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Chapter Text

The doors to the Huntsman Briefing Room slid open and a loud yawn resounded throughout. Making his way to the front of the forward rows of chairs, Jaune Arc plopped down into his usual seat.

“Here,” he managed to sound out through another yawn, passing one of the two coffee mugs he carried to the man next to him.

Marrow Amin’s tail wagged as he accepted the mug. “Thanks, newbie.” He clinked it with newly minted Huntsman’s own before raising it to his lips. “Uhh, Jaune?”

The blond man’s eyes cracked open slightly, just enough to witness the faunus upend his mug. His eyes snapped open all the way as he peered down at his own mug perched in his lap. Also completely empty.

“Aww man!” Jaune’s free hand came up to palm slap his forehead. “I really needed that, too.”

“Late night?” The specialist inquired with a chuckle, placing the empty mug down on the ground beneath his seat.

Jaune released a sigh and repeated the action with his own. “Specialist Zeki was helping me with my aura training. We didn’t get around to finishing till after midnight.”

Marrow gave a small snerk. “You can just call him, Vine, dude. We’re all working together now.” He gave his friend a playful nudge. “How’d you like if I called you Huntsman Arc?”

Jaune forced a smile. “Yeah, sounds silly now that you mention it,” he said quietly, looking away.

Marrow paused for a moment and he cleared his throat with a small cough. “So, uhh, why all the late night training anyway?” he inquired in a desperate attempt to shoo away the surprising cloud of awkwardness that hung over the boy.

“My assignment’s non-combat,” Jaune explained. “I figured putting in a few extra hours of training is the best way keep up with the rest of my friends. Plus, aura isn’t exactly my strongest subject so I’ve been going at it pretty hard lately to wrap my head around it.”

Marrow leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. “And here I was worried you were gunning for my spot on the ace-ops.” He turned and flashed a beaming smile.

The two men shared a small laugh together, any previous awkwardness hanging around was now thoroughly dispersed. The sound of the briefing room’s doors sliding open once more sent the two into swift action and they sat in their chairs at rapt attention.

“Eyes up, Huntsmen.” Clover Ebi, leader of the Ace Operatives, spoke as he made his way to the front of the room and took his usual command spot in front of the mission monitor. “Let’s get to work.”

With a press of the small device in Clover’s hand, the display screen behind him lit up to full brightness as windows of information and data scrolled down. Jaune’s eyes darted across the sudden deluge of writing before him, but gave a small sigh and relaxed slightly in his chair as he spotted his own name and assigned mission status as ‘Ongoing’.

“Looks like it’ll be a short mission briefing today, everyone,’ Clover said as the windows pertaining to each occupant and their mission assignments in the room enlarged to fill the entire screen. Like Jaune’s own, everyone displaying the ongoing status. “All current assignments are to be continued, updated Grimm concentration reports are all marked as within normal parameters, Amity Tower construction is on track, supply lines are still clear from our latest intel and – hold on.”

Along with everyone else in the room, Jaune’s eyes were suddenly drawn to the new small window in the bottom right corner of the monitor. The words “New Mission” displayed in flashing text.

Reading from his personal scroll, Clover turned to the rest of the group. “Alright people, we’ve got a new special assignment cast our way. Looks like I’ve been personally rostered for it as well. It’s a two week duration and I’m going to need one more to join me on this-”

“Right here,” Jaune’s arm shot up with all the speed he could muster. “Uh, sir,” he added sheepishly.

The Ace-Ops leader raised an eyebrow at the young volunteer. “That was awfully quick of you, Mr. Arc. Not exactly thrilled with your current assignment?”

“It’s not that,” Jaune said softly as he lowered his arm back down. He was suddenly feeling rather embarrassed at his previous display as all eyes drew upon him. “Don’t get me wrong, I know what I’m doing is important work and I really like helping people. I just...would appreciate a change of scenery?”

“Well I can certainly understand your sentiment, Mr. Arc, and I admire your convictions. But as you are currently engaged on a solo assignment, I’m afraid I can’t just-”

“Sir!” Marrow shot up out of his seat and stood at full attention. “I volunteer to take over Jaune’s assignment in the meantime, sir!”

“Really?” Jaune looked up at the specialist, a wide smile on his face. “You’d do that for me?”

The faunus operative replied with a shrug and a smile. “Sure, newbie. Blake and Yang over there are more than capable of handling things without me for a week or two. Besides,” he paused to wag his tail, “Kids love me.”

“Ahem,” Clover coughed, sending both Huntsmen before him scrambling back to a more respectful stance. “Very well. Specialist Amin, you are hereby reassigned to Mantle guard duty.” With a few taps of his scroll, Jaune’s name disappeared from his current mission and was replaced with Marrow’s. “Mr. Arc, you will stay back while I brief you on our new mission. Everyone else, I believe you know your assignment. Dismissed!”

A cacophony of soft conversations and moving bodies filled the room for only a minute as all but two of the occupants rose from their seats and made their way out of the briefing room’s doors and out into the hallway. Only with the sound of the sliding doors clicking together did Jaune stand and stepped in front of the large mission monitor.

“So what’s our special new mission today!?” Jaune exclaimed at the Ace-Ops leader. “Fighting Grimm? Hunting down Illegal arms dealers? Testing out top-secret new military gear!? Oh, I’m so excited for this mission!”

“Slow down there, Cowboy,” Clover said with a laugh, happy to shed his strict military demeaner with his much more comfortable and friendly one. “I’m loving the optimism here, but you’re fit to pinch a nerve or something.” He tapped his scroll’s display a few more times and brought up the mission briefing. “Alright, kid, I hope you’re locked and loaded, cause today you and I will be assigned to-”

-----------------------------

“Guard duty,” a very dejected sighed as the Bullhead took to the sky.

The head Specialist could only laugh at his new partner, sitting there with his head between his legs in the most depressed posture the narrow seating on the aircraft would allow him. “Technically it’s bodyguard duty. Slight difference,” he offered with a sympathetic shrug. “But yeah, it’s still non-combat. You really need to let me finish talking before volunteering yourself, Kid. Anyone ever tell you you’re a little too headstrong?”

Another weary sigh escaped past Jaune’s lips. “Once or twice, yes. So...why are we doing this anyway?” he asked, looking up at the man seated opposite him. “This seems like an incredibly pointless waste of time with all that’s going on. Uh...no disrespect, sir.”

“Feel free to leave that sir stuff back at the Academy, Jaune. And yeah, I can certainly understand why you’d think that way about this mission. Apparently, our dear new employer has been needling Ironwood to cash in on some favor with him. The good General finally relented just to shut him up and gave us up as sacrificial lambs just so he can tour around at functions and parade genuine Huntsman about like show-dogs.” He gave a small shrug. “Rich people problems, am I right?”

“I was hoping to at least get in some real world combat practice on this mission,” Jaune admitted. “Training back at the Academy is great and all, but I’ve barely seen any Grimm since I’ve gotten here.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, kid. But look on the bright side though, we’re partners for the next two weeks.” He flashed the younger man his iconic winning smile. “You ask me anything Huntsman or Ops related, I’ll happily talk your ear off.”

Jaune couldn’t help but return the smile. The Ace-Ops leader just had that natural charismatic draw that you couldn’t help but look on the brighter side of things. “Thanks, Clover. I really appreciate you helping me out like that.”

“Anytime, Jaune.” The room the two men set an suddenly began to tilt right. “Look out of your window, kid. Get a good look at our new place of work.”

Jaune’s eyes widened in awe. The far below him was the largest building he had ever seen that was not an academy. Three dark blue roofs, each the size of park grounds, were set between four gleaming white towers of glass and stone that surrounded the central roof, the smallest of the three.

“Schnee Manor,” Clover remarked. “Weiss ever tell you about this place?”

Jaune pulled himself away from the sight of the house. “Um, no. No, she’s never mentioned it before.”

“I’ll leave you to be surprised then.” The bullhead suddenly shuddered around them and the distinct whine of the engines fell silent. “Time to go to work.” The passenger door opened up and sunlight poured across the metal floor. Clover and Jaune stood up and made their way out of the aircraft and onto the dark gray stones of the Schnee Manor entryway. “Remember, Jaune, we’ve been hired to do a job here. Do it well, do it professionally, and hey.” He tapped the sides of his face with both index fingers. “Do it with a smile.”

It was impossible for Jaune to stop lips from curving upwards. The slight chill in the morning air did nothing to quell the warm aura the Ace-Ops leader exuded. Mentally braced for the mission ahead, the two men silently made their way towards the golden gates of the manor. Jaune eyed the intricate work inlayed in the imposingly large gates, completely dwarfing the woman that stood before them.

The woman bowed at her waist as they approached. “Good morning, gentlemen,” said the woman. Jaune noted that she was a young woman, probably only a few years older than himself. Dressed in a simple maid outfit consisting of a dark blue dress with elbow length sleeves and a light grey apron. Her chocolate brown hair was done in a simple bun and accessories with a ruffled headdress of the same light grey shade as the apron. Jaune could only assume they were of the same fabric. “Mr. Schnee has been expecting you. If you would allow me to escort you to him.”

“Thank you,” Clover replied, returning the bow. Jaune felt a tap on his hand and he jarringly returned the bow as well, earning a slight laugh from the maid. “Please, lead the way.”

Seemingly without prompt, the golden gates lurched back, opening before them and allowing the three access to the courtyard.

Only the sound of shoes upon stone echoing out filled the empty courtyard. Jaune looked around as they made their way towards the manor’s entry doors, taking in the sight of the impressively large fountain placed around a semicircle of small spherical topiaries that spanned the width of the courtyard. Upon it in stone was the Schnee family emblem, set with two large wings on either side. Jaune noted the only way the fountain could be more impressive if it was actually functioning, but for now it remained still and silent.

Past a few stone seating benches and knee-high hedges, the three finally reached the large doors of dark wood. The maid opened both and stepped inside, turning and waiting as the two Huntsmen followed suit. The echoing sound their footsteps were only heightened as they entered into the main hall of the Schnee Manor. Fit to host the most lavish of balls for possibly a hundred or more so guests, the only room Jaune could compare it to was the training room back at Atlas Acadamy, and that room was designed to simulate large scale combat fields.

Jaune couldn’t help but feel a shudder across his body as the chill in the air seemed to deepen as the maid shut the entryway doors behind them. “Please, gentlemen, this way.” And with that she led them across the massive white Schnee emblem set in the dark blue tiled floor below and towards the stairway. The echoing strikes of their shoes across the tiles were instantly muffled by the thick dark blue carpet the stairway was inlaid with. As they climbed, Jaune took note of the too colossal suits of armor set on either side, an equally large two-handed sword set in their gauntleted hands. He had seen through Weiss’ summoning glyph the damage one of these figures could wreak were they fully animated. For the moment though these two were cold and still.

Directing them to the right-side stairway, the maid led the two men towards the right wing of the house and through several hallways. There was a definite colour scheme to the design of the hallways, Jaune noted, all shades of blue and white. Even the paintings that adorned the walls were of the same shade, though their images differed.

After seemingly endless hallways, the maid finally directed the men the stand before a dark wooden door. Clover and Jaune stood side by side, but Jaune’s eyes drifted from the door to behold the large Schnee family portrait beside it. ‘She looks so sad,’ thought the young Huntsman of the child form of Weiss.

His thoughts were interrupted however as the door opened wide for the two men and the maid directed them in, though she did this from outside of the room.

Despite the cozy appearance of the study they entered, with its dark wood floors and bookshelves lined walls, the temperature inside seemed to drop even further to the point Jaune thought he would see his breath mist. Stepping through the room, across the light blue carpet, past the glass coffee table and the chessboard set mid-game, up the seemingly unnecessary two step stairway, the two men stopped to stand before the large dark brown desk at the end of the room.

“Mr. Schnee,” Clover spoke to the man seated behind the desk, busy pouring over a pile of paperwork. “I believe you requested our presence.”

“Ah, yes, so good of you to come,” said Jacques Schnee in a friendly tone, not even looking up from his papers. “We have quite the day of functions to attend and I appreciate your-” he paused as he finally deigned to look up at the two men before him “What is that?” He pointed a finger towards Jaune.

Jaune suddenly found himself unable to speak as the head of the Schnee house focused all his attention on him with narrow eyes.

Clover turned and blinked in obvious confusion. “He’s the other Huntsman assigned to-”

“Well clearly there must have been some sort of terrible misunderstanding,” Jacques interrupted with an incredibly fake laugh. “I specifically requested Ironwood to provided his two finest Huntsmen, not one Huntsman and some boy in tacky armour with ridiculous hair!”

“I-” Jaune began, but Clover’s right arm shot out in front of him, instantly silencing him. Jaune wasn’t sure the action was to scold him or to divert attention away from him.

The Ace-Ops leader stood firm as the head of the SDC turned to glare at him. “General Ironwood was clear in his directions on who to assign the personnel for this mission. Huntsman Arc has proven himself worthy in all areas, he would not have been chosen otherwise.”

“We’ll just see about this,” Jacques sneered, reaching for his scroll. “I’m sure a call to Ironwood himself will clear this up.”

“The General has also informed me that he will not be providing anymore additional personnel to this assignment. If you are unhappy then we will simply return to active duty.” Clover offered the man a smile. “But of course, the General will be happy to tell you himself, I’m sure he’ll make time in his incredibly busy schedule just for you.”

Jacques’ hand slammed down on his table, though it lay nowhere near his scroll. “Considering this new...information,” he seethed. “I believe I have no choice but to-”

Jaune suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Clover looking at him, and with a smile and a wink, gave the badge he wore on his lapel a flick.

“No, I cannot accept this. Ebi, you can stay. Send the boy back to Ironwood for all I care.”

“That’s not how this mission was arranged,” Clover responded, his previous assertive demeaner returning. “You get either both of us or neither of us. These are the terms of this assignment.”

“Fine, fine,” Jacques waved the man with flail of his arm. He turned towards the maid standing in the far corner of the room beside the door. “Matilda, take the boy to my wife. Tell her she has a new bodyguard for her social obligations and whatnot.”

“Yes, Mr. Schnee,” replied the maid with a short bow.

“I assume Ironwood would have no issue with this arrangement, well, Ebi?” Jacques inquired goadingly.

The older Huntsman simply shrugged. “I’m sure he’d find these parameters acceptable.” He turned towards his partner and gave him a quick nod. “Good luck, Jaune.”

“I-uh...thanks.” And with that Jaune turned to head back to the towards the door.

“Oh, one more thing, boy,” Jacques called out. Jaune turned to see a sickly smile creep across under the man’s moustache. “Do be mindful of my wife’s proclivities. The poor thing has a habit of overindulging and well... she can get a little clumsy at times.”

“Yes...sir.” Jaune said slowly, rather unsure of what was just said. He resumed his march across the room to the waiting maid at the entrance.

“This way, please,” she said, directing him down the hallway.

“Thank you.” And as he followed the maid once more, Jaune paused for a second at the family portrait beside the door. Weiss’ mother certainly struck an imposing figure in the portrait, a stern look upon her face, almost a frown of disapproval but not quite. Jaune could only hope the artist was taking certain liberties.

“You’ll find the Madam in her viewing garden in the left wing,” the maid explained as they navigated the labyrinth of hallways once more.

“I see,” Jaune said slowly, awkwardness hanging down around himself and the maid. “Um...Matilda, was it?”

The maid suddenly stopped, causing Jaune to stumble a step. “Actually, my name is Dahlia. He just calls us all Matilda.”

Jaune’s brow furrowed as an anger flared within him. “That’s seems almost purposely cruel. Doesn’t it bother you?”

The maid, now actually known as Dahlia, only shrugged and continued through the hallway. “I’ve been called worse things on other jobs. If being called Matilda helps pay the bills, who am I to complain?”

Jaune, suddenly very aware of how out of his depth he was, could only remain silent as they walked. It seemed to take an extremely long time and an endless number of hallways, but eventually Jaune was led back to the bright light of the sun pouring in through giant panes of window glass and as his vision was filled with vibrant green foliage.

“This way,” said Dahlia as she opened the doorway to the gardens and the sweet aroma of flowers waft past the young Huntsman. The dark gray stones identical to the courtyard spread out only a few meters before ending at a lush carpet of grass. Further down the garden, rows and rows of knee-high bushes were meticulously planted in a circular pattern with walkways separating them in a wagon wheel fashion. And at the central point of the circle, a single wrought iron chair and accompanying table.

And seated upon that chair, a woman.

Dahlia motioned for Jaune to stand back as she approached the occupant of the chair. There was not much Jaune could tell from his position behind the woman. He did notice that her hair was almost the same exact colour as Weiss’ and her sister Winter’s, though the matron of the Weiss household kept hers in a loose ponytail that draped across her left shoulder.

He watched as Dahlia leaned down and spoke softly to the woman, too softly for him to hear.

“Thank you, Dahlia,” Jaune finally heard the voice of Weiss’ mother. “Please resume your normal duties, I will handle things from here.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the maid responded with a short bow before turning to leave. She gave the young Huntsman a quick glance as she passed by, before heading back towards the door.

Jaune turned slightly to watch her pass by the large windows and out of sight, before a sharp crack of a book snapping shut brought his full attention back to the seated woman. She moved slightly, her left arm coming into view as she placed a rather heavy looking book down on the table. The only other objects on the small table were a tall bottle, mostly empty, and a single glass, mostly full of amber liquid.

“So,” began the woman as her hand reached for the glass and it disappeared before her form. “Dahlia tells me you’re to be my new bodyguard, is that correct, young man?”

“Uh...yes!” Jaune exclaimed, snapping to attention. He was suddenly very aware of the sound his armour made as he moved stiffly.

The woman’s shoulders hitched up as she gave a soft harrumph. Her head tilted back slightly as Jaune could only assume she took a drink. “By all his force of might and strength of will, the merest jingle of my purse made him my slave. Bound by coin to take blows meant for another upon his shield, bound by coin to cleave those he held no quarrel in twain. What a fool I was, so set upon my goal, what a fool I was, so assured of my control. But what a fool I was, when finally my eyes saw what lay before me, for who truly wore the collar, and who truly held the chain.” The woman’s head tilted back once more. “Do you have even the slightest idea of what I just said?”

