Can't believe Blake took the whole damn chapter. Also I forgot how annoying uploading stuff on this site was.
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"Papa, why do you work so hard? You never stop. Don't you get tired?"
"Of course, I get tired."
"But why do you have to do it all? We don't know them. They're not from Home."
"I do it because I can. I do it because I must. I do it because I want to."
"But... why?"
"...I don't understand it."
"You will. But not yet."
"…Papa?"
"Hm?"
"You ever feel like stopping?"
"I think about it sometimes."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because I can't."
"But it's so much work…"
"I know. But it's worth it."
"For what?"
Her father smiled, ruffling her hair.
"For you, for those who haven't come yet, and for the future."
Menagerie was beautiful in a way no other place was.
It was home.
But it wasn't easy.
The sun was too bright there. It sometimes turned wooden planks hot under your feet and bleached the salt stains on your sleeves white as chalk. The rain, when it came, was loud and vicious, like it was mad at you. It drummed on the rooftops and left the streets steaming. The bugs were too big. They bit hard and didn't care what kind of Faunus you were, or what type of skin you had.
The air was always full. Salt and sweat and heat, cooking smells and smoke, and sometimes that sharp tang that meant something mechanical had finally given up and broken for good. You could taste it when the wind blew too fast.
Less said about the wildlife, and the Grimm. And most people on the island learned quickly to keep their ears up, eyes narrowed, and their head down. Still, there was laughter.
There were evenings filled with music and dancing. Not the kind that came from fancy radios or speakers; The kind made with hands clapping and feet stomping against the wood. The kind you couldn't buy. Just people, and sound, and joy for no reason except they were together.
Above else, Menagerie was stuck in time. Things rarely changed on the island, and for a little girl, that was almost a comfort; nothing but idle conversations and playtime with friends.
By that time she was four, she begun to see, she started to understand, that the innocent comfort disappeared.
Menagerie was forsaken. The rest of the world moved on without them.
No ships came unless they had to. Things stayed the same. People stayed. No one really expected things to change. The big ships came rarely. News came late. The headlines were old by the time they reached the island. They were rarely joyous or brought relief, only reminders of how far they were from everything else. Far from the kingdoms, far from help, far from the promises whispered during protests and negotiations that never reached the island's shore.
Technology was older. There was no CCT tower. There were no grand buildings. No sky trams or scroll towers. Just shacks that leaned and roads that flooded.
You didn't grow out of Menagerie. You grew into it.
Now, she never really wanted for things.
She had boots that weren't falling apart. A blanket that didn't smell like mildew. A roof that didn't leak when the rains came down sideways. Her clothes weren't patched in every direction, and she didn't have to share a mattress with three cousins. She had her own room. Her parents argued sometimes, but not loudly.
Her father was the chieftain. Her mother taught reading and numbers. People respected them. Her friends listened to her because she was their daughter. She thought that meant things were fine.
She didn't know they were poor. Not really. They had things. She had had enough.
She didn't understand that "enough" wasn't the same as "safe." She didn't truly grasp that her friends' families' enough sat lower on the scale than hers. She couldn't have known that even their version of enough was smaller than the rest of the world's.
Because at the time, Menagerie, with its crooked roads, rusted fences, and patched-up tech, was the whole world. A place where everyone made do.
She didn't understand why her father came home late with his head down. When he'd stare at the floor with salt-stiff sleeves and sunburnt hands.
She didn't understand why her mother's hands trembled when she stirred the pot, or why her voice was softer when she asked how school was.
She didn't understand why there were more carrots and fewer beans when winter dragged on longer than it should have.
But she noticed. Even if she didn't know what it meant.
How her father winced when he sat down.
How her mother's hands always shook by the end of the day.
How neither said anything nor ever complained.
Not once.
Because they knew. As sad as it was, it could have been worse. For some, it was worse.
So when they got angry, it wasn't for themselves. It was for their neighbors. Their people. The ones who didn't have boots. Or blankets. Or silence in their homes. The ones who didn't get picked up after the rain, or were held tighter in the market. The ones who didn't have anything at all.
Blake didn't complain either. She thought she shouldn't. Because she was lucky.
So when she got angry, it was for other people's sake.
For the boy whose shoes had holes so wide you could see his toes. For the girl who wore the same shirt every day, no matter how thin it got. For the boy form Mistral who flinched when people shouted. For the kids who didn't come to school when it rained, because they didn't have anything dry to wear.
She was angry a lot. But...Little Blake didn't know who to blame. Not really.
She just knew things were hard.
She knew it wasn't fair.
She didn't know what a "Schnee" was yet. She didn't know what Dust companies did, or why some ships came and never stayed, or why some of the grown-ups talked quieter when they mentioned Atlas.
She just knew her friend's shoes had holes, and her mother held her tighter on stormy nights, and sometimes her father's voice would go flat when someone brought up the mines.
She thought that was normal.
She thought it was just the way things were.
It wasn't until she got older that she heard the word "Human" said in a tone that tasted like rust in her mouth. Or saw her mother's ears fold back, and her father's nails sharpen into claws at the mention of a Jacques Schnee.
It wasn't until she was older that she understood why.
And once she did, she never forgot it.
She finally knew the world outside Menagerie didn't like them.
But she never truly understood why.
And maybe… a part of her never wanted to.
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Blake walked.
She didn't walk with a goal or an errand. She walked just to walk. To get away from the dorm and away from the stress pressing in between classes and missions and side-glances she was too tired to pretend not to notice.
Tired of the way, even she began to think she was the one at fault.
