Chapter Text
The sleek passenger airship sliced through the clear morning skies, reflective surfaces glinting in the sunlight as it hummed from the tons of Gravity Dust keeping it aloft with seeming effortlessness. Below, the emerald forests and patchwork wildlands of Vale unfurled like a living tapestry, twinkles of light sparkling off distant rivers that wound like liquid mercury toward the coastal city. Inside the vessel’s observation deck, prospective Huntsman trainees clustered near panoramic windows, their excited chatter and clattering weapons drowning out the ship’s own thrumming as their eyes took in the sight.
One such pair of eyes, colored a striking amber, peered up from the book she’d been reading as she leaned against the sill of one of the windows. She had to admit, the sight of the towers and spires of Beacon slowly emerging from the sea of green as they approached was a striking one. She couldn’t help but think that the grandeur of the moment was not lost on the academy. Beacon could have chartered any other transport airship, but the choice of a tourist cruise airship and its purpose-built viewing portals ensured their first impression was one that would resonate.
Blake Belladonna shrugged and went back to reading, her second set of feline cat ears that marked her as a Faunus flicking dismissively in unconscious reinforcement. She was so over it.
“There it is, Blake! At long last..” an all too familiar voice trilled, icy blue eyes gleaming as she gestured toward Beacon’s distant silhouette. “In mere minutes, we shall tread the very halls where my illustrious father once stepped in as a mere unremarkable boy, and emerged as legend amongst Huntsmen. What finer an institution in which to start building mine!”
Mostly because Blake had been dealing with that for the entire flight. Blake didn’t glance up from her book, though her cat ears twitched backward in mild annoyance. She’d long perfected the art of tuning out her friend’s grand proclamations, a survival skill honed through years of enduring her penchant for being verbose and dramatic.
And one thing Weiss Port-Schnee was very good at was dramatics. She was an actual professional at it, after all. For all her hangups about wanting to build her own legend to distinguish herself in the midst of her illustrious family, she had already attained fame as a ballet dancer, opera singer, and musical thespian—both on and off the ice.
Don’t get her wrong, it was not that she was only friends with Weiss out of obligation and resented hanging out with her boisterous self. It’s just that Blake had a subdued temperament by nature, and as much as she loved her friend she didn’t have the energy to match her beat for beat.
She found herself once again missing her girlfriend, Ilia Amitola. Despite Blake having been Weiss’s friend for longer—mostly thanks to Weiss’s mother Willow having befriended her own parents in the course of the Port-Schnee matriarch making clear her support for Faunus equality by opening a dialogue with Menagerie and the White Fang—Ilia had been the one who’d comfortably slipped into their friendship as a sort of buffer after they’d met and befriended her in Atlas Preparatory Academy. The other girl seemed to honestly find Weiss’s behavior endlessly entertaining, and often softened the wear on Blake’s energy by using her chameleon Faunus abilities to take on Weiss’s hair, eye, and skin colors and making friendly exaggerated pantomimes of the latter in a way that made even her smile. Not to mention just from Weiss splitting her attention between the two of them. Granted, there were times that she ended up egging on Weiss instead, which were a lot less amusing...
Still, it was a shame that Ilia had chosen to go to Atlas Academy instead since she wanted to stay within quick visiting distance of her parents, who both had management positions in the Schnee Dust Company's Mine Number 2. She was gonna miss the intimacy and their dates, and would keenly feel the gaping hole in their comfortable friend dynamic.
There were moments where she’d wondered if maybe she should have chosen to stay with Ilia instead and let Weiss go pursue her dream on her own, but a glance at the scar that Weiss chose to keep by her left eye for dramatic effect always reassured her she’d made the right choice. For all Weiss was proud to show off the scar, Blake knew she’d gotten it when recklessly going off to practice hunting Grimm a few years back on her own. Something Weiss’s normally jolly father and permissive mother had been uncharacteristically angry at her recklessness for. Blake honestly feared what kind of trouble her friend would dash headlong toward without her moderation.
Blake had to suppress the urge to pull out her scroll to check for any replies to her e-chat messages to Ilia, knowing the next comms window was a couple of hours away. Another downside to their now long-distance relationship was that their communications now had to go through the Cross Continental Transmit System. Only governments, major news organizations, and the biggest businesses had the reserved priority bandwidth to maintain always live CCT upIinks. Well, “always” provided atmospheric conditions didn’t mess with the signals too much. Everyone else had to squabble for increasingly smaller “shares” of the remaining bandwidth, with individual users on the bottom rung having to settle for so-called live-when-available e-chat or e-mail apps or reserving a physical terminal in the CCT tower itself for live video calls.
A low murmur shook her from her thoughts, pulling her attention toward a group of boys, most of whom were in armor evocative of Great War era Valean knightly armor. The boys glared right back at her, all-too-familiar sneers on their faces. The tallest among them, a broad-shouldered boy with sharply cut brown hair and bird-like gilding on his chest plate, even went so far as to mouth out a word. It was quite clear to her Faunus eyesight: animal.
Blake’s amber eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on the book. She and Ilia had weathered the same passive-aggressive baiting at Atlas Prep, but the exhaustion of it clung like Mistrali humidity.
Same script, different stage, she thought, to put it in Weiss’s theatrical framing.
She remembered the Atlas Prep hallways: the “accidental” shoves, the notes left in her locker, how Ilia flushed crimson with rage, and the way teachers kept finding excuses to turn away from any of it. If it hadn’t been for said students and teachers alike being both wary of the influence of Weiss’s family and of Weiss herself being unafraid to be passive-aggressive right back in her own boisterously overwhelming way, Blake knew they’d have been even more direct and obnoxious about it.
Of course, that didn’t mean Blake would just sit there and take it and just let Weiss handle things for her.
Slowly, deliberately, she closed her book. Setting it aside, she turned to face the boys squarely. She held their gazes for a moment, watching how they sneered even more in response. Then, just as slowly and deliberately, she tilted her head ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow.
Blake knew enough by now to know that if people were engaging in passive-aggressive snipes like this, they weren’t emboldened enough for an open confrontation. Or at least an open confrontation where they’d be seen as the active aggressor. They were hoping to either bait a response, to make their target look like the aggressor instead, or take pleasure in their target having to hold their tongue and endure the humiliation to avoid the former.
Two could play that game, however. She knew from experience that if she just waited expectantly for a moment, then rolled her eyes and went back to reading, then—
“Oh ho, what’s this?” an all too familiar voice cut into her thoughts.
Blake froze, realizing too late that she’d been so caught up that she hadn’t noticed that Weiss had stopped talking moments ago. Her amber eyes snapped toward her friend, and her blood ran even colder at the mischievous glint visible in the girl’s own ice-blue eyes.