Jaune could only reply with a stuttering “N-no.”

The woman heaved a heavy sigh. “Well I suppose my disappointment is of my own making. I can hardly expect you to know such things. Let’s have a look at you then.”

With only the smallest turn of her head, enough for only her right eye to be visible to Jaune. Still, one eye of pale icy blue was enough to be petrified by her gaze. Weiss held this same power over him once, but it took her entire face and even her shouting voice to do so. What terrible power did this woman wield to do so with only a mere glance.

In what seemed like an eternity of scrutiny, she finally turned away. Jaune released a sigh of his own as the tension broke. “I suppose you will have to do,” was all she offered in assessment. All except, “Your hair looks ridiculous, though.” But before he had time to formulate a reply, she pressed on. “What is your name, young man?”

“Jaune Arc,” he all but shouted. Mentally he was kicking himself for not delivering his name in a full sentence at the least.

“Jaune Arc,” the woman repeated. “Arc...I believe I met an Arc once at my debutante ball. Or maybe it was a Lark...”

“If it was an Arc, I hope he left a good impression,” Jaune volunteered, and thought himself rather capable that he managed to do so without stuttering and in a complete sentence. All before coming to the realization how depressing that thought really was.

The seated woman gave a short, sharp laugh. “Hardly. He made an absolute fool of himself by the punchbowl then had the audacity to run off with my best maid. I suppose she found his bumbling antics charming. No account for good taste, that one.”

Jaune had absolutely no idea what to say at such words. He stood there silently.

“Beautiful, are they not?” She offered mercifully, sweeping her free hand across the garden.

“They are,” Jaune admitted, scanning the rainbow of colourful flowers around them. “You must be very proud.”

“My, whatever for?” The woman laughed, the ice in her drink clinking against the glass. “Surely you don’t think any of this is the fruits my effort. Why, I haven’t lifted nary a single trowel.”

Jaune wasn’t sure if she was purposely goading him into saying the wrong thing, or that he was doing it all on his own. Either way, he could feel himself growing more confused and frustrated with every question or response that passed her lips.

The woman must have been a mind reader. “Calm yourself, young man, I was only gauging your reaction.” She put her now empty glass down with quite a bit of force. “Do come along now, we have a garden party to attend. I am a woman of many responsibilities after all. Can’t spend all day drinking and looking at my own flowers when we can drink and look at another’s as well.”

And as the woman stood, her body stumbled slightly, saved only from catching herself by gripping the edge of the table. Jaune’s mouth hung open as the woman finally turned to face him, her ice blue eyes revealed in their fullest. But while her right eye was normal, her left was surrounded by a circle of mottled purple and blue skin.

“You wish to say something?” There was no change in tone to the woman’s question, but it was never-the-less incredibly obvious to Jaune that questioning her current countenance was a very dangerous subject to breach. “Out with it then.”

“Its...it’s just...” The question died in his throat. A feigned hollow smile was all he could offer the woman to save himself. “It’s just nice to finally meet Weiss’ mum is all.”

“Weiss’...mum...” The woman repeated. For the first time and by total accident, the dynamic between the two had completely reversed and the older woman was caught flatfooted by the younger man’s words. It didn’t last long though as her facial expression hardened once more. “Mr. Arc, as I have so rudely failed to introduce myself, I shall allow you that one misguided attempt at addressing me. Henceforth, you shall refer to me as Madam Willow Schnee, matron of the Schnee family. Or, if that is simply too much for you, Ma’am will suffice. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Oh...yes. Um, of course, Ma...Ma’am.” Jaune stuttered out, suddenly very aware of where Weiss and Winter inherited their commanding disposition from. This presence rivalled and even exceeded his closest experience with the dominating demeanor of his old teacher, Professor Goodwitch.

“Excellent, now do come along, Mr. Arc,” said Willow as she strode past him and back towards the manor.

Willow Schnee set quite the pace as she made her ways through the numerous hallways before finally turning towards a large set of double doors, easily three times her own height. She turned her head towards Jaune as she gripped the doorknobs. “Your first official task as my new bodyguard, Mr. Arc, is to wait outside my doors while I prepare myself. You will not dither, you will not wander, you will stand perfectly still until I am ready. If anyone requests for me, you will tell them I am simply unavailable, and you will relay their information to me in due time. Do you have any questions?”

Jaune snapped to attention. “No, Ma’am,” he responded.

Willow offered the young man the briefest of smiles. “Do your best to earn my approval, Mr. Arc.” And with that, she stepped through the now open doors and closed them behind her with a soft thud.

‘Okay, Jaune,’ the young man thought to himself as he took his place in front of the massive doors, back straight and arms crossed behind his back. ‘Just a simple guard duty mission. You can do this.’

-----------------------------

‘I can’t do this,’ Jaune thought as he let out a silent yawn. More than an hour standing at complete attention and he was fighting to keep his eyes open from the sheer boredom. ‘Guess I can count all the crystals in the chandelier again.’

“Are you ready?” A familiar cry accompanied by an upbeat musical tempo emanated from down the hallway. “Fight!”

Jaune turned towards the electronic sounds of combat to find a boy with the iconic Schnee hair making his way down the hall towards him. He was bent over slightly, watching the cartoon effects playing across a scroll in his right hand while his left rested behind his back.

“Oh, hello there,” said the boy, looking up from his scroll and snapping it shut. He gave Jaune a wide smile and a short bow. “Whitley Schnee, heir to the Schnee Dust Company.”

“Jaune Arc.” Jaune offered the boy his armoured hand.

Whitley stared at the offered hand, an almost puzzled expression across his face, before returning to his previous smile and returning the gesture. “A pleasure, I’m sure. The maids tell me you’re the dashing young Huntsman to be mother’s bodyguard for the foreseeable future.”

“Ahah, I guess I am.” Jaune drew his hand back to scratch his cheek nervously. “Are you in the Huntsman Academy also?”

“Hardly,” Whitley couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I’m afraid I will happily leave the fighting to those like yourself Mr. Arc. With your Auras and your Semblances and your weapons and all.”

“Oh,” Jaune gave the boy a smile. “Do you not have your Aura unlocked yet? I just assumed as a Schnee you-” the sight of the pale blue light that enveloped and shimmered across Whitley’s form silenced him.

“Your questioning is apt, Mr. Arc. I am a Schnee, even though I have no use for such things, it is expected of me.”

“It must also be nice to know what your semblance will be right away,” Jaune professed with another nervous laugh. “It took me forever to discover mine. I’ll admit I’m a little jealous of how easy it comes for everyone else.”

Whitley regarded the Huntsman coolly. “Hmm, indeed.”

Jaune could suddenly feel an awkward tension hovering between the two. In his typical style, he attempted to press on. “So, Whitley...I don’t want to be a bother or anything, and this job is important and all, but I was just wondering what you had on your scroll just now.”

“Oh yes, this.” The boy unfurled his scroll and presented it towards Jaune. “I believe it’s called Flying Ninja or something to that effect.”

Jaune’s eyes glittered at the realization of what was held before him. “I can’t believe it, you actually have ‘Soaring Ninja 2: Blood on my Tanto!’ I’ve only seen screenshots from the teaser trailer!”

Whitley’s smile deepened and his eyes narrowed. “Oh yes, SDC has a sizable hold in the producing company’s stocks. They like to gift their shareholders with early release copies of their products and whatnot.” He paused, drawing the scroll back to study it for a moment, before presenting it once again to the armored man in front of him. “Here, please accept this as a gift.”

“No way...” Jaune breathed, taking the scroll in trembling hands. “Are...are you sure this alright?”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” the youngest Schnee waved the question off. “I rarely have time for such things anyway. I’m sure you will divulge far more enjoyment from it than I.”

“I can’t believe it,” Jaune could barely contain his delight as the opening cinematic of the game played out before it. “Soaring Ninja 2. Ruby and Weiss are going to absolutely flip!”

The Cheshire grin on Whitley’s face plummeted. “Weiss...Did you say Weiss will enjoy this?”

“Oh yeah, Weiss loves these games,” Jaune replied, his eyes firmly locked on the scroll’s screen. “I mean, she’ll never admit to it of course, but she's actually really competitive at this. I tell you, I’ve never seen anyone pull off a hyper-combo like Weiss can. I can barely land a blow on-Hey!” Jaune was harshly snapped back to reality as the scroll was snatched from his hands.

“Actually, perhaps I should hold on to this,” said Whitley, scroll gripped tight within his right hand. “Can’t be too careful with such a thing before it has even a chance to reach the market. Who knows how badly shares could fall if bootleg copies found their way into the public domain.” He eyed Jaune warily. “You understand my concerns of course, do you not, Mr. Arc?”

The flash of anger within Jaune died instantly, replaced with a familiar sense of confusion. “Ah...yeah...I can see that, sure.”

“Excellent,” said Whitley as he turned to leave. “Do treat my mother well, Mr. Arc.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jaune gave Willow’s son a cheesy smile and thumbs up. “And hey, you should catch up with Weiss sometime. I’m sure she’d love to play Soaring Ninja with you.”

The glare Whitley gave the oblivious boy was chilling. “Hmph, your hair looks ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath as he slammed the hallway door behind him.

‘Huh, weird kid,’ thought Jaune as he stared at the door Whitley had exited out thought. ‘Oh well, guess it’s back to counting the chandelier crystals again.’

Another hour of Jaune doing his best to keep himself occupied crawled by before he finally heard the loud click of the door handles behind him.

He blasted himself to the side of the doors and stood at full attention with hands behind his back as the matron of the Schnee household stepped out into the hallway, her new white stiletto pumps clicking across the tiles. Jaune did not know about high society fashion, but the pale lilac dress adorning Willow Schnee, delicately embroidered with a flowing stream of colourful flowers from the ankle height bottom to the translucent fabric that adorned her shoulders, broken only by the snow-white large belt buckled around her waist and the pale window of cleavage the dress exposed. All of this topped off with Madam Schnee’s white hair in a tight bun, not dissimilar to how her daughter Winter styles her own but adorned with a lilac fascinator of ruffled chiffon–like fabric. What Jaune found most impressive however was the almost complete absence of any markings that once circled her left eye. Jaune could only see the faintest of color difference, and only because he was looking for inconsistencies.

A sudden clearing of her throat brought Jaune’s attention back to Willow’s unimpressed visage. “The correct course of action, Mr. Arc, is when a woman enters the room after changing is to remark favorably upon her appearance.”

“Oh, uh, my apologies, Ma’am.” Jaune felt the familiar flushing heat of his cheeks as he stammered a reply. “You look very nice, Ma’am.”

“Hmm,” Willow pondered slowly. “We’ll need to work on your flattery, but thank you, Mr. Arc. Now then,” she turned to bring her full attention upon him. “What shall we do about you?”

“M-me?” Jaune repeated, pointing at himself. “What about me?”

“My boy, you are to accompany me to a formal Atlesian garden party. We simply cannot have you looking like some ruffian Huntsman fresh off the field of battle.” She held a thoughtful pose, analyzing the young man’s form. “The outfit will suffice for now; a bold statement indeed despite its somewhat clashing mish-mash of colours.” Her scrutinizing eyes turned upwards. “But that hair is something I simply cannot abide! With me, Mr. Arc.”

She strode back into her room, leaving the door open for Jaune to follow. The heavy perfumed air him like a punch to the face and he had to suppress a cough.

“Place the piano stool in front of the mirror here, please.” Willow gestured towards the grand piano in the corner of her room.

Jaune did as she instructed pausing only to view the three portraits hung next to the piano, all of Willow’s children in younger form. As Willow moved her own chair away and gestured where Jaune was to place the stool, he sat down at her instruction and stared at is reflection in the large mirror. He noticed the glass by the assortment of cases and perfume vials, empty besides the two ice cubes remaining within.

“Not much to work with, unfortunately,” the woman ran a hand through Jaune’s hair and he shuddered at the sudden contact. She wasn’t rough by any sense, actually it had been quite gentle and pleasant, but it had been so long since such an action was performed on him it almost felt alien. “Tell me Mr. Arc, what sort of product do you use to condition your hair? Your scalp is simply atrocious.”

“Condition?” He asked, earning a deep sigh from his employer/current stylist. “I mean, there’s the shampoo I use back at the Academy.”

“The Academy!” Willow exclaimed, causing Jaune to flinch. “I swear this is same argument I had with Winter all over again. Well, they shall not lay claim you too as long as you are under my employ, Mr. Arc.”

What followed was what Jaune could only describe as a twenty-minute torture session focused entire upon his scalp. He was forced to wash his hair again and again, blasted with scalding hot air to dry it, before finally being slathered in a stinging substance a scraped almost raw by comb after comb to tame his once spiky assortment of locks into a slicked backed style that more prominently accentuated his shaved back and sides.

“Well then,” Willow breathed a sigh of relief as she beheld her work. “Quite the difference if I do say so myself. If you had just a little more hair we could have given you a stylish topknot, but if anyone asks, we’ll simply tell them this is the hottest new trend for young men straight from Mistral. What you do think of your new look, Mr. Arc?”

“Well at least everyone will stop telling me my hair looks ridiculous,” Jaune admitted, admiring himself in the mirror. “Th-thank you, Ma’am. It looks amazing.”

“You’re a fast learner, it seems,” Willow noted as she placed down the silver comb on the bench. “Alright then, I believe we have dawdled enough. Return the stool back to its rightful place and we shall make our leave.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am!” Jaune quickly rose from the stool and hurried it back in front of the grand piano, before rushing off to catch up to the departing Schnee matron.

The sun sat high in the sky by the time they navigated the many hallways of the Schnee Manor and out through the golden gates, where a snow-white limousine emblazoned with the Schnee family crest on the hood waited for them. Willow stood by the passenger door, eyeing Jaune and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Oh! my-my apologies, Ma’am,” Jaune said as he rushed to open the door for her.

She rewarded him with a sly smile as she entered the vehicle. “Very good, Mr. Arc. I barely had to gesture that time. And you even apologized in the correct fashion.” Jaune closed the door and the tinted black window rolled down. “Now, norms would dictate you would ride up the front with the driver and leave me to my privacy, but seeing how you are to be the metaphorical baby chick wandering into a viper’s den, you may join me as I instruct you on how to properly comport yourself at an Atlesian function.”

“Thanks! Um, I mean, thank you, Ma’am.” Jaune hurried across to the other side of the limousine and let himself in the door. The interior was just as bright white as the exterior, though inlaid with blue leather stripes on the many seats that lined the walls. Initially Jaune sat down on the closest seat to the door, but a pointed look from Willow sent him stumbling towards the far end towards the driver. The room rumbled as the engine started and soon they were moving.

“Do you drink, Mr. Arc?” Willow inquired as she poured a sparkling clear liquid from a crystal decanter into a glass. She regarded the boy with and gave a small chuckle. “Why, are you even old enough?”

“Ah, yes, Ma’am,” Jaune answered. “I mean, I am old enough to drink, yes. But no, no I don’t really drink. Honestly I haven’t had much time to think about it for a while.”

“Hmm.” The woman eyed the drink swirling in her hand and then turned her attention back to Jaune. “Probably for the best, really. Terrible habit to acquire.” She made a point to not break eye contact with the young Huntsman as she took a sizable drink from her glass. Her eyes narrow slightly, waiting to see if would take the bait at her hypocrisy. But as he simply looked at her silently, she sighed and placed the drink down beside her. “Well then, let us move on to our crash course in Atlesian etiquette. We have about thirty minutes to ourselves, we shall endeavor to make the most of it.”

Jaune did his absolute best to absorb as much information as possible from his employer. Atlesian etiquette it seemed could fill a veritable library with its abundance of social norms, faux pas, downright insults. Thankfully Willow did not touch her glass a single time for the duration of her lesson, and as the limousine came to a gentle stop, Jaune was confident in his comprehension enough to at least not start any blood feuds for the next few hours.

Exiting through the same door as he entered, Jaune quickly made his way to the other side of the limousine and opened the door for his employer.

“Thank you,” said Willow, accepting her protector’s offered hand as she stepped out of the automobile and he closed the door behind her. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Gird yourself well, Mr. Arc, the viper’s den awaits.”

Jaune nodded and fell back to just behind his employer as they entered through the lavish manor gates. Not as lavish as the Schnee Manor though, nothing could quite compare to those magnificent barricades. Greeted by the manor’s head butler, Willow and Jaune were led through the sizable abode and out a large set of double doors to where a sunken level garden was decorated as festively as high society etiquette permitted.

Willow stood on the top of the stone staircase leading down towards the garden as the butler spoke.

“Presenting Madam Willow Schnee of the Schnee Dust Company. Escorted by her protector; the Huntsman: Jaune Arc.”

Those paying attention over the string quartet playing in the corner of the garden turned their heads towards the top of the stairs as Willow and Jaune made their way down. For the next several hours Jaune followed Willow as she made her rounds throughout the party and its mostly female party goers. Pleasantries were exchanged, gossip was discussed, and banal anecdotes were politely listened to as the women played out their parts decreed by their social standings. Jaune played his part as best he could. He never left Willow’s presence, politely refused the multitude of hors d’oeuvres offered his way despite his growing hunger, only taking a few at his employer’s direction. His only prominent slip up came from a pair of giggling socialites he guessed were around the same age as him. They smiled and waved at the young Huntsman who, a deep blush adorning his cheeks, smiled and waved back.

“I do hope I’m not keeping you from anything pressing, Mr. Arc,” Willow asked and shot him a dirty look. “Perhaps those two fillies over there would be of more entertainment value to you?”

“Ah, no, Ma’am!” Jaune said hastily, snapping to full attention. The action earning even more giggles from the two girls he noticed.

“Good,” his employer replied. She turned and shot the pair of girls a scathing look, sending them dashing away in fright. “Those two would eat you alive anyway. Besides, I’m going to need you for what’s about to come. We’ve paraded ourselves around the small fish enough, it’s time to talk to the big fish.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Jaune swallowed nervously, following close by as Willow made her way to a heavyset blonde woman in a green dress.

“Crotalina!” Willow announced in an over-the-top, friendly manor. “Delighted to see you again!”