They hadn't had another fight. Not really. Not like the one a few months ago, when everything boiled over and Weiss had said something she clearly regretted but never apologized for, and Blake had stormed off but never really explained why. That had been an actual fight.
Lately, it was more like a slow leak. Words left unsaid. Eye contact avoided. Smiles that didn't quite reach. A stiffness in the way Weiss offered to pass the salt. A quiet in how Blake accepted it.
And the worst part was, it wasn't just Weiss. Ruby had been running herself ragged trying to hold the team together. Yang had started checking in with her less, maybe on purpose, maybe just out of exhaustion. And Blake…
Blake didn't know what she was doing anymore. Trying, maybe. Not trying hard enough. Trying to stay calm. Trying not to snap. Trying not to look like she was constantly keeping a thousand things inside. Trying not to run away again.
So she walked. Not for a particular reason. She simply wanted to move and to maybe clear her head.
She stuck to the edges of the street, and weaved between stalls and avoiding eye contact. The noise wasn't bad, not exactly. Her head hurt like hell. She just hadn't slept well.
Her Aura was a pitiable levels in the past couple of weeks. At this rate, she'd be more of a liability than an aid in the tournament. To prove her point, her aura flickered pitifully for a moment.
She rubbed her ears through the bow.
It was just... loud. Not unbearable, just… exhausting. So much noise and color. Vale hadn't been this bright in the previous months. It was clear that they really wanted it to work. To pretend that the whole world wasn't sitting on a dust keg. And it was like the whole city was very happy to play along and pretend nothing had happened.
Maybe, they were right.
Like the White Fang hadn't tried to kill thousands. Like Atlas hadn't answered with crimes of its own. Like Menagerie hadn't been declared a rogue state. Like Faunus weren't being hunted again. Only this time, it was harder, quieter, more polite this time, and in a way only humans could ignore.
They failed. The White Fang. All of it. And now the rest of them would pay for it.
Again.
She passed a group of Atlas tourists. One of them wore a shirt with the Atlas crest and a smug little slogan printed across the front. "Terror has no kingdom here." She didn't look at them. Didn't give them the satisfaction. Just kept walking.
She wasn't sure what she was angrier at. The Fang for dragging her people down with them. The world for letting one act define all of them. Or herself, for thinking it might've gone differently this time.
Maybe all of it.
She rounded a corner into one of the busier plazas, where the crowd had thickened around a massive outdoor screen bolted to the side of a building.
It wasn't the usual news feed. The screen showed a looped highlight reel, flashy graphics overlaid with the words in exaggerated lettering, and way too many exclamation marks.
[Vytal Flashback! Electric Entrance!!!!]
And there it was, again.
A lightning dragon, massive and over-the-top, tears through the clouds. It was a looping video with several people in a studio discussing what was clearly History's most blatant attempt at attention-whoring.
"Aura farming," they called it online. She didn't really know what that meant. The term had shown up in a half-dozen comment threads. Maybe he was drawing power from the storm? That would explain the theatrics. Charging his Aura through the electrical grid? Or maybe through the crowd somehow? A siphon Semblance?
She was half-tempted to just call him a Grimm. What else fed on fear and thrived off dominance?
But she stopped herself.
Because if she said that… if she really believed it… Then what did that make Weiss?
Blake didn't believe Weiss was like him. Not really. Not in the ways that mattered.
So she bit down on the thought before it could finish forming. Let it rot quietly behind her teeth.
Let Jacques Schnee be whatever he was.
Just don't let it make her hate someone she didn't want to.
The camera panned into fuzzy, amateur footage form someone's scroll, probably. Just in time to catch Jacques Schnee stepping out from the storm's wake, arms raised, cape fluttering behind him like it had been choreographed. The lightning dragon shrieked overhead on loop.
"Dude's a menace," someone laughed near her. "Didn't think an Atlas wanker had that much soul."
"Honestly? Kind of badass," said another. "A dragon. Fuck, I wish I could do that."
Chuckles and snorts rippled through the crowd.
"You reckon his daughter's single?"
"Ya, of course. She's saving herself for you."
"Today's his trial, right?" someone else chimed in. "Kinda way too fast, no?"
"Pfft, like it matters. He'll walk," A loud scoff. "Bet Vale security had to apologize for looking him in the eye."
"Yeah," another snort. "They'll just pin it on some poor Faunus bastard. Boom.'justice served,' case closed."
"'We are happyto inform you that the blackouts were not caused by the lightning dragon, but by Faunus black magic. Public lynching at seven!"
Laughter rolled through the crowd.
Blake didn't laugh.
Nobody even looked uncomfortable. Not one person flinched.
They didn't think it was cruel. They thought it was clever.
She made to move and to disappear back into the crowd before she did something she regretted when the image flickered again.
Jacques Schnee, front and center, looking more like a man who'd just wandered into the wrong room than someone under arrest. His hands were cuffed in front of him, with an expression of genuine surprise. The camera caught him being escorted, no, dragged, by two uniformed officers toward a waiting van, boots scuffing against the tarmac like he was too offended to walk properly.
The crowd around the screen howled with laughter.
The photo wasn't flattering, but it was awfully fitting.
'If only…' she thought, and despite herself, a soft snort left her slightly curled lips.
And then her throat slit open.
"Yeah, that's definitely not my best pic,"
Her knees nearly gave out.
Every nerve in her body screamed. Her lungs seized around a breath that felt like glass. Her hands flew up to her neck, half-certain they'd come away slick with blood. Her pulse stalled. The world swam.
There was nothing. No cut or wound.
She turned before she realized she'd moved.