Weiss, don’t you dare! Blake’s eyes bored intently into her friend’s. I have it handled!
The slightest yet infuriatingly recognizable quirk on Weiss’s lips told Blake that her message had been received loud and clear... and duly ignored.
With a flourish Weiss raised her right hand and, with a snap that made Blake cringe, a hidden mechanism in her sleeve shot out a closed hand fan, which her friend duly flipped open with the ease of long practice. Weiss swept the open fan over her mouth, revealing a design of snowflakes in the likeness of the Schnee sigil set against a cool blue backdrop.
Once again, Blake regretted letting the girl read her Valean historical romances, which had inspired the latter to adopt the so-called Language of Fans the Valean noblewomen were so fond of in those books. Especially since the Solitas high society Weiss was a member of didn't even have a tradition of fans, historical or otherwise, given the average climate of the continent. Not to mention the fact even Valean historians weren’t even sure the so-called fanology was ever as widely adopted in actual Valean history as portrayed.
“We haven’t even set down upon Beacon, and already you have a gaggle of admirers,” Weiss continued in a theatrical “whisper” that was, naturally, loud enough for everyone around them to hear.
Blake couldn’t help but physically recoil at the very idea, expression twisting into a horrified disgust. Though she took some small comfort from the fact that, judging by the strangled sounds, the boys she’d been staring down weren’t enjoying the spectacle being made of them either.
She glared at Weiss, part of her considering the idea of strangling her dearest old friend, but the latter just blithely ignored her and turned to face the group directly.
“Well, I can’t fault your taste, my dear friend Blake is an alluring beauty indeed. Ohohoho~”
Blake’s feline ears twitched and flattened as their impromptu audience began to murmur. Glancing at the gaggle of racists, she saw that they seemed torn between gaping in disgusted disbelief at Weiss and shuffling nervously at their growing audience. This clearly wasn’t the kind of spectacle they’d wanted to bait.
“Still, I’m sorry, gentlemen.” Weiss closed her eyes in exaggerated regret. “I must inform you that fair Blake’s heart already belongs to another, a sweet charming young woman waiting for her in Atlas. They’re quite committed.”
I’d like to have you committed! Blake mentally retorted even as she shot daggers at Weiss’s sidelong glance.
Weiss just gave her a sly wink, as if she’d just helped her out. It only annoyed her even more. This was exactly why she and Ilia had preferred to handle issues people had with their being Faunus themselves if they could help it.
The crowd’s murmuring had increased in the meantime, and Blake could even hear a few snickers. At least the targets of her ire weren’t faring any better, given how they were sputtering under the kind of attention they hadn’t intended.
“As if,” the boys’ apparent leader finally managed, trying to make it sound as coolly nonchalant as he could, before he turned away and bade the others to follow.
They’d probably meant that to come off as disdainfully dismissive, but between the sputtering from being put on the spot, the lack of any snappy retort, and the speed at which they were beating a retreat... well, it came off pretty flat.
“You know I could have defused that without your ‘help,’” she hissed under her breath, just barely stopping herself from grabbing Weiss by the arm.
The other girl just smirked and closed her fan. Then she lightly tapped her right cheek for a moment, before doing the same to the left. Yes, but also no.
“You would have been subtler about it,” Weiss added. “And where would be the fun in that?”
“I should have stayed with Ilia.”
Weiss placed the closed fan before her lips, not quite concealing the satisfied smile. “You would have just spent most of the time fretting over me.~”
Blake refused to dignify that with a response.
———
Ruby Rose was totally nervous. Sure, the fifteen-year-old had been excited at first when it sank in that she wasn’t just going to Beacon Academy—the Huntsman academy in Vale, heck, the best in the whole world—she was going two whole years earlier than she ever thought possible. And the craziest part? It only happened because she’d run into one of Beacon’s famous Huntress professors during a dumb Dust store robbery attempt by some flashy criminal. And while that professor had been pretty scary, she’d still later introduced her to Headmaster Ozpin himself! Then the Headmaster had spoken to her dad and Uncle Qrow, and had somehow convinced them to let her do this.
The best part? She’d only been moping in that store because she was bummed about her older sister Yang heading to Beacon without her when the latter’s own acceptance letter came. Talk about lucky timing—if only every robbery ended this well!
Once that excitement wore off, though, she realized that maybe being two years younger than everyone else in her year, especially when most of them would be total strangers, wasn’t all that great. She’d always been kinda awkward around people—full-on goober Roober—and that was with the Signal Academy folks who she at least sorta knew. Yang’s friends were nice enough, but they kept their distance. To them, she was just “Yang’s kid sister.”
Beacon felt like starting school all over again, but worse. She was only here because of some weird circumstances, and weird usually meant tons of attention. And among the two of them, Yang was the one who knew how to handle attention. Heck, she loved attention. Ruby? She was better at understanding weapons; at least with those you know which does what.
Yang tried to cheer her up, but it kinda backfired. She just kept talking about all the attention Ruby was gonna get. Plus, what even was “bee’s knees?” Did bees even have knees in the first place? Seriously.
That one poor guy who’d puked on the airship had distracted her for a sec, but mostly ’cause she was grossed out and didn’t want barf on her shoes like Yang had gotten. Luckily for her sister, the upchuck had only touched her shoes’ hard soles and hadn’t gotten on anything absorbent, so it had been easily rinsed off in the airship bathroom.
Still, part of her had hoped the boy Yang had quickly dubbed Vomit Boy would be the center of attention for a while, even though she felt pretty guilty for even thinking that. If she saw him again, she’d apologize. Or try to, anyway, if she could get over the whole “bad with people” part.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she and Yang walked off the airship in silence. Then her silver eyes went wide. Beacon Academy was huge. All those graceful curves leading up to that massive tower with its namesake beacon on top. People always said it was built to inspire hope. At night, it was a light in the darkness; during the day, it was proof that no matter how harsh Remnant could be people didn’t just survive—they thrived.
She’d heard that her whole life, but now? Standing here? She finally got it.
“Wow…” slipped out.
Her taller blonde sister crossed her arms, grinning. “Vale’s got nothing on this view!”
Ruby was about to agree when something else caught her eye: weapons. She loved weapons. Signal Academy had drilled that into her—you had to build your own weapon there, and their design classes were awesome. Plus, Uncle Qrow training her in how to use a scythe? That just made her obsession worse.
She’d been too anxious to notice earlier, but now? So many different kinds!
“Ohmygosh, Sis! That kid’s got a collapsible staff!” she blurted, waving her arms. Then she spun around. “And she’s got a fire sword!”
In her excitement, she started drifting toward the sword girl, even reaching out to touch it—until Yang yanked her back by the hood.
“Ow! Oww!” Ruby stumbled backward, rubbing her neck. Yang just gave her that look.