“Willow!” The woman turned and embraced the Schnee matron in the very faintest of embraces. “It has simply been too long. How are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Having a wonderful time as always, my dear,” Willow laughed. The two women locked narrowed eyes with each other, a painfully forced grin on their faces.

“So nice to see you attending events again, Willow,” the corpulent woman, Crotalina, raised her glass of sparkling wine. “I had feared your...condition...would have kept you from attending.”

“Would not miss one of your parties for the world,” Willow laughed. “But it has been quite the while. I’m so glad you’re looking as...healthy as ever. Positively radiant. Is that a new rouge you’re wearing? What a remarkable job it does, I’m so envious.”

Crotalina leaned back to give a haughty laugh. “Oh you know a girl has to have her make-up secrets. Willow.” She paused slightly, to run a finger around the rim of her glass. Her eyes for the briefest moment, flickering up to gauge the nigh-invisible blemish around Willow’s left eye. “I’m sure you have a few make-up secrets you’d prefer to keep to yourself.”

“Yes...yes I suppose you’re right,” Willow said slowly. She cleared her throat and pivoted, “Have you met my handsome new bodyguard, Crotalina dear?”

“Why, no I haven’t,” the woman stepped forward and offered Jaune her hand. “Crotalina Grunan.”

This was a scenario Willow had instructed Jaune on the most. He would not fail here. Taking the woman’s hand in his own, he bowed deeply. “Jaune Arc. And might I say, Madam Grunan, you throw a simply amazing party. Your garden is quite the sight to behold, though not as lovely as the visage before me.”

“Oh,” Crotalina gave a breathy laugh, retrieving her hand to fan her face. “My, he is a charmer, isn’t he, Willow? How did you ensnare such a fine specimen here?”

It was Willow’s turn to rim the edge of her glass with a finger. “Oh well, you know my dear Jacques and his connections to the good General Ironwood. Would simply accept nothing but the finest Atlas could offer to be my personal escort.”

“Oh my, no doubt,” Crotalina nodded. “Speaking of Atlas’ finest, you simply must see the latest in personal protection androids.” With a small gesture, the android previously gone unnoticed by Jaune and Willow strode forward. Identical to the military Knights he had seen many times, Jaune almost smiled at the silly bowtie this one wore. “Top of the line, not even on the market yet. I true wonder of technology.”

“And a riveting conversationist, I’m sure,” Willow offered.

“Yes...quite...” Crotaline replied sweetly before turning her attention back to Jaune. “So tell me, Mr. Dark, did you study at Atlas?”

‘You are nothing more than a plaything to these people, Jaune,’ Willow’s word on the ride over echoed in his mind. ‘They will lob the sweetest insults in a way that goads an embarrassing retort. The only safe thing to do is ignore it completely.’

“Beacon, Ma’am” Jaune replied with a smile. “Before the fall, of course.”

“Oh yes, dreadful thing that.” She eyed him keenly. “And so where did you continue your studies? Mistral? Oh my certainly not Vacuo! You could barely call that dismal place an Academy.”

Jaune could feel a familiar heat creep across his face. “I...you could say I was personally tutored by one of Vale’s finest Huntsmen with my friends. He would often say the only real training is in the thick of battle against the Grimm. I would not have unlocked my semblance in the safety of an academy, I can assure you.”

“And an impressive semblance I’m sure it is, my dear Mr. Dark.” Crotalina’s smile seemed to only deepen as she turned to Jaune’s employer. “I’m sure you and Willow have had many a conversation on them, seeing how prominent the Schnee semblance is to them. Oh my!” She feigned a shocked gasp. “I’m so sorry, my dear, how rude of me to forget that you haven’t been able to activate yours in years. Do accept my sincerest apologies!”

“Think nothing of it,” Willow smiled and laughed weakly. “That’s ancient history now, best left forgotten.”

“Hmm,” the larger woman hummed, seemingly satisfied. “Well, my dear, if you would excuse me. Many guests to attend to. You know how things are.”

“Yes, of course, do give your husband my best.”

“And yours as well,” Crotalina turned towards Jaune once more. “Take care, Mr. Dark. And do your best with my dear friend here. I’m sure she will come to rely heavily upon you, probably in the next hour or so. Ta ta!”

Jaune watched the woman leave, her robot protector in toe, before turning back to a very despondent looking Willow. “Ma’am?”

The pale woman sighed. “You’ve seen your fair share of battlefields, Mr. Arc. Tell me, what do you make of mine so far?”

Jaune returned to his expected place behind his employer. “Honestly? I think I would prefer a pack of Beowolves. At least I’d know when I’m being eviscerated.”

“Indeed,” Willow sighed. “You might find it hard to believe, Mr. Arc, but there was a time I was queen of the Atlas’ social elite, and women like Crotalina would grovel like hungry pups for a merest glimmer of acknowledgment from me. But now?’ She brought her right hand up, palm open. A glyph, the iconic semblance of the Schnee family line, emerged into existence. It was tiny, only about the size of its summoner’s palm. Willow held it there before it began to flicker, slowly fading away, and leaving her hand empty. She sighed once more.

Jaune felt a deep pang of sadness in the pit of his stomach. “Ma’am, if I may?”

“What are you-oh!” Willow’s question was lost as she suddenly felt her young bodyguard’s hand caress her own from below. His aura was activated, a soft golden light localized at the appendage, and a strange sensation like a warm summer breeze flowed through her, sending every nerve across her body tingling with strength. Whatever haze her mind was under from the multiple drinks today was blasted away, leaving her with clear and racing thoughts.

“Please try your glyph again,” he instructed her.

“Yes...yes of course,” Willow found it impossible to deny such a determined request. With ever last bit of willpower she had, she focused on bringing the smallest of glyphs to life. A shining white glyph far larger than she had intended burst into existence before her. Jaune pulled his hand away and Willow was suddenly deeply afraid the glyph would disappear along with him, but to her absolute surprise it remained as strong and as steady as ever. She dismissed the glyph with a clench of her hand, before opening it once more and even more surprised to find she could summon the glyph again, just as strong and just as stable as the previous.

“This...this is...” she turned towards Jaune, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Jaune.”

The young Huntsman only smiled. “You’re very welcome, Ma’am.”

Willow Schnee, ever the proper lady, wiped the tears from her eyes and drew herself back to her usual demeanor. “I believe I have fulfilled my social obligations here today, Mr. Arc. What do you say we retire for the afternoon?”

“I think that would be best,” Jaune agreed, falling behind the woman as she made her way towards the stone steps leading up to the manor.

They climbed the steps in silence before Willow reached the top and suddenly turned.

“Oh, one more thing,” she said and waved her arm in a sweeping gesture.

Jaune turned, mouth agape, as the largest summoning glyph he had ever seen spun across the garden’s grassy floor. A King Taijitu, the double-headed snake Grimm, rose from out of the glyph, sending party goers and servants scrambling. The white and icy-blue monster trashed about, tearing the immaculately cultivated garden asunder with its sweeping motions.

“Come along now, Mr. Arc,” The lady Schnee said in a playful, almost melodious tone. “I suddenly long for home. Do not keep me waiting.”

Jaune’s head whipped to and fro, from the positively giddy woman he was entrusted with, to the sheer botanical carnage of the thrashing about summoned Grimm. With a heavy sigh, he turned and followed his departing employer.

“Willow!” Jaune heard a mighty bellow as he opened the limousine door for his employer. Crotalina stomped her way towards them, dress in tatters and stained with grass, dirt and hors d’oeuvres. “What have you done to my garden, you icy witch!?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about, dear,” laughed Willow from her seat. “It seems to me you let in a stray Grimm on your own account.”

“Oh, don’t you dare play coy with me, Willow Schnee!” the woman spat. “Grimm are not white and blue! Schnee summons are!”

Her door now closed. Willow lowered her window. “Why, don’t be silly.” She eyed the woman coolly. “You said it yourself, I haven’t been able to activate my semblance in years.” She smiled sweetly as the limousine started to pull away. “Ta ta!”

The ride back to the Schnee Manor was largely silent for the first ten minutes. Jaune spent that time looking forlornly out the window as the only other occupant hummed to herself and swirled her drink contently.

“Oh, do wipe that look off of your face, Mr. Arc,” said Willow, loudly putting her still completely full glass down. “I haven’t felt this wonderful in ages, but that sour puss of yours is threatening to bring it all tumbling down.”

Jaune startled and fumbled about. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ma’am.” He turned to face her, but quickly his face sagged down once more. “Sorry, it’s just that...that I feel-”

Willow smiled. “That you feel like you were helping out a poor woman who lost her semblance and in return she turned right around and abused your gift.” The shocked expression on his face proved her statement correct. “If it makes you feel any better, I made absolutely sure no one was actually hurt and dismissed the beast before we ever left.”

“I suppose,” Jaune mused softly.

Willow was positively beaming as she focused her aura. It rippled across her body, icy-blue light strong and bright. “I assume you have some sort of boosting Semblance, am I correct?”

Jaune nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. I-I can amplify the aura of others with my own. Whether it’s for healing or strengthening another’s Semblance.”

“And ruining perfectly good spirits as well, it seems,” Willow added. “Even with all the drinks I’ve had today, I’m totally sober thanks to you.”

“Oh! I’m...sorry about that.”

“Hmm,” Willow hummed with a smile as she gave the young Huntsman and deeply considering look. “I will confess something to you, Mr. Arc. Up until recently I was completely intent on having you fired at the end of the day.”

“What!?” Jaune almost launched himself up from his seat. “Was it...did I do something wrong?”

“Several things actually,” the smiling woman admitted. “But believe it or not, your faux pas are actually why I’ve decided to keep you on. You see, at first I believed you were given to me as some sort of cruel gesture by my husband, or to keep me out of his way for god knows whatever he’s been scheming lately.

“But then you came to me all sweet and innocent and completely naïve, and so I decided to have my fun with you and was fully intent on watching you flail about in confusion when I cast you aside for seemingly no reason. You however, completely and utterly ruined my plans when you gave me a gift I can not possibly repay.” She emphasized the point by activated her Semblance in her palm with a strong but miniscule glyph. “Made only worse by your almost irresistible ability of making me feel despondently guilty of my first instincts after suddenly regaining my Semblance. So no, Mr. Arc, you will not be fired this day or any day that you are under my employ. I fully intend to have you as my personal bodyguard for the duration of your mission.”

Jaune was flabbergasted at the revelation of the machinations of the woman before him, and her absolutely carefree disposition to declare them. The best he could come up with, as were most of his responses today, was a stuttering “Th-thank you, Ma’am.”

Having reached a sort of mutual understanding, the two left the conversation there as they rode the rest of the way back to the Schnee Manor in silence. No words were exchanged either as they entered the enormous abode, trekking through the labyrinth of hallways towards the lady Schnee’s room. Only when they reached her doors, did Willow finally speak.

“Thank you, Mr. Arc, for today.” She smiled a soft, genuine smile at the young man. “You certainly were full of surprises. And I considering it a point of pride how usually perceptive I am about things. For now, though, you are dismissed for the rest of the day and may return to the Academy. I suddenly find myself with an intense desire to reacquaint myself with my abilities.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Jaune replied. He paused for a moment. “Um, Ma’am, I....uh...”

“Ahh, the question that has been hanging about since we first met. Out with it then, Mr. Arc.”

Jaune’s left hand instinctively reached up to his face. “Your...your eye. How did you-how did it happen?”

Willow, still smiling at the young Huntsman before her, sighed deeply. “You are a sweet boy, Mr. Arc, to care about a lady such as I. Please don’t ever lose that concern for others. Please, don’t ever grow cold.”

And with that, she stepped into her room, closing the doors behind her and leaving Jaune alone in the hallway.

Jaune walked the hallways of the Schnee Manor, his mind still awhirl as he tried to process the enigma that was his new employer. He continued to walk, not really looking where he was going, when suddenly he heard a voice.

“Come on,” the voice called out. “Just a little bit more. You can do this.”

Jaune peered in through the crack in the doorway to find Weiss’ younger brother Whitley, hunched over slightly, his left hand gripping his right wrist intently, and his face a grimacing mask of anger and frustration. In the open palm of his right hand, a little white light flickering dimly.

“Please,” he begged. “Please just work!”

Jaune sighed, seemingly unable to simply walk away. He drew on his aura, summoning it so that his right hand was encased in the rippling golden energy.

‘Have you ever thought about extending your aura?’ The words of Vine Zeki flashed in Jaune’s mind as he extended his right hand out towards the struggling boy. He imagined his aura spreading out like a rope, snaking its way through the space between them to connect itself to the boy’s hand ‘Just a little couldn’t possibly hurt.”

Whitley gasped as he felt a sudden influx of strength. The idea that he was receiving help never even crossed his mind as he doubled down on his focus. His efforts finally paid off as the little spark in his open palm flared out, morphing into a small glyph. It was small and slow, but for now it was holding steady.

“Finally.” The youngest member of the Schnee family breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned back, admiring the fruits of his efforts, totally unaware of the smiling Huntsman moving away from his room.

-----------------------------

“Good job today, team!” The silver-eyed leader let out a cheer as she and the rest of her team made their way back through the ops room of Atlas Academy. “Now who’s ready for dinner?”

“I’m ready for a shower,” Weiss declared, wiping away what dirt clung to her gloves. “I’m absolutely filthy.”

“Umm, guys?” The golden-haired Huntress of the group held a hand up, signaling the rest of them to halt. “You seeing this?”

The rest of team RWBY turned slightly to see what Yang was talking about.

“Is that Jaune?” Blake inquired.

Not too far from them, deep in conversation with the Ace-Ops member Vine Zeki, stood the young Huntsman Jaune Arc.

“Yeah, that’s Jaune alright,” Ruby replied. “What about it?”

“He looks...different,” Blake mused aloud. “More...well defined?”

“He certainly has a different air about him,” Weiss added. “I...can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s a strange allure there.”

Yang’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Guys...is Jaune hot now?”

Ruby could only look at her team with confusion. “You guys are weird. It’s just Jaune.” She turned and gave her friend a full arm wave. “Hi Jaune!”

Juane turned away from the specialist. “Oh, hey Ruby!” He gave her a cheesy grin and waved back. “Hi guys!”

The rest of team RWBY’s faces fell in perfect unison.

“Nope, same old Jaune,” Yang sighed, turning to walk away.

“Must have been a trick of the light,” Blake suggested, heading off as well.

Weiss shrugged. “I’m probably just more tired than I thought”.

Ruby could only shake her head as she followed the rest of her teammates. “Buncha weirdos, I tell ya.”

Chapter Text

A loud buzzing forced Jaune to crack open a bleary eye.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he mumbled, reaching out for his scroll to silence that infernal alarm but finding no resistance as he waved his arm around. Shifting his weight for better reach, Jaune suddenly remember that he was currently in the top bunk of their Atlesian dorm.

‘Oh no,’ he thought as suddenly the rest of his mass tipped over the edge of his bed and sent him plummeting to the cold floor below. ‘Well, I’m definitely up now.’ But still the buzzing persisted.

“Jaune,” Nora moaned from the confines of her own bed. She had curled herself up in the fetal position and gripped her pillow around her head in an attempt to muffle the disturbing blare. “Need sleep. No alarm. Will kill.”

“It’s not the alarm,” replied Ren, lying in a perfectly serene posture on his back with his eyes closed. “That’s the doorbell. There’s someone at the door.”

“Kill door then,” Nora grumbled, gripping her pillow tighter.

Jaune let out a loud yawn as he pulled himself up off the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it.” Eyes still closed, he stumbled his way to the door of the room and pressed the button to open the door. “Who is it?”

Rubbing the sleep out of eyes and cracking them open, Jaune suddenly jumped back and let out a cry at the figure before him.

“Package for Jaune Arc, Atlas Academy, Huntsman barracks 0705” the electronic voice of the Atlesian Knight at the door called out. “Package for Jaune Arc, Atlas Academy, Huntsman barracks 0705.”

Nora slammed a fist into the wall of her bunk, making the whole room shake. “Kill Jaune Arc.”

Jaune stared at the Atlesian Knight that wore a postman’s cap and was holding a large box in both arms. “I’m...Jaune Arc.”

The darkened visor of the Knight flashed in recognition and a hardlight screen projected out in front of the young Huntsman. “Sign, please.”

Using his finger as a stylus, Jaune flourished out a quick signature across the screen.

“Thank you.” The screen winked out of existence and the Knight extended the package out. As soon as the box was successfully passed on, the Knight stepped back. Snapping off a quick salute, the Knight then turned around and headed off down the corridor.

Placing the box on the closest desk in the room, Jaune undid the simple brown twine that bound the box together and unfolded the wrapping paper. Sitting atop the white box was a sizable note of a powdery blue paper. As Jaune brought the note up to read, the lingering scent that wafted from the note sent his mind back to yesterday.

‘It smells like her,’ he noticed. I slight blush creeping across his cheeks as such an absurd thought crossed his mind. He pressed on and began reading the note.

‘Dear Mr. Arc,’ the note started. It was handwritten in beautifully flowing script of silvery white, a perfectly complimentary colour to the blue paper it was written on. ‘While there is nothing within my power to equally repay the gift you so generously bestowed upon me in the return of my Semblance, please accept this assortment of skin and haircare products as some small measure of my gratitude. Regarding your assignment today, you may have free reign as my obligations require no security presence until tonight for the Mistral Charity Opera Event. I shall await you at the Schnee Manor in your finest attire for the evening. Best regards – Willow Schnee’

‘She’s actually really nice,” Jaune thought as he put the note down gently beside the box and moved to open its flaps. His eyes positively bulged out of their sockets as he beheld the contents inside. Over two dozen bottles and containers were practically spilling out from their container, all of various shapes, sizes, and colours. Some with pumps, some with nozzles, and even one stunningly ornate crystal bottle with a tasseled atomizer attached to it. Included inside were also two bright metal combs that shone like mirrors in the cold light of the room.

But as Jaune was holding a bottle in each hand and attempting to decipher the instructions written in tiny print across them, a familiar tone emanated out of his scroll along with a low rattle as it buzzed in its cubby space.

“Oh, crap!” said Jaune as he put the bottles back down and closed the box. He reached in and checked the time. “Guys, we’ve got briefing in ten minutes! We gotta go! Come on, Nora!”