Just a man standing next to her.
HE had no weapon. He made no motion. Nothing that made sense. Nothing but pure bloodlust and killing intent so thick it seemed to distort the space around him and suck all the light. All light except the glare of those cold blue eyes that bore down at her.
"Wouldn't you say, little kitty?"
Her brain didn't have time to process. But her body did.
'Fight-or-Flight' roared like a siren inside of her. Her Aura surged. Muscles coiled without permission.
And she launched.
Straight up. Her feet left the floor of the plaza stall with a shockwave strong enough to scatter crates, papers, and half a dozen festival-goers. She didn't care.
She just needed to get away.
The ribbon of her kusarigama burst from Gambit's shroud. It lashed out and caught the edge of a rooftop sign, metal groaning under the sudden pull. Her arm yanked with the momentum, and she let it carry her.
The wind bit against her face as she landed hard on the rooftop. She didn't stop. Didn't hesitate. Her Aura crackled at the impact, flaring dim and unstable, but she ignored it. Just jumping again.
A small voice in the back of her mind tried to reason with her. Said there was no way he knew her. That he couldn't have recognised her. That there was nothing to be afraid of.
That voice didn't even make it to the front of her mind before instinct crushed it flat.
Because she remembered.
Chaos. Dust fire. Screams. A shape made of lightning and light, wading through White Fang fighters' bodies like they were paper. He hadn't fought them. He had destroyed them. That was a monster who wore a man's name.
It was him. Oh gods, it was Him.
The Devil himself.
She looked behind for a trace of him. There was nothing, and for a moment, hope blossomed. She turned back forward for her next jump, and—
"Fucking rude!"
The voice was right next to her.
He was in the air, sailing backward with his arms crossed and a deep, annoyed frown on his face.
"Ahhgh!" she shouted, already swinging.
Her blade met his head, and the impact triggered a blinding flare. Her Semblance surged to its limit, detonating in a short, explosive burst of shadow. The recoil sent her flying backward, away from him, tumbling across the rooftop, boots scraping hard against concrete.
The second her boots found purchase, she moved.
No thought. No plan. Just pure instinct.
Blake didn't care where she was.
"huehuehuehue.... "
Her ears flattened, her heart nearly stopped, and she changed direction again with another burst of her semblance even as her Aura protested.
Over the edge. Down the slope. She vaulted without pause, boots slamming against concrete, metal, and gravel. Slid down the next roof, jumped again. Every motion was instinct. Get away. Move.
Her ears twitched again beneath the bow. Her eyes flicked upward. Her grip on Gambit's shroud tightened until her knuckles ached.
And then... there. She found him.
Poised exactly where her path would've taken her. High atop a steel tower, and waiting. He saw her, and he swept an arm with a spin. The coat flared behind him as he spun into position.
One leg propped up on the railing, one arm stretched toward the heavens His other hand slashed across his chest with fingers splayed, before he jabbed them.
"Through storm and silence, I waited beneath the weight of a thousand fates unraveled, knowing the moment your shadow crossed this city's heart, the final act would begin!" He yelled at her.
Blake stared helplessly as her body began to descend.
He wasn't just chasing her. He wasn't just fast.
He'd gotten here first, waited, set up the pose, and had apparently been rehearsing a speech while she was trying not to die.
He's mocking me, she realised with a blend of loathing and horror.
"I hope you came prepared, little kitten... because the stage is mine, and I do not rehearse twic—WATCH OUT!"
She landed wrong. Her descent had been too fast. She misjudged the edge of the roof while she was too busy paying attention to him.
Her ankle twisted on impact. Pain shot up her leg. She tried to catch herself, but her momentum carried her forward. Her head cracked against the edge of a lower railing, and with it her Aura, and the world spun. Up and down flipped.
'Shit!' Her forearms cradled her neck in preparation, and the ground approached.
Pompf.
She hit the ground in a sudden cloud of… fluff.
Warm. Padded. Smelled faintly of lavender and something weirdly sugary.
Her hearing was filled with high-pitched squeaks. The pile beneath her shifted, and a white rabbit bounced onto her chest, ears twitching, nose wiggling. It stared at her.
Despite everything, despite her head ringing, her ankle burning, and the world still spinning, her brain just blankly registered: Cute.
Then a shadow flickered down from above. Jacques Schnee landed beside her with practiced ease, barely making a sound as he touched down.
"Oh, that was a close one," he said with a chipper tone while forming some kind of sign with his fingers.
The hares vanished one by one into faint wisps of shadow until she was left sitting on solid ground, dazed, half-curled in the spot where they'd broken her fall. Jacques Schnee' shadow settled quietly into its proper place behind him before her eyes.
What jus..?
She blinked. Her pulse still raced. Her ankle still throbbed. But she wasn't dead.
Did… did he save her?
"Can you stand?" he offered gently as he extended a gloved hand toward her. His voice was calmer now. There was no smirk. Just a curious tilt of the head and those unreadable blue eyes watching her patiently
What the hell was going on?
Blake stared at his hand. Then up at his face.
A trick, it had to be. She could still feel it.
She slapped his hand away and scrambled to her feet, backing off so fast her injured ankle almost gave under her.
"Stay away!" She growled while leveling her blade at him.
Jacques Schnee didn't move. He didn't flinch either. He just looked down at his hand for a moment before brushing his coat sleeve like she'd merely smudged it.
"I see," he said lightly. "Bit of a trust issue. Reasonable, all things considered. Look, I know this might seem like total bullshit, believe me, I hear myself, but I just want to talk to you. I mean you no harm."