“Chill, Rubes. They’re just weapons,” Yang said, half laughing. “And for someone so worried about talking to people, you almost let yourself become a conversation starter there.”
Ruby winced at the thought of letting her weapon-mania lead her into an awkward convo. Then the first half of her sister’s statement registered, and she stared at her like she’d lost her mind.
“‘Just weapons?’ They’re part of us! They’re like… us!”
Yang tugged her hood over her eyes playfully before she could get into her spiel, much to her annoyance.
“Y'know, maybe I should have just let you go after that fire sword girl. Let you make some actual friends in your own awkward Ruby way.”
Ruby pulled her hood back, scowling up at her.
“People are hard,” she muttered, shifting her duffel bag higher on her shoulder. “Weapons are simple. I know which does what. I know what goes where. And if everything’s done right, the results are mostly the same.”
She gestured vaguely at the bustling crowd of students flowing around them like a river around rocks. “People are confusing, and they look at you.”
Yang chuckled, ruffling Ruby's hair. “Aw, come on. You’ll be fine! Just be your adorable, weapon-obsessed self. Someone’s bound to find it charming, and if all else fails you always have cute to fall back on.”
“Yeah, well, you already find me cute and charming,” Ruby muttered. “So why would I need anyone else when I have you?”
Yang raised an eyebrow at her declaration. Her sister opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Ruby saw her gaze shift toward something Ruby couldn’t see.
Before she could even turn around to see what was up, Yang winked, yelled “Actually, some of my friends are here. Gotta catch up a bit. C’ya, Rubes!” and suddenly Ruby felt her cloak yanked over face again. She let out a startled, annoyed yelp at letting Yang pull the same move on her twice in the span of a few minutes, even as she felt herself spin in the wake of the sheer speed of her sister’s sudden departure.
And I thought I was the one with a speedy Semblance, thought Ruby as she fumbled with her hood, stumbling backward and trying to maintain balance.
Unfortunately, just as she pulled the hood back fully, she felt her boot catch on something solid. She flailed wildly, her arms windmilling as her duffel bag slipped from her grasp. She felt herself crash into something that, with a sharp crack, immediately gave way behind her, followed by a startled yelp that was probably her own. Ruby found her vision obscured for the third time that day as whatever she’d crashed into cascaded all over her, though with her Aura having flared up reflexively she hadn’t actually been hurt anywhere—other than her dignity, anyway.
“Weiss!” an unfamiliar voice cried, and Ruby’s heart still as she realized the startled yelp earlier hadn’t been hers.
“Ohmygosh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…” Ruby scrambled to stand, face burning crimson, hands desperately pushing away what she could now see were a pile of bags and suitcases.
She wobbled unsteadily to her feet, arms flailing again for a moment as she struggled for balance. She saw a dark-haired girl with amber eyes and feline ears was already crouching, pulling luggage off the figure of a white-haired, pale-complexioned girl sprawled on the pavement, her off-center ponytail slightly askew.
Ruby bent down to offer her hand. “A-Are you okay? I-I’m really sorry… My sister, she ran… I tripped, and—”
The pale girl ignored the offered hand, her light blue eyes fixed on Ruby with an unnerving intensity that was amplified by the scar that ran over her left eye, and caused her babbled apologies to die in her throat. A flicker of something—amusement? calculation?—crossed the other girl’s features before she sprang to her feet with surprising grace, brushing dust from her immaculate white peacoat with stark black lining. A part of Ruby noted how both girls before her made for an oddly monochromatic match, with the blacks and whites of their clothes and hair broken only by the Faunus girl’s golden eyes and the pale girl’s ice-blue ones.
Then, with a flourish that made Ruby jump, the white-haired girl produced a folded fan from her sleeve, snapped it open sharply to reveal an intricate snowflake pattern, and swept it dramatically across her face before pointing it directly at Ruby.
“Such audacity!” the girl declared, her voice ringing out clear and theatrical, cutting through the morning bustle. Heads turned.
Ruby looked around at the sudden and very unwanted attention, feeling her stomach sink as she recalled an earlier commotion on the ship. She’d been too distant to see or hear anything clearly, and she’d been a bit distracted by Yang dashing to the bathroom to wash her soiled shoes, but the distant voice had sounded very similar when she thought about it.
“To boldly ambush a scion of the Port-Schnee family on the very steps of destiny! Though some would call it underhanded, only a foolish hunter allows their target the luxury of dictating the terms of engagement!” She snapped the fan shut with a decisive click, striking a pose. “I, Weiss Port-Schnee, commend your decisive boldness and thank you for the reminder to never let my guard down! Lesson well taken, and challenge accepted! From this moment forth, you are my sworn rival!”
Ruby gaped, her mortification instantly replaced by utter, bewildered confusion. “R-Rival? I… I just tripped! I wasn’t challenging anyone! I was apologizing!”
She looked desperately at the dark-haired girl, who was now pinching the bridge of her nose, a long-suffering expression on her face. The Faunus sighed softly, meeting Ruby's panicked gaze.
“Don’t mind her. She just gets… notions,” the taller girl murmured, her voice low and placating despite the feline ears twitching in apparent exasperation. “There was no harm done, and we know it was an accident. And mostly her fault for bringing that much luggage along even though we were told the porters only offload luggage. We have to bring all this inside.”
She shot Weiss a pointed look. Weiss, however, just as pointedly ignored the look. The latter beamed, utterly delighted by Ruby’s flustered reaction, her eyes gleaming as if she’d just discovered a fascinating new specimen.
She snapped her fan shut again, tapping Ruby's shoulder with the tip like she was a lady bestowing a title upon a knight. “Tell me, O bold challenger, what is your name? I must know the identity of the one I am destined to test myself against.”
Ruby blinked, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I-I’m Ruby. Ruby Rose. But, look, like I said, it was an accident. I wasn’t targeting you—I just tripped! A-and I don’t think I’m cut out to be your ‘sworn rival,’ either. I’m about two years younger than everyone else here! M-maybe a rival around your age would be, um… a better… challenge?”
This is all your fault, Yang! Ruby screamed in the privacy of her head. She was so gonna get her sister back for leaving her to get into this situation.
“Ruby Rose!” Weiss declared, tapping her chin with her fan as she seemed to savor the name. Blue eyes widened with even more delight, a spark of what looked like admiration cutting through the performative grandeur. “A vibrant and distinctive name, fit to ring across the ages! And so young, to be years ahead of your peers? No small feat, I assure you, given Beacon’s exacting standards. But of course, only a true prodigy would dare challenge Weiss Port-Schnee! Ohohoho~!”
The distinctive laugh echoed, drawing more curious glances, while Ruby just stood frozen, wishing she could sink into the ground. Weiss, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the attention. She struck another pose, the morning sun glinting off the tiara on her ponytail.