“Noooo,” the young Huntress whined as she was literally dragged out of bed by Jaune and Ren. “Kill briefing instead.”

-----------------------------

The sun over Atlas was well into its decline as Jaune stumbled back into his dorm room, letting his chest-plate clatter to the floor.

Today’s training regime had been brutal, a miniature Vytal tournament held in the training room. Jaune felt completely worn out and was looking forward to a long hot shower. Hours of almost non-stop fighting against multiple foes, forcing him and his team to their limits of body and mind. Fortunately though, Ren and Nora had their Mantle perimeter mission right after while Oscar elected to stay behind with General Ironwood for a conversation, leaving Jaune alone to make use of their barrack room’s private shower.

He shed himself of his clothes, dropping them in a nearby laundry chute, placed Crocea Mors on his bed and tied a towel around his waist as the sultry siren of the showers beckoned him forth. But just as passed by, Jaune suddenly remember the large box he had been gifted this morning and the various skin and hair care products that lay within. He stepped towards the desk and began unload the contents of the box onto the table.

“Oh no.” A deep, unfamiliar sense of dread coiled itself around the pit of Jaune’s stomach as he surveyed the assortment of bottle before him. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing here.”

But, like a flash of lightning through his brain, he remembered! Jaune spun and bolted out of his team’s room, his bare feet slapping against the cold metal of the corridors until finally he arrived at his destination and slammed an open hand across the door button.

“Yang!” He shouted as he pushed the past the doorframe to stand in the room. “Yang, I need you!”

Yang Xiao Long, the yellow dragon of Team RWBY herself, was seated at one of her team room’s four desks. Back in her casual Atlas clothes of sweatpants and a singlet, her mechanical right arm was propped up on the desk’s counter while in her left she held a small screwdriver. Luckily for Jaune, he had remembered during training today that Yang’s arm had been giving her a little problem and she was promptly excused from her extermination mission until she had sorted the issue out.

Yang looked up from her work with a shocked expression across her face at the sudden barging interruption to her focus, but after looking the intruder up and down, her surprised looked morph to a wicked grin.

"So, the day has finally come.” She let out a very audible sigh as she put the screwdriver down and closed the panel on her mechanical arm. “Y’know, you tell yourself you’ll be ready but then it finally happens and it all goes right out the window.”

Jaune cast the babbling girl a very concerned and confused look. “What are you talking about?” he asked slowly.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly flattered that it’s me you’re asking, honestly after all this time I still thought it’d still be Weiss, but even though I’m together with Blake now I kinda figured this’d happen eventually. I’m sure she won’t mind if it’s you, just this once though.” She stood up, a mischievous glint in her eyes to go with her devilish smile. She sauntered up towards Jaune to stand only a few feet apart, before throwing her arms wide open. “All right then Jaune, it’s time to take this vomit boy and turn him into a vomit man!”

Jaune’s brain and heart were both dangerously close to flatlining at what he was witnessing right now. Only after a few second of blank, wall eyed staring did he remember he was currently equipped in only a towel. He didn’t think it was possible but his face turned an even brighter shade of red as he bid a hasty retreat behind the door frame and only showed his head to the smirking firecracker of a Huntress.

A still grinning Yang placed her hands on her hips. “Aww, so I take it you didn’t come all this way in just a towel to seduce me?”

“No!” Jaune shouted indignantly, his cry of objection echoing off and into the nearby corridors.

Yang, ever the prankster, thrust a hip out suggestively. “Good, cause no offense Jaune, it’s not really a smart move doing so while smelling that bad.” She gave a short laugh before pausing, taking a few sharp sniffs in the air, and then raising her left arm up to give her armpit a whiff. “Woah, I am in no position to judge apparently, hoo boy!”

Jaune just hung his head low. “Just...just come to my room please.”

“Ooh, inviting me back to your room now...” Yang purred as she followed Jaune out into the corridor. “You best stay away from my sweet innocent sister now, you hopeless skirt-chaser, you.” She laughed as her words had the desired effect on the boy as he threw his hands up and choked back a curse.

That was the end of her teasing, thankfully, as Jaune had finally led her back to Team JNPR’s quarters.

“Holy crap, Jaune,” Yang gasped as she rushed over to the table with all the bottles and containers spread across it. “What is all this?”

“A gift,” he explained. “From my employer. I mean-she's my employer but not really cause technically General Ironwood’s my employer but it’s the mission he gave me and now I’ve got a new employer so-”

“To equally repay the gift you so generously bestowed upon me,” Yang read aloud. “Jaune! You absolute horn dog! Is Ironwood sending you off to seduce rich old ladies instead?”

Jaune could feel his soul leave his body. In his haste he had forgotten to hide the note attached to the present. And despite being the taller of the two, Jaune was just no match for Yang’s mechanical arm as she easily held him at bay and finished reading the rest of the note.

“Willow Schnee!?” She exclaimed, and Jaune died again as he slumped defeatedly against her outstretched hand. “Your new boss is Weiss’ mum?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking away. “Just...please don’t tell Weiss. I mean it’s not like a secret or anything but...I dunno, I just don’t want to have that conversation with her right now.”

“Well...” Yang put the note down gently. “Considering what you’ve done for the old lady, fixing her Semblance and all, I can certainly respect your wishes for now.”

Jaune smiled at his friend. “Thanks, Yang.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a returning smile, and then pulled her had away to let him fall on the floor. “Looks like you’re already reaping the benefits though. I mean, just look at all this! You’ve got more hair and makeup products than I do now.” She picked up a bottle of conditioner, reading the label. “You’ve got better products than I do.” She paused for a moment, turning back to Jaune. “I’m borrowing this, okay?”

“You can borrow anything you want,” Jaune grunted as he pulled himself up off the floor. “Just tell me what it all means!”

“Oh, that part’s obvious,” the blonde Huntress replied flippantly. “Think about it, your job right now is to stick close to the wealthiest lady in all of la-de-dah high society, at la-de-dah social events with all her la-de-dah snooty friends.” She tapped him on the nose with one of the plastic bottles as she spoke. “The last thing she wants trailing around after her is some grubby, sweaty, stinky teenage boy with bad hair. No offence.”

“I mean, some taken. Jeez.” He looked down at the mass of bottles and containers that Yang was eyeing like a dragon might their hoard. “What I actually meant was; do you think you can teach me what each bottle does what and in what order to use them.”

“Oh yeah, no sweat. Leave it to me.” Yang flipped the bottle through the air before snatching it back and striking a pose. “Alright, Jaune Arc, let’s get you looking pretty!”

What followed was a forty-five minute breakdown of every single bottle and what they contained. Yang was as helpful as they come, helping Jaune understand by separating the containers into three distinct sections: before shower use, during shower use, and after shower use. Once and only once she was confident Jaune retained the basic comprehension on his new beauty routine did she begin showing him how to apply certain creams, how to use certain scrubs, and how long to leave in certain conditioners. Finally, after a long and hot steamy shower, Jaune emerged with hair that shimmered, skin that glistened and a face that seemed as soft and smooth as a newborn’s. Not to mention he smelled downright amazing!

“Man, what a difference a few thousand Lien of beauty products can do to a person,” Yang remarked as Jaune, now wearing a fresh set of his casual trackpants and shirt, sat down in front of her. She held Jaune’s new metal combs between her thumb and index finger like a pair of cards. “Okay, all that’s left now is your hair.”

“Yeah, so about that.” Jaune went on to describe one of his first interactions with the Matron of the Schnee household. Based off the information he provided, Yang was able to understand what exact look he was after.

“Okay, cool, I’m on it,” she said as she took her position behind Jaune and started combing his hair. Thanks to the shampoos and conditioners doing their job, his hair was quite soft and thankfully free of any knots or burrs.

“That actually feels really nice,” Jaune admitted, eyes closed and head leaning back slightly.

“Ha!” Yang rolled her eyes and scoffed as she continued to comb. “Maybe tell Ruby that once we’re done. Poor girl acts like it’s the end of the world whenever I could pin her down long enough to attack that bird’s nest.”

“You used to do Ruby’s hair?” Jaune inquired.

“Oh yeah, all the time! Especially after our mum...well, y’know. Anyway, Dad was hopeless of course, so it fell to big sis Yang to take down that savage beast, armed with only detangling spray and a brush. Did you know Ruby actually used to have pretty long hair for a few years?!”

“What?!” Jaune couldn’t help but laugh. “Gods, I’m having such a hard time trying to imagine that. Like, how’d it not get tangled up in her scythe when she’s spinning it around her all the time?”

“Oh, that’s exactly the reason why she wears her hair short now.” She made a few choking sounds. “Uncle Qrow had to basically give her a buzz cut to get her out of the Crescent Rose’s mechanism. And you think I have temper tantrums when it comes to someone messing with my hair!?”

The two shared another laugh together. Yang reached down for a plastic tube of hair gel and started massaging a generous dollop into Jaune’s hair.

“Well, I trust you with my hair completely, Yang,” Jaune remarked casually as he felt the cool gel seeping across his scalp. “I’m just glad you don’t have my sisters’ sense of style for me. I don’t think Weiss’ mum would appreciate me escorting her around looking like a cross between a poodle and an ursa.”

“Saphron showed us the pictures, Mr. Warrior wolf-tails,” Yang replied with a laugh.

“Of course she did,” he sighed.

Yang placed the comb down and patted Jaune on the shoulders. “Well in any case, you’re all done. What do you think?”

“Fantastic,” said Jaune as he looked at his reflection in the small mirror Yang handed him. “It looks exactly the same as last time. No one’s going to tell me my hair looks ridiculous tonight. Thanks, Yang.”

He moved up out of his chair to turn and hug the girl but was held back by an open metallic hand. “Not so fast there, Mr. Slick. You may be all squeaky clean but this gal’s in serious need of a shower. Don’t go undoing all my hard work now.”

“Oh right,” Jaune laughed nervously as he stepped back. “I’m in your debt, Yang.”

“Nah.” The blonde woman winked at him, flipping the bottle of conditioner in her hand. “You’re all paid up. Gods, I’m going to have the shiniest hair in all of Atlas tonight! Blake is not going to stand a chance when she sees me!”

“Hey...Yang?” Jaune called out to the woman as she made her way to leave. She stopped and turned back to face him. “This is probably going to sound all mushy and all but...well...after seeing Saph in Argus, I’d forgotten just how much I missed having my older sisters in my life and spending time with them. But when you were helping me out like that and I got to spend time with you, it felt exactly like being back home with them all. So...I just wanted to say thank you, for helping me not feel as lonely and homesick.”

For the first time in their history interacting with one another, Yang was caught dumbfounded. She stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, her entire body tense. Finally, she relaxed, and after letting out a very long sigh, she strode right up to her friend. “You, Jaune Arc” she began, prodding him in the chest with the conditioner bottle she held, “Are simply far too naively charming to know what’s good for you.” She turned and made her way back to the door. “Now, you need to get dressed for the Opera. Oh, and make sure to use those downhome wiles to seduce some rich dowager or something. Bumblebee needs a new Dust convertor matrix and those things are not cheap!”

“If there’s time, Yang,” Jaune said with a laugh as the door closed behind her.

Yang strode confidently down the corridor, rounded the corner and, finding it completely deserted, slumped down against the wall and sat down on the floor. Pulling her scroll from her back pocket, Yang swiped across a few screens before putting it up to her ear. After a few rings, the person on the other end picked up.

“Hey, sis,” Yang said, trying very hard to suppress the sniffle threatening to make its way out. “No, nothing's wrong. I just...just wanted to see if you were free to catch up and hang out tonight after your mission.” She eyed the bottle of conditioner in her other hand. “Thought we could do something we haven’t done in a long time, just the two of us.”

-----------------------------

Jaune made sure Crocea Mors was safely fastened to his belt as he stepped off the bullhead and headed towards the golden gates of the Schnee Manor. The sun was just setting and cast everything in a soft golden light, making the gates twinkle like portals to some magical land. He was surprised to find the maid Dahlia standing in the exact same spot he had first met her the day before as he made his was closer.

“Good evening, Mr. Arc,” Dahlia called out as he approached, offering the Huntsman a curt bow.

“Good evening, Dahlia,” Jaune returned the greeting, this time remembering to bow. “If it’s all the same to you, please just call me Jaune. It still feels a little weird to be called ‘Mr. Arc’ outside of school. I keep expecting a lecture or to be told off.”

Dahlia smiled, a light blush creeping across her features. “As you wish, Jaune.” She pressed on, politely ignoring the man’s nervous laughter. “Madam Schnee is expecting you, shall I take you to her private abode.”

“Thank you,” Jaune breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m still amazed I managed to make it out yesterday by myself. I swear I managed to walk into the same music room three times, either that or the Schnees really enjoy having as many grand pianos as they can fit.”

Jaune was actually relieved to hear the maid giggle. He was worried after their last walk he had somehow gotten on the woman’s bad side.

“Mr. Schnee and Mr. Ebi are already out for the night,” Dahlia explained as they climbed the main hall’s stairway up headed left. “While the young master is busy with his tutors. It has been a quiet day today.”

The rest of the walk was filled with Jaune and Dahlia exchanging pleasant conversation with each other until eventually they made their way into a familiar hallway with a pair of tightly closed doors.

“Please wait for the Madam here, Jaune.” Dahlia gestured to the spot beside the doors. “It should not be too much longer.”

“Might as well get comfortable, I have a foreboding sense this’ll be a good precursor to most of my night’s duties tonight.” Jaune sighed with a smile. “Thank you, Dahlia, I hope you have a good rest of the night.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a finest doorstop at the Opera.” Dahlia winked at the young Huntsman. “Good night, Jaune.”

Jaune waved the maid farewell as she turned and headed down the end of the hallway, closing the doors behind her. Now alone, Jaune turned back with a sigh and settled down into a comfortable stance. He was only halfway through counting the crystals in the chandelier when he heard the familiar dull click of Willow Schnee’s doorknobs turning.

“Good evening, ma’am!” Jaune stood arrow straight as the Matron of the Schnee household stepped forth. The woman adjusted her elbow length white opera gloves as she simply flowed around the young Huntsman, her royal blue off-the-shoulder opera gown shimmering in the cold light of the chandeliers’ electric glow. Jaune’s eyes flickered down for the merest instant, catching a glimpse of the woman’s shapely displayed leg through the slit of her dress, ending with a foot encased in open toe stiletto heels that wrapped around slightly higher than her ankle in a fashionable ribbon like effect. He almost forgot one of the earliest lessons she had taught him. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

“Good evening, Mr. Arc,” Willow replied through a deep sigh, clearly unhappy with him. “Mr. Arc, while I do appreciate your surprisingly remarkable adherence to the use of my gifts, did you perhaps misread the last part of my note?”

Jaune was taken aback. After the rocky start to their relationship, he was certain that all that he had done with the skin-care products and the hair products and combing it just the way she had yesterday, that they could perhaps begin in a new more favourable demeanor to each other. “N-no, Ma’am, you wrote that you would await me in my finest attire. I made sure that my armour was in its best condition possible before I came.”

Another sigh, another jab of failure in to Jaune’s worried mind. “Your armour is indeed magnificent, Mr. Arc. I can very well see myself in it.” She leaned forward, the lavishly done up hair carrying the scent of some sort of citrusy perfume Jaune could not place. Only barely hidden beneath it though was the faint scent of alcohol. “Hmm, close but not quite. Regardless, I shall ask you simply, Mr. Arc. Why did you not wear your formal Atlesian military uniform tonight instead?”

Jaune looked at the woman quizzically. “My formal...what now?”

This time it was Willow who looked confused. “Mr. Arc, what outfits were you supplied when you were officially integrated as Atlas Huntsman?”

“Just the outfit I have on now,” Jaune admitted, still just as nervous. “I mean, I have three identical sets but that is it. Oh, and of course my sleepwear but I didn’t think you would even let me step foot inside if I wore that.”

“Damn that insufferable James!” Willow turned and spat. Jaune actually jumped with how much the sudden action surprised him. Willow closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and faced her bodyguard once more. “Mr. Arc, please accept my sincerest apologies to my previous outburst. I naturally assumed that you would have been provided formal attire at the start of your tenure here in Atlas. It seems however that the good General Ironwood has left you undersupplied. Rest assured that I will be lodging a formal complaint with the military in the morning.”

Jaune simply smiled, even though internally he was jumping with elation. ‘Congratulations, Jaune, you didn’t screw up!’ he thought to himself, but then another thought crossed his mind and his smile dropped. ‘Oh no, she’s going to complain to Ironwood and he’s going to yell at me!’. He laughed nervously and tried to wave it off. “Please, think nothing of it, Ma’am. I’m only sorry that I cannot attend to you tonight properly dressed.”

“Hmm.” Willow rested one elbow in her gloved hand while the other lightly held her chin. Her eyes were flickering rapidly as she beheld her young bodyguard. “How tall would you say you are, Mr. Arc?”

That was certainly not a question Jaune ever expected. “Oh, just over six feet, Ma’am. Technically six one at last count.”

A sly smile spread of the mother Schnee’s countenance. “Yes, yes I believe that will do just fine.” Without another she was off, so fast in fact, that Jaune was still standing there stupefied. “Come along now, Mr. Arc, do keep up.”

Thankfully, unlike every, single, other, walk that took him through the hallways of the Schnee Manor, their destination was only a single hallway down. Willow gesture Jaune inside as she turned on the lights, and the Huntsman found himself in what appeared to be a closet easily the same size of Willow’s bedroom. It was filled to bursting with large glass display cases, movable storage cabinets and rows and rows of shoe cubbies.

“This, Mr. Arc, is where I keep my father’s clothes.” Willow spun in a circle as she gestured with both hands, seemingly at the enormity of the room. “All immaculately preserved of course. You’ll find nary a stitch out of place or a worn spot on a single article.”

“It’s very impressive,” Jaune said in wonderment as he beheld the room. He paused, realization suddenly dawning upon him. “W-wait, Ma’am, these are your father’s! I shouldn’t be-”

“Shouldn’t be what, Mr. Arc?” Willow inquired, already moving a large cabinet of rollers out. She scoffed. “I love my father dearly, but he certainly has no need for them in his current state. Unless you have some sort of hesitation to wearing clothing once belonging to a dead man.”

