Chapter 33
"I need a conference," Nex said, panting as he slammed the door shut. "I. Need. A. Conference."
The AX of Team AXRN glanced at him as he barged into their dorm.
He was wearing a white shirt and tie combo under his midnight-blue trench, his golden emblem just beside his red tie. All that really changed from his usual outfit was the stupid thing. Something Weiss had been particularly persuasive on.
But still, he had to thank Mekel and Roman. Both of them were exceedingly well-versed in the art of fashion.
Was being fashion-savvy a prerequisite to being a crime lord?
Well, if it was, then he was already well on his way to becoming one—
Fuck.
Brain.
Please stop with the wandering tangents.
"I think I'm going to pass out," Nex croaked, crossing his arms. Sweat stuck to the sides of his neck, his fringe tickling his cheeks. Blood pounded through his temples—like fingers drumming his brain at two hundred beats per minute. "Send help."
Yang grinned, sparing him a look. "Whoa. Looking sharp there, edge lord. Careful. You might cut yourself."
"Really?" Nex said, his eyebrows twitching. "Really?"
Jaune chuckled and mashed his controller, his avatar lunging at Yang's.
While she was looking away.
Truly, Vomit Boy was born a tactical genius.
"Nope. Never mind that," Nex said, beads of sweat dripping down his temples. His entire body tingled with warmth. Heat. Electricity. A metric fuckton of it—like spiders crawling under his skin. "What do you do on a first date?"
Weiss was still in the shower—after a long day of training and studying—and it gave him the precious time necessary to gather his scrambled wits.
No stupid fancy establishments.
No fancy cafes, either.
Both of them agreed on that front. They already left those fancy stuff behind when they flew the coop from Atlas. But leaving the night up to him when she was better at planning out stuff.
Ugh.
Was it too late to reschedule?
"Wait. What. First date?" Yang said, blinking as her eyes snapped towards him. Her jaw and controller dropped, the round thing bouncing off the floor. "You mean you and Weiss haven't even gone on a date yet?!"
Nex huffed, patting the dirt away from his pants. Metaphorically, the dirt existed. "Seeing as I'm here asking you for tips..."
And really, she was the only one he could possibly ask.
Ruby was a no-no, having just recovered earlier in the morning, and it was doubtful she knew anything about dates.
Blake simply smirked and went back to reading her book.
Ren or Jaune would not be of much help, as the two of them would be unable to provide a woman's perspective.
And Nora?
The bard was a grenade canister. Something that should not be touched. Not even with Hrunting's shaft. No. Definitely not with his weapon.
Besides, Nora and Ren went off somewhere after letting him through their door.
Maybe to do some partner stuff or something.
Yang bumped Jaune's bicep as her avatar finally died. Round two flashed on the TV's screen, but she made no move for her controller.
"Alright, alright," Yang said, drawing circles in the air. "Chill. Just take a deep breath."
His chest rose, the air flooding his lungs.
It was going to burst like a fucking piñata.
"And breathe it all out," Yang said, nodding as he exhaled, the air bursting from his nostrils. "You got this. You have until curfew, right?"
Nex nodded, glancing at his bracer—the right sleeve of his coat rolled up to his elbow. "Yep. Three hours. Give me something."
Yang cupped her chin, propping her elbow on her crossed legs. "What do you think happens on a first date?"
Nex rolled his eyes. Wasn't it fucking obvious he had no clue? "Dunno. You tell me."
Yang shook her head, breathing a sigh. "You're hopeless, Broody Face."
Nex frowned, his shoulders sagging. "Maybe I am."
"Don't be so doom and gloom. Smile a little," Yang said, patting his knee. "Just take your Weiss-cream to dinner or something. You have the lien, right?"
Nex nodded, fingering his wallet. Being an anonymous thief with holes all over Remnant had its pros. "Any ideas where?"
Yang smirked. "Of course I do. I know all the Nexceptional places in town."
Nex groaned. Vomit Boy followed, even as he continued to beat up Yang's character—a gruff, axe-wielding man dressed in armour made of wolf. He was using some sort of sword and board character, clad in silver and red.
Probably a knight.
But still, was a conversation with Yang without any of her forced puns too much to ask for?
"Know any steak places?" Nex said, heaving a sigh. Never mind that one. His stomach grumbled. Gee. Thanks for the reminder. "We've been wanting steak for a while."
Since that night in the barbeque place, even.
Yang quirked an eyebrow. "Casual or fancy?"
"Smart casual," Nex said, patting his scroll. The one in his other pocket. "Preferably near the station."
"Try the Angus McBeef," Yang said, staring at the back of her hand. "It's on the border of the commercial district and the docks. You can't miss it."
Nex smiled. Progress. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver, cousin."
"You're cousins?" Jaune said, shooting her a glance. "Huh. You know, you look kinda similar..."
Yang pursed her lips, fixing Vomit Boy a look. "It's..."
Vomit Boy rubbed the back of his head.
"Complicated," Yang finished, shifting on one thigh. She smiled and shook her head. "Go on. Don't let family stuff ruin your date."
Right.
Family stuff.
A twin thing.
Nex killed the sigh in his throat. He spun on his heel, grasping the doorknob.
The metal bit into his palm.
He stepped out of the room and nudged the door shut.