“Our rivalry shall be the stuff of legend!”
“Weiss, maybe let her breathe? She looks like she might faint.” Weiss’s companion gently placed a hand on the girl’s arm, trying to steer her back from her theatrical orbit around the flustered Ruby.
But Weiss was undeterred. She snapped her fan open again, this time holding it out before her with both hands, the intricate snowflake pattern catching the light.
“Nonsense, Blake! Serendipity is the handmaiden of legend! This meeting was no mere happenstance!”
She leaned closer to Ruby, who jerked back in alarm, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow still carried. “You sense it too, don’t you, Ruby Rose? The sheer weight of Destiny upon this very moment, the eyes of the Fates upon us.”
Ruby instinctively clutched her duffel bag tighter, her mind spinning. How the heck was she supposed to respond to all this? What even was this?
“Or maybe all of us should get inside the actual academy first before this gets any further and you make the poor girl hyperventilate to the point of collapse,” the other girl, who Ruby now knew was called Blake, noted drily. “Besides, right now we’re the only ones left out here. Even the ‘audience’ got tired of the show.”
Weiss snapped her fan shut once again, her gaze sweeping over the now-empty courtyard.
“An excellent point, dear Blake! Very well.” She turned to Ruby, her expression shifting to one of imperious command softened only by the lingering spark of excitement in her eyes. She opened her fan again and swept it before her face with her right hand. “Please escort our esteemed rival to the main hall, old friend. We have held her here perhaps a bit overlong, so it’s the least we can do. I’ll be with you shortly, after I make sure nothing has been jostled loose, especially the Dust.”
“Our rival? We held her back? This has been all you, Weiss.” Then Ruby heard Blake mutter under her breath, “And maybe you should check for other things that got knocked loose…”
Weiss did another flourish of her fan, as if dismissing Blake’s retort.
“And do try to prevent other would-be upstarts from challenging her en route. It simply won’t do to have anyone else undercut this epic rivalry in the making before the year even starts.”
Ruby just goggled at her, wondering just how serious she was about this whole thing or whether this was just some enormous, overly elaborate joke with herself as the butt of it.
Blake suppressed a sigh, her feline ears giving a small waggle.
“Riiiight… Come on, Ruby.” She made a beckoning gesture, her amber eyes offering silent reassurance. “Let’s get you inside before she declares war on the landscaping or something.”
Ruby hesitated, her gaze darting from Blake’s retreating back to Weiss, who was already meticulously rearranging her scattered luggage with an air of regal preoccupation. With no sign of Yang and realizing that she actually didn’t know where to go because she hadn’t bothered to really read the introductory brochure, Ruby clutched her duffel bag tighter and scurried after Blake. This hadn’t been how she’d expected her first day at Beacon to go at all.
Better get away from whatever this was before the other girl changed her mind. Besides, she needed to give Yang a piece of her own mind.
———
Sunlight streamed into Beacon’s vast amphitheater, glinting off polished stone benches as Yang leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. The blonde scanned the murmuring crowd of students filing in, occasionally glancing at the retreating cluster of her Signal friends as they laughed and jostled each other. She’d waved them off, deciding to wait by the entrance of the amphitheater for her sister.
A faint twinge of guilt pricked at her ribs. Ruby hated being alone in crowds; they usually made her shoulders hunch and her eyes dart around like a cornered rabbit. And she had just decided to toss her into the deep end to force her to socialize.
Mostly because Yang was trying to undo what she knew was her own damn fault.
When she had been young and very stupid, in the aftermath of Mom dying and Dad… not handling it well, she’d gotten it into her head to look for the woman who she would never call Mom. She’d also gotten it into her head to take Ruby along, because she had thought maybe Dad wouldn’t have been in a state of mind to take care of her. Something people might have called insightful for her age, if it weren’t undercut by the fact that she hadn’t had the insight to realize why taking her infant sister with her into the wilderness while she herself was feeling upset was perfect Grimm bait.
Thank the gods Uncle Qrow had found them in time.
Even now, years later, she still didn’t know why she’d done it… She still hadn’t completely let the search for the woman who’d abandoned her family—abandoned her—go, in truth, even though she’d been careful not to drag Ruby along in the wake of her stupidity again.
Whatever the case, she’d tried to make up for being so unbelievably careless with her younger sister by being a doting, protective sister over the years. Unfortunately, Ruby’d gotten a little too used to it, and had been content to just latch onto her and withdraw from everyone else. Which Yang knew was also not great, just in the opposite direction.
She needs this, Yang tried to assure herself once again. Ruby will need to learn how to stand on her own, even more now since she’d gotten the chance to become a Huntress early.
Her dark thoughts scattered like startled birds when a flash of familiar red caught her eye. Ruby was walking beside a dark-haired girl with cat ears. They were walking side-by-side, and while Ruby’s body language looked shy and hesitant, the other girl seemed to be patiently trying to engage her in conversation. A genuine smile spread across Yang’s face, warm and relieved. Looks like things had worked out as she had hoped, after all.
She pushed off the pillar, waving an arm high.
“Hey! Ruby! Over here!” her voice echoed slightly in the cavernous space. “Saved you a spot!”
Ruby’s head snapped up, her expression flickering from surprise to lingering annoyance before settling into a weary sort of resignation. She and the Faunus girl made their way over.
“Yang Xiao-Long,” Yang introduced herself easily, offering Ruby’s companion an easy smile and a friendly nod. “Thanks for finding my… misplaced little sister.”
“Misplaced?” Ruby replied acidly, which only caused Yang’s grin to widen. “Gee, I wonder who could have possibly ‘misplaced’ me?”
“Blake Belladonna,” the Faunus girl returned, her voice low and even. Blake’s amber eyes looked over at her, holding a quiet, assessing calm. “Ruby kind of… bumped into me and my friend earlier.”
Yang saw her sister visibly wince at that, and noticed how Blake gave her a reassuring yet wry smile. She filed that away for later, sensing a probably hilarious story there, knowing Ruby.
“My friend is sorting things out,” Blake continued, and Yang’s eyebrow rose at how Ruby twitched again. “So we decided to get Ruby here, since we sort of held her up a bit.”
Yang’s grin widened. “Thanks, knowing Ruby, she’d probably have gotten lost too.”
She smirked as she dodged her younger sister’s attempt to kick her in the shins. She looked back at Blake and jerked her thumb towards the empty space beside her.
“You’re welcome to join us. Looks like the show’s about to start.”
Blake shook her head, a flicker of weariness crossing her features.
“Appreciate it, but I should find Weiss—that’s my friend. She’s probably still wrestling with half a boutique’s worth of luggage.” She paused, then added with dry understatement, “It was… an eventful arrival.”
