So, my forum just let me know Service with a Smile has eclipsed Professor Arc and Not this Time, Fate to become the most followed story in the fandom. I'm pleased, obviously, but also kind of baffled. xD
I mean, I enjoy this story and writing it, which is sometimes a change from my others, but there's always a part of me just kinda going "Coeur, do you actually have a plot for this?" and my brain goes, "Nope. Not even nearly."
It's also weird when one considers it's barely more than a year old. Most of the time, you expect older stories to just have more follows, or be unassailable by new ones, because they would have been followed by fans who no longer read fanfic, or don't like RWBY, etc, and so the older stories get a shot at both the old follows and the new follows. They're established, ever-present.
And then this. Hm. I guess this is proof, fantasy world or not – we all just want to play with coffee!
Coffee-Chan is truly best RWBY character.
If she doesn't get a bigger role in season 6 I shall cry. Just a single scene where someone raises her to their lips, caresses her, kisses her – and the OTP will be canon-confirmed.
Cover Art: Jack Wayne
Chapter 31
"Mr Arc. Good to meet you. My name is Richard Grey, your new solicitor."
Jaune sighed and didn't shake the man's hand. "I don't need a solicitor."
"I would very much disagree, sir." The man took his hand back. He didn't look offended. "Your business is in peril and Café Prime have even served you an immediate eviction notice. More than anyone in Vale, I believe you need a solicitor right now."
"Eviction…?" His face fell. He slumped. "I… I'll pack my bags…"
"What are you talking about!?" Ruby pushed forward. "Jaune, you can't!"
"Can't what?" he asked, tired. "Can't fight them? I know that. I can't do much of anything right now. It's over. Done." He waved a hand. "Jaune's is done. Café Prime has won."
"No! You can still fight!"
"You don't think I haven't been?" he snapped back. "This isn't a Grimm, Ruby. This isn't something I can take a sword to, if I even knew how to use my own. I can't walk over there and punch Café Prime in the face. The laws… The laws don't help me." He choked. "They help big businesses. They're designed to help big businesses. Someone like me, someone small, we're not important."
"You're important to us," Pyrrha said.
Jaune hesitated. "Maybe," he acknowledged. "But you don't make the laws." Their eyes were locked on his, all of them sorrowful. Jaune looked away. "I'm sorry. I don't… I'm not ruining the mood intentionally. I'm just tired. I'm spent. You guys should go. I… I need to put my affairs in order. Find somewhere to stay."
"That's it, then?" Ruby demanded. "You're not even going to try?"
He had his back to them. "I've been trying since I opened up. It's not like I haven't give it my best."
"Then what is one more week?" Weiss asked.
"Pointless? Impossible. If I'm being evicted, I don't even have a choice."
"The eviction can be fought, Mr Arc."
"Not forever. They own the building now. Even if they can't forcefully evict me, they can just close it down." Jaune made his way to the staircase, ignoring their protests. "I'll see you all later maybe. Or not. I'll… I'll try come visit Beacon before I leave."
Jaune clenched his eyes shut and dashed back up the stairs before they could argue. His shoulder hit the door and nearly tore it off its hinges. He'd had to leave, had to turn away, because tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes. His hands clamped down onto the edges of the sink as he turned the faucet on full blast and splashed water into his face, washing away the evidence of his shame.
He stood like that for a minute or two, face submerged in water splashing back from the palms of his hands, his breath coming out in harsh pants. Eventually, when the water turned lukewarm, Jaune turned it off and staggered back. Grabbing a towel off the side, he scrunched it up against his face and took a long, shaky breath.
"It's over, then?" a masculine voice asked. Russel stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall beside the door. His face was completely neutral.
"I guess it is. I'll have your pay packet," Jaune promised. "I'll give you both a bonus. You… You more than earned it." Even if he'd never intended to take on both Velvet and Russel, even if Velvet had been pity and nothing more, and Russel had – if he admitted it – intimidated him at first.
Both had been wonderful. Both had been a part of Jaune's. Irreplaceable. The entire diner could have changed in an instant, but it wouldn't have been the same if either he or Velvet had left.
"Hmm. I'm not looking forward to having to find a new job."
"You'll manage it. Your résumé was amazing. You've always worked in places like this."
"Yeah. You know why?"
"Because you needed the money. Your father didn't work."
