes,” Pyrrha said mildly.

“I’m a little surprised that we wanted to hang onto it so badly,” Jaune said. “I mean, like Arslan said, it’s just a ruby, right?”

“And a symbol of your victory over Mistral in the Great War,” Pyrrha said. “I … there are times when I get the impression that … Vale and Mistral are very different in many ways, but I think our two kingdoms may be united by a sense of decline. A sense that our future will be less than our past, even as … even as for other kingdoms, the reverse may be the case.”

“You mean Atlas,” Jaune said.

“Yes,” Pyrrha admitted. “And so … we cling to our pasts, to our histories, to the memories of what went before, when our lands were grand and glorious, when we had power. In Mistral, that past is a rather older one, the age of heroes, the Imperial golden age when Mistral flourished. For Vale, it is their victory in the Great War.”

Jaune frowned. “I don’t know about Mistral, but I don’t see it that way. I think we’ve got a lot to look forward to.”

“Like what?” Arslan asked.

Jaune hesitated. “Well … what kind of things do you mean?” he asked back. “Are we going to be as technologically advanced as Atlas? I don’t know. Maybe not, but maybe we will, maybe all those Starhead robots will give us the edge. Or not. Maybe we’ll never be as rich as Atlas, maybe we’ll never be as powerful as Atlas; we’ll probably never have as strong a military as Atlas, but so what? Is this a game where we have to try and beat the high score? None of it matters so long as people are happy and able to live their lives. So long as we’re rich enough that everyone can afford to do that, strong enough that everyone is safe to do that, then … then what else matters? If that’s the future, then … then things look pretty good, I’d say.”

Pyrrha smiled. “You … you speak a great deal of sense,” she said, “and if more people felt that way, then the world would be a better place, but … with Vale in the mood that it is now, I think it might be a mistake to be forcing them to hand over a symbol of their triumph.”

“And yet, here you are,” murmured Arslan.

“Yes,” Pyrrha said. “Here I am.” She paused. “And, since I am here, since we are here … I think we should probably start mingling, shouldn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Jaune said. “Probably, we should.” He held out his hand to her.

Pyrrha placed her gloved fingers into his palm, and his fingers closed around them.

And so, together, they walked into the crowd.

---

“You have to admit, my lord,” Lausus said, as he watched Pyrrha and Jaune move into the crowd swarming about the ballroom floor, “they do make a cute couple.”

“Is that so?” Turnus muttered. “You should be keeping your eyes on Lord Kiro; we are working after all.”

“I can keep my eyes on many things at once, my lord, if there’s call to,” Lausus said. “Although I must say, one question does tug at my mind: why she had to go all the way to Vale in order to find a lean and long-haired blond when I’m right here?”

Turnus looked at him, fixing Lausus with a somewhat baleful gaze.

Lausus was unabashed; it was a consequence of him knowing Turnus for so long that he had no fear of him. He met Turnus’ gaze with a smile, and a shrug. “You may look at me as hard as you like, my lord, and I’d not normally be the sort of cad who would interfere in another fellow’s meal, only … well, to be blunt, the main course doesn’t seem to want you very much. Look at the way she looks at him.”

Turnus had been keeping an eye on Elagabalus, as he mingled amongst the guests in the ballroom — and seemed to be partaking a little too liberally of the free drinks being offered by the wait staff, to be perfectly honest; hopefully, he would manage to get through his speech without falling over — but he spared a glance in the direction of Pyrrha and … Jaune Arc.

They looked … she was looking at him … to be appallingly honest, it reminded him a little of his parents.

“I may not have known Mom, but I know Dad didn’t marry her because of what her last name was or how strong it would make the family.”

You are as foolish as Juturna, Pyrrha, if you think you can simply ignore such things, especially now.

But at the same time, they really did look … in love.

Dammit.

The practical arguments in favour remained, the reasons and good cause he had to feel entitled remained, but … now that he had seen … now that he had been reminded of…

He was not a cruel man, save to those who gave him cause for cruelty. He practised to be kind and generous to his friends, a faithful and benevolent lord and employer to those who served him, an honourable man to those who warranted honour.

He had never killed a man who had not earned death; he had never betrayed anyone. He had been … mildly corrupt, financially speaking, upon occasion, but never to the detriment of a friend, and he had been generous to complete strangers to balance out the scales.