"Ready?" Weiss said, standing right in front of him. She tilted her head, her eyes fixed on his chest. "Here. Your tie's askew."
Weiss reached out, adjusting the stupid thing.
She was still wearing her combat outfit, Myrtenaster clipped to her belt. Just like Hrunting and Vigilance was to his. Well, they probably looked more ready to go on a mission than on a date.
Weiss smiled, her lips glistening under the window.
Nex shrugged, grinning as he took her hand. "You look pretty. Well, I mean, you always do. Right?"
"Why, Mr Shade. You cut a rather imposing figure yourself," Weiss said as they strolled down the hallway, the shadows bounding their path. A trail of pink crept up her neck. "Wherever will you take your girlfriend?"
"A steak place," Nex said, his thumb brushing her wiry wrist. "We've wanted steak for a while, right?"
Weiss grinned, shooting him a sideways glance. "We better hurry then. I'm famished."
It was approximately seven minutes past seven when Nexus Shade and Weiss Schnee arrived at the commercial district.
Little beads of green, yellow, and red hung on wires over the streets—fireflies buzzing in the darkness. Flyers splashed with rainbows fluttered above the blinking wires. Children raced across the sidewalk, laughing as they held little cones of ice cream. Hues of pink and brown streaked the dusty cement as their moms and dads chased after their backsides. The speakers by the road blasted some sort of mindless, jolly tune. An attempt to keep the public upbeat and happy, if their History professor was to be believed.
All props for the upcoming Vytal Festival, along with the candy and black-smoke floating through his nose.
In Atlas, it would have been rusted iron and silence in the snow, amidst the commercials on the giant billboards, along with mechs roaming the streets—their guns loaded and their eyes empty as they asked suspicious-looking people for papers and stuff.
They slipped into the Angus McBeef—a quaint little brick-and-mortar place at the tip of the river separating the docks and the commercial district. Fumes ripe with barbeque suffused his stomach, even as they were sat by a window and served their food and drinks by a woman who seemed to be only as old as them, if not younger.
Weiss smiled, stirring her tall mug of cappuccino. "So, what was the very first thing you thought about me? "
Nex quirked an eyebrow, cutting into his Angus McBeef—the special of the place apparently. Oil bubbled from the reddish-black slab. "The very first thing I thought about you?"
"You know," Weiss said, taking a sip of her coffee. She put it down and started slicing into her own steak. "When we got on each other's nerves."
Nex shrugged. A lot of things. But only one really stood out. "A she-devil."
Weiss gasped. "A she-devil?"
"To be fair, Miss Schnee," Nex said, spearing the thick cut of Angus McBeef. "She's a beautiful she-devil."
And it only took him about six months to realize it.
Well. Baby steps. Right?
Weiss grinned, a thin slice of steak already on her fork. "You know exactly what to say, Nex."
"How?" Nex said, holding the cut to his lips. "I'm not exactly good with words."
He chomped on the piece of Angus McBeef, juices spilling over his tongue. The taste of woodland along with the familiar tang of blood erupted in his mouth.
Huh.
It was a little bit rare—exactly like he asked.
Apparently, Angus McBeef was the real shit. It probably was, judging by the classical ballad whispering through the corners, and the tables upon tables filled with both huntsmen and civilians garbed in their work clothes, their pointless chatter poking his extra pair of ears.
The best thing was no one should be paying them any attention. In a sea of huntsmen, huntresses, and civilians, no one would really notice just another huntsman-huntress pair.
Right?
"You really think so, don't you?" Weiss said, frowning as her throat bobbed. "While I'm happy that my boyfriend's so modest, it doesn't hurt to have a little more self-esteem."
Self-esteem, huh?
Well, maybe she had a point. Even if there really was no point in esteeming himself.
Nex sighed. "Nope. I don't see the point. It wouldn't make all my flaws go away, right?"
Of course not. If it did, then everyone's problems would have been solved already. Just pour a little bit of self-esteem and everything would be good to go.
"You're right," Weiss said, nodding. "But everyone has to start somewhere."
Nex wiped his chin with some tissue. "Baby steps, huh?"
Weiss flushed, even as she took another sip of her coffee. "You know, I want to ask you something. And I'm not sure if it's too soon or inappropriate or tactless or what..."
She trailed off, coughing into her fist.
"What?" Nex said. He cut into the Angus McBeef. Just another piece of the thick, steaming slab. "I can't read minds, you know."
"Kids," Weiss said, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you think of children?"
What.
His brain swerved, careening off a cliff.
"Children?" Nex said, swallowing a wad of salt-laden spit. It almost lodged into his throat—probably killing him in the process. "Kids?"
"You know," Weiss mumbled, lifting her knife. "Babies. When a married couple—"
"Penis goes inside vagina," Nex said, rolling his eyes. Thank his brain for the quick reboot. "I'm seventeen. Not a kid."
Weiss stabbed the cut on her plate, smirking even as her cheeks glowed. "Yes. I knew it. My boyfriend's not that dense."
Nex shrugged. Somehow, it really seemed like a great discovery for her. He was dense. Not stupid. There was a stark difference between the two. But still. "What brought this on, anyway?"
"You'll think I'm silly," Weiss said, frowning, her eyes fixed on her dish.
Nex smiled, breathing a sigh. "Try me. I'm a pretty good listener."
He was certainly better at it than talking, anyway.