"That's what I said, yeah." Russel pushed himself off the wall and cracked his neck from side to side. One of his hands gripped his wrist and rubbed it almost nervously. "Wasn't the whole truth, though. Truth wasn't any of your business at the time. I needed the money to move out. To get away from him."
"Wh-"
"Dad liked to drink," Russel said, speaking over Jaune, before he could say anything. "Liked to drink, but also liked to do other things. Whore. Drugs. The whole lot. If he didn't have any or couldn't afford any, he'd get angry. Angry enough to lash out at people. Usually, it was people who couldn't fight back, like a little kid. Or Mom. Got worse when Mom gave up and left. Didn't take me with her for some reason." Russel laughed bitterly. "I got blamed for that, too. Got punished for it."
Jaune's hands stilled. "He… hit you?"
"Hit? Nah, man. Hit is what happens when someone slaps you. He beat me. Beat me like a man wouldn't beat a fucking dog. He liked belts the best. Made a loud crack, and if the end caught it would splash blood." Russel sneered and looked away. "Still got the marks on my back from that."
"That's…" Jaune didn't know what to say. "It's horrible."
"Yeah, well. He was horrible. Not as much if he was stoned or pissed though, so I worked to keep him that way. Worked to give him money, prove I was worth keeping around. Make it so he was better off not beating me within an inch of my life. I said before I earned money to leave, but that wasn't true. Not at first. All the money went to him. I didn't even think of leaving. Didn't think I could. Didn't even cross my mind. He was my Dad, you know. Family. Where the fuck would someone like me go?"
"The police…?"
"Small village. Besides, I didn't think of it. I was too lost. Felt I had to take it, had to work my way out of it alone. The beatings got less if I gave him money, so I took a job. And then two. And then three jobs, all to make it work. I even started to shoot up a little myself." Russel made a gesture towards his arm, as if injecting something. "That was how I first met Cardin, twitching and having a seizure as I threw up on his shoes."
"Bastard wasn't the least bit sympathetic," Russel laughed. "Told me exactly what he thought of some drugged-up loser like me but carried me to the nearest hospital anyway. Dumped me there. Didn't meet him again until he recognised me serving at a restaurant. Nearly got me fired when he mentioned me being a druggie. We got to talkin' though. Found we had some things in common. He became a friend, of sorts. It was good. First friend. I stopped shooting because it pissed him off. Of course, things couldn't stay happy. Not forever."
"What happened?"
"I lost one of my jobs. Nothin' on my part, just the owners closing down – sickness in the family or something. But suddenly, I was without a part of my income and Dad got sober. Worse, he got hungover and cold turkey. If he was bad sober, he was worse in pain. I thought I was going to die. Belt just kept raining down and down and blood was fucking everywhere. And then… then, Cardin."
"Cardin…?"
"Cardin," Russel agreed, laughing bitterly. "Dunno why he was there, but he came flying into the house roaring like a fucking Ursa. Fifteen-years-old and not as big as he is now, but he was on my old man before I could blink. Punching, kicking, biting. Slammed him into a wall and beat the bastard black and blue. I had to drag him off, man. Cardin was going to kill him." Russel was shaking slightly, hands twitching. He ran one through his mohawk. "Things changed. Cardin dragged me to his home, said I was living there now. Wouldn't take no for an answer."
"He set me straight. Told me I'd gotten used to being helpless, learned to be helpless, that I was taking beatings I didn't have to. I never saw my old man again, though not for lack of trying on the bastard's part. Last I heard he'd left. Just up and walked away, leaving me behind. Good riddance," Russel spat. "But Cardin still looked out for me, let me stay at his. Told me I could earn money to make a life for myself and not to pay for my dad's. Helped me train, too. Brought me up to the level I am now and even helped me get into Beacon."
"He sounds like a good friend…"
"He is," Russel agreed. "Not a perfect guy, even I know that. He's got faults, believe me. But as a friend, as a team leader? No one fucking better. Not for me, anyway. Figure it would be different for you. Different lives and all." He shrugged.
"I guess…"
"You've got a lot of friends down there, too," Russel said. "A lot of friends as good to you as Cardin is to me, and they're moping around because of what you said. What you're doing."