Blake narrowed her eyes. "Say that again when you're drowning the street in bloodlust, you bastard."
That made him blink, and for a moment, he genuinely looked confused which in turn made her more confused.
"Bloodlust?" he echoed, almost insulted. "That's not, oh!" His eyes lit with dawning realization, and he pointed a finger upward as if to say aha!
"Ah. Right. That." He nodded to himself, then scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, no, that's not me trying to be menacing. That's just… me." He gave a small, awkward shrug. "Aura's a bit of a bastard. Born that way. Can't really tone it down unless I'm unconscious, which frankly seems counterproductive to negotiations."
He straightened up and took a deep breath. "But, for what it's worth," he offered a wry smile, "this is me being nice."
Blake didn't relax. Not yet.
Jacques Schnee closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A second later, the feeling of danger disappeared.
Jacques opened one eye.
"Better?" he asked, almost hopefully.
She frowned and didn't answer right away. "...What do you want?"
"Now there's the million lien question," Jacques said, folding his arms and giving the alley around them a quick once-over. "Can we at least walk and talk? Ideally, somewhere that isn't a pile of dusty bunnies and rotting trash? I feel like this conversation deserves a touch more dignity. Maybe a bench. Possibly tea."
She didn't move. Her eyes never left him.
He smiled anyway. Not the smirking, self-satisfied kind she'd seen in that trial footage—but something quieter. Still smug, but… less aimed.
"What do I want?" Jacques repeated. "To talk to my daughter's friend. Is that a good enough reason, Ms Blake Belladonna?"
"You know me?" Blake stared at him, heart still pounding in her ears.
"Well, I wouldn't really talk to someone I wouldn't know, obviously." He said simply. "You're in the same team as my little snowflake."
She asked. "Th... that's it?"
Jacques Schnee tilted his head, obviously confused by the question. "Well, yes. Honestly, I'm feeling remarkably well-behaved today." he said plainly. "I figured 'friend of my daughter' wasn't a combat designation." He paused, then added, "Unless that's changed recently. Remnant's education has been slipping, I wouldn't be surprised." He laughed at his own joke.
Right...
Of course. Of course, that could've been it. Just that. A reason. A reasonable one. If what he was saying about his Aura wasn't a trick. But..why would it be a trick?
She'd been so focused on the threat he radiated, the stories she'd heard, and the carnage he left in his wake. It hadn't even occurred to her that he might've just been trying to talk. That he might not have known.
He couldn't. There was no way. He was on the other side of the planet. Not even her teammates knew. Not even the headmaster. Nobody knew she'd slipped out tonight. Nobody knew she was a Faunus.
Shit, she almost blew her cover. Her entire cover. Because she panicked. Because she saw a man who could kill her and assumed that meant he would. Because she was Faunus. But right now, and as far as anyone was concerned, Blake was just a human member from Team RWBY.
She clenched her jaw and forced herself to breathe more softly. She couldn't let that happen again. Her loathing didn't vanish, but she bottled it. Capped it tight and shoved it deep where it belonged.
'I could still salvage this.' Blake forced a smile, her shoulders relaxing as much as they could. She cleared her throat and straightened up.
"Sorry. That was very rude of me," she said, almost cheerful. "Your aura just caught me off guard. It's… intense and really..cool haha." She added the last part like a joke "What did you want to talk about, ...Mr. Schnee?"
Jacques Schnee tilted his head slightly, brow raised. If he was suspicious of her sudden change in demeanor, he didn't' say. He folded his arms, glancing casually down the alley before returning his eyes to her.
"Well, many things actually," he said. "World's been a little... wound up lately. Kingdoms at each other's throats, terrorist groups popping up like weeds—"She didn't flinch. She didn't twitch. "— and my daughter is living in a school thousands of miles away from home. A man can't help but worry."
He folded his arms, leaning back slightly. "So tell me, how is my little snowflake settling in? Playing nice with the others? You know how Weiss is a brilliant girl, but... well, she's a little blunt. People and feelings were never really her strong suits." He added with a chuckle. "Just like her old man."
She echoed his chuckle with a bubbly laugh that made her die a little inside. "Oh, she's doing great!" She clasped her hands behind her back. She even bounced slightly on her heels, channeling her best Ruby impression, all big smiles and wide-eyed energy.
"Weiss is… wonderful! Super focused, really smart, always working hard! We get along great, actually. She's really been trying with the team! Like, effort and everything!"
She ended it with a cheerful little nod and an exaggerated smile, almost sparkling.
Jacques Schnee' lips twitched. He let out a quiet, relieved exhale. "Oh, that's really good. I was worried the White Fang attack might've soured things between you two."
Blake let out a light, airy laugh. "Why would that ever happen? Haha…"
"Well," Jacques Schnee said casually, "because you're a former member."
The smile dropped clean off her face.
Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Blank. She just stared. For a second, she forgot how to move, how to think.
From the flicker across her face, Jacques seemed to realize something. His eyes flicked to her bow.
"…Oh," he said quietly. "…You haven't told them."
It was like the air cracked. Her body tensed, and bad emotions rose fastand she took a step back without thinking. Her injured ankle flared with pain, and her footing gave.
She fell.
"Careful there." He caught her by the elbow. Fear. Instinct. Shame.
"Let me go!" she snapped, panicked. She tried to snatch her arm, but it felt like trying to budge a mountain.
"Not a good idea," he ignored her thrashing and gazed down at her leg. "Hold still a moment. I'll fix it."
Before she could protest again, a green light bloomed faintly from his hand. Revulsion and disgust filled her senses when his Aura coursed into her body. A burning sensation jolted through her ankle.