"I've always wanted my own family," Weiss said, stirring her coffee. "It's funny, huh?"
"What is?" Nex said and bit into another slice. "I don't see what's funny about wanting kids."
It seemed pretty normal, as far as goals went. Gods forbid she wanted to destroy the whole of Remnant or something. That would have been a chore. And while he could probably whip up a solution—some sort of doomsday contraption, even—Weiss would not be Weiss if she thought about going on a mass genocide.
"It's just..." Weiss said, smiling at her navel. "I don't think I'd be a very good mom."
"Why?" Nex said, gulping down a quarter of his strawberry cooler. "I think you'd be great."
Certainly better than he would probably be.
"I don't have very good examples to follow," Weiss answered, shaking her head. "My parents, you know..."
Right.
Shouting matches. A workaholic and an alcoholic. Great. They had that one in common at least.
"I don't have very good examples either," Nex said, putting down his glass. "My mom's dead, and my dad's off drinking somewhere after he got her killed."
"Oh," Weiss mumbled, lifting her head. "Your father?"
Nex shrugged, cutting into his half-eaten steak. "I think you already know."
"Professor Branwen, you mean," Weiss said, arching an eyebrow. "How'd you find out?"
"Mirrors," Nex said, cracking his neck. "Like one of your songs, I guess."
Weiss lifted a cut to her lips. "Oh? Is my boyfriend finally admitting he likes my songs?"
Nex smirked, shaking his head. "Nope. I prefer a little bit more complexity."
"Aggressive guitars and fast drumming don't equal complexity," Weiss said, mirroring his smirk. "Care to try again, Mr Shade?"
"Aggressive guitars, fast drumming, and layered harmonies along with one-hundred-four key changes do," Nex said, squaring his shoulders. "Plus a chorus in a chorus. Care to defend your stance, Miss Schnee?"
Weiss shook her head, sipping on her coffee. "We're not having this debate again."
Nex shrugged, fixing her a deadpan stare. "You're just scared you'll lose. Again."
"Just so you know, I didn't lose," Weiss said, scoffing. "And I plan to add a little more complexity to my repertoire."
"You're going to write another song?" Nex said, taking a quick sip of his cooler. "You have the time?"
Weiss turned over her immaculate, half-eaten steak. "You're okay with us not going on dates for a while, right?"
Nex nodded, chomping on his last bit of steak. A flying shame that one. "Of course. You do your thing while I do mine."
He still had to finish a certain virus, after all. And maybe do some inspirations of his own.
Just in case.
"Oh? And what exactly is your thing, Mr Shade?" Weiss said, nibbling on a cut. "Perhaps you'll write your own song?"
Nex shrugged, smiling at his empty plate. To be fair, he was going to write something. "Nope. Just this and that. Maybe make us another dog."
Bile swirled at the back of his throat—steak and strawberries doing a merry-go-round.
He flushed it down, his chest constricting.
No.
There was no way to tell her what he was actually up to.
That way laid madness.
And as long as she stayed out of it—no, as long as she stayed safe and sound and away from his skeletons, then everything would be perfect.
Weiss smirked, even as he gulped down the last of his cooler, the strawberries dousing the wildfire. "You're going to sleep through the break, aren't you? I know my sleepy head."
"Right," Nex said, breathing a sigh. "You know me a little too well, huh?"
Weiss' lips sank into a frown. "What's wrong?"
Nex managed a smile. "Nothing. Just wondering what's in store for us. In the future, I mean."
What was in store for them—the corporate heiress and the anonymous thief.
Weiss fixed him a look. "You're daydreaming about life. Our life."
Yep.
Going with that one was probably for the better.
"I guess," Nex said, fingering his wallet. How much was it again? Right. "How many kids do you want?"
Weiss snorted, covering her mouth as she laughed, her voice tinkling in his extra pair of ears. "How many do you want?"
"One's enough," Nex said, brushing his card. Card was probably better. "But we'll see how it goes."
Weiss nodded, lowering her hand. She flashed with a smile. "Boy or girl?"
"Girl."
"Why?"
"She'll get her mother's smile," Nex said, cupping his chin with one calloused hand. "Maybe her smarts, her laugh, her heart..."
Weiss chortled. She rolled her eyes, her cheeks burning red. "Flatterer."
"Am not."
"You are."
"Am not."
"You are."
"Well, it depends. Is it working?" Nex said, wagging his eyebrows. "Are you flattered, Miss Schnee?"
Weiss harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Perhaps. Are you willing to take responsibility, Mr Shade?"
Nex smirked, arranging his cutlery into what was proper—as mandated by Etiquette 101. And she was doing the same. "Maybe I am. Shall we go back?"
Weiss waved at a waitress. "As soon as we pay our bill."
The waitress padded towards them, her silver locks swaying as she bent down and placed said bill between them.
"We'll split it, won't we?" Weiss said, reaching into her purse. "Here."
She placed her card on the table, just between their plates.
Well, if she wanted to split it, then far be it from him to stop her.
Nex shrugged, placing his own card beside hers. It was better than spending solid lien. "Alright. Here."
The waitress glanced at their cards, putting a tiny machine at the edge of the table. One of those little box things fancy establishments in Atlas used to charge their patrons.
Apparently, Angus McBeef was the real shit.