Ruby looked like she was trying to retreat her head into her hood like some kind of turtle, her cheeks flushing pink as she stared intently at her boots. Now Yang was really curious what this was all about. Blake offered a final nod to Yang and a reassuring glance at Ruby before melting back into the stream of students, her black hair and cat ears disappearing into the crowd.
The moment Blake was out of view, Ruby whirled on Yang, her silver eyes narrowed.
Yang gave her a cheeky smile.
———
Jaune Arc had been surprised that the flight toward Beacon hadn’t nearly been as awful as he’d expected. The ride had actually been pretty smooth—the huge ship had barely shaken at all once it leveled out. With all that mass, the vibrations just seemed more muted than in smaller aircraft. And it had definitely been way smoother than being stuck on some boat rocking all over the place in the waves. Honestly? The flight had seemed like it might actually be okay. Not great, but tolerable.
Turned out that he’d jinxed it just from thinking that way. Once the captain had announced that they were fifteen minutes out from Beacon, the airship had suddenly banked hard, tilting sideways before leveling out again. For about a few seconds, and then it had swayed the other way. Wouldn’t have been so bad if it only happened once or twice, but for some reason, the pilot seemed to be taking the scenic route—zigging and zagging all over the place as if making sure to give everyone some nice picture-friendly scenes to capture with their Scrolls.
Jaune might’ve held it together, except he’d been getting more and more nervous the closer he got to Beacon. Yeah, those transcripts he’d blown most of his savings on seemed to have gotten his foot in the door with no problem, but he was still sneaking into a Huntsman academy with fake papers and zero training. His whole plan was basically to wing it, hoping he’d pick up enough in the hopefully relatively easier introductory year to fake his way through and actually learn something.
The more he’d thought about that, at it all becoming more and more real including the possibility of being caught, the sicker he’d felt. Just enough to push his already shaky stomach over the edge. Next thing he knew, he had been stumbling toward two girls—a tall blonde with long almost wild hair and a shorter red-clad brunette with a bob. They’d backed away from the puddle of vomit he’d accidentally smeared near them when the ship tilted again, sending it oozing slowly in their direction. Then they’d started shrieking about the grossness, scrambling further back, one yelling something about her shoes. He’d caught one of them say something about “Vomit Boy” as he wobbled past.
Didn’t really bother him. Years of being called a loser and a goof had kinda numbed him to mockery and name calling. Or at least that’s what he told himself. To be fair, no one would have good things to say about someone who’d gotten puke on them.
Still, it had been a pretty crappy way to kick off his Beacon “adventure.” Hadn’t exactly boded well for the rest of the year. If he even made it that far.
He knew he was the last one off the airship, stepping onto the Beacon courtyard long after the excited chatter and shuffling footsteps had faded. The crisp Valean air felt clean, a relief after the stale, antiseptic smell clinging to him from scrubbing himself raw in the tiny airship bathroom. His hoodie sleeves were still damp where he’d frantically rinsed them under the tap, and the faint, lingering scent of cheap soap couldn’t quite mask the phantom whiff of… well, failure. He grimaced, adjusting the strap of his sword Crocea Mors on his side.
A rueful chuckle escaped him as he surveyed the empty landing pad. Of course he’d be the straggler. Again. Typical Jaune Arc—trying to become a hero with vomit on his shoes and a fake transcript burning a hole in his pocket. He rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar wave of self-recrimination washing over him. Seven sisters worth of teasing had built something resembling a thick skin, sure, but moments like this? Still stung. Especially since his sisters were never actually nasty about it, just a bit… much sometimes.
Movement near a pile of ornate luggage caught his eye. It looked like someone else was still out here with him, which was admittedly a little comforting. A petite girl, sitting on the cobblestones with improbable grace despite the chaos surrounding her. From his angle, all he could see was a cascade of impossibly white hair pulled rightward into an off-center ponytail, pinned with something that glinted silver. She wore a pristine white peacoat with a pleated skirt, both with sharp black accents. A black sigil that looked like a snowflake was on her coat’s back, which probably meant something he didn’t recognize.
Somehow she seemed almost elegant amidst the scattered trunks and cases. Her posture was ramrod straight, one leg tucked neatly beneath her, the other extended slightly as she leaned over something small held delicately in her dainty-looking hands.
Jaune hesitated. His stomach still felt like a washing machine on a spin cycle, and he was sure the phantom scent of hastily scrubbed and soap-blasted vomit continued to cling to him. Years of being the one awkward son among eight Arc siblings, the perpetual benchwarmer compared to his confident and accomplished older sisters, screamed at him to slink away unseen before somebody who seemed to exude “high society” and would want little to do with someone like him. Especially since by Valean standards he was from the sticks.
He swallowed, wiped his damp palms on his jeans, and forced his legs to move forward. He hadn’t gotten this far, gone through all this effort, to go back to old habits he was trying to leave behind and grow past in the first place. Besides, everything else aside, the girl looked like she needed assistance with all those bags, and he couldn’t see any porters or other students around. Mama and Papa Arc didn’t raise someone who’d just walk on by anyone clearly requiring help.
Plus, hey, maybe he could balance out the horrible first impression his hurling had made earlier by making a better one on at least one other person today. And like his mom always said, strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet… right?
“Um... excuse me?” he called out, and he winced because his voice cracked slightly. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full. Need a hand with any of that?”
The girl turned. Sunlight caught the intricate silver tiara pinning her snow-white ponytail, while said hair seemed to glow in the light. Her eyes, a startlingly pale blue, widened slightly in surprise as they met his. For a moment, Jaune forgot how to breathe. Her face was porcelain-pale, framed by that cascade of shimmering white hair, the scar somehow adding a fierce, striking beauty to her rather than diminishing it. She was effortlessly elegant, like something out of an old painting, and Jaune felt abruptly, overwhelmingly clumsy.
The almost otherworldly beautiful girl regarded him silently. Her expression remained perfectly composed, utterly unreadable to Jaune’s flustered gaze. She didn’t frown or smile; she simply studied him with those cool, assessing eyes. A hand fan, which turned out to be the thing he’d noticed her holding, was slowly, deliberately shut then held before her with both hands, tip touching her chin.
He shifted his weight, suddenly acutely aware of the damp patches on his sleeves and the faint, lingering scent of soap that couldn’t quite mask his earlier humiliation. Could she see the damp spots? Had she seen him stumble and retch in the airship earlier? Did she know?
Her gaze didn’t waver. She lowered the folded fan slightly, her pale blue eyes scanning him from his scuffed sneakers to his messy blond hair. The silence stretched, thick and awkward in the quiet courtyard. Jaune swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. She looked like royalty, perched amidst her mountain of luggage like it was a throne, and he felt like a peasant who’d tracked mud onto her palace floor.