Jaune's eyes fell. "Russel, I can't. Café Prime-"
"Is just like my Dad. Bullies. The bigger person. Someone who makes the rules, is the law, and who you don't think you can fight because they're bigger, older and have power over you." Russel bit down on his lip as he shook. "Fuck, I thought I was over this." He sighed. "Thing is, it's different but it's the same. They're the same. You've got the same problem I had. You've learned to be helpless."
"I am helpless here."
"So was I. I needed someone bigger and stronger to help drag me out of that hell. I couldn't do it on my own, and you can't do it on your own here. You need allies." Russel nodded at the floor. "Whole lot of them down there. More than I had."
Jaune's eyes were fixed on the floor. His shoulders rose and fell.
"You only get the one chance to make a decision," Russel said. "Sucks, but that's life. Whatever you decide here, you're gonna have to live with for the rest of your life. If you really think it's hopeless, and you accept that, then go home. But don't ever look back and wish you could have tried it the other way, because if you do, you'll regret the decision until the day you die. But ask yourself first if that's what you really want, or if it's just what the bullies want you to think you want."
Russel pushed off the wall and made for the door. He opened it, but paused in the doorway, back to Jaune. His shoulders were rigid, stiff. It was obvious he'd never thought to share this. Not with Jaune. Probably not with anyone but Cardin.
"My Dad wanted me helpless because it made him feel better. Stronger. But I wasn't helpless." He sighed. "I just thought I was. Think on that."
Russel closed the door.
Jaune slumped onto the sofa and let his head fall into his hands. Russel's story, apart from making Jaune sick and angry, left him weak legged. It wasn't the same, surely? But sometimes, right now for example, he felt as helpless as Russel must have. Was he actually that way, or had Café Prime just made him feel it?
And what was he going to do about it?
/-/
The diner was silent and moody when he made his way downstairs. Some looked towards him, only to turn away when they realised who it was. Velvet and Russel were serving, but it was in silence and their hearts weren't in it. The decorations around the room felt flat and lifeless. Dull.
Team RWBY were sat around a small, round table. They were quiet, Ruby with her head down, Yang and Blake on their scrolls and Weiss spinning a spoon around a cappuccino which was, by now, ice cold. They were listless.
Swallowing, Jaune made his way over. He came to a stop by the table, though none of them seemed to notice. He cleared his throat. In the silence, it was enough to make Team RWBY flinch.
"I…" The words caught in his throat. What did he want to say? "I want to apologise for what I said earlier. I didn't mean to snap at you, Ruby."
"Y-Yeah." Ruby wilted. "I shouldn't have said you were giving up. You… You've fought hard. You've always been fighting them. I just… I was just so frustrated. So angry. Not at you," she quickly said. "At them. At what they're doing."
"I know."
"I just don't want this place to be shut down," she went on, voice cracking slightly.
Jaune's eyes watered. "Y-Yeah. You and a lot of other people."
"And they're trying to take that away! And for what? Money! Or reputation, or just business." Ruby's hands shook. "It's not fair!"
"It's not," he agreed. "I realise that more than anyone since it's my livelihood they're taking down. But… I just don't understand why you – why everyone – is so desperate to help me. I know you're all my friends, but… that wouldn't change if Jaune's closed," he said. "I'd still be your friend if you'd have me. So, why is Jaune's so important?"
Ruby was lost for words.
Oddly enough, Blake was not. "Because it's ours."
He was surprised she, of all people, answered. "What do you mean?"
"This is our place," Blake said, lips tugged down into a frown. "It may belong to you, but we meet her almost every day. We have our table, something so regular people leave it empty because they know we're coming. Russel and Velvet know our order off by heart. Gambol Shroud sits in the same spot on the rack every day, along with everyone else's weapons. It may seem like nothing, but Jaune's is a part of our routine. It's a part of our lives, just like Beacon or Vale."
"It's comfortable," an older huntress by the window said. She was looking out it, chin on her hand, elbow on the table, but she spoke nonetheless. "It's my regular. I don't want to change it."
"It's the only place that has all these blends," someone else said.
"I come here after every hunt. It's how I relax and get back into being in civilisation."
"It's my morning fix of caffeine."
"It's the only place I can go with a weapon and not be stared at. It's place for huntsmen and huntresses like us."
"I met my girlfriend here!"
More and more, the customers replied. Memories, anecdotes, little things they liked. Jaune's head spun. Eventually, the baton was passed to those he knew best, those from Beacon, who were just as quick to answer.