“N-no, of course not,” Jaune stuttered out. He stepped towards the woman.

“I should hope not,” WIllow said curtly, her eyes never leaving the rows of suits she now thumbed through. She did however nod her head slightly down towards Jaune’s waist. “I do believe your armaments have seen their fair share of owners, all currently deceased or retired, present company excluded.”

Jaune looked down at Crocea Mors. “How did you-”

“Here we are!” Willow suddenly exclaimed, cutting the young man off. In her arms she a pristine looking dark grey suit, matching vest, black tie, and brilliant white shirt included. She looked at it, a small twinge of sadness displayed across her features. “This is one of his later suits, after the Dust sickness had taken him and his once mighty body began to shrink. I daresay given enough time to finish growing you would probably be able to fit into those tailored for when he was in his prime, but for now this one will do.” She regarded the suit further. “Hmm, thin lapels are not currently in fashion, but with a little tweaking and accessorizing I believe we can make this work. Luckily for you, Mr. Arc, fashion exists in cycles, and I do believe it’s high time to start the metamorphosis once more.”

Jaune could hardly get a stuttering word out when the suit was pushed into his chest.

“There’s a changing spot on the other side of the room.” Willow explained as she also passed him a pair of black leather shoes. “I’ll prepare the rest for you once you’ve put these on. We don’t have much time before we’re to leave so do make haste, Mr. Arc.”

Like a puppet on strings, Jaune moved to the woman’s whims. He headed off to the other side of the large room and, upon entering the small, well-lit area with full length mirror and stool, hastily shed himself of all his clothing except his underwear. With great care not to wrinkle any of the provided clothing, dressed himself in his new attire. It did not take him long, and now fully dressed; he grabbed his family sword as well as his red sash and headed out.

His footsteps alerted Willow, who was currently peering down into a large draw of watches, to his presence. She looked up, a smile blossoming on her face as she beheld her newly fashioned protector. “Simply wonderful,” she said softly, before seemingly catching herself and returning to her procurement. “Hmm, I believe a white gold watch will play off the suit nicely. We’ll need to find you a matching belt and sword holster as well. Lucky for you, Daddy did always prefer going out fully armed.” She gave a sharp laugh as she handed Jaune the watch and flittered off down the aisle.

Jaune quickly slipped the heavy watch on as he followed after the woman. “Umm, Ma’am. About my sash, I was thinking-”

Willow suddenly stopped and spun like a top, turning to face the blushing boy. “Intriguing. A bold colour indeed, inviting challenge or perhaps a warning against it?” She took the sash he presented to her and began laying it over his shoulder. “Hmm, no, far too old a military style that way, daring as I am. Maybe...” She held it up at Jaune’s neck and let it hang slightly before whipping it away. “No, too much material, scarves were last season as well, it’s too soon to bring them back.” After a few more moments of pondering, her eyes snapped open wide. “Of course! Oh Willow, you’re either a genius or an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.”

Jaune, clearly an idiot in this scenario, had not figured it out still.

Willow placed the sash down on a nearby dresser and turned to grab an empty coat hanger. “Your jacket, vest, and tie please.”

“Oh.” Jaune was a little taken aback by the request. “O-okay, sure.” He did as instructed and she returned the vest and tie to a hanger while she simply left the jacket hanging off a nearby hook.

“Follow me.” Willow directed Jaune down another aisle to where several belts hung, each with a sword holster attached. She pulled out several, pressing them against Jaune’s waist to see how the holster would hang. Eventually after trying out one belt with a holster that hung almost halfway down his thigh, the lowest one so far, did she instruct him to put it on. With the belt fastened, they made their way back towards the rest of the items Jaune had been given. Willow directed Jaune to stand in front of her as she collected the sash.

“Silly now that I think about,” Willow said and she wrapped the sash around Jaune’s waist, doubling the usual width he tied it at. She tucked the ends behind his back and she stepped back to admire her work. “Yes...yes it’s all coming together now. Wait there.” She seemed to disappear down a side of the aisle, returning a few moments later with three different bowties in her hands, each a slightly different shade of read.

“At first I had you figured for a vest and tie man, Mr. Arc,” Willow explained as she began comparing the bow ties against the shading of his sash. “But the more I think about it, the more obvious your predilection availed itself to me. This one!” Placing the other two bowties down, Willow whipped the knot undone and thread the ribbon around Jaune’s collar. In a matter of seconds she had the bowtie fastened and tied perfectly against his throat.

Helping the young Huntsman into his jacket and allowing him to affix his sword to his new holster, Willow stepped back to admire the dashing figure that stood before her.

“Uncanny,” she breathed, taking in all that was Jaune Arc in a suit. “It’s a shame you don’t have white hair. The look would have been perfect.” She seemed to catch herself and covered it up with a small laugh. “But enough about what I think, go have a look for yourself.”

Returning to the small changing cubby, Jaune almost didn’t recognize the figure staring back at him in the mirror. The studied himself at different angles, adjusting the jacket’s sleeves, posed by gripping his now low-hung sword handle. It might not be the Jaune Arc he pictured himself in his mind, but there was no denying that this current version cut quite the dashing figure.

“Mr. Arc?” Willow called out. “While I am loathed to deny a man time to primp and preen, we do have a prior engagement.”

“C-coming, Ma’am!”

-----------------------------

The white limousine emblazoned with the iconic Schnee snowflake softly rolled to a stop outside the red carpet entrance to the Atlas Opera House. Jaune, exited from the road-side door at the back of the limousine and hastily made his way around the back to open the other for his employer.

“Cuts down on the time I would waste having you slog all the way from the front,” Willow explained as to why Jaune was now to ride in the back with her from now on. Though he suspected there was another reason she’d prefer not to disclose.

Opening the door, Jaune extended a hand in and help the Schnee matron step out on to the red carpet. She adjusted the brilliantly white fur shawl she now had draped across her back and arms and together they made their way towards the massive, three-Storey building the size of a small fortress. Jaune of course followed at a respectable distance just behind her as all bodyguards should.

Looking up, Jaune was taken aback at the sheer size of a building constructed for only the singular purpose of presenting opera performances. He had asked if music was also played here, but that only earned a laugh from his employer.

“Oh heavens, no,’ Willow explained. “If we did that, then why would we have had our symphony hall built?”

It seemed to Jaune an incredibly wasteful thing, but could only shrug at the sheer decadence of the Atlas high class. It was still well before curtain raise on tonight’s performance, so Jaune followed Willow as she made her rounds greeting the other patrons. For the most part he kept tuned out of the topics of conversation she discussed with the other members of Atlesian society’s upper crust, though every so often one of the theatre-goers would enquire about the dashing young guardian keeping close by. Willow was more than happy to show Juane off like a shiny bauble, positively delighted as they remarked on his daring outfit. Every time the conversation was tilted towards modern fashion it was usually met with boredom and comments of it hastily growing stale.

“Just you wait, Mr. Arc,” Willow remarked as she accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. “Soon every young man in the Kingdom of Atlas will be wearing their hair exactly like yours and strutting around in dark grey suits with red cummerbunds and bowties. What do you say to that?”

“It’s a little overwhelming when I think about it,” Jaune answered honestly. “Me; the guy with absolutely zero fashion sense, who wore a dress to a dance once, I’m the guy who everyone else wants to imitate? Does it only take one person one time and the rest of them will follow like sheep?”

“Welcome to the world of fashion, my dear.” Willow raised her champagne flute to her escort for the evening. “Do try the hors d'oeuvres.”

And with that she took a sizable pull from her flute. But as the bubbly wine passed her lips. She held it there for a moment before swallowing it with a grimace. “Oh my, that is absolutely dreadful! Perhaps I should have employed you as my taste-tester as well, Mr. Arc.” She turned to procure a second flute and presented it to Jaune. “Please, tell me what you think. No one else seems to be minding the taste.”

Jaune, hardly in any position to give an opinion on fine wine, never-the-less accepted the offer and let hardly a swallow into his mouth. He held it there for a moment, the fizzy carbonation tickling his tongue and the inner walls of his cheeks, before swallowing.

“Well,” Willow pressed as she observed the young Huntsman’s mouth open and close a few times to get a better taste. “Do you taste anything amiss?”

“I mean...” Jaune started, completely uninitiated in the ways of describing alcohol such as this. “It’s...not bad? Kind of sweet, I’m not used to drinking alcohol so I can definitely taste that the most, but...I don’t hate it. I’m sorry, Ma’am, I wish I could be more help.”

Willow had the slightest sip from her flute once more, not quite grimacing but her eyes did narrow slightly at some unpleasant sensation. She lowered her glass, pondering for a moment or two, before spying a pair of aristocrat women deep in conversation and moved towards them. “Pardon the intrusion, ladies. Coquelette, I simply cannot place tonight’s wine selection, do you happen to know the vintage?”

“Oh, Willow my sweet,” the women in a deep orange and red dress turned and spoke. “Of course, it’s the Vacueras ‘32. Why, I’m certain we’ve shared a bottle or two before.”

Willow sighed. “Afraid I’m off my game tonight. Thank you, Coquelette. Do give my best to your daughter and her new fiancé.”

The woman nodded and turned back to her conversation as Willow made her way back to Jaune. “Damnation! I feared as much,” she said, turning back to Jaune. “And here I was starting to fear why I could barely stomach a single glass of watered-down scotch tonight. Can you deduce what I found when I removed my make-up after yesterday’s garden party, Mr. Arc.”

Jaune’s mind flashed back to his first meeting with his new employer and the dark ring of bruising around her left eye. Instinctively his left hand began rising again to touch his face.

“Nothing,” the Schnee matron said definitively, emphasizing the point with a stamp of her heel on the hardwood floor. “Nary a bruise nor blemish in sight. If anything my skin looked smoother and firmer than it has in years.” Her eyes narrowed at her young protector. “Which I am confident in saying that I can lay that accusation firmly at your feet, Mr. Arc.”

“I’m-I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Jaune stammered out, not exactly sure what he had done to earn her dark look.

Instead of berating him, Jaune was shocked as Willow suddenly threw her head back and cried out in raucous laughter. It drew more than one looker-on as she finally ceased laughing. “My, whatever for, my dear? I, in all honesty, have not felt this amazing in years! My Glyphs are back to tip-top performance, my Aura feels as strong as it did when I was a teenager, and you’ve somehow managed to clear away the haze that has clouded my mind for the last decade or so. If the only payment for this is the paltry price of losing my long built-up tolerance to alcohol, I will gladly accept it.” She gave a very satisfied sounding sigh of relief. “Now do come along, Mr. Arc. I believe we have a performance to view. We’ll be up on the third floor, the Schnee private box of course, some of the finest seats in the house.”

But before they made their way up the staircase of the theatre house, Jaune followed his employer as she headed off towards the large bar situated along the right side of the room. The bar was quite unoccupied, with a lone barman tending to it from behind the counter.

“An order for two bottles of the Lor’ange Chardonnay ‘44, if you would kindly. Schnee Private Box. One at opening, the other after intermission. Chilled, naturally.” Her directions were well practiced it seemed. “And of course, please put everything on the SDC account.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the bartender acknowledged as he began typing in the order on the hard-light screen before him. He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering from the woman standing before him to the order on his screen. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you did say the ‘44, correct? Not perhaps the ‘45?”

“I believe my words were clear, young man,” Willow replied curtly. “Shall I be forced to repeat myself?”

“Um, no, Ma’am,” said the bartender meekly. “It’s just that...that the last time you were accidentally given a ‘44, you upended the entire bottle on the floor and threatened to burn the establishment to the ground if a single drop ever passed your lips.”

Willow put a finger to her chin and seemed to be off in deep thought. “Well, I certainly recall some vague recollection of saying that, as well as a strange carpet cleaning payment the next day. Who knew I could be such a mean drunk!?” She laughed aloud, and the bartender nervously joined her despite his eyes full of fear. “Ah, in any case, the ‘44 please. But if it makes you feel any better, you may advise the server to bring along a fire extinguisher if they so choose.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am,” the bartender continued his nervous replies. “Pl-please enjoy tonight’s performance.”

“Come along, Mr. Arc,” Willow said as she walked by. “I’d hate to miss opening curtain.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Jaune heeled behind her and they made their way up the stairs to the third floor and down a narrow hallway with several doors, each one with a private guard posted outside. Most had an Atlesian Knight stationed outside but a few were either human or Faunus, all were immaculately dressed with weapons resting by their sides. At the very end of the hallway was a door prominently displaying the Schnee family crest. Jaune hurried ahead to open the door for his employer and as she stepped in, closed it behind her and took up his guard position beside it.

He had only just gotten into a comfortable stance when suddenly the door open and Willow stepped back out into the hallway.

“Oh!” Jaune startled alert. “Did you need something?”

“An explanation would suffice,” replied Willow. “Whatever are you doing out here?”

“Umm...” Jaune gestured to row of bodyguards standing watch outside every other door in the hallway. “Guarding your room so you can enjoy the show in peace?”

Jaune was surprised to hear the woman snort derisively and roll her eyes. “I have seen this performance a dozen times, there is not much left to enjoy watching it alone.” She raised an eyebrow at the young Huntsman. “But to be seated beside an operatic virgin, not knowing what waits in store for him over the next several hours? Now that, Mr. Arc, is something I would be delighted to witness.”

“Are...are you sure that’s alright?” Jaune was looking nervously around at all the non-mechanical guards who were now watching him and his employer.

“Well I certainly cannot force you to sit and watch,” Willow huffed. “I shall let you decide. You may stay out here and leave us both to our boredoms, or you may join me so that we may have an equally enjoyable evening together.” And with that she returned to her private room, but not before making it painfully obvious that she left the door wide open.

Jaune looked back to the other guards who were watching him with great interest. “Sorry, everyone,” he shrugged, right before walking through the doorway and shutting the door behind him.

“A wise choice, Mr. Arc,” Willow noted as her bodyguard sat down in the red velvet lined chair beside her own. The orchestra beneath them had begun to tune their instruments as he sat. “Sit back and enjoy yourself, only a few minutes now till curtain raise.” A knock on the door suddenly rang out. “After you get the door of course.”

Jaune leapt off his seat and hurried to the door to open it. Two Faunus servers in crisp white uniforms entered into the room, one with a tray bearing two wine glasses while the other held an ice bucket and stand. Nestled in the ice was a tall dark green bottle, its surface glistening with beads of condensation. The tray bearing faunus wordlessly knelt down at the small table set between the two seats at the front of the balcony and set down the glassware while the other server retrieved the bottle and poured the lightly golden liquid into the glasses to about three-quarters fullness. With a small bow, the two Faunus left the room and allowed Jaune to close the door behind them.

Willow picked up the nearest glasses and raised it towards Jaune as he sat. “To a hopefully defining experience to the world of Opera, Mr. Arc.”

Jaune picked up the remaining glass and lightly touched it with his employer’s. He brought it close but did not drink. Instead, he watched as the mother Schnee took a cautious sip and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Delightful,” she said serenely, taking another sip.

Looking down at his own glass, Jaune took a hesitant sip and was surprised to discover what he tasted.

Willow smiled as she watched the boy take another slow sip. “Looks like you seem to understand, Mr. Arc. It turned out that this particular vintage of Lor’ange had a bit of a fermentation issue during production. It still retains its delightfully fruity bouquet and silky taste with just a hint of vanilla, but there’s hardly any alcohol to speak of.” She looked down at her glass and swirled the remaining liquid slightly. “Which, given my until recent...dependance...meant I did not exactly hold it in my highest regard. I daresay now though that I will be finding myself ordering it more and more. And besides, we can’t very well have you inebriated on the job either, you’d barely be able to enjoy tonight’s performance. And that is something I most definitely desire to have your full attention.”

Jaune set his drink down. “I don’t know what to say, Ma’am. I’m...truly grateful to you for tonight.”

Willow hummed contently and smiled at the young man. “I believe you, Mr. Arc.”

-----------------------------

“I cannot believe you, Mr. Arc.” Willow leaned back in her seat, arms crossed and staring at the young man that sat across from her in the limousine. “It’s been more than half an hour since we left the Opera. How are you still this sensitive?”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Jaune sniffled as he continued to try and stem the flow of tears. “It’s just...it was just so moving!”

Willow gave a heavy sigh. She produced a handkerchief from a nearby console and passed it to her guardian. “I suppose this is what I deserve to subjecting you to that particular play. You’ve never dealt with stories with bittersweet endings before, have you?”

Jaune accepted the small cloth and dabbed his teary eyes. The last 3 hours had certainly been a moving performance for the Huntsman. The Opera set the story of a mother and daughter; the widowed queen and an unruly princess to a poor and fading kingdom. While the queen had arranged for her daughter to be married to the kind and gentle prince of a wealthy neighbouring kingdom, the princess had fallen in love with a local hunter who shared her wild nature. In an attempt to subvert the shackles of fate and her arranged marriage, the princess and the hunter ran off and abandoned the kingdom to live in freedom and happiness. It turned out however that the hunter was in fact a demon disguised as a man, and his ruse was an act of revenge against the princess’ father who had defeated him years ago. The first half of the opera ended with the princess wandering the haunting depths of the underworld; lost, alone, but most of all filled with grief at what she had put her mother through.

The second half of the Opera focused on the mother and queen. She, after discovering that her daughter had run away and was likely kidnapped, used her remaining fortune to send men across the lands to find her, only for all of them to come back with nothing. With her kingdom in ruins and only a single purse of coins to her name, the queen set out to find her daughter herself, hiring a bodyguard along the way. And while her mind was set on finding her missing daughter, the queen found herself slowly falling in love with her protector. One day the man declared to have finally discovered the location of the queen’s missing daughter, but as she took his hand and they hurried into a deep forest, the man revealed himself as the same demon that had stolen the princess, still not satisfied in his revenge against the king. He did not lie however, as the mother and daughter were finally reunited, but trapped forever in the bowels of the underworld, their kingdom eventually fading away to myth. But at least they had each other.

“I’ll...I’ll be alright,” Jaune promised the woman, just as a fresh batch of tears proved his words redundant.