"I said let go!" she yelled and yanked her arm back, staggering away from him. But she didn't fall.
Jacques straightened his coat with one hand and looked at her without a trace of anger. "See? All better. But it's just patchwork, so you should probably take it easy for a couple of hours. At least until your Aura stabilizes."
The pain in her ankle was gone, yet her stomach twisted like it was trying to tie itself in knots. She still felt like she was going to hurl.
Shitshitshitshitshitshit—
"HOLY STUFF, IT'S GOD!"
The yell startled her like a slap. Blake snapped her head toward the mouth of the alley to see Nora with her hammer raised, the rest of team JNPR behind her.
She took a frantic step back. Did they hear him? Did they hear what he said? Do they know?
A hand settled gently on her shoulder. Her eyes widened. The world tilted. And then everything went black.
It was like sinking into oil. All around her was a liquid as thick as mud. Jacques Schnee's hand was still on her shoulder, and somewhere in her peripheral vision, she spotted a spark of electricity. The pool of darkness beneath them expanded then surged.
She was sucked by strong current for what felt like miles.
And then spat out.
A hand on her neck, and her body went subconsciously limp while staring at the ground. A second later, she was gently put down. She coughed, gagged, and spat onto the floor, trying to remove the vile taste form her tongue. "Ughh..." she whined.
"Welcome home, Master Schnee."
Blake looked up in alarm. She found herself standing between two long lines of immaculately dressed staff bowing in practiced unison. Her eyes lifted farther, and she nearly flinched from the blinding light from a dozen ornate chandeliers which caught her off guard. They were bright enough to cast gold across high-arching ceilings and marble floors.
Where the hell was she?
A minute ago, she'd been coughing on alley grit. Now she was in some kind of palace?!
"The Crescent Pavilion is honored by your return," said an older man who stepped forward. His suit was flawless and his voice held the kind of polish that came from decades of high-end service. He bowed low, then gestured toward the corridor ahead with a flourish. "Your table awaits, Master Schnee. We've taken the liberty of preparing our most prized dishes and wines."
Jacques offered a pleasant smile from behind her. "Much appreciated," like he genuinely meant it.
Blake was still trying to make sense of her surroundings when she felt two fingers hook lightly around the back of her collar. Before she could react, her body betrayed her. Her knees softened, her posture slackened, and she went completely still.
Like some reflex buried deep in her bones, she relaxed like a caught kitten.
Damn it..
Thankfully, he didn't tug. Just a light pressure, coaxing her forward.
"Come on," Jacques said. "You're my guest. Might as well enjoy the perks."
She didn't answer. Just walked, stiff-legged at first, letting him guide her past the double staircase and into the grand lobby. There were fresh flowers on every table, soft music playing from somewhere she couldn't place, and not a speck of dust anywhere. It didn't smell like a hotel. It smelled like wealth.
Old wealth. One made from the blood of sacrifices of the oppressed.
Blake lowered her head. The floors gleamed like glass, reflecting chandeliers the size of small airships, and making her clearly see how pathetic she was.
Eventually, they reached a private dining room tucked between a pair of marble columns. The doors opened before they even touched them. A long table stood inside, already set for two. Candles flickered. The silverware gleamed.
He let go of her collar at the threshold. Blake made to ste—"Don't."
She froze before her foot touched the ground.
"If you try to run away, I will catch you," Jacques Schnee stated. "And you'll just embarrass yourself in front of all these very expensive people since I will have no choice but to tie you up. Upside down. In the lobby. By your ankles. And I will not be gentle about it.
Blake turned her head just enough to glare at him from the corner of her eye.
He gestured toward the elegantly set table, where a place had been prepared for her with the same care as his. "Sit. Eat. Breathe. I invited you here as a guest." Jacques Schnee smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
There was a beat of silence.
His eyes softened slightly. "You can walk on your own, Miss Belladonna. I'm not holding you anymore."
Blake's throat tightened. Her pride hated that.
But her ankle still throbbed faintly, and her Aura hadn't come back. She didn't have a better plan. So she moved, biting back every instinct that screamed at her to shove him away and run.
She sat.
Only then did Jacques Schnee take his seat. "See?" he said, almost pleasantly. "Not so hard."
Blake didn't answer. She was too busy trying to set him on fire with her glare.
"You know, there's really no need to be so guarded," he said.
Blake didn't blink. "You expect me to just be open and trusting all of a sudden?"
He tilted his head. "No. That's not what I said."
Jacques folded his hands together on the table. "Whether you're on edge or perfectly relaxed. Whether you're armed or sitting here without an ounce of Aura left in you. It doesn't change a thing."
Blake's chest tightened.
"If I wanted to hurt you, Miss Belladonna," he said, not gloating, just stating it plainly, "we wouldn't be having this conversation. But I don't. So let's not pretend this has to be anything but civil."
Her fingers curled on her knees, and she hated how her pulse reacted, how her mouth went dry for just a moment. "I'll be civil," she said. "But don't mistake that for trust."
"Perish the thought." Jacques gave a faint chuckle and picked up the utensils. "Now, "in order for us to have a productive conversation, there needs to be a bit of give and take. So let's take turns asking a couple of questions to get the ball rolling. Fair's fair, right?" He smiled at her stiff little nod. "Excellent. You start first since you're the guest."
Her hand twitched slightly in her lap. Still no Aura. Still no weapon. Still no backup. She took a breath. "Alright," she said, voice quiet. "How did you know?"