The idea of severing a happy relationship, a … a loving relationship, it did not fill him with glee. He did not rejoice at the idea. He hated it. His mother, were she alive, would surely scold him for the very idea of such a thing.

But then, if my parents were alive, I wouldn’t be in this position, would I?

I have to think of what is best for the family.

What is best for the family?

“Turnus,” Lausus said, “if I might speak to you not as one of your soldiers but as someone who has known you since we were five years old with snot dribbling down out of our nostrils—”

“That was you, not me,” Turnus said.

“Have you considered,” Lausus went on, “that perhaps you ought to give this up as a bad job?”

Turnus was silent for a moment, a scowl settling upon his face. “I … am considering it now,” he admitted through gritted teeth.

“Then do it!” Lausus cried. “For gods’ sake, let it go! Unlike some of us, you have no need to marry into money, or good family for that matter; your family is better than most already, and you’re already rich. Look to … a girl who wants you. A really nice girl who might not bring wealth or a grand old name to the table but who brings beauty and virtue and … and a heart full of love. Is that not enough for a man in your circumstances, blessed as you already are in material comforts?”

“You speak like a poet,” Turnus said.

“Oh, thank you; I’ve been practising.”

“You also conjure a paragon,” Turnus went on. “Where is such a wonder to be found?”

Lausus stared at him so flatly it was almost enough to make Turnus think that he had something on his face.

“I … I don’t even know where to start with you, sometimes,” Lausus said.

Turnus frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, my lord, nothing at all,” Lausus said. “Now, not counting Lady Pyrrha, do you think any of these other ladies gathered here are single and eligible?”

“I expect a good many of them will be Valish,” Turnus said. “How much of Mistral’s high society could you find in Vale on any given day?”

“I don’t mind Valish,” Lausus said, craning his neck a little to see better. “So long as they’re rich, or their fathers are.”

Turnus’ eyebrows rose. “What happened to beauty, virtue, and a heart full of love?”

“That was for you,” Lausus said. “You can afford it; I must marry well if I’m to restore the family fortunes.”

“Is that why you’re loaded with more gold than a treasure ship?” asked Turnus.

Lausus raised his chin. “These are the equivalent of a peacock’s feathers; they’re how I advertise myself as a potential prospect.”

“It doesn’t seem to be working very well,” Turnus said dryly. “Perhaps you should do a dance.”

“Do you think that would help?”

“No,” Turnus said firmly. “We are, as I remind you again, working. Keep your eyes on Lord Kiro.”

“The only danger Lord Kiro is in is if his liver gives out on him,” Lausus said.

Turnus paused for a moment. “I must say I’m inclined to agree.”

“Does he always drink this much?”

“He’s a connoisseur.”

“He’s not drinking like a connoisseur right now.”

Turnus frowned. “He has no job, no responsibilities, nothing to occupy him.” His frown deepened. “In that respect … he’s a lot like Juturna.”

---

“Pyrrha and Jaune are up there,” Bon Bon murmured.

“Hmm?” Tempest asked, looking up.

The two of them were both dressed in the grey jumpsuits of janitors, their faces concealed beneath grey caps. They had arrived at the embassy that morning and had spent the day performing various janitorial tasks or getting yelled at for not doing said tasks to the best of their ability. Bon Bon had spent the day emptying bins, restocking those little yellow things in the urinals in the mens’ toilet, mopping floors, vacuuming. Tempest had probably spent the day doing much the same thing.

Now they stood in the embassy basement, in the dark, with no lights on, surrounded by various bits and pieces that had ended up accumulated in the basement over the years.

And with a bomb between them.

“Pyrrha Nikos and Jaune Arc,” Bon Bon explained. “The A and the P in Team Sapphire. They’re upstairs, at the party.”

Tempest was silent for a moment. “Does that bother you?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Bon Bon admitted.

“Why?” asked Tempest.

Bon Bon frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I would have thought that it was an obvious question,” Tempest said. “Why does it bother you? Are they friends of yours?”

“No,” Bon Bon said. “No, they aren’t. But they are my classmates, and so, it bothers me that I might be about to blow them up.”

Tempest stared at her for a moment. “Well,” she said, “if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think that anyone is going to get blown up.”

“Even though we brought a bomb in here and tampered with the security system?”

“We have to look as though we’re making an effort,” Tempest explained. “But, although Doctor Watts stands to benefit either way, I think that he stands to gain more from our failure than from our success.” She paused. “But they are our enemies, and there may come a time when we have to kill them. Is that going to cause problems?”