Willow rolled her eyes. “Come now, Weiss was only twelve when she first saw that piece. Her eyes were dry within ten minutes of the final curtain. Was an absolute blubbering mess the first time she performed it, though.”

Jaune sniffed loudly and looked up. “Weiss played the daughter?”

“In an abridged version, yes. Couldn’t very well have a child of thirteen sing her way through three hours of Opera. It was actually her very first public performance. I still have the recording of it I believe.”

The young Huntsman's’ eyes suddenly glittered, and he held his hands over his mouth. “Do you think we can watch it?” he asked hurriedly.

Willow smiled and checked the time on her watch as the vehicle pulled up in front of the golden gates of the Schnee Manor. “Oh, why not?” She grinned at the boy. “In exchange however, I want you to tell me the story of how you managed to find yourself wearing a dress to a dance.”

Jaune considered it a fair trade, and the two retired to the Schnee Manor media room, right after he returned her father’s clothing and went back to wearing the clothes he had arrived in.

As they sat together, Jaune regaled his employer with the story of night of the dance back at Beacon. Willow was positively in tears with laughter, though she promised that that particular story would stay between them. And as they watched a young Weiss sing the part of the daughter, Jaune dangerously on the verge of tears once more, Willow flippantly mentioned that while Weiss seemed to be blessed with an amazing singing voice, Winter was an exceptionally graceful dancer and, prior to her enlistment into the Atlesian military, was well on track to becoming a professional ballet performer. That of course meant Jaune just had to see those recordings of a young Winter’s first dance recital as well. Willow was secretly delighted to relive these moments and quite happily produced them at her guardian’s request.

It was very late into the night when she finally declared their time at an end and bid the young Huntsman a goodnight as she retired to her room while he summoned a ride back to the Academy.

-----------------------------

Jaune made his way down the darkened corridors of the Academy Barracks, hoping to quietly sneak back into his room as to not disturb his teammates. But as he turned a corner, he was suddenly knocked to the ground by a familiar typhoon of red fabric and rose petals.

“Oof! Oh hi, Jaune. Sorry about that. Nice hair by the way.”

“Hi, Ruby,” Jaune smiled at the young Huntress pressing against his chest. “Something the matter?”

“Nothing serious, just-oh crap!” Ruby’s head suddenly whipped around. “Sorry!” she called out as she hastily got up and, using Jaune’s chest plate as a launching pad, blasted off like a flowery torpedo that was her Semblance.

“Ruby!” A voice echoed down the hall. “You get back here right now!”

Jaune could only stare, mouth agape and eyes sparkling, as Yang ran by him. It seems as though the conditioner she’d borrowed had turned her hair into liquid gold, each strand shimmering that even in this low light glittered like a river of starlight.

“Hey, Jaune.” Yang screeched to a stop. “Pretty cool right?” Yang noted, letter her golden locks cascade off her hand with a flick. In her other hand she tightly gripped a hairbrush. “You see which way Ruby went?”

Jaune, still dumbfounded and the majesty he was witnessing before him, could only point down the corridor.

“Thanks.” She gave him a flirty wink before her face hardened again in grim determination. “It’s been hours, Ruby, I’m not going to stop chasing you now! Just give up already and let me brush that hair!”

“Never!” Ruby’s voice echoed down the empty hall.

Yang sighed. “Gotta go. Night, Jaune!” And with that she was off.

Jaune watched as the golden shimmer rounded the corner and left his sight. Broken free from the golden spell, he picked himself up shook his head with a smile. “Sisters.”

Chapter Text

Jaune’s eye snapped open. ‘Oh no’ he thought as a familiar buzzing drone filled the once silent barracks room. Followed by a loud thud that shook the Huntsman in his bunk.

“Ten seconds, Jaune,” came a very angry growl from Nora out between the thickness of her pillow. Her fist was still pressed up against the wall of her bunk. “Or we’re gonna find out if that package can fit in your mouth!”

“I’m on it, I’m on it!” Jaune’s feet hit the cold floor with a soft thud as he leapt out of his bunk cubby and landed in a crouching position. Like a runner crouched before the start of a race, Jaune exploded into a sprint across the small dorm and jammed an open palm into the door button.

An Atlesian Knight stood just before the doorway, large box held in both arms.

“Package for Jaune Ar-” It’s usual delivery message suddenly halted as a hand shot out and gripped its face visor.

“Shut. Up.” Jaune said through gritted teeth. “I’m Jaune Arc. Just make with the sign screen already!”

The delivery android’s face flickered in recognition, lighting up fully to emit a hard-light screen just in front of it. Wiping his finger across the screen in what could barely be called a signature, Jaune took the surprisingly light box out of the Knight’s arms.

“I want his hat!” said Nora through her pillow.

Jaune quickly snatched the headwear from the robot as it saluted. “And I’m keeping the hat!” And with that he pressed the button to close the door. With a flick of his wrist he sent the postman’s cap spinning into Nora’s bunk cubby to land on her head, earning a delighted giggle from the redhead.

“Another large gift from your client, Jaune?” asked Ren, once again in his perfectly serene sleeping posture. “It’s been a few days since you’ve been sent something.”

Jaune thought back to other harsh morning wake ups courtesy of the Atlesian delivery service Knight. The first was the box of skin and hair care products, a few days afterwards he was gifted a handsome pair of black leather shoes specifically measured for his feet, the day after were a set of golden cufflinks with the Arc family crest printed on them, and then today with this new box.

“Well I’m not surprised,” Jaune remarked as he lifted the box lid to reveal the contents.

Almost identical to the one he had worn back when he was escorting Willow to the Opera, lay Jaune’s very own suit. He did notice a few slight differences between Willow’s father’s suit and the one that was set before him though. Its fabric was a slightly darker grey shade while the lapels were a little wider with a shawl style instead of notched, and this one had a pocket in the front were there had previously been none. And as he lifted the jacket out of the box he spied the rest of the contents. Once nestled between the jacket and pants and gracefully the same shade of red as his sash but in a shimmering silk-like fabric, was a proper accompanying cummerbund, pocket square and bowtie. Set beside those was a small metal lapel pin, a simple block of gold stamped with the iconic two downward pointing arcs that made his family crest.

Jaune laid the suit jacket down neatly and plucked the note out of the jacket’s front pocket.

‘Dear Mr. Arc,’ the note began. ‘Please accept this gift as thanks to your ongoing outstanding job performance this last week. I hope this suit is but the starting point of a generous wardrobe of ensembles, and that you have many functions and events to wear them to in the new world you and your fellow Huntsmen and Huntresses are striving to create for us all. I look forward to seeing you at your finest this evening for the annual Schnee Charity Gala Ball at the Altesien Museum and Art Gallery – Willow Schnee.’

Jaune let the top of the note touch his chest as he thought back a few days ago when was first measured and fitted for a suit, nothing but a whim that took his employer during a shopping outing.

“Come now, Mr. Arc,” Willow had told him as he was currently standing while a small stand as a pair of tailors encircled him with measuring tapes. “Every good Huntsman or Huntress should be equipped for any environment, whether it be a battlefield or a ballroom. If Ironwood will not properly outfit you for this assignment, then I have no choice but to see to it myself.”

“Wow!” Nora exclaimed as she looked over Jaune’s shoulder at his new suit, her new hat proudly adorning her head. “Boy, if I knew this mission involved fancy clothes and shoes and jewelry I would have definitely put my hand up for it as well.”

Jaune folded the note back up before Nora could read who wrote it and slipped it under the box. “Yeah, but it was a one-person job so Ren would have been lonely without you on the perimeter.”

Nora rested her chin on Jaune’s shoulder, watching him as he placed the lid back on the box. “Hmm, true. So where are you being whisked away to today, Mr. Bodyguard?”

“A Ball at the art museum tonight it seems,” Jaune replied.

“Oooh, fancy! But it’d probably be a bunch of rich people talking about rich people things I have absolutely no idea about. And even worse. Tiny. Little. Quiches!” Nora suppressed a shudder. “I take it back; no amount of fancy clothes is worth that!”

Jaune laughed and patted the giggling girl on her cheek. “It has...a certain charm to it. And it helps I have a boss who’s really nice.”

“So are you ever going to tell us who you’re bodyguarding?” Nora produced a pair of dark sunglasses seemingly out of nowhere. “Or is it, like, a matter of state secrecy. Fighting assassins and epic car chases and running away as a building explodes behind you!”

“I think we would have heard it on the news if a building exploded, Nora.” Ren chimed in as he slowly rose from his own bunk. “But I admit I am also curious on who you have been assigned to on this mission, Jaune. It is understandable if you must keep confidentiality though.” He nodded his head towards the box as he stretched. “Clearly they are a person of great means. A gift such as that is seldom given lightly.”

Jaune had a small look of concern across his face. “N-no, they never specifically said they wanted to remain unknown, and Yang kinda already knows when she helped me with me hair but that was an accident and-” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Promise you won’t say anything? It’s...Weiss’ mum. She’s who I’ve been bodyguarding this last week.”

Ren barely raised an eyebrow at the revelation while Nora seemed to jump three feet into the air.

“WHAT!?” exclaimed the hammer-wielder.

“I take it you wish for Weiss to remain ignorant of this fact?” asked Ren.

Jaune bowed his head and put his hands together in front of them. “Just for a little while, I promise.”

Nora rested a hand on the young Huntsman’s shoulder, a concerned look across her face. “Jaune, you know, more than anyone here, how much keeping things from your teammates can wind up hurting everyone involved. Are you really sure you want to do this to Weiss?”

Jaune placed his own hand over his friend’s and looked her in the eye. “I know, Nora, and please trust me when I say I will tell her eventually. It’s just...things aren’t exactly the best between Weiss and her mother. But whenever Willow...Weiss’ mum, I mean, and I talk about her, you should see how her face lights up! But then it fades and it’s heartbreaking. I just...don’t want things to be any more strained between them if Weiss finds out how much time I’ve been spending with her mother.” He turned to look at both his teammates. “I will tell Weiss when the time comes. I just don’t think now’s the right time.”

The two stayed silent for what seemed like an eternity to Jaune, but eventually they both gave him a silent nod in affirmation.

“I think I can accept that argument,” Ren acknowledged.

“Me too,” Nora agreed. “But I just have one question for you, Jaune Arc.”

“Yes?” a very nervous Jaune said slowly.

The redhead’s eye glittered. “What are Weiss’ baby pictures like?”

“Oh my gods, so adorable!” Jaune said excitedly. “There’s this one that’s, like imagine a toddler Weiss falling headfirst into a pile of snow and her little legs are just flailing around!”

“Perhaps this is a discussion best to be had over breakfast,” Ren advised his two laughing companions. “I believe they are serving pancakes in the mess today.”

“Pancakes!” Nora exclaimed, rushing out of the door.

“There’s not going to be any syrup left,” Jaune surmised as they headed to the exit of their room. “Is there?”

Ren shook his head. “Very unlikely.”

-----------------------------

The sun was just beginning to set over the continent of Solitas as Jaune stepped off the bullhead and waved the pilot off. As he made his now familiar route into the Schnee household, Dahlia the maid was there once again to greet him at the golden gates and escort him inside.

“Madam Schnee has been in remarkable spirits lately,” Dahlia noted as she and Jaune walked side-by-side through the halls. “She has even renewed her interest in her piano. Whatever it is you have been doing this last week, I hope you continue.”

Juane laughed nervously at the comment. As they drew nearer down the hallway towards his employer’s room, Jaune could hear the faint sweet melody of a piano being played. Willow’s bedroom door was currently open as the notes carried out to fill the hallway.

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” Dahlia called out as she knocked on the open door. The music suddenly came to a halt. “Mr. Arc has arrived.”

“Oh!” Willow turned around on her stool, looking a little flustered. “Thank you, Dahlia. I’m afraid I found myself wrapped up in my playing. You are relieved for the night. Please, have a wonderful evening.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Dahlia bowed and, after exchanging a brief smile with the young Huntsman, made her way down and out the hallway.

“My, just look at you!” Willow exclaimed, standing up from the piano stool and making her way towards Jaune. She cupped her elbow in a critical stance as she beheld her bodyguard. “I’m positively jubilant at the sight of you in your new outfit. You strike quite the stylish figure now, Mr. Arc.”

Jaune laughed and scratched the back of his head, careful not to muss up his carefully combed hairstyle. “Thank you, Ma’am, none of this would have been possible without you being so kind to me.”

Willow smiled. “Think nothing of it.” She startled slightly as she checked her watch. “Oh my, look at the time! I should have started readying myself for the ball ten minutes ago. Please excuse my tardiness, Mr. Arc. If you would be so kind as to wait outside, I will be done as soon as I can.”

Jaune nodded and made his way to leave the room, closing the door behind him and assuming his usual position just outside.

‘Hello, old friend,’ he thought to himself as he beheld the crystal chandelier fixed above him. ‘Are you ready to be counted once again?’

Mercifully, it only took an hour before the hallway door opened and someone made their way towards Jaune.

“Hello again, Mr. Arc,” Whitley Schnee said as he approached.

Jaune perked up from his reverie as the boy made his way closer. “Oh, hey, Whitley. Good to see you again, kid.”

Whitley’s Stepford smile faltered slightly at the overly familiar greeting but was soon back in place. “I don’t believe we have had the opportunity to converse since your very first visit and I thought I would make myself available. How have you found chaperoning my mother this last week?”

Jaune smiled at the boy’s friendly manner. “Oh, it has been fantastic! I was a little nervous at the start but then we’ve basically been all over Atlas and she always has something interesting to say and she’s so generous and kind. You’ve got a really special mum there, kid.”

Whitley ignored the Huntsman’s cognomen for him once again. Instead, his fake, overly friendly expression seemed to become ever more pronounced, yet his eyes narrowed on their target. “Well, I hardly think you’re giving yourself enough credit on your own part, Mr. Arc. You seem to be doing a wonderful job seducing my mother.”

“Well I-wait, what!?” Jaune’s once jubilant countenance suddenly morphed into shock. “What did you say!?”

Whitley’s innocent little smile only widened further. “Oh, perhaps you’re worried about what father would think. I can assure you that your advances wouldn’t bother him in the slightest. She’s given him enough children and provided him a worthy heir. As far as he’s concerned, she's served her purpose.”

“That’s not what I-I mean the whole idea is crazy! I’m not...” Jaune continued to babble on, his mind a jumble to get the right words out.

“Oh, come now, Mr. Arc. I’m not blind. A young, virile man such as yourself, a lonely woman with a husband who ignores her and children who’ve abandoned her. It’s only natural that your professional relationship would...evolve...into something more personal. She wouldn’t mind, you know, and I’m sure she would be ‘delighted’ to be compensated for all the gifts she has provided you.” Whitley’s smile was suddenly akin to a lion bearing its fangs in delight. “Or does that upset you? Do you feel like some sort of cheap tart, Mr. Arc? Knowing that the only way a woman such as her views any sort of pleasure you could provide her as some sort of soulless transaction? That that is the culmination of your worth?”

"I would never think of your mum like that.” Jaune said firmly, but his face was an obvious tell that the boy’s words had affected him deeply. “There is nothing going on between us.”

“No, you’re right. That sad, puppy-dog look on your face tells me I’ve completely misunderstood the situation. You’re not interested in seducing my mother. No no no, you’re not quite the deviant I thought you’d be, you’re far more likely to be panting after one of my useless sisters. Hmm, we could consider Winter, but no, that frigid bitch wouldn’t know what affection was if you pulled down your pants and slapped her in her face with it.”

“Hey!” Jaune barked. “You’re way out of line, kid.”

“My name is not ‘kid’!” Whitley shot back, equally as threatening. “It is Whitley Schnee, heir to the Schnee Dust Company. If you had any sense in that hollow skull of yours, you’d do well to mind your betters, especially when you are a guest in their house!” His usual, smug yet calm demeanor suddenly returned. “Now, with my mother and Winter discarded, that leaves just Weiss. It’s certainly right out of a classic fairytale; the rebellious, ungrateful daughter who abandons her family to run away without a care in the world, perhaps into the arms of a gallant blond knight? Who’ll always be there to shield her from the dangers of Remnant and rescue the poor damsel when she needs him. That was certainly the case back at Mistral Acadamy, was it not?”

Jaune was taken aback. “How do you know that?”

Whitley’s face once more regained its predatory smirk. “Oh, father gets all sorts of interesting documents across his desk, most of which he leaves unencrypted for just anyone who happens across them to review. That also includes a certain Mr. Branwen’s debrief of your time at Mistral Academy. Talk about a dramatic rendition! Unlocking your semblance as my poor dear sister lay there with a hole in her stomach. Why, if she still has yet to offer you another hole to fill after an act of heroism like that, well then, I’m afraid you don’t have a hope in the world with her, Mr. Arc.”

“Enough!” Jaune’s fist closed over the handle of his sword. He would never consider using it. He just needed something to grip to keep his hand from shaking. “You can say whatever you want about me. Insult me, abuse me, get me fired, I don’t care. But don’t you dare talk about my friend in that way. Even if she is your sister.”

Whitley’s smirk subsided. “No...no you’re right. Not that idiotic drivel about Weiss, of course, but about your self-sacrificing nature without expecting anything in return.” His shoulders slumped and he gave a weary sigh. “Turns out my burning curiosity to your true nature has revealed itself to me as the most boring answer imaginable. Things would have been far more interesting if you were the pervert lusting his way through the Schnee female family-line, or even the braindead simpleton I initially pegged you as when I tried to bribe you with that idiotic game.” Whitley stood before Jaune, back straight, hands clasped behind his back. He leaned forward. “But no. And so here you are, as most things in this world, exactly as you appear; just a guileless rube with a savior complex.” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “That’s why you saved Weiss, that’s why you healed mother, and that’s why you’re standing here taking this assault from me with nary a complaint. Gods, if you were even half the abuse-sponge you appear to be before me at this moment, perhaps you could have spared that Nikos woman you called your partner a pointless de-”

The last word of Whitley’s tirade was drowned out by the sound of a weighty slap echoing throughout the hallway. Completely caught off guard, Whitley’s aura had no time to activate and shield him from the open palm of the Huntsman as it made contact with the side of his face and sent him staggering back, almost sending him to his knees by the sheer force alone.