"Miss—" the waitress said, her eyes darting towards his girlfriend. "Weiss Schnee."
"Yes. That's me," Weiss said, beaming as she winked. She reached into her purse and inserted a sheaf of lien into the bill. "Now if you keep this evening a little bit discreet..."
"Of—of course, miss," the waitress said, her eyes lingering on his extra pair of ears. He managed a polite smile. She tore her eyes away, taking their cards and inserting them into the box. "And each of you have to pay—"
The machine beeped, its screen flashing red.
Weiss frowned, tapping the wood. "Is there a problem?"
The waitress fiddled with the thing, pressing a few holographic buttons. "I'm sorry. There seems to be a problem with your card."
"Huh," Nex said, leaning into his plastic chair. "My card doesn't have this error, right?"
The waitress shook her head, the screen displaying his mug. And only his mug.
Apparently, Weiss' card was having a little bout of technical drama.
"Try it again," Weiss said, her hands pressed together. "My card's linked to the SDC. It should be working right."
The waitress tapped the same set of buttons. And the screen flashed red.
Again.
Weiss pursed her lips, shooting him a look.
Nex nodded, offering her a smile. "I'll pay for everything."
The waitress left after taking their bill, bringing her little machine with her. They stood up, wading through the sea of customers and waiters and waitresses bustling through the Angus McBeef.
"I'm sorry you had to pay for everything," Weiss said as they slipped through the sliding doors and padded onto the sidewalk. "I'll make it up on our next date."
Nex shivered, the breeze ruffling his fringe. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "It wasn't your fault. Besides, what's a little lien between us, anyway?"
Weiss hummed, quirking an eyebrow. "You know, most people would want the heiress of the SDC to pay for dinner."
Nex grinned, leaning a little bit into her warmth. "Most people aren't dating the heiress of the SDC. Right?"
"Right you are, Mr Shade," Weiss said, giggling as they stepped around a dustbin. "But are you sure it's fine?"
"I'll probably do part-time during the break, anyway," Nex said, chuckling. That, and other extracurricular activities. Particularly the profitable, untraceable kind. He could live without Beacon's subsidy for a month or so. "Don't worry about it."
Pareidolia twitched—a bug peeking out of its shell.
His eyes narrowed, even as he cracked his neck, stealing a glance.
Bone-white masks slunk after them. They skulked through the darkness, their swift, clacking strides buzzing through his extra pair of ears.
Three of them. Hooded. Just ten feet away.
There was only one masked terrorist cell obsessed with his girlfriend. So far. Gods forbid there was another one.
Shit.
Why now?
Appendicitis was a killer.
"Keep walking," Nex muttered, loosening his calves. "Be ready for a fight."
Weiss fingered Myrtenaster's hilt. "Someone's following us?"
She twitched, the muscles of her neck almost turning to look behind.
Nex nudged her hip, wrapping an arm around her slender waist. He pulled her against his side, braving the heat through her coat. A yellow glyph spun on her finger.
Lightning.
She grinned—a lopsided smile caught between rosy cheeks and glistening lips.
"Yep. Don't look," Nex said, tilting his head. His lips brushed her earlobe, singing sharp vibratos through her limbs. Vanilla shampoo and baby blue cologne teased his nostrils. "They're White Fang."
"White Fang?" Weiss hissed, her heeled boots stomping over the sidewalk. "Why do they have to ruin our date?"
"Our date isn't ruined yet," Nex said, his fingers twitching. He loosened his hold. "We should beat them up."
Weiss smirked, shooting him a sideways glance. The glyph on her palm spun faster. Terrifying. For the White Fang, at least.
"I think you're right," Weiss said, Myrtenaster clicking. "Shall we, Mr Shade?"
A sound proposition. At more than seven feet away, the White Fang goons would not be expecting them to spin around and blast them from range. But the fight would involve the civilians on the sidewalk. And then, they would be no better than the White Fang.
"Nope. Let's go in the next alley," Nex said, nodding at the loose crowd. Maybe four or five. "Too many civvies here."
Weiss nodded, glancing at the lamppost ahead. Its sunny rays spilled into a side alley.
Perfect.
"I want to find out exactly why they're following us," Weiss said, tightening her grip on Myrtenaster.
Yep. Her and him both.
Surely, they were not mad about that incident in Atlas Primary. Nope. Most likely, they were just rebelling against society—a human-dominated society still twitchy after the Faunus Rights Revolution.
But still, he could have been one of them. If he met a member of the White Fang instead of Roman or Mekel, then it was possible he would also be wearing a stupid mask.
Nope.
No way.
Nex shook his head as they turned into the alleyway, cans crunching under their boots.
Flies buzzed over the nearby dumpster, enjoying an early evening meal. Fish, probably. A cat was sitting on its green lid. Amber eyes peered at them from its admittedly comfy spot. The footsteps behind stilled as Weiss stood beside the dumpster.
The cat mewled and sprang over the tall, metal fence.
Weiss drew Myrtenaster, easing the weapon into a one-handed grip.
Nex leaned against the brick wall, tightening his grip on Hrunting and Vigilance.
His wolf ears strained.
The footsteps flew into a frantic march. Their shoes cracked over stone—the clacks and snaps turning right into the alley.
Weiss flicked Myrtenaster, the tip spitting a bolt of lightning.