"You helped my sister break out her shell," Yang said.
"It's a place to relax," Weiss said. "Something I can get in so few places."
"You helped me when I needed it most," Blake added. "You employ faunus. You don't care about the faunus."
"You helped me meet Velvet," Pyrrha said. "Helped me make friends, and through that realise where I was going wrong and make up with Russel." The champion grinned at her partner, who rolled his eyes, grunted, but did nod back.
"You gave me a job when I didn't deserve it," Velvet whispered. "I learned to open up here. I like working here."
"I can try a new blend every day," Ren said, "And you put up with Nora."
"Hey, what do you mean `put up` with me?" Nora protested.
It came back, as always, to Ruby. "Jaune's may be something you started up, but it's become more than that. It's our place. Our place to relax, have fun, meet people and eat cake. They're not just trying to take something away from you. They're trying to take something away from us!" Ruby slapped her small hands down on the table. "And I don't even like coffee! It's horrible!"
A couple of the other patrons laughed loudly.
Jaune laughed, too. Laughed with wide, shocked eyes.
"That's why it's not just you who wants to fight them," Russel said from behind him. "You might think it's you against them, but it's not. It's them against every single customer you've ever had, with your regulars making up the front lines. So," Russel cocked his head to the side and grinned, "You gonna let us fight, or are you going to give up?"
Jaune's breath caught. If Roman and Neo were here, along with the Malachites, he was sure their message would have been no different. Probably just applied with a slap to the back of his head, or if it were Miltia, a solid blow to the stomach.
While he stood there, the suited man from before stood and approached him.
"I have no such memories to share, but I have to say your service thus far has been exemplary. If you ever did expand to Atlas, you could count me among the first of your customers." He extended his hand a second time. "Richard Grey. Solicitor. Grey & Sons."
"I… don't have enough money to hire you…"
"My fees have already been covered. For quite a few weeks."
With everyone watching, with Team RWBY nodding vigorously, Pyrrha smiling, Russel standing cross-armed and Velvet hugging a silver tray to her breast hopefully, Jaune knew he was done. With a rueful smile, he reached out and took the man's hand.
/-/
Lisa Lavender dug through public council records, her fingers a blur as she flicked each sheet back, looking for the one she was after. Stupid archaic systems, she thought angrily. She was fairly sure they'd chosen to make the records paper just to make it harder to find what people were looking for.
"Ah, there you are." She drew one out, recent, and began to read through it.
The document was the formal sales record of a property on Walker Street, and also proposed plans to transform a storefront with extensive renovations. Such things had to be approved by the Council, or more specifically the Local District Council for the area. The actual Council of Vale didn't have time to consider every little thing, so such bureaucracy was passed down the chain.
It was a nightmare for some, especially if you wanted to do something that was considered "at odds" with the cultural or practical theme of a street. Some people, for instance, wanted to install a balcony or a conservatory onto their houses, but an application to do so could be denied if your house would be the only one with a balcony. Not out of any sense of fairness or not, but because a single house in a long line with a balcony would look out of place.
It applied to other things too, including decorations, store fronts, expansions, roof height and more. It was a bureaucratic nightmare at the best of times and something a journalist like her didn't really have to deal with. She rented her apartment in downtown Vale, and so didn't have the rights to make any large changes even if she'd wanted to.
But Café Prime? Well, they had the lien. And they'd transformed three adjoined shops into a large diner on Walker Street, knocking out walls to do so, and installing a big glass-fronted unit to the shop. That was a big thing, and since it would drastically change the view of Walker Street, it had to be approved. That it had been so quickly was something. Money talked, and tax from a big company like that was important, but still…
"Hm. It's been signed," she mumbled. "So, it was approved. Local Councillor Matthieu Auber." Lisa recognised the name, if only vaguely. Wealthy background, career politician – but never successful enough to rise up to the main Council. He didn't make many waves. Watched his back. No scandals to his name, but then no exciting news to help him advance, either. He was the definition of a "safe" politician.
Curiously, Lisa noticed another document filed beside the one she'd been looking for. It was Matthieu's signature which caught her attention, and her initial theory busted she pulled it out and had a read through.