“Only from Pyrrha’s skill,” Bon Bon said.

Tempest snorted. “Yes, that … have you seen her fight against Cinder?”

“I saw her fight against Sunset first-hand.”

“You should watch the video,” Tempest told her. “It’s … instructive. Honestly, while I appreciate Doctor Watts’ confidence in the success of the Vale operation, I don’t know what we’re going to do about her.”

“Does anything need to be done about her?” Bon Bon asked. “Her or Sunset? I … you know the endgame here, don’t you?”

Which is more than I can say, unfortunately.

Tempest hesitated. “There is … an object, somewhere in this school. Something that Professor Ozpin is hiding. Hidden somewhere only Cinder can access. We need to find it, and we need to get it out.”

“And if that could be done without fighting—”

“Impossible,” Tempest said. “We need a distraction in order to draw eyes away from the hiding place, wherever that is.”

“You don’t know?”

Tempest shook her head. “Somewhere at Beacon, that’s all I know.”

“But what I mean is,” Bon Bon said. “There’s no kill list?”

“No,” Tempest agreed. “No one is marked for death. It can be done with as much or as little bloodshed as necessary; it doesn’t matter.” She paused. “Although, I think if Professor Ozpin himself could meet his end, that would be a welcome bonus.”

“As little bloodshed as possible would suit me,” Bon Bon said.

Tempest smiled. “It’s fine to say so, but if you’ll allow me to offer you some advice: tell everyone that’s because you prefer a more elegant solution to your problems instead of Cinder’s brutishness. It will make you sound a little less squeamish. I think Doctor Watts prefers elegant solutions as well.”

“I’m not sure how elegant a bomb is,” Bon Bon pointed out.

“There is only so much you can come up with on a tight timescale,” Tempest replied. “What did you tell your teammates, to excuse your absence?”

“I told them I was meeting an old friend, one I hadn’t seen for a while who had arrived in Vale unexpectedly,” Bon Bon replied. “I told them that I was going to spend as much time with them as I could, so don’t worry if I didn’t show up tonight. I know the restaurant I’m going to say we went to, the club where we went dancing … I’ve got everything planned out. You?”

“I told Trixie I was going to enjoy my Valish liberty before we have to return to the curfews and lights out of Atlas,” Tempest said. “A lot of students have been indulging themselves in the freedom of Beacon. It’s part of the cultural exchange that is the bedrock of the Vytal Festival.”

“Lucky you,” Bon Bon said. She paused. “So, now we wait.”

“Yes,” Tempest replied. “Now, we wait.”

Author's Note:

Pyrrha's dress was designed and illustrated by the wonderful Tiffany Marsou

Comments

[Snowdrifter]

“Really?” Ruby said. “Okay then, I’ll do it!” She paused. “Did I just give myself homework?”

[Snowdrifter]

“I can keep my eyes on many things at once, my lord, if there’s call to,” Lausus said. “Although I must say, one question does tug at my mind: why she had to go all the way to Vale in order to find a lean and long-haired blond when I’m right here?”

I like Lausus. He's hilarious.

[Snowdrifter]

The image link is broken, sadly.

[Mastermind4892]

I’m delighted that Ruby is getting another well-deserved moment in the spotlight. She hasn’t played a major role since the Breach. Her views may be unrefined and in need of serious perspective, but she is still a hero that deserves any chance to help save lives.

[Jlan]

Pyrrha's dress is apparently more than Fimfiction can handle. All I see is a "File size over 8mb" error block.

[Kiue Jin]

11482668
Pyrrha's dress is almost as beautiful as she is. Tiffany is a grand artist.

[Jlan]

11482692
Yeah, its really great looking now that we can actually see it. I wonder why Fimfiction has such a problem with images? I can understand older fics having broken images that have been removed over time, but this is not the first time I've seen a brand new posted image reduced to an error block. Usually the culprit is "upstream error".

[Scipio Smith]

11482692
She really is, especially because she doesn't just draw the things, she designs them as well. All the steer I gave her was a green dress with long gloves, circlet, and different necklace than the one she usually wears (I may have said something about flowers too, I can't remember) and she came up with this.

11482757
The original picture I posted was too big, so I took a screenshot of that, uploaded it onto a discord server and linked to that instead so that it would be low enough resolution to slip under the 8mb limit.