The first goon screamed as he fell, convulsing on the ground. His sword clattered from his grip. Two more goons followed, brandishing mass-produced swords—the crappy red ones on the flea market.
Nex lunged from, bashing the goon's face with Hrunting's pommel. He crouched, sweeping into a kick. The goon flipped over. His back slammed into the dirt.
Steel whooshed.
Pareidolia flared.
His head snapped upwards, his left hand already reaching for Vigilance-
Red steel.
Inches from his face.
The third goon froze.
Literally.
Ice snaked around his body, twisting over his legs up to his spine and his arms. The sheet of ice stopped right under his neck, the pale blue glyph under his ratty brown boots tinkling out of existence.
Nex sprang to his feet, stomping on the second goon's face.
One.
Two.
And three.
The goon's breathing slowed. Chunks of the bone-white mask scattered over the grey cement. The mass-produced sword slipped from his fingers.
Killing them here would attract too much attention. Leaving behind a trail of bodies was the sure mark of an amateur—one of Roman's earliest lessons in Thievery 101.
Nex levelled Hrunting at the goon's face. The blade retracted into the hilt, the barrels extending. "Why are you tailing us?"
"Yes. As my boyfriend said," Weiss piped in, crossing her arms as she stood beside him. "Why is the White Fang following us?"
The frozen goon snarled, his teeth clattering. "We've come for you, Schnee. For justice. It won't be long until the coming revolution."
Oh well, oh well.
There was supposed to be a deeper reason. A better reason for their madness. But nope. Reality was often disappointing.
Truly, the White Fang must have had a crew of single-minded scriptwriters. Their revolution crap was getting a bit old.
But still, if their slogan worked for their recruitment drives, then who was he to judge?
"Justice?" Weiss said, her eyes narrowing. "You call terrorism and genocide justice?"
Nex shrugged, swiping at his bracer—the Vale Police Department on speed-text. "Well, everyone has their reasons. Doesn't have to make sense for them to do what they do."
"You're one of us," the goon said, his voice like a teen barely out of his growth spurt—cracks, stutters, and all. "Traitor. Why are you with the Schnee?"
Nex snorted, his finger almost squeezing. His weapon in its double-barrelled shotgun form would have melted the goon's face, even without the dust. "Traitor? I don't remember signing up."
"You're content with this?" the frozen goon said, scowling. Razor-sharp fangs glinted in the dark. "With the humans lording over us? With our kin slaving away in her mines?"
Nex sighed, his girlfriend frowning. "Eh, she'll fix it. Someday. Shooting up schools and ambushing people won't change anything."
Nope. The problem was at the top. Doing stuff at the bottom destabilized the pyramid, but it could hardly shift the uppermost layers. Not when the ones on top would readily plug the holes with more sand, drowning out the voices who wanted the pyramid to change.
"That's right," Weiss said, flashing him a smile. She glared at the frozen goon. "You're going to jail."
The frozen goon spat, the green spittle brushing the tip of his girlfriend's boot. Steam hissed, the phlegm gnawing into the cement, even as she lifted her foot. "You better watch your back, Schnee. The revolution is coming. The White Fang will liberate—"
Hrunting's golden pommel smashed into the goon's temple.
The goon slumped on the ice, unmoving while he drew raspy breaths.
Oddly satisfying. He should have totally broken the mask.
"Liberate that," Nex said, smirking. "I'm getting real fed up with their stupid revolution."
Weiss sighed, shaking her head. "Let's go. I don't want our date to end on a bad note."
Nex nodded, sheathing his longsword. "I already texted the cops. They'll be here in a few minutes."
Weiss reached out, locking her elbow around his. She rested her head on his shoulder as they weaved past the still-breathing bodies.
The black cat vaulted over the fence, landing on the dumpster. It purred, its amber eyes closing.
Admittedly, it looked comfy.
He could have taken its place in dreamland, if not for the fact they still had to return to their dorm.
When they did, it was to the sight of Ruby Rose wrapped in Blake Belladonna's arms. The silver-eyed girl sat against her partner's chest, while the ghost-ninja was holding out a thin, red book.
Blake turned a page, smiling as Ruby stared at the book's contents. The silver-eyed girl grinned and wrote something on a sheet of paper.
"Oh, my," Weiss said, quirking an eyebrow at the pair. The one sitting against the en-suite's wall. "You're actually studying?"
Nex shrugged, pushing the door close. "Yep. I've seen everything. Now I can die happy."
Ruby should have been in Yang's dorm, playing video games with Team AXRN. Not studying with Blake. Or even doing their Calculus homework. It was a fucking Saturday.
But apparently, the ghost-ninja was capable of working miracles.
"Hey, guys. You're back," Ruby said, squinting at the book. "Blake's helping me catch up with this Calculus thing."
Calculus was a subject students in combat schools learned in their fourth year. Or in his case, when he was seven.
To be fair, Ruby was moved up two grades. She would only know Basic Algebra, maybe Geometry or Physics. Believe it or not, Mathematics was essential to huntsmen and huntresses on the field.
Important to anyone, really.
Blake smiled, propping her chin on her partner's scalp. "How did your evening go?"
Nex shrugged, the plump foam bouncing against his weight. "Relaxing. We had dinner, talked about personal stuff, and beat up some White Fang goons. Best date ever."