"Hmm. I have my ways," he said lightly, as if the answer were obvious. "The SDC keeps a record of every lost shipment, especially ones that involve bombed rail lines and stolen Dust. Not to mention security footage. You'd be surprised how much data a train's cameras can salvage, even when the engine explodes."
Jacques Schnee leaned back in his chair. "And then I started digging. " White Fang defectors, Menagerie, even a few intercepted Mistrali reports. And then of course," he added, gesturing vaguely, "Team RWBY was made, and I dug deeper about what sour of company my daughter. A dark-haired partner, very quiet, always cautious, fast, keeps to herself, a very distinct weapon. Sound familiar?" He smiled at her silence."Put one and one together, and what do you know? It all fits."
Her mouth tasted like copper. She hadn't touched her food.
He knew. He had known. Not guessed, not suspected. Known. Blake opened her mouth to ask again, to press him, but Jacques raised a hand. "My turn," he pointed out. "Why did you run away from me?"
Her jaw clenched.
"Because you're a psychopath," she snapped. "Because you're the reason the Faunus have spent the last decade starving in mines and choking in slums. Because your company treats my people like they're less than human, and you've never shown even a hint of remorse for it. The SDC made billions off our backs, and you had the gall to call it progress. You poisoned everything. You lied to us. You promised equality, something we couldn't find anywhere else, only to trap us in servitude. And because—"
Her voice cracked, and she didn't bother hiding it.
"—You're exactly the kind of person our elders warned us about. Arrogant. Powerful. Cold. Liar. The kind of man who thinks smiling while holding someone's leash is mercy."
When she stopped, her chest was rising and falling with each breath. Jacques didn't speak right away. He reached for his wine glass, took a slow sip, and set it down again. His lips quivered.
"Colorful," he said at last. "But Exaggerated. I'll give you that."
Her knuckles whitened against the edge of the table.
"This might be the first time I've ever said this," He picked up his fork again, "but you're giving me too much credit. You're wrong about two things, Miss Belladonna," he said. "The first is that I hate the Faunus."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Blake shot back.
Jacques's lips thinned. He didn't answer immediately. His fingers tapped once against the table before he leaned back in his chair and said, "Marin Everthorn. Darius Koln. Olyette Tana. Bruno Halde. The Weissfield Venture Group. Caldex Incorporated. Chalybe Holdings..." His eyes darkened. "...Ylvet Gelé."
Blake stared. None of the names meant anything to her. "Am I supposed to know who those names belong to?"
"No, you're not," Jacques said quietly. "You've never heard of them. Because they no longer exist on this planet." "They were individuals and groups who were truly hated by the man sitting facing you. And the things he hates don't get warnings. They get erased. Quietly. Permanently. If I truly hated your kind, Miss Belladonna, "If I truly hated your kind, Miss Belladonna, there wouldn't be enough left to bury."
"I don't. Never have. I don't fear them. I don't resent them. And I certainly don't wake up in the morning plotting their downfall." He let the silence sit. "So no. You don't have to believe me. But I suggest you consider the difference between cruelty... and indifference, which in truth, might be even worse."
Blake stared at him. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Something about the way he said like he wasn't trying to convince her, made her skin crawl.
"And the second?" she asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.
"That I'm the source of all your people's misery," Jacques said, setting down his utensils with a faint clink. "Of course. Who else could it be?"
"I own the SDC. I sign the contracts. I take the blame. Fine." He picked up his. "But you want the truth? The truth is, I didn't create this system. I inherited it. The licenses, the quotas, the cheap labor loopholes? All signed off by councils and courts and senators older than both of us. You think I built the mines? Half of them were already in operation when I was still trying to get in Willow's pants."
He tapped the side of the glass.
"I built the SDC to be the biggest because I thought I could, and I did. But the worst of it, the mines no one visits, the labor camps dressed up as job programs, the Faunus 'security consultants' paid in rations, those didn't start with me. The Council of Vale, the Guild in Vacuo, the Consortium in Atlas, and the Confederacy and Union of Mistral. They didn't need me."
He took a sip, then added, almost casually."Half of them subsidized those mines. The other half looked the other way because they needed Dust to heat their homes or fuel their weapons. For cheap. And the Kingdoms let it happen. Because comfort matters more than conscience."
"So you're just misunderstood. A poor man trying to make an honest living." Blake's eyes narrowed. "Doesn't matter if you signed off or not. They were still your mines. Your contracts. You should have known what was going on in them."
Jacques didn't react at first. He set his glass down gently and laced his fingers in front of him. "That's fair," he said after a moment. "You're right. I should have known."
Blake blinked. That wasn't the response she expected.
"But tell me," Jacques went on, tone calm, "What's your mother doing right now?"
"What?" She froze. Her glare could have set a lesser man ablaze. "Is that a threat?" she stood up with a growl.
"No. I don't threaten." He motioned for her to sit down. "It's a question. Simple. Honest. Do you know what she's doing? Right now. This moment."
Blake didn't answer. She didn't have one, and that silence said enough.
"Exactly. You only know if she told you." Jacques shrugged, his expression unreadable but not defensive. "Now imagine running a company with over a million employees, tens of thousands of sites across the globe, and four separate governments constantly trying to pry into your records. Even if I wanted to know what went on in every mine, every shipment, every guard post—I couldn't. I only know what I'm being told."
He paused, letting that sit between them for a moment.
"And believe me, when I do find something... unsavory, I try to deal with it. Quietly. Efficiently. But I don't waste time pretending I can watch everything at once. No one can. Not even the gods."
Blake's jaw clenched. She looked away, down at her untouched plate, the silver fork glinting under the soft chandelier light. For a second, her glare softened, not out of pity, but something closer to reluctant acknowledgment.