Approval for road works on Walker Steet's far end, opposite side from Café Prime. Nothing exciting, just a mention that their previous construction company had said the roads needed to be replaced at some point, and the Local District Council approving and organising it. Still, the timing was odd. Real bad, actually. With the Vytal Festival approaching, Lisa would have thought the Council would be trying to keep as much of the city open as possible. Not close off entire streets. The shops down that way had to be livid. True to her thought, there were several complaints filed with it. Each was signed to say it had been read and catalogued. Matthieu's signature again.
"Not much point to a complaint if the one being complained against is the guy reading them," Lisa grumbled. "Politics, seriously. You can't write this shit."
It was while she was pulling those aside that Lisa noticed the construction report, likely from the last people to work on the street. It was official-looking and boring enough, including picture evidence of the pipes they'd been sent into fix and replace. It was signed multiple times at the bottom, once by the construction crew to say they'd done it, once to say the Council approved it was done correctly, another to say the construction company had received payment and so on. Below that, their estimated date for when it should be checked up on again.
Lisa paused.
The date wasn't for another two years.
But if the roadworks weren't immediately necessary, why run the risk of angering so many voters to get them in while the Vytal Festival was going on. These weren't expected to be finished until a couple of weeks after it ended. Lisa dialled a number on her scroll.
"Ugh. Lisa. I just woke up. Why…?"
"Robert, it's nearly three in the afternoon." She rolled her eyes. "Look, I need a favour. Need you to look into someone for me."
"It pay?"
"When does it not? I'm sending you his name via text. Get me some details back asap and you'll get a nice bonus." Lisa ended the call and typed in the details, sending the message off. She tapped her foot impatiently, checking her watch and staring down at the files. Again, if these were computerised she wouldn't have to sit here twiddling her thumbs. Damn bureaucrats.
Ten long minutes later, her scroll beeped.
"Finally," she groaned. Robert had come through, as usual. "Matthieu Auber. Age, yeah, yeah. Position. Ooh, getting divorced, are we? Didn't advertise that. Meh. Nothing I can use without sounding like a bitch. Family-"
Lisa's thumb paused on the screen of her scroll. Her eyes lit up.
"Well, well, well. Isn't that interesting."
Sister: Mercedes Sterling (formally Auber).
Brother in Law: Alexander Sterling.
/-/
"And then they just kept saying why they loved it here." Jaune ran a hand down his face, but there was no quite hiding his smile. "I didn't know what to say. It just hit me, you know."
"Nope," Roman replied, one leg crossed over the other. "But if it worked out, great. Stops me and Neo having to be the ones to beat some sense into you." He looked over to Neo, who was pouting. "No, dear. That doesn't mean you can't if you want to. Just means we don't have to."
"Hey," Jaune complained. "I don't-OW! Neo, why!?"
Neo, having already driven her elbow so far into his ribs it felt like she'd massaged his lungs, smiled adorably and cocked her head to the side. A finger came to her lips, as if she wasn't sure whathe was talking about.
"You just hit me!"
Her face slowly tilted the other direction, kind of like a confused puppy's.
"No. No, you don't get to pull that!"
It tilted the other way.
Jaune huffed and sat down, cradling his side. Neo grinned and plopped down beside him, content to devour her ice-cream in peace now that he'd been appropriately punished. "You realise I can still report you to the police," Jaune grumbled. "You're technically criminals."
"Not even technically and believe me if the police could do anything they'd have caught me years ago. I'm hardly subtle."
"Yeah." Jaune looked Roman up and down. Neo was no better. "I can see that…"
"Ass," Roman said good-naturedly, swinging for Jaune's head. "If you didn't make such good coffee, I'd not spare you my wrath. I'm a deadly criminal or something."
"Or something. Anyway, how do you rate my chances? Honestly."
"Eh. I'd say fifty-fifty."
Jaune was impressed. "That good…?"
"It could fly either way. They have the law on their side, but you'd be surprised what public opinion can do for that. It's those in power that make the laws, but they stay in power by keeping the people happy enough to vote for them."
"But I don't have that many customers. I have a lot, but hardly enough to make a difference politically."
"You'd be surprised, kid. And it's not about the numbers that come here. Prime are acting like bullies, and if there's nothing people hate more it's a bully. Underdog story, on the other hand, resonates. People don't have to know you or even have visited to feel offended at what's going on. People can be pretty stupid like that, but it helps you this time, so it works out."
"How is feeling empathy stupid?"