"What?" Blake said, her shoulders stiffening. "You were attacked by the White Fang?"
Weiss huffed, sitting beside him on his bed. Their bed now. Or more accurately, their bunk.
"Yes. They followed us after we left the restaurant," Weiss said, spraying some disinfectant on her palms. "There was an altercation, but we managed to send them to jail."
"White Fang?" Ruby said, frowning as she looked up from her work. "Why would they attack you?"
They were after his girlfriend's nuts.
And well, he should have taken their nuts instead.
"They're after Weiss. Occupational hazard of being heiress of the SDC," Nex said, shrugging. "They show up from time to time, but we manage."
They had to.
Couples had issues, right?
It was up to them to overcome whatever obstacles lay on their path. Through thick and thin. Or even through the fire and the flames.
Weiss smiled, patting away some dirt from his black jeans. "This isn't the first time we've prevailed against them. I don't expect them to stop their attacks."
They seemed to be of one mind on that front. The White Fang was hellbent on their revolution, and it would probably not stop being a problem. Not even in the far future. Change did not come easily. Not when the scars of war still lingered on the back of people's heads.
"I see," Blake said, her shoulders loosening. "It's good you're safe."
Ruby scratched her head. "You're the heiress of the SDC? The one who makes the toothpaste?"
Admittedly, she was right. The SDC did make toothpaste, as well as a buttload of other products. It sunk its teeth into practically every market in Remnant. Even the less than legal ones, if the partnership between Jacques and Mekel extended that far.
Weiss frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, we do make toothpaste. But we primarily produce dust. I can't believe you had no idea that I'm the heiress of the SDC. You know, the Schnee Dust Company."
"SDC stands for that?" Ruby said, twiddling her fingers. She flushed, her eyes rolling as she glanced at the ghost ninja. "I thought it was just SDC."
Nex shrugged, stifling a yawn. "If it was just SDC, then we wouldn't have to deal with the White Fang's stupid revolution."
Amber eyes snapped towards them.
"It's not stupid," Blake said, frowning. She lifted her chin from her partner's scalp. The silver-eyed girl scribbled some more numbers. "The White Fang wants to end faunus discrimination. They're freedom fighters."
"Freedom? If people want true freedom," Nex said, snorting. His girlfriend's fingers tightened over his thigh. "Then they should go to an isolated island. There is that little place called Menagerie."
There was no freedom in a society bound by laws.
Freedom by itself was antithetical to the goals of a society—peace, order, and governance. Absolute freedom would mean absolute chaos, people doing whatever they wanted whenever and wherever they wanted to do it. There had to be a status quo—some sort of limited freedom controlled by a charter of mutually agreed-upon rules.
But then again, that one came with its own set of problems.
"Menagerie's an attempt to cordon the faunus into a prison island," Blake said, scowling. "If anything, it only provides the White Fang more cause."
"That was in the past," Nex said, meeting her amber eyes. Steel shone beneath those cold depths. There was definitely a good debate coming. Maybe even better than debating music. "If they really want freedom, then they should start by looking towards the future. Perhaps they should start by escorting faunus to Menagerie."
Blake placed the book on the floor. "That wouldn't solve anything. It's just running away."
There was nothing wrong with a tactical retreat. But still, she had a point.
"I concede your point," Nex said, heaving a sigh. "But there are better ways to effect reform."
"Such as what?" Blake replied, shaking her head. "The White Fang tried peaceful methods once, but no one listened to the voices of the oppressed."
A truth.
The White Fang's early years were those of a peaceful organization struggling to douse the flames of war. The Faunus Rights Revolution exploded into a massive fallout, showing the humans that the faunus could fight back. And even win.
But still, it only embittered the sore losers. It forced them to turn to subtler and more underhanded methods. Like the Mantle Frequency and probably a lot more. The faunus had no such avenues, lacking the resources to continue their unspoken war in the shadows.
Instead, they turned to the light, trusting the White Fang to wage it for them.
And then the White Fang turned to more drastic methods.
The road to hell, good intentions, and all.
"Actions speak louder than words," Nex said, raising a finger. "If their voices didn't work—"
"That's why they have no choice," Blake hissed, crossing her arms over her partner's chest. "If words won't work, then maybe actions will."
Nex shrugged as two pairs of eyes darted between them. Enthusiasm in a good debate was forgivable. "Action doesn't necessarily equate to terrorism. Perhaps they should try fundraising or giving candy to orphans?"
In hindsight, he could have given better suggestions.
But the point was more important than the specifics. Showing the humans that faunus were willing to bury the hatchet could have ended their shadow war. It would have painted them as a graceful winner, maybe even swayed most people to their cause.
A singular act of goodwill could translate into a dozen more. There were precedents in history, such as Atlas giving Remnant the CCT. The same CCT the other kingdoms paid Atlas to maintain, shelling out millions of lien to acquire dust and engineers.
Well, fuck. It was political bullshit. Perhaps the CCT was not the best example.
"You're mocking them," Blake said, her eyes narrowing into slits. "You're a faunus yourself. How could you?"
Nex sighed. He was definitely not mocking them, but he was never good with words.
Ugh.
It was exactly like he told Weiss earlier.
But still.
"Faunus. Human. They're just labels that divide people," Nex said, raising two fingers. "More things unite us than divide us."
A truth.