His father’s advice that all you needed when talking to girls, especially gorgeous ones, was confidence came unbidden to his mind, and it almost felt like mockery. Why had he opened his mouth? He should have just kept walking.
Then, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. It wasn’t warm, exactly, but it wasn’t dismissive either. More... considering. Well, if he was reading things right anyway; growing up with seven sisters hadn’t actually been that great at helping him learn the mysterious ways of girls. He’d just learned enough to think he could get things some of the time, but mostly also just get even more confused.
“Indeed,” she finally stated, her voice crisp and clear, carrying effortlessly in the stillness. “It appears I may have... underestimated the logistical challenges of transporting all of my essentials.”
The sheer number of things she considered “essentials” sounded kind of ridiculous to Jaune, but as much as his brain could fail him sometimes he wasn’t dumb enough to say that out loud.
“I do have a friend who could assist me, but she’s currently attending to another task,” she continued, gesturing gracefully with her fan towards the largest, most ornate trunk nearby. “Your assistance with that particular behemoth would be… acceptable, Mister..?”
Jaune seized the opening like a lifeline.
“Jaune Arc!” he blurted out, puffing his chest out slightly. “Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. Ladies love it.”
Her fan froze mid-gesture. Her pale blue eyes widened a fraction, the only crack in her otherwise porcelain composure. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant hum of Beacon’s activity and Jaune’s own frantic heartbeat pounding in his ears. He instantly wished the cobblestones would swallow him whole. His father’s stupid joke, delivered with such effortless charm back home, sounded utterly ridiculous from his own lips now.
Then the girl opened her fan and placed it over her mouth, as if trying to catch the sound escaping from it. Not the sharp, dismissive laugh he feared, but a soft, melodic chuckle. It started low in her throat, a delicate chime, before blossoming fully into a distinct, lilting, “ohohohoho~” that echoed faintly in the quiet courtyard. The sound was unexpected, almost theatrical, yet utterly captivating. Her fan snapped shut again with a precise click, and she tapped its tip lightly against her chin.
“Do they, now?”
Her pale blue eyes sparkled with undisguised amusement. The faint smile remained, transforming from assessment to something seemingly warmer, tinged with genuine humor. She rose with effortless grace, smoothing her pristine white skirt. Jaune noted that despite being on what looked like elevated heels, she was still about a head shorter than he was.
“Well then, Jaune Arc,” she rolled his name, pronouncing his given name almost like Zhann, as if to test his claim, “I am Weiss Port-Schnee, scion of the Port-Schnee family and future Huntress of renown! Your bold gallantry does you credit... as does your excellent taste.”
Jaune blinked, momentarily stunned. Then he felt his face burn at that last part clearly being the girl—Weiss—acknowledging his attraction to her even as relief washed over him like a cool wave. She didn’t sound like she was mocking him outright, and even seemed to be flirting back beneath the flourish. He couldn’t quite tell if she had been somehow charmed by his awkwardness or simply found him an entertaining diversion, but either felt infinitely better than the scorn he’d braced for.
Honestly, part of him hadn’t expected to get this far. Maybe he owed his dad an apology after all.
Of course, because he hadn’t expected this reception, he suddenly found himself at a loss for what to say. Especially with Weiss now watching him even more intently than she had before, which made him keenly want to not embarrass himself before her—well, more than he already had. Naturally, that just made him concerned about overcorrecting and making a fool of himself anyway.
His eyes caught the heavy trunk she’d indicated before, and he scrambled forward eagerly for the handle, desperate for any excuse not to fall into an awkward silence.
“Well, let’s get you loaded up then so both of us can catch up with everyone else.”
Weiss gestured gracefully toward the trolley parked nearby. With surprising efficiency, she too began transferring several smaller cases onto its lower shelf even as he manhandled the trunk into place. He then moved to help her with the other pieces, trying hard not to gape at her fluid almost dance-like motions despite the mundane practicality of the task. As she leaned forward to secure a strap, her white ponytail slipped over her shoulder, framing the elegant line of her neck. Jaune’s attempt not to stare died immediately, and his hoodie felt a bit more stuffy all of a sudden.
Her fan snapped open suddenly before she swept it slowly across her cheekbone as she turned to face him without warning. Jaune almost bolted right out of his skin, his eyes snapping away so hard they almost hurt.
“You seem quite adept at luggage wrangling, Bold Knight,” she observed, even as Jaune blinked, both at the nickname and in relief that he wasn’t being raked over the coals for leering. “Though I confess, I find myself equally intrigued by what delayed you. Most of our compatriots disembarked with rather more haste, and you seem to only bear a single piece of luggage yourself.”
She tilted her head expectantly, the silver tiara glinting.
Jaune froze mid-lift, a suitcase handle slipping from his suddenly shaky grip. The phantom scent of bile and cheap soap seemed to flood his senses again, though he wasn’t sure at this point whether the scent was actually there or if it was his nerves getting to him. He scrambled to catch the case before it tumbled off the trolley.
“Oh! Uh…” His throat tightened.
He couldn’t bear to tell her the truth. This was the first conversation with a girl around his age where she was actually giving him the time of day to his opening attempt to flirt, and an incredibly pretty high class girl at that. He didn’t want to risk killing the mood by admitting that he’d been scrubbing puke off his hoodie while everyone else strode confidently into their new lives. His eyes darted away, landing on the intricate snowflake pattern of her open fan held just below her cheekbone. Somehow, it felt like an accusation.
“I, uh... got turned around?” The lie sounded pitiful even to him. “Big ship. Lots of doors. You know how it is.”
He forced a chuckle that came out more like a nervous cough.
Weiss’s fan paused mid-sway. Her pale blue eyes narrowed slightly, the amusement cooling into something sharper, more discerning. She lowered the fan slowly.
“Turned around?” Her voice remained crisp, but a playful lilt edged into it. “How delightfully vague, Sir Jaune. One might almost suspect a tale worthy of... embellishment, one way or another.”
Jaune tried not to twitch at that even as she stepped closer and leaned toward him, the faint scent of frost and something floral cutting through the lingering soap smell clinging to him.
“Come now,” she coaxed, her eyes sparkling with renewed mischief, “a knight bold enough to declare his name beloved by ladies must surely be above such... selective omission.”
Jaune swallowed hard at her distance, or the lack of it. Weiss’s gaze pinned him, sharp and unyielding despite the playful curve of her lips. He couldn’t meet her eyes, staring instead at the cobblestones near her expensive-looking boots.
“Okay, fine,” he mumbled as he turned to continue loading the trolley. “I... look, motion sickness is a much more common problem than people let on! Spent forever cleaning myself up. That’s why I was last off.”
He braced for laughter, or for the disgusted retreat of those two girls on the ship earlier.
Instead, Weiss merely tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. Her fan reappeared, unfolding smoothly. She held it open before her chest.