Almost.
And that scared her.
"Fine," she said quietly. "Maybe you couldn't see everything. Maybe you weren't told. Maybe. But that still doesn't make it okay. Not for the people who suffered. Not for the ones who never made it out. You might not have tied the chains yourself, but you let them stay on. And you kept taking the profit."
She looked at him again, calmer now, but no less firm. "So don't pretend like the blood isn't on your hands."
"Oh, I'm not. I never said I was a good person." He laughed. "I'm just saying that you should probably stop believing that it's all that simple. I'm a bad person, but I ain't a cartoon villain. At least not anymore."
Blake searched for any hint of sarcasm. There wasn't any. Just that maddening coolness. It almost made her angrier.
She still waited for him to explain, but Jacques Schnee waved a hand like it wasn't worth repeating. "Trying to make amends," he said, voice dry. "I'd tell you, but you wouldn't believe me. Go search the net. Watch the news. It's all there if you care to look."
Blake didn't respond. She didn't trust him, not even a little. But he it didn't seem like he was lying to her. He looked too disinterested for that. Or annoyed.
"Still," Jacques went on and resumed his eating. "That's all just the tip of the iceberg. Surface-level symptoms. Scrubbing a few ledgers and shutting down a few operations doesn't change what built the system. Doesn't kill the root. If I vanished tomorrow, nothing would change. Because it's not about me, not really. It's about what the world."
Blake stared down at her plate, still untouched. She didn't want to ask. She already knew, deep down. But the words slipped out anyway.
"…Then what is the root?"
Jacques didn't look at her right away. He took another bite, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.
"The root," he said slowly, "is people not giving a damn about anyone but themselves."
Blake figured it was something like that.
The problem always was people.
It was old grudges. Entitlement. Fear dressed up as pride. It's tribalism, ancient hatreds, stupidity passed down like tradition. And not just between Humans and Faunus. Humans were the common 'other' for many. But they weren't the only 'other'. Even among the Faunus, there was division. She knew that better than the man facing her. She'd seen how they tear each other down.
Highland ears sneering at lowland tails. Claws looking down on horns. Fur versus scales. Stripes versus spots.
Blake's shoulders sank. The anger hadn't left, but it dulled and was blunted by the cruelty of everything she already knew. Everything she couldn't fix.
She stared at the man across from her. The man she'd hated most in the world. And still did. But in that moment, something in her cracked, just a little. He seemed to have all the answers.
"…Then how do you fix it?" she asked, almost a whisper. "How am I supposed to fix something like that?"
Jacques looked at her in a way that was neither cruel nor smug. Just plainly.
"You don't," he said. "Not like this. Not as you are."
He folded his hands before him.
"Become God. Wipe the slate clean. Rupture the stars and the oceans. Command Heavens and Earth. Create your perfect world. Your Eden. One where no one gets to be 'other.' No ears or horns or heritage to divide you. Just your design. Your rules. That's the only way to fix people: take the people out of them."
"But short of that?" He shrugged. "You pick your battles. You try to be less wrong than the ones who came before you. And maybe that's enough to keep the fire from burning the next village down."
He met her eyes.
"But you don't get to win. No one does. You just survive a little better than the last poor bastard who tried."
Blake stared at him, looking at his face. She hoped to find...something. She didn't know what that something was, but she didn't find it.
"So it's hopeless. All of it...is just meaningless," she said. "We're just… stuck in a cruel world."
Jacques exhaled through his nose.
"Nah," he said softly. "The world's not cruel. "It's far too damn beautiful to be cruel."
He looked to the side, and she followed his gaze out of the huge window. He looked at the world outside, and slowly he began to laugh.
"Cruelty needs intent. Spite. The world has none of that. Mountains, oceans, skies full of dust and stars. It doesn't care who lives or dies under it, not because it's cruel. It doesn't know us. It doesn't need to."
A pause. The smallest trace of something near fondness flickered in his voice.
He was clearly happy.
"But we do. But we care. You care. That's what makes it bearable."
The words left her lips before she realized. "So...what?"
"So, struggle."
He motioned to the world beyond the glass, the city lights, the cold towers, the broken things still standing.
"This world is conveniently imperfect. Crooked from the foundation. You'll never find a clean path forward, Blake Belladonna. So roar. Roar to the farthest and furthest reaches like a kaiju. Don't be broken. Let the whole world know: this is me."
His voice never rose. It didn't have to. It had weight.
"You won't fix it all. You won't heal every scar. But however little strength you've got, use it. To protect the ones you love. And they'll protect the ones they love. That's how it starts. That's how it spreads."
He sat back in his chair, eyes on hers, unblinking.
"That's what we pathetic, puny mortals do. We endure. We bleed. And if we can't tear down the system, then we give the next ones the teeth to bite harder. And when we die,..."
He tapped the table once, softly.
"We die entrusting those after us to find meaning in our sacrifice. To carve something better out of the bones and the wreckage we left behind."
Blake said nothing at first.
Her hands had gone still on the table. She wasn't glaring anymore, but there was no softness in her face either. Just silence, and a long stare to a place of a time from long ago.
She wanted to scoff, to tear apart everything he just said, to remind him of everything he had done, everything he was responsible for. But... something about the way he said it, the way he believed it, made her stomach twist.
She had heard those same words, in different forms, from the ones she trusted.
Her eyes lowered, and For a moment, she didn't say anything. The anger that had burned so brightly in her chest had faded, replaced by something complex.
It was a discomfort she couldn't shake.