There was no anger visible on Jaune’s face as he kept his arm fully extended out. No, anger would have been far less unsettling compared to the expression he gave the younger male. Nostrils slightly flared, lips pulled together tight, and eyes opened wide with quivering pupils reduced to pinpricks. Those were the terrifying eyes of a man pushed to the very precipice of rational thought. Jaune lowered his arm and took two small steps to stand before Whitley.

“You will never utter her name in front of me again,” he said in a soft but firm voice. It wasn’t a threat; threats can be empty. No, this was a statement that held a promise. And that promise bore a terrible consequence that needed no explanation.

“You...you hit me...” There was a look of deep fear seeping across Whitley’s face as he beheld the man standing over him. But as the boy lightly touched his cheek and winced at the stinging pain that sparked upon contact, that fearful look was overridden by his well instill arrogance and anger. He stood back up to full height, still cradling his cheek. “You hit me! I will make you pay, you brainless dolt! I’ll have you disavowed as a Huntsman for this! Kicked out! Disgraced! Sent off to die a frozen death at some far off Atlesian outpost in the furthest northern tundra! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO MY FATHER IS!?”

“That is quite enough!” A new voice rang out to join the cacophony as Willow’s door flew open and the matron of the Schnee household, currently barefoot and dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe, stepped out into the hallway.

The two males startled, Jaune’s face returning to some semblance of normality while Whitley’s held a look of shock.

“Whitley, I could hear you screaming all the way from my bathroom. What is going on out here?”

For just a fraction of a second, Whitley turned to Jaune and flashed a cruel smile before retuning to a look of pain as he dramatically held his reddening cheek. He faked a wince as he pulled his hand away to show the mark to his mother. “It was your brute of a bodyguard you hired, he hit me! And for no good reason!”

“Let me see.” Willow leaned down slightly to inspect her son’s cheek. He faked another wince as she softly ran the back of her fingers across the warm flesh. Her hand retreated and wrapped around Whitley’s shoulder as she turned to face the worried-looking Huntsman. “Is what he said true, Mr. Arc? Did you strike my child?”

Jaune held his hands up defensively. “I mean...yes, but-but I didn’t mean...” He suddenly paused, taking in a deep breath, before looking at his employer with sad eyes. “I did, Ma’am. My emotions got the better of me and I lashed out.”

Her eyes were fixed in a steely glare at the nervous young man. “And are you sorry you did it? Do you promise to be more in control in the future?”

“Of course I am!” Jaune exclaimed. “And of course I will!”

Her grim expression softened and she sighed with a smile. “Well then, I suppose that’s all there is to it. You have his apology and his word, Whitley. Two things that every Huntsman holds in high regard and never gives lightly.”

This time it was Whitley’s face that held a look of shock. “What? No! He struck me! I don’t accept his apology or his promise!”

“Oh, come now.” Willow held him by his chin and turned his head. “Your aura has already healed the mark, you’re no worse for wear than before you encountered Mr. Arc.”

“That is not the point!” Whitley screamed as he stamped his foot. “He assaulted the heir to the Schnee Dust Company, his better! I demand a fitting punishment to his indiscretions.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “I suppose you are correct. He has insulted you and your family, and you are clearly due your recompense. I doubt you have any objections, Mr. Arc?”

“What? I mean-I don’t...what?” Jaune blathered out.

Willow’s eyes glittered. “We’ll just take that as a yes. So, Whitley, what is it you see as a fitting punishment? I believe I managed to hear some mention of an icy death out in the frozen tundra, hmm?”

Whitley gave the terrified Huntsman and cruel smirk. “Why yes, I believe I did. Seems only reasonable in my eyes.”

“I agree,” Willow said simply. She stepped towards Jaune and gave him a cool, considering look as she held her elbow in her cupped hand. “But you are a busy heir, Whitley, and I shan't deny you your satisfaction when a more expedient solution avails itself to us. We’ll simply take his head.”

“What?!” Both Jaune and Whitley exclaimed in unison.

Willow simply shrugged. “It seems the best course of action, quick and to the point. Now then, your sword please, Mr.Arc.”

At first Jaune was about to argue, or bid a hasty retreat, but something about that mischievous smile on his employer's face made him hesitate. She winked at him. She winked? That was definitely something he would never have expected her to do. “H-here,” he said softly, slowly drawing Crocea Mors and presenting the blade to Willow in both hands.

“My, what an exquisite blade,” Willow remarked as she beheld the unsheathed weapon in one hand. She turned and walked away, making towards a nearby stone bust of some long-dead figure. With a smooth, flowing motion of her entire body, Willow lashed out with the sword and brought it down upon the bust. It bisected the stonework with ease, the top half sliding down the perfectly smooth incline the sword had cleaved through the art piece. “It seems Yellow Death does indeed live up to its expectations. This is a fine sword, Mr. Arc, and rest assured it will be returned to your family after tonight.”

Jaune remained silent, still very unsure and very nervous on what the clearly in-control woman had in store for him.

“Kneel down please. Oh, and don’t worry about the ruining the rug, I’ve been meaning to have it replaced and this seems like the perfect time to do so.”

Silently, without question or remark, Jaune slowly sunk to his knees and locked his arms down on them. He bent forward slightly, his neck prominently displayed.

“Excellent,” Willow remarked, Jaune’s sword firmly gripped in her hand. “Oh, whatever am I doing?” She turned to face her son and presented him the sword. “Here you are, Whitley. Do try and avoid making too much of a mess, won’t you?”

This time it was Whitley’s turn to exclaim “What!?” He looked up at the perfectly serene looking woman. “B-but, you can’t possible expect me to-”

“Of course I do,” Willow snapped. “I certainly have no right to do it, I’m not the one he has offended. You were quite confident in sending Mr. Arc off to die in the frozen north, don't tell me you’ve suddenly grown squeamish at a little beheading.” She stepped closer. “Your grandfather had his fair share of traitors and thieves to deal with during his expeditions. He never balked at his duty to see that justice was done. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, Whitley. Or are you saying that you do not want to be the type of man your grandfather was?”

Whitley’s eyes went from fearful to defiant. “Give me the sword,” he sneered.

Reaching out, Whitley gripped the handle with both hands, but as Willow allowed the sword to leave her support, the tip of the blade fell and sunk into the hard floor below. Hunched over, Whitley struggled to raise the sword off the ground. Each time he tried, the tip managed to hang only a few centimeters in the air, shaking terribly, before dropping back down.

“Can you feel it, Whitley?” Willow asked, watching her son struggle with the sword. “That is not the weight of the sword you struggle against, that is weight of all the souls taken, and those saved, by the men who have carried that weapon. Of every dark blight of a monster slain. Mr. Arc, how many Grimm have you destroyed with this weapon?”

Jaune looked up. “I-I’m not sure.”

“Mr Arc,” Willow repeated firmly. Her bare foot stamped the ground with a dull thump. “I asked you a question.”

Jaune swallowed. “Fi-fifty-eight, Ma’am.”

“Fifty-eight,” the woman repeated softly before turning her hardened expression back to her son. “That is fifty-eight of those creatures not wandering out there, slaying travelers, murdering innocents. Fifty-eight existences this man has ended by his own hands, at the salvation of probably many, many more. I’ve seen both Winter and Weiss bear this weight with their own blades. Truly they have inherited their grandfather’s strength and resilience, and I am hoping to see you bear it the same.” She knelt down to bring her face level with Whitley’s. She didn’t scold him, didn’t deride him, she just watched him as he struggled.

Sweat had begun to bead across the boy’s grimacing face as he continued to try and lift the sword. Jaw clenched, teeth grinding, aura flashing wildly as he tried to augment his strength with it. Nothing he was doing could get the sword to go any higher than a few centimeters. Finally, the aura across his body flared and dissipated, it was gone.

The sword handle hit the hard surface of the floor with a clatter, leaving an exhausted Whitley to hang his arms limply by his side. He turned to his mother, rage and frustration clearly visible across his countenance. Willow’s perfectly calm demeanor did not ever flicker.

“Please return to your room, Whitley,” she said softly. “I would like you to spend the rest of the night reflecting upon your choices and actions here.”

Whitley glared at his mother for a few moments, his chest heaving at exertion. He turned his glare towards Jaune, meeting the other male in the eye, before snorting derisively at him and stomping off down the hallway. Not a word was said as Whitley threw open the door and slammed in loudly behind him.

Only then, when silence returned to the hallway, did Willow breathe a sigh of relief. “I do hope you can forgive me for that little charade, Mr. Arc.” She gestured for him to rise as she collected his sword from the floor. She made her way over to the now standing Huntsman and presented his sword to him. “I can assure you that you were never in any danger.”

“Of-of course,” Jaune said hesitantly.

As he moved to take his sword however, the blade seemed to be determined to slip out of his grasp and plummet to the ground below. He had to put in a little effort to keep it aloft. He looked to his employer, who smiled at him and gestured to the sword’s pommel. Jaune turned Crocea Mors to get a better view. There, rotating slowly, was a little glyph of jet-black.

“A simple gravity glyph,” Willow explained, dismissing her semblance and allowing the Huntsman full control of his weapon once more. “We’ll just keep that a little secret between us, shall we, Mr. Arc?”

“Ye-yes, of course, Ma’am.” Jaune returned the sword to its rightful place in its sheath. “Ma’am, how do you know so much about my sword? I’ve never said anything about it.”

Willow looked a little sad at the question. “I guess-I suppose you could say I was somewhat of a history buff in a former life.” She broke the tension with a clap of her hands. “Now then, I must return to readying myself for the ball, and then we can make our way off.”

“Of course.” Jaune moved to stand by her bedroom door, holding it open for her and closing it as she entered.

Thankfully it was not too much longer that she emerged fully equipped for tonight’s outing. A shimmering black dress much like the one she wore at the Opera, but with her hair fully down and an expertly coifed bang draped over her left eye. “Well, Mr. Arc, how do I look?”

Jaune beheld the absolutely gorgeous woman in wonder. “You look very-” he hesitated as Whitley’s mocking words repeating in his mind.

“You seem to be doing a wonderful job seducing my mother.”

“-Lovely tonight, Ma’am,” he finished.

Willow huffed at the comment, clearly disappointed. “Well I was hoping for a little more than just ‘lovely’ from you but thank you. Now, let us be off.”

-----------------------------

The atmosphere in the limousine seemed rather dour as the two were driven to the museum, a good forty minutes away.

“Oh, I recognize that forlorn look of yours, Mr. Arc.” Willow said, finally breaking the tension between them. Despite her no longer having much of a desire to drink anymore, Willow did miss the dramatic effect swirling a glass of spirits in her hand had during her conversations. “What dilemma weighs upon your soul?”

Jaune smiled at the woman. She was simply far too keen for him to get anything past her. “Just...thinking about what Whitley said to me before. I felt like I was a frog being dissected and studied.” He suppressed a shudder. “The way he talked about me, trying to figure out the reason why I do this job. It was like it was a game for him.” He looked the mother of said child in the eye. He didn’t need to say it, but the experience had clearly shaken him.

Willow sighed. She missed the comforting oblivion of intoxication in this moment. She supposed this was the same feeling that drove her to crawl down into the bottom of a bottle in the first place. “That, Mr. Arc, is purely his father’s influence. Would you be shocked if I told you that he has never laid a hand upon Whitley?”

Jaune looked closer at the woman, a deep concern etched across his features. “Ma’am?”

“The girls were a different story, of course. He has no qualms about striking them when he thought they were out of line.” Her hand instinctively brushed her bang to further cover her left eye. There was nothing to hide of course, but the phantom pain remained. “But as for Whitley? No, no there was never a need for physical violence. ‘You don’t bend a man to your will by breaking down his body,’ he would say, ‘Men have been beating each other bloody since the dawn of civilization, you’re more likely to make a friend or an enemy. Both equally as useless to control.’” She wanted to spit, to get the bile those words produced out of her mouth. “I much prefer my father’s approach. ‘Just let two men knock each other around for a few hours and they’ll come to an understanding, usually a good one like who’s buying the first round.’” Now those words were much sweeter to speak, Willow surmised with a laugh. “But please, Mr. Arc, do not judge my son too harshly on his actions towards you, that is the result of the poison his father has instilled into him, and that his mother was simply too weak to prevent.”

Jaune wanted to comfort the woman, to tell her that she was a wonderful mother and that she should be proud of the strong, fearless daughters she had raised. He hesitated as the words caught in his throat. He feared his assurance would come across as empty platitudes.

‘Good going, Jaune,’ he mentally chided himself. ‘She was just trying to help and you went and made things worse!’

It was a quiet, somber ride the rest of the way, and as the limousine pulled to a gentle stop, the sad look upon Willow’s features suddenly morphed into a happy expression. “Well, no need to bring this sour mood with us, Mr. Arc. It’s a party, let’s enjoy it!”

Jaune was surprised at the sudden shift in mood from his employer, but he quickly caught on to the charade. He returned her smile with one of his own as he exited the vehicle and made his away around to open her door. “Of course, Ma’am. After you.”

What followed over the next two hours was a familiar experience to the week-old bodyguard. Set at a respectable distance behind his employer, Jaune tailed her as she made her way around the perimeter of the spacious dance floor where the Atlas elite were currently socializing. The dance floor itself remained completely devoid of persons, though a string band in one corner softly played. Jaune did his best to play Willow’s handsome showpiece, she was eager to display him to those he had previously met, but now draped in finery all his own; no borrowed clothing or accessories from her since-passed father. Jaune genuinely enjoyed the moments between the social pleasantries, where it was just the two of them and they could share a joke or spot some silly fashion faux pas. Willow was quick to remind the young Huntsman that she had spied quite a few young men sporting outfits and hairstyles not unlike his own. An observation she simply delighted in while he was a blushing mess at the thought.

It wasn’t until almost all parties had been interacted with that Jaune spotted a familiar face.

“Good evening, Ma’am,” Clover Ebi bowed formally to the Schnee matron. “You’re looking simply divine tonight. That dress is an absolute knock-out, if I dare say.”

Willow beamed at the man dressed in his usual military attire. His sleeveless tunic seemingly going unnoticed or uncaring to the socialites around him. “Why, thank you, Mr. Ebi. Always a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I suppose you would like to borrow my handsome bodyguard for a while, seeing how you’ve hardly had a chance to interact while on the job.”

“At your discretion of course, Ma’am,” Clover replied. Jaune had to admit that the man seemed quite comfortable at such a fancy event despite his military occupation. “Only for a few moments. I believe your husband has requested you for a few photo-ops. You can find him by the western wall, near the sculptures.”

Willow sighed, a sad look flickering across her features as she turned towards the west side of the room. “A wife’s duty is never done, I suppose.” She turned back to Jaune with a smile on her face. “I shall expect you back at my side in fifteen minutes, Mr. Arc. I’ll hold you to that too, Mr. Ebi.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Clover nodded as Jaune followed suit. And as she departed, Clover turned back towards his mission partner. “So, how’ve you been, kid? You holding up alright in all this high-society stuff?”

Jaune took a breath. “Honestly, it’s not as terrible as I thought it would be. I mean, it’s a bit boring at times, and half the places we go I have no idea what I’m even doing there, but Willow definitely is considerate and always happy to talk to me. If she wasn’t my employer I’d say it’s almost like hanging out with a friend.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, kid.” Clover’s eyes were trained over at the West side of the room. “The good Mrs. Schnee has always been known for avoiding functions like these for as long as I can remember, and when she does she’s usually in some far-off corner giving the bartenders a good work out.” He turned back to Jaune, a serious look on his face. “But you’ve been at this for just a week and so far she’s been out every day and barely even touches the booze anymore. So, I have to ask you, Jaune, is this something you’ve done?”

Jaune felt a bolt of fear course down his spine. Was Clover...mad at him? Was what he did somehow a violation of the mission parameters? “I...I didn’t mean to, I swear. Some lady made fun of her semblance and so she showed me and it wasn’t working so I thought I could use mine to help her out and suddenly she could and-”

“Woah woah woah, kid, slow down.” Clover patted the babbling Jaune on the shoulders. “Rewind a little. You used your semblance to boost her aura and stabilize her semblance?”

Jaune took a deep breath and nodded. “She said it also fixed the problems she was having with her own aura as well, but at the cost of her tolerance to alcohol.”

“And that’s it? You’ve done nothing else?”

Jaune blinked. “N-nothing I can think of, no. Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh thank the gods,” Clover breathed a massive sigh of relief. It was so loud it even caught the attention of a few passing socialites. “Oh man, you have no idea how relieved I am to here that, kid.”

Jaune might not be the fastest to pick up on things, but he could definitely see where this line of conversation was heading. “Clover, what did you think I was doing?”

“Well...” The ace-ops leader smiled nervously as he scratched the side of his face. “I mean, you are a man...spending a lot of alone time with a woman...”

“Oh, come on!” Jaune shouted, drawing more than a few looks from those within earshot. He gave a small grumble at all the attention and motioned Clover over to a less populated section of the ballroom. “With all due respect, sir, what in the pit do you take me for? I’m just trying to do my job here!”

“Easy, easy, kid.” Clover raised his hands in defense. “I can only go off on what my reports tell me, okay? Personally, I think what you did for her was great, but optics-wise it can come off as a little sketchy. You’re new to this kind of world, both in terms of Atlas and this high-society stuff. These people are bored and a juicy rumor like that can spread like wildfire. I just had to be sure, alright?”

Jaune closed his eyes, took in a massive inhale of air through his nose, and released a mighty sigh. “I-I know. I’m sorry, Clover, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. And I never thanked you, by-the-way, for standing up to me on that first day.” He looked the older man in the eyes. “You’re the only reason I’m standing here right now. I don’t know how I’d even begin to repay you.”

A bright red blushed creep over the team leader’s face. He laughed and punched the younger Huntsman lightly on the arm. “Aww, kid, anyone ever tell you you have this heart-melting charm to you? You got me all sentimental over here!”

Jaune shared a small laugh with the older man. “How about you, sir? How has your week been with the head of the Schnee Dust Company?”

“Ugggghhhh,” came the weary groan from the Ace-Ops leader. “You sure you don’t have some sort of fun stealing semblance too, kid? Cause no amount of good luck has prevented this week from suuuuuuucking!”