“Ah,” she murmured, the single syllable carrying surprising weight. “Even the most mundane of maladies can, at times, bring low the most bold of souls. A natural inevitability, hardly anything to be ashamed of.”
Her pale blue eyes met his, holding a sincerity that chased away some of Jaune’s lingering shame. “Your dedication to maintaining personal grace despite such adversity... it speaks well of your character, Bold Knight.”
With the trolley fully loaded, Jaune gripped its handles firmly. Weiss fell into step beside him as they navigated the bustling courtyard toward Beacon’s towering entrance. The cobblestones rattled beneath the trolley’s wheels, and Jaune focused on steering smoothly, acutely aware of Weiss’s effortless grace beside him. Her heels clicked a precise rhythm against the stone, a counterpoint to the trolley’s rumble.
Jaune glanced sideways at her, surprised at the genuine reassurance she’d offered. He’d been ready for mockery or disdain, the usual reactions he got when his clumsiness surfaced. Getting actual praise over it had been so unexpected that he felt like his brain had short-circuited. A rueful chuckle escaped him as he realized how pointless his panic had been.
“Heh. Guess it is a silly thing to try to hide, when you think about it,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. “Just figured someone like you wouldn’t exactly be impressed by... well, Vomit Boy.”
Weiss stopped walking abruptly, her fan snapping open with a crisp thwip. She held it horizontally before her face, only her sharp, light-blue eyes visible above the snowflake-patterned silk.
“Ohohoho~! My dear Bold Knight,” she corrected, her voice muffled but distinctly amused behind the fan. “Do recall that I declared you thus, not some crude moniker born of misfortune.”
She snapped the fan shut yet again with practiced precision, tapping its tip lightly against her right ear.
“And besides,” she added, a playful glint in her eyes as she resumed walking. “There’ve been many in Atlas who’ve tried to present to me what they think is their best only to ultimately ring false. I’d like to think it’s much more interesting to see how people strive to be their best, no?”
Jaune blinked, unsure if Weiss was genuinely complimenting his honesty or subtly mocking the very idea of him trying to impress her. That whole thing about other people trying to impress her but ringing false also made him squirm internally, given how he was literally only here in Beacon on false pretenses, and part of him started to worry if she suspected that. Her words were elegant, her tone light, but the sheer theatricality of her mannerisms left him floundering. Was she being sincere? Or was this some elaborate game played by wealthy girls who found amusement in awkward lower class boys?
He recalled his older sisters warning him about how some girls would charm guys like him with pretty words, make them feel special until they’d wrapped them around their fingers to use as they saw fit… and then toss them aside when the novelty wore off. Like a shiny toy they got bored with. The memory stuck out to him, especially now, walking beside this impossibly beautiful girl who smelled like winter roses and spoke like some grandiose storybook heroine giving him so much attention soon after an awkward first meeting.
Please, Jaune’s mind decided to add helpfully, his cheeks burning anew, like part of you wasn't kinda hoping your sisters were right about the whole “use you like they saw fit” part.
He shoved the thought down violently, especially some of the ideas his horny teenaged mind attached to the idea of being used by a girl, focusing on the heavy trolley rattling towards the grand archway leading to Beacon’s amphitheater courtyard.
Luckily, Fate, the gods, or whatever else was putting him through ups and downs today decided to help distract him from his own thoughts.
They reached the amphitheater entrance just as a figure emerged from within. It was a girl about half-a-head taller than Weiss, with long dark hair and feline ears atop her head. Like Weiss she was dressed in stark blacks and whites, though a lot more of the former and her overall ensemble was more form-fitting. Her amber eyes swept over Jaune with the swift, assessing intensity of a predator spotting unfamiliar prey, lingering for a fraction of a second on his grip on Weiss’s trolley before settling on Weiss herself. A flicker of relief, quickly masked by wary curiosity, crossed her features.
“There you are,” the Faunus girl stated, her voice calm but carrying an underlying tension. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d declared another spontaneous rivalry on the walk over.”
Then she tilted her head slightly but still somehow pointedly at him. Weiss huffed, snapping her fan open with a flourish and waving it dismissively.
“Do forgive my friend. She was clearly overcome with concern for me and didn’t intend to be… brusque.” Weiss paused for a bit to raise a slow eyebrow at Blake, who seemed unaffected by the chiding, then she continued, “This is Blake Belladonna, my dearest and most trusted confidant.”
Jaune offered a weak, awkward wave. “Uh, hey.”
Blake’s amber eyes remained fixed on him, cool and unblinking. He felt instantly scrutinized, like a bug under a magnifying glass. There was no overt hostility, just a profound lack of warmth and a subtle, probing intensity. He got the distinct sense she wasn’t impressed and was wondering about his motives for helping Weiss. Yet, she remained silent, her expression politely neutral.
“And this, dear Blake, is Jaune Arc,” Weiss continued, beaming, as if unaware of how her friend was being less than receptive. “A knight bold enough to offer aid to a lady in distress.”
There was the slightest pause before the other girl, in what was probably a deliberate mirroring of his own greeting, inclined her head ever so slightly and simply said, “Hey.”
Jaune squirmed at the not quite welcome, but at the same time also felt an oddly fond sense of familiarity. Blake’s third degree felt almost painfully familiar. He’d witnessed it often enough over the years among his older sisters and their friends, regarding prospective boyfriends and girlfriends they felt weren’t good enough for each other, or at least needed to prove themselves first.
Also, well, he figured it was a fair enough thing for her to feel. Sure, his offer to help had been sincere, but between his interest in Weiss and his desire to make some kind of good impression on someone before that (in which case, mission accomplished) he couldn’t honestly say he had no ulterior motives. And that was before his other ulterior motive that would probably destroy whatever regard Weiss actually felt for him if she ever found out.
Desperate to escape the amber-eyed scrutiny, Jaune gestured vaguely towards the amphitheater entrance.
“Well, uh, luggage is delivered! Guess I should... um, let you guys catch up? I’ll, uh, go ahead and find my own spot for the assembly.”
“Nonsense!” Weiss declared, flicking her fan decisively. “It would be most ungracious of me to simply send you away so impersonally after the assistance you’ve rendered and the introductions we’ve exchanged.”
Once again Weiss exchanged a significant look with Blake, who once again calmly just let it wash over her.
“You shall join us!” the more petite girl declared after a moment. “Unless, of course, you have another pressing appointment with an acquaintance?”
“Hm? Oh, uh, no.” Jaune shook his head. “It’s just me.”
“Splendid!”
She swept towards the entrance, clearly expecting him to follow. Blake offered Jaune a fraction of a nod, her expression still unreadable and noncommittal. Jaune trailed after them with the trolley.
This wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured getting in Beacon would be like, but right now he wasn’t gonna question it.