"It's stupid because they feel it based on information they haven't confirmed themselves. For all they know, you're lying, and Café Prime is in the right, but they see it the other way around because the newspapers are phrasing it that way. Not like it matters since it's the truth either way, but there you have it."
It made sense, he supposed. Not here, though. Like Roman said, the newspapers were telling the truth and Café Prime werethrowing their weight around. Jaune let out a long breath and sipped his late-night coffee. Soft, smooth and deliciously sweet, he wondered if it was more so because of the fact he should have, by all means, been evicted by now. The deadline had passed. And yet here he was, refusing to move.
It felt good.
Though he wouldn't admit that to Roman. The crook would probably tease him and say that was why being a criminal was so appealing.
"You know, there is something you're missing here," Roman said.
Jaune raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Style."
"Style." Jaune was unimpressed. He looked Roman up and down. "You're talking to me about style."
"Hey. I make this look good. I've won competitions as Vale's most eligible bachelor."
"The women who voted must have been insane," Jaune decided.
"Heh. I'm a bad boy, handsome, charismatic and dripping with mystery."
"But not modesty, I notice."
Neo snorted around some ice-cream.
"Why lie and pretend I'm any less fabulous than I already am?"
"Sure." Jaune rolled his eyes. "But what does that have to do with me?"
"If you're going to make a stand, you need to do it with style. You need to have panache, impact, flare. The old criminal families, they knew how to get things done – but not just in terms of murder and drug dealing. They knew how to look impressive while they were at it. They could send a message people wouldn't forget and do it without leaving any evidence of a crime."
"I'm not some Godfather, Roman."
"No. You're the Coffeefather-"
"Not a word."
"-And if you're going to war, you better damn well make a grand proclamation."
Against his better judgement, against all common sense and the little voices – good (Ruby) and evil (Yang) – telling him "No, please no", Jaune leaned forward. His smile was wide, excited, and filled with teeth.
"Tell me more…"
/-/
The door of Café Prime, Walker Street, dinged electronically as it was opened. A bored-looking teen with a black apron emblazoned with a stylised gold cup of coffee stepped forward, "Welcome to Café Prime, can I interest y-"
He cut off.
The man who had entered wore an apron like he, but it was a bright green colour – one known to those who worked at Café Prime, even if few had ever seen it in person. Their contracts prevented such, banning them from being seen publicly attending the venue of a competitor. Even so, the teen balked at who had entered with a small cardboard container.
"Sir, you can't-"
"I'm here to see Alexander Sterling. He should be expecting me."
"T-The Director is in his office."
"That's fine. I'm really just here to deliver something. I need to get back to work." The blond man made his way through the diner, past the closely-packed seats and tables and the customers, civilians in a myriad of suits, casual outfits and more, who watched him curiously.
Those that worked at Café Prime stood stock still, unsure what to do as the man approached the counter.
He reached it without being impeded and placed the cheerfully decorated cardboard box down. "Delivery for Sterling," he said to the girl behind the counter. "He should be expecting it."
"Um. What should I tell him?"
"Tell him it's my response to the chats we were having before."
The man then smiled at the tired girl, nodded once, and turned on the spot to walk away. He whistled a jaunty, if off-key, tune as he did. He nodded again for the teen at the door before he opened it and stepped out onto the street. The electronic jingle played once more. After a few seconds, customers shrugged and went back to their coffee.
The girl at the counter looked down at the box curiously. It was green with some images of leaves on the edges and some neat cursive script reading "Jaune's" in the centre, etched in black. The edges of the box were folded in on itself and it was not unlike the containers they used to let people take food away. Curiously, she popped the container open and drew the lid back.
Inside, a single Styrofoam cup of coffee sat snugly in its holder. It had an aromatic scent, something she didn't recognise. Their coffee was all of one brand and the smell of it was a constant and unpleasant thing for those who worked with it for six or more hours a day. This smelled nicer, though saying so could well lose the girl her job. Something bobbed to the surface of the coffee. It wasn't a sugar cube, nor a marshmallow.
It was a scrunched-up pink document, rapidly turning to mush.
Not a horse's head in the bedroom, but message enough perhaps. The Coffee Wars have begun. May Vale still be standing once they are done. "It's beginning," Ozpin whispered, clutching onto Oobleck. "May the Gods have mercy on us all."
"Cry havoc and let slip the beans of war."
P a treon . com (slash) Coeur