The only difference between them was the animal parts. They inhaled the same air and exhaled the same waste. They ate the same food. Drank the same water. They had the same hopes and dreams. The same capacity to think and feel.
And the same heartbeats, even.
"That's the ideal," Blake said, breathing a world-weary sigh. She rose against the wall. "I need some air."
Blake tiptoed around Ruby, jogging towards the door.
The silver-eyed girl stared at the back of the ghost ninja's yukata, blinking as she put down her pen. Their door opened and closed as quickly as it did.
The B of their team was off alone into the night.
"What was that?" Weiss said, her eyes poking holes into the door, even as her fingers loosened over his thigh. "Why was she so worked up over the White Fang?"
Nex shrugged, glancing at the silver-eyed girl. "I'm not the person to ask. Rubes?"
If anyone knew, it would be the ghost ninja's partner.
Ruby frowned, inserting her worksheet into the book. "I've no idea. Sorry."
Apparently not.
"Let's give her some time," Weiss said, smiling as she fidgeted with the buttons of her coat. "Come tomorrow and she'll be back to normal."
Chapter 34
Roman Torchwick was a master thief.
A criminal who skirted the edges of the law, straddling the line between black and white and turning said line into grey. Like him, even. The thief was also a mentor and a colleague. Sometimes an adoptive uncle. Plain, simple, and nothing more.
Nexus Shade rapped on the steel door of the quaint little hovel, the cute little peeky hole blinking. Bitter-black smog flitted through the end of the alley as cars zoomed away. Crowds of early-goers strolled past the inconspicuous little alleyway, chattering and minding their own business and paying absolutely no mind to the shadows housing one of Roman's secret hideouts. The one he was currently using, at least.
"Who is it?" some woman said, her voice raspy.
Like someone who drank a little too much alcohol. Kind of like his father.
"Starts with an A. Ends with an R," Nex said, rolling his eyes. "Let me in before I let myself in."
The woman growled. "Nope. Get lost, kid."
Kid. Curse his height. He fingered Oathkeeper, the golden guard clicking and spinning. Orange-red blazed in its current cartridge, the carvings on the midnight-blue hilt shimmering. Like lava bubbling between walls of glass, etched into tiny characters—his mother's signature chicken scratch. One of her little inspirations. But no. That would tick off Roman. Then again, Neo would probably have a blast.
Oh well, oh well. There were cons to being a relatively anonymous thief. What was it again?
Right.
The dumb, pretentious code phrase all self-respecting thieves had. According to Roman, at least.
"All is quiet by the wall," Nex said, tapping the steel a grand total of four times. "All is silent in the city."
"All is quiet," the woman said, her shoes shifting over tiles. "All is silent. Get in. Quickly."
Nex shrugged as the latch inside clicked. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
He stepped into the hovel, the woman slamming the door behind him. He took a deep breath, the dusty air like sugar on his tongue. Boxes stamped with the SDC's logo were stacked in rows upon columns of long tables lit by overhead lights. There were men and women fiddling with multi-coloured vials.
Dust.
Obviously.
Wait.
The masked men and women seemed familiar. Faunus. No Roman or Neo in sight.
Nex sighed, parking his left hand on Oathkeeper's hilt. "What did you do with Roman?"
"Nothing, kid," the woman behind him said. "We're cooperating with the thief."
She spat cooperating as if it were decade-old lunch doused with bad wine. Sucks to be Roman. Working with stick-in-the-mud revolutionaries. Freedom fighters, if the ghost-ninja was here instead of him. But still, there was no point in starting a fight. Not when he was outnumbered and his colleague was cooperating with the White Fang.
Roman must have been scraping the dirt outside the barrel. Relatable. Good helpers were so hard to come by. Good friends, even more so. Maybe he finally ran out of matching tuxedoed goons—stuck in the Vale precinct or something. Robbing dust stores had to be particularly dangerous, considering what their typical customers were, along with the steep, mountainous store price of dust in the current market. All the more precious for the authorities to guard.
"Cooperating? That's new," Nex said, glancing at the busy men and women. Their heads turned to him, before they promptly went back to arranging the dust. He shifted, smiling at the taller woman. "Did Roman grow an extra pair of ears on his head? It's been a while since we last shared a toast."
A toast implied he was in Roman's inner circle. The status quo, if he was a politician throwing around his weight. He was definitely not a politician. Rather, he was a thief. A criminal. The same should apply.
"The thief isn't one of us," the woman said, her head bobbing. She was probably looking at his extra pair of ears. "We have orders from the top."
Nex hummed, crossing his arms over his jacketed chest. It was either Roman needed the White Fang or the opposite. Or maybe Cinder Fall was using the two. "I take it you didn't ask why?"
The woman shook her head, the extra pair of ears on her head unmoving. "You're nosy for a kid. Who exactly are you?"
Nope. Of course they did not know. Evidently, the three goons yesterday were the cream of the crop of being stupid, F-list villains. It was either that, or they saw fit to take the revolution into their hands. Not very smart not telling the rest of their friends. Now that they were in the Vale precinct, there was no way they could even squeak about Weiss Schnee's mysterious beau. He should totally buy a fedora—just to complete the look.
"Nobody. Just another guy with an extra pair of ears," Nex said, nodding sagely at the woman. "I'm sure you understand."