“That bad, huh?” Jaune could only shrug. “Well, I’d happily offer to switch with you, but I’m pretty sure I’m still just some brat with ridiculous hair to him.”

“One more word out of you and I’ll put you on KP duty for a week, Mr. Arc,” Clover said playfully. “Alright, time to get back out there I suppose. Let’s go see how our employers are getting on.”

And with that, the two Huntsmen made their way across the ballroom floor and towards the western wing. A multitude of couples stood around one another in a tight group as a staccato burst of lights went off all around them from the multiple photographers taking pictures. Jaune and Clover watched from behind the paparazzi, focused on the center of the group where Willow and Jacques Schnee were located, both wearing incredibly fake masks of a happy, loving couple surrounded by friends. Willow’s façade was the first to fade, and she slowly made to move away.

“Not just yet, dear,” said Jacques, gripping his wife tightly by the arm and roughly pulling her back into place. “Just a few more photos.” Willow looked down sadly for half a second before slipping that mask on once again.

A flash of anger shot through Jaune, and he suddenly was very aware of his fist tightly gripping Crocea Mors’ handle. Luckily thought the crowd of photographers began to dissipate and the group of socialites began to disperse. Jaune unclenched his had from sword and rushed up to return to his employer’s side while Clover slowly made his way over to do the same.

“Ah, it seems that you’ve done a remarkable job with this whelp, Willow,” Jacques noted. “His hair is not nearly as ridiculous as it was when we first met. You’ve even got him keeping up with the latest fashion trends. Smart.”

Jaune glared at the man, his jaw set tightly in fear of what he would say if he relaxed it even a little.

“The proper response, boy, is to thank your betters when they give you a compliment. Or did all that grooming take up the speech center in your head?”

“Excuse me, sir,” Clover suddenly cut in, much to Jaune’s relief. “You have drinks with the CEO of Atlas Ironworks in two minutes.”

“Right, right,” Jacques waved the man off, his eyes never breaking from the defiant look he was receiving from the young Huntsman. “Well, must be off. Do take care tonight, dear. I’m sure your protector here will keep you safe. I can’t say the same for the bar staff however.” And with one last smirk of superiority, Jacques turned away and headed off, Clover trailing reluctantly behind him.

Jaune continued to glared at the man, even as he disappeared from sight.

“Mr. Arc?” Willow said softly.

And like that, Jaune’s outrage vanished, replaced quickly with an equal amount of concern. “Ma’am did he hurt you? Please, let me see your arm, I can-”

“I’m quite fine, Mr. Arc,” Willow said, a slight chuckle in her voice. Jaune could see the slightest shimmer of her aura and the red prints of her husband’s finger faded away. “All thanks to you, of course. My, I have missed that healing ability. I will save a fortune on makeup!”

“Ma’am, I-I'm sorry, I never should have left your side. I should have-”

“That is quite enough of that, Mr. Arc,” said Willow firmly. She gave a mighty huffed and started to walk off, barely letting Jaune catch up to take his proper place behind her. “Now come with me, I suddenly find myself in no capacity to socialize. What I need right now is a mental palette cleanser. And luckily for us, we find ourselves in the one building that has just what I desire.”

They crossed the room in its entirety, making their way towards the eastern wall of the ballroom.

“A pity no one is dancing tonight,” Willow noted as they walked. “We haven’t had a proper dancing party in ever so long. Well, not one that I’ve attended recently anyway.”

“Oh!” Jaune looked at the empty dance floor and the band softly playing. “Would you like to dance, Ma’am?”

Willow suddenly stopped and turned. “What? Oh you sweet boy, you!” She gave a hearty laugh and patted Jaune on the chest. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Arc, truly. But I’m afraid in this instance your generosity just might outweigh your ability. An Atlesian dancefloor is as dangerous as the bowels of the underworld themselves sometimes. Now come along.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” Jaune smiled to himself and followed behind her with nary a complaint.

He was a little concerned, however, as he found himself marching straight towards a set of heavy double doors, currently closed and locked tight. He was just about to say something to his employer when suddenly she produced her Scroll and with a few taps, the doors in front of them suddenly unlocked with a weighty thunk of the locking mechanism and swung wide open.

“You see, Mr. Arc,” the Schnee Matron began as she continued to tap across her Scroll, even as they descended into the darkness of the hallway beyond the doors. The doors behind them closed and suddenly the room became bright as all the lights switched on. “Before I was the good Mrs. Schnee, wife and mother of three, I was Willow the Art Director, and thanks to my family’s many contributions over the years, I pretty much had run of this entire establishment. I still do, in some regards.”

Jaune could only remark in silent wonder as they made their way throughout the deserted galleries. Willow herself seemed to come alive even more, now back in her element of echoing halls, large portraits and silent sculptures. Willow and Jaune suddenly came to a halt before a darkened section of wall.

“This is what I’ve been dying to show you all night, Mr. Arc: My favourite piece in all the museum.” With a flourish of her Scroll, the small spotlights on the floor flared to life, revealing a landscape painting of remarkable size.

Jaune stood silent, mouth agape as he beheld the enormous painting set on the wall before him. It was a stunning rendition of a rolling field of marigold flowers under a clear blue sky. Two figures were set in the field, a woman with dark black hair wearing a long green dress, and a small child close by with equally dark hair and in bright white play clothing.

“The oldest, and rarest piece in this entire establishment: Gustav Grigio’s ‘Mother in Marigolds’. Gustav of course belonging to the rare club of known painters from Vacuo, travelling half the world to apprentice under the great Mistralian artist, Caang Baoshi. Of course their styles are completely different but you definitely see hints of Baoshi’s influence in the subtle swirls of each-”

Willow’s words faded softly into oblivion as Jaune continued to stare at the painting in front of him. In Jaune’s mind, the world had ceased to exist, there was only him and this painting.

Jaune suddenly felt the soft, summer breeze blow against his skin, carrying the scent of flowers around him. He continued to stare at the image, and the carpet of painted marigolds suddenly began to sway as the wind blew by. He could hear the breeze whistling by his ears now, carrying the faint but unmistakable laugh of a joyous child.

Jaune focused on the boy in the painting. No longer black of hair but a shining yellow, his white play clothes exchanged with blue shorts and a black shirt. The boy ran back and forth across the painting, arms outstretched as the flowers parted before his legs. The boy’s continuous laughter was soon joined in by another, more mature and far more feminine laugh. Jaune’s eyes whipped across to behold the woman, her figure now morphed from a dark hair and long-sleeved green dress, to shimmering golden locks and a light blue, sleeveless sundress. The boy in the painting ran to the woman, stopping before her and extending out his little arms.

“Oh my, what is this?” Jaune heard the woman say, her voice sending every nerve across Jaune’s entire body flaring with electricity. She gasped. “Why, what a beautiful crown of flowers. Did you make this for me?”

The boy nodded his head, pushing his hands closer to the woman and the wreath of flower held within his grasp. The woman gently took the wreath and placed the crown upon her head. “I think I look like a queen now, don’t I?” She asked the boy, and received a bashful nod in return. “I’m glad you think so too. But oh my! If I am a queen, then wherever is my gallant knight to protect me? Could it be...you!?” She suddenly scooped the boy up under his arms, spinning him around three times, before they both came crashing down in a giggling pile on a bed of Marigolds. The woman sat up, the boy now seated in her lap, and she closed her arms in around him.

“My little, shining knight,” said the woman softly, holding the boy close.

“I love you, my Jaune.”

“-kept hidden during the great war in an underground bunker, but with nary a hint of damage, and only to the original frame,” Willow continued to explain the painting’s history. “Thankfully it was restored to its-Mr. Arc?”

Willow paused from her story and gasped as she looked over at the young man beside her. Twin trails of tears were streaming down his cheeks as his face was held in a fierce and painful grimace. His jaw was clenched so hard it was shaking, sending his teeth grinding against one another as a pained, choking sound emanated from his throat in short bursts. His nostrils were flared wide and his chest was rising and falling in rapid succession.

“Jaune!” Willow exclaimed, grasping the young man by his arms. She could feel every muscle in them tensed close to breaking point, like rods of iron beneath his sleeves. His fists were clenching so hard she could almost hear the tendons within creaking at the strain. “Tell me what is wrong.”

Jaune’s flickering pupils suddenly focused down on the woman, still shaking but not quite as much. “I-I’m-can’t.” He managed to say through gritted teeth. He lowered his head, ashamed at what she saw him as. “It’s not...stupid to...I shouldn’t be... can’t feel this way...No right...”

Jaune felt like he had plunged into an inferno. Every nerve across his body was lit up and blaring with a white-hot heat. He had gone this long repressing his feelings, keeping them locked away in some dark corner of his heart. All his sadness, his grief, his impotent frustration, his aching loneliness, all of it now spewing forth, no longer able to be contained, all because of a memory of his mother brought on by that damn painting!

He was drowning, his vision was now the merest pinpricks of light, all he could feel was the burning heat of his emotions swallowing him whole.

A sudden coolness over his rapidly thumping heart, a tender softness holding firm against the tensed slab of pectoral muscle. His sense of smell returning, no longer the scent of marigolds, but of a soothing lavender and spice. His vision returning, not a field of yellow and orange, or gold glistening in the sunlight, but of shimmering white and silver. A voice, not his mother’s, but still as soft and as gentle, able to pierce through the blood pounding in his ears, made quieter now as his heartbeat began to slow just a little.

“What a powerful thundering force I can feel in my hand,” said the voice. “And here I was worried I had one of those heartless machines for a bodyguard. Instead, I have a silly boy playing pretend as one. But try as he might, to wall it off, to keep it buried deep inside, he simply can’t keep this heart from beating.”

Jaune gasped as he felt Willow’s other hand reach up and cradle the side of his cheek. His face relaxed, but that only caused more tears to flow.

“It’s a remarkable heart,” the woman continued. “A heart that beats this strong must indeed carry a great weight. Of loss, of longing, pain and grief indeed. But the heaviest of all is love, and the heart I can feel has so much love in it. Sometimes however, even love can be more than we can bare.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaune whispered. He was too sore, too fearful to move. “I know I shouldn’t be like this. It’s not appropriate to-”

“Hush,” Willow whispered softly. She lowered her hand from his face, and in a few seconds all the lights in the room cut out, leaving the two in total darkness. “Just this once, and just in this room, we can stop being who we are out there. Now tell me, Jaune, what has your heart hurting so?”

Willow gave a soft gasp as she suddenly felt Jaune’s arm tightly encircle her. Those iron-like appendages from before quivered with the merest fraction of strength they once contained only moments ago. She could tell the strain had exhausted him, even as he now clung to her.

“I’m...alone,” Jaune finally admitted, drawing in a ragged breath as he did so. “And I’m scared. My dad, most of my sisters, my...my mum. After Beacon, they don’t know if I’m alive or dead, I don’t know if they’re alive or dead. And I...I just...I lost...control back there.” He shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

Willow leaned into his embrace slightly. Jaune rested his head in the crook of her neck, warm tears cascading down her shoulder onto her dress. “You’ve been holding onto all of this pain since Beacon?” Willow asked. “All this time, and it almost nearly consumed you entirely. I know I am the last person in the world to give this advice, but you simply must let the pain out every now and then. A wounded heart cannot heal when the poison still remains.”

“I try,” Jaune’s embrace only grew tighter as the tears continued to flow. “With Pyrrha, with vengeance, I’ve been trying so hard to keep a level head and think about the big picture.”

Willow gave a soft laugh. “The big picture? Oh, my dear boy. You’re clever, but I don’t think you’re cut out for the big picture.” She managed to wiggle her hands to rest across his chest. “No, with a heart like this, you need to stop looking at the big picture and narrow your view to who you want to protect. You have a reliable group of friends, Wiess has informed me as much. Let the ones who are capable think about the big picture, you need to focus on them and protect them as they do their work. That is who I believe you are, Jaune. You are their knight.”

That moniker sent Jaune’s soul igniting. “Thank you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“You’re very welcome.” She gave his chest a small pat. “Now, what would you like to do? You can continue to hold me, if you need to, or we can leave this dismal party and go somewhere quiet for a cup of coffee and some sort of delicious pasty.”

Jaune couldn’t help but laugh. “I could really use a coffee.”

“Me too,” Willow said softly.

-----------------------------  

The mess hall of Atlas Academy, large enough to seat easily over two hundred students, Huntsmen and Huntresses, as well as any other additional military personnel, was most days empty at three in the morning. Save for a single occupant now seated along a dimly lit row of tables, his rumpled suit jacket splayed across the table and his usually well styled blond hair a bit of a mess.  

“Should have gotten the decaf back there,” Jaune sighed to himself as he gazed forlornly into his tea, giving it  an  occasional stir with the little plastic spoon that rested inside the paper cup. Willow was true to her word though, as Jaune experienced the best cup of coffee he had ever had in his life!  

The establishment the Schnee matron had taken him to  was  a little hole-in-the-wall café only a few streets down from the museum, not much of a view but perfect for a university-aged Willow Schnee as she spent many sleepless nights working on her art history dissertation.   

After his rather...dramatic...incident at the museum, their professional roles were somewhat reversed as Willow spent the next few hours with Jaune tending to his emotionally fragile state. Whatever motherly instincts the woman had suppressed with over a decade of alcohol dependence seemed to come roaring back in that little coffee house; perhaps a familiar setting from happier times in her life bringing back another side the woman had once thought lost forever.  

By the time they decided to call their night complete and Jaune had escorted his client back to her abode, Jaune was on his way to feeling like his old self. And after three cups of coffee, much more caffeinated.  

Jaune looked up as he heard the ‘whoosh’ of the mechanical doors and motion-activated lights of the mess hall lit up.  

“Salutations, Jaune.”  

Jaune smiled as he beheld the proclaimed protector of Mantle. She passed by him as she made her way towards the beverage dispensers. “Good evening, Penny. Oh, or I guess I should be saying good morning instead.”  

Penny smiled as she pressed a button on an unfamiliar machine. Jaune had never seen anyone ever use that dispenser before. “Morning is technically more chronologically accurate, but I have found people more often associate morning with the rising of the sun. I admit I have spent several hours pondering such idiosyncratic conundrums.”  

Jaune gave a little laugh. “I guess I’ll say good evening and good morning just to cover all my bases then. So...what brings you to the mess? Do you...I’m sorry it’s probably rude to ask if you eat or drink.”  

“Not at all.” A  neon-green  can dropped down from the strange machine and Penny collected it before making her way towards the young Huntsman. She sat down next to him and inserted a metal straw into the can’s opening. “My internal energy cells require fresh electrolyte solution every sixteen hours to maintain optimum charge.” She took a small sip from the can. “My father insisted on having the solution dispenser installed here so that I may practice ‘Sharing a meal with my friends and collogues’ as he put it. I admit that I find these interactions most enjoyable, as I am currently enjoying this one as well, Jaune.”  

A small smile spread across Jaune’s lips as a little more warmth blossomed internally. “Well the feeling is certainly shared, Penny. I know we haven’t spent much time together, but your company is certainly appreciated right now.”  

“Oh?” Penny turned towards Jaune, equal parts concern and scientific inquiry across her countenance. “Are you currently experiencing personal hardship or misfortune? Restlessness is often a symptom of anxiety; do you require a medical professional?”  

“N-no, nothing like that,” Jaune assured the girl. “Just...just a bit of difficult day at work today, combined with far too many coffees.” He looked down at his own beverage as Penny continued to imbibe of her own. Several moments passed before Jaune spoke again. “Say, Penny...What do you know about art?”  

“Art?” Penny looked up Jaune and placed her drink down. “I have several encyclopedias in my databases on the subject. My father has also taken me to the  Atlesian  museum and art gallery several times. I enjoyed my time with him there very much!”  

Jaune turned towards the girl with a look of sad desperation. “What do you know about a painting called ‘Mother in Marigolds?’”  

“Hmm,” Penny hummed as she looked up in thought. Jaune could only assume she was busy accessing her database. “Here we go. Mother in Marigolds: Landscape painting depicting a mother and son in a field of Marigold flowers. Artist: Gustav Grigio. Origin: Pre-Great War Vacuo. Current location:  Atlesian  museum and art gallery. Monetary status: Priceless.”  

Jaune gave a little hum of disappointment. “That’s all there is on the painting? Not where the field in the painting was?”  

Penny shook her head. “That information does not exist. I’m sorry, Jaune. I wish I could provide more information.”  

Jaune gave a little forlorn smile as he looked down and stirred his tea. “It’s alright, Penny. I certainly can’t expect you to have answers on something so incredibly obscure. Thank you, I appreciate your help.”  

Penny certainly didn’t feel like she helped. “Jaune...would you allow me to try something? I cannot guarantee any results however.”  

“Um...sure. What did you have in mind?”  

Penny’s eyes suddenly flashed with green light as her pupils darted up and down and side to side as she attempted her internal computations. “I’m attempting to extrapolate the information in the painting by rendering it into a three-dimensional map and laying it over the known topography of Remnant at the time of production, allowing for tolerances in artistic licensing. I’m also comparing historical records of floral concentrations and farming reports to narrow down my search. Just a few more seconds...there!” Penny was practically beaming at Jaune as her eyes focused down on him. “Oof! I thought I would burn out a processor or two for a moment there but based on what I was able to collect, there does exist a place where all data correlates together into a central point.”  

Jaune swallowed the lump in his throat. “And where is that?”  

“The information says at the time it was a flower farm for fabric dyes. Marigolds were often used pre-great war as the primary source of yellow and orange dyes.”  

“Does...does the farm still exist?”  

Penny shook her head. “Records indicate it was destroyed during the great art purge. The land however was reconstituted and is now a national park. Name:  Hanakiiro  National Park. Location: Southwest Anima.”  

Great big tears of relief welled in Jaune’s eyes. “I knew it,” he said, wiping them away with the cuff of his shirt. “I knew she had taken me there.”  

“Taken you whe-” Penny was cut off as Jaune suddenly dived towards her and brought her in for an embrace.  

“Thank you,” he whispered.  

“Aww,” Penny exclaimed softly. She reached for her can with a free arm and took a sip. “Hugs are nice.”