———
“An eventful arrival? Oh, that was one way to put it, alright! Yang, you just poofed! One second you’re there, the next”—Ruby snapped her fingers sharply—“just gone!”
The much shorter girl stood on her toes and jabbed a finger into Yang’s chest.
“And guess what happened? I tripped! Right into this crazy rich girl’s mountain of fancy luggage! Knocked her flat on her designer butt!” Ruby’s voice rose, tinged with the lingering heat of embarrassment. “And then for some reason she thought that was some kind of challenge and declared me her ‘sworn rival’ on the spot, Yang! Because of my own legendary clumsiness, which only happened because you ditched me!"
She pulled back and pointed aggressively at the blonde.
“This,” she hissed, “is entirely your fault!”
Yang leaned back against the cool stone pillar, a broad, unrepentant grin spreading across her face. She let Ruby’s torrent of indignation wash over her, the corners of her lavender eyes crinkling with amusement.
“You’re welcome.” She chuckled warmly, calmly dodging Ruby trying to punch her arm. “And, see, what did I tell you? You’re making friends already, two even. Blake seems cool, and this Weiss girl? Sounds like a character. Definitely more interesting than just being plain old ‘normal knees,’ right?”
She nudged Ruby playfully.
Ruby sputtered, drawing breath for another, undoubtedly more detailed, tirade. Before the first syllable could escape, a sharp, resonant tap-tap-tap echoed through the amphitheater, cutting through the low hum of conversation like a blade. All eyes snapped towards the stage where a gray-haired man in a green suit that Yang immediately recognized as Beacon’s famed headmaster, Professor Ozpin, stood leaning casually on his cane, his expression unreadable behind his spectacles. The silence that fell was immediate and absolute, thick with the weight of anticipation. Following a step behind him was the other professor Ruby had met when she’d confronted Torchwick. Professor Goodwitch, if she remembered correctly.
Ozpin didn’t bother with a microphone; his voice, calm yet carrying effortlessly to the farthest corners, sliced through the quiet.
“Welcome to Beacon,” he began, his tone as dry as aged parchment. “I’ll keep this brief. You have traveled here today in search of knowledge—to hone your craft and acquire new skills, and when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people... But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction.”
Ruby and Yang exchanged surprised looks at the Headmaster’s blunt tone, even as their fellow Huntsman aspirants in the amphitheater broke into uncertain murmuring. It was nothing like the times their father or uncle, both teachers at their previous school Signal Academy, had to do introductory speeches and orientations at the start of a new school year. Those had been warmer and welcoming, if slightly drily snarky in their Uncle Qrow’s case.
“You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step.”
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Ozpin didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer platitudes about teamwork or destiny. He simply surveyed the sea of faces, his gaze lingering nowhere and everywhere at once, before turning and walking off the stage with the same unhurried stride. The amphitheater erupted into a low buzz of confused murmurs and scattered, uncertain applause. Students exchanged bewildered glances; shoulders slumped in disappointment or bristled with indignation. This wasn’t the rousing call to arms, the inspiring welcome they’d envisioned for Beacon Academy.
Professor Goodwitch stepped up to the front before the muttering could become louder. “You will gather in the ballroom tonight; tomorrow, your initiation begins. Be ready. You are dismissed.”
Ruby slumped back against the stone bench, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Well,” she muttered, her voice thick with sarcasm, “that was... inspiring. This whole getting into Beacon early with my sister thing suddenly doesn’t seem as cool as it did before.”
She kicked at an imaginary loose pebble on the floor. “He basically called us all useless.”
Yang barked out a laugh, the sound scattering slightly in the dispersing crowd. She slung an arm around Ruby’s stiff shoulders, ignoring her sister’s attempt to shrug her off.
“Hey, at least he didn’t say we were boring. ‘Wasted energy’ sounds kinda dynamic, right? Like we’re just... potential explosions waiting to happen.” She gave Ruby a playful shake. “Besides, you’ve already gone and got yourself a sworn rival. Clearly, your energy isn’t being wasted, heh.”
Ruby groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me about Weiss! She probably thinks I’m plotting my next ‘attack’ right now.”
She peeked through her fingers, scanning the thinning crowd nervously as if expecting the Schnee heiress to materialize, fan out and moving every which-way.
“I’m actually kinda surprised she didn’t have some kind of outburst at the Headmaster’s speech,” Ruby continued after apparently deciding the coast was clear. “I’d have thought someone like her would take it as a challenge.”
“Maybe Blake held her back?” Yang mused. “She seems like the less excitable type between the two of them, from what I’m gathering.”
“That's not saying much,” Ruby quipped. “You at your Yangiest would be less excitable than her.”
Yang made to grab at Ruby to noogie her for the temerity, but her younger sister apparently had her guard up after what Yang had pulled on her earlier and dodged her attempts.
“Fine, I’ll let you have that one,” she finally said, backing off and shaking her head while smiling.
Her sister stuck her tongue out at her.
Something caught her eye at the edge of her vision, a flash of black and white, before she could retort and she turned toward the mingling students. She scanned the crowd for a bit until she spotted Blake near the exit. Moving beside her was a truly staggering pile of hatboxes and suitcases on a cart. She caught the glimpse of a flamboyant figure in white with hair to match—definitely this mysterious Weiss—gesturing grandly beside her. They really did make for a monochromatic pair. From their body language it looked like they were talking to a third person, though Yang couldn’t see who since they were obscured by all the luggage and the crowd.
She nudged Ruby again. “Don’t look now, but I think I spotted your Sworn Rival. Want me to call her over?”
Yang tried not to laugh at how quickly Ruby whipped around, eyes wide and almost panicked. She decided to have mercy on her sister though, partly because she was afraid Ruby might use her Semblance to bolt away in a flash of rose petals.
“Relax, Rubes, I don’t think she saw you. She and Blake looked like they were heading off to the ballroom the prof lady mentioned.”
Ruby let out a long, slow breath, and Yang saw the smaller girl’s shoulders un-tense. She adjusted the strap of her weapon case absently, Crescent Rose clinking softly against her hip.
“O-oh. Okay. Good. Don’t think I’m up for her again this soon.”
She placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder, and Ruby twitched a little from lingering jumpiness.
“C’mon, it’s still early out. Let’s grab a bite,” she suggested. “We can ask around for directions to the cafeteria.”
Ruby blinked for a moment, then nodded, eager to jump at the offered escape route.
“Y-yeah, that sounds great. You owe me lunch anyway for the emotional trauma you abandoned me to.”
Yang just chuckled, falling into step beside her sister.
The year was looking better and better. It had been awesome enough to have Ruby with her now instead of having to wait two years, but who’d have thought her sister would have a talent for drawing in such interesting personalities?
This was gonna be great.
———