A discomfort at the thought that the man in front of her could be similar to her father.
A discomfort at the thought that crept in that maybe, just maybe, Jacques Schnee wasn't that different. He wasn't the devil she'd made him out to be. He wasn't some cold monster. He was... a man. That maybe, her father's dream was so impossible.
A discomfort that her father's self-sacrifice, his constant efforts to build something better, to protect, to provide, everything that had been so much of who he was, could be vindicated and reassured by Him of all people.
A discomfort that her frustration, her anger, her principles, and her constant failures weren't wrong.
The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. The cursed relief she felt was much more bitter.
She hated that it was him making her feel this way.
But she couldn't stop it. She tried to hold it back, to keep her composure, but...
She swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat refused to budge. Her vision began to blur, the edges of the world softening as wetness threatened to spill from her eyes.
She wiped her eyes, and lifted her head to glare at him. She sniffled.
"It's my turn."
"Of course," Jacques smiled. "But before that, your food's getting cold."
Blake looked down at the plate in front of her. The fish looked appetizing. It had a rich and mouth-watering smell that she had been ignoring, but she couldn't bring herself to eat it. The thought of consuming something paid for by him made her stomach twist.
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "If I don't eat, will it just be thrown away?"
Jacques shook his head. "That'd be a waste. It'll be given to the homeless."
Blake's eyes stayed on the plate, but she finally pushed it aside. "Then... I won't eat."
Her gaze drifted to the deep red wine bottle on the table. Jacques' eyes followed her line of sight. "That...we can't give to the homeless." He said with a grin.
Without a second thought, Blake grabbed the bottle and knocked it back in one swift motion. The alcohol burned down her throat, but she didn't flinch.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, feeling the heat in her cheeks as she met his gaze.
It paled compared to the burn of the conviction inside her.
"Why did you want to talk to me?"
Jacques leaned back slightly in his chair, watching her like he was seeing something for the first time, something that he liked.
"Because you're a fool," he said. "But a gutsy one."
A crooked grin tugged at his mouth.
"And what can I say? I've always had a weakness for morons like you."
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By the time she left the hotel, the sun was already setting. The sky had dipped into that soft orange haze that made everything feel quieter than it was. She walked with her hood up and her eyes half-lidded, the first and probably last glass of wine she'd ever have still buzzing faintly behind her eyes.
Luckily, her Aura had returned enough to flush most of it out, just enough that she didn't stumble.
More luckily, this time, she managed to make it across the city using public transit. No chauffeured ride in some expensive Schnee limo. No unwanted offer to teleport her straight back to Beacon through his disgusting and stinky shadow.
No more unnecessary time with that man.
She sat in the back of the bus watching the city blur below. One hand in her lap. The other still smelled faintly of wine. She did her best to ignore the black limo following the bus.
It didn't take long until she reached Beacon.
She walked, steps still a little off, but steadier now that her Aura was catching up. Her face, however, was far from composed. That heat hadn't left her, not the flush from the wine even if that definitely still there, but the glare carved across her face. It wasn't the kind of anger that invited questions. It was the kind that made people look away.
No one stood in her path.
No one dared.
Blake Belladonna really wasn't in the mood.
She finally made it to the dorm. The door flew open with a sharp bang when her boot hit it hard enough to rattle the hinges.
"Shit! Blake?!" Yang nearly fell off her bed, startled. Ruby jumped too.
Blake marched in without a word and slammed the door shut behind her. The sound echoed through the small room.
Both sisters stared at her like she'd walked in covered in blood.
"Where the hell have you been?" Yang asked, voice half-concerned, half-ready to yell. "We looked everywhere for you!"
Ruby quickly approached her to hug her, only to stop when she reached her and took a whiff of the smell of liquor. "Wow, that's... wow!"
On the far bed, Weiss sat upright slowly, her pillow still behind her back. Her eyes were puffy, tired, and rimmed red. She didn't say anything. She just looked at Blake..
"You look like shit," Blake told her. She did.
Weiss looked at her, confused, then she scoffed. "Well, I guess that makes two of us." She blinked again and wrinkled her nose. "Wait, you're drunk!? Is that what you've been doing a—"
"Shut up," Blake snapped, waving an arm and almost hitting Yang. "Shut up. I'm gonna... I need to say something."
Her teammates exchanged quick glances, but Blake didn't care. Not right now. The wine buzz was still clinging to her head, making all her thoughts muddled but sharp in all the worst places. She tugged at her hoodie. Her arms got tangled halfway before Yang stepped in and helped pull it off without a word.
"Thanks, "Blake muttered a breath of thanks, and stood there in her undershirt. Slowly, her right hand rose to her head, and stopped.
She stared at the floor. Her hand hovered over the bow. Everything in her screamed not to do it. She could lie. She could sit down, crack another joke, pretend like none of this ever happened. Just pass out on her bed and let it all fade away with the wine.
But...
"For you, for those who haven't come yet, and for the future."
"This world is conveniently imperfect. Crooked from the foundation. You'll never find a clean path forward, Blake Belladonna. So roar. Roar to the farthest and furthest reaches like a kaiju. Don't be broken. Let the whole world know."
She shut her eyes. Her hand moved.
And she yanked the bow off in one hard pull.
Weiss's mouth fell open. She stood up fast enough that her head smacked into the upper bed.
Yang nearly tripped on the chair next to her.
Ruby's scroll slipped out of her hands and hit the floor with a soft thud.
They all looked at her.
Blake opened her eyes and met their gaze.
"This is me."
Can you guess how many speeches Jacques just ripped off?