The woman nodded, the thin lines of her lips sloping into a smile. "Yep. Ever been kicked out of a shop?"
When he was a kid, yes. But it was easy enough to learn which shops simply overcharged faunus, or even treated them like any other person, rather than just kicked them out. Nothing new there. Some people disdained what was different. It took the rare sort to accept the unknown.
"When I was a kid," Nex said, shrugging. "Grew up in Atlas. The wrong city for orphans."
Wrong city for empathy, even.
The woman winced. "Ouch. Must have been rough. You're a huntsman?"
Nex shrugged, shoving his sleeved arms into his pockets. One of his hands brushed the steel of his scroll. Just in case. "Trainee. What about you? I mean, before you joined the White Fang."
The woman frowned. "Former trainee. Flunked out of Beacon in my third year. Took up the mask since."
Young when she started. Only two years older than him. Come to think of it, the goon yesterday sounded like he was even younger than him. Evidently, the White Fang was pulling out the grassroot, recruiting every able-bodied faunus to their revolution.
Nex sighed, leaning against the wall. The woman shifted across him. Masked goons bustled through the hideout like ants over a pile of sugar. Not that far off, considering the mandibles protruding from some of their mouths.
"So, where's Roman?" Nex said, yawning into the soft, midnight-blue sleeve of his jacket. Cotton and strawberry flitted through his nostrils. "Chatting with you is nice and all, but we have business to discuss."
The woman nodded, her sharp chin pointing at the far door across the room. It was the size of a large flat in Atlas, just missing the plush couches.
"The thief's in there, meeting his lady friend," the woman said, waving at the door. "Some bit—woman called Cinder."
Oh.
Ho Lee Sheet.
Maybe the friend holding Roman by the balls was more than metaphorical. Well, good for him. And maybe, just maybe—the white suit and the mascara had merit. Cinder Torchwick. Ash. Maybe the other way around? Roman Fall. Nope. Definitely not happening.
"She's coming out," the woman said, crossing her arms. "You can probably talk to the thief now."
Nex grinned, the door just starting to hinge. "Quick. Give me a spare mask."
The woman reached into the pocket of her ripped jeans. "I have one. Why?"
"Why else? I'm bullshitting the humans," Nex said, extending a hand. "I just joined the great revolution. Don't laugh."
The woman smirked, practically shoving the mask in his hand. "All hail the White Fang. Yar dee har. Go get 'em, kid."
"Thanks," Nex said, putting on the smooth ceramic. "All hail the White Fang. For five minutes."
He crossed his arms, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. Thank Weiss for having a perfect, well-rehearsed posture. Copying it with Pareidolia was all too easy, especially since he was with her in school almost every day.
The woman sashayed through the doorway. Cinder Fall. Aptly named, considering the red dress she wore. Black hair, amber eyes, and fair skin. Cinder could have been mistaken for Blake at a distance. Switch around the clothes a bit, add a bow there, and maybe change the sashay into a straight walk. What was it with women and swaying their hips?
Come to think of it, Weiss also swayed her hips. Well, whenever they were alone in their dorm. Huh. Maybe he could ask her why women swayed their hips?
Cinder Fall stopped before the door, right in front of him. "And who are you?"
Her eyes darted to his extra pair of ears and then to his mother's weapon. They settled on his mask, definitely trying to peer through the slits. And undoubtedly failing.
"Isn't it obvious?" Nex said with a deep grunt, rasping his voice. He could totally pull off the bodyguard act. All he needed was a goon name like Bob or something. "I'm an officer of the White Fang. Here to free my brethren. Viva la Revolution."
Cinder Fall rolled her eyes, looking straight at the door. "I see. Carry on then."
The White Fang woman snorted, stifling a giggle in her throat. Cinder shot her a look. She shivered. Evidently, he was not the only one who found it funny. Now if only Cinder could stop being a spoilsport, then it would be perfect.
"Yep. Carry on," Nex said as she opened the door. "Cinder Torchwick."
Cinder stilled, the door swinging in the breeze. "What did you just call me?"
"Cinder Torchwick," Nex said, chuckling at the woman's shit-eating grin. "It's about time the prick got himself a girl. Treat him right, okay?"
Really. Roman needed it. High-stakes job and all. Maybe even a stiff drink with his cigar.
"Roman and I are not married," Cinder said, scowling. She fixed him a glare—a glare competing with one of Mt. Weiss'. "See that this misunderstanding doesn't happen again."
Sad. He was really rooting for Cinder Torchwick. Or maybe even Roman Fall.
Nex shrugged, offering her an apologetic smile.
Never let it be said he was impolite to anyone.
Cinder's eyes blazed with orange fire.
Pareidolia squirmed. Lines of chaotic, meaningless data raced through his brain. He blinked. Cinder was gone, but the data was there. Incomprehensible. Never happened before. Not even when analysing a new semblance.
"What the hell..." Nex said, staring at the closed, metal door. "Did you see that?"
The woman frowned. "She's out of my pay grade, kid. Wouldn't mess with her if I were you."
"I meant the glowy eyes," Nex said, palming his new mask. Nope. Not the time to take it off. "Any idea what that was?"
Pareidolia rummaged around his brain, connecting dots that should not have existed. Data. His semblance needed more data. He needed to do research on glowing eyes. Well, after he met up with his team to celebrate Ruby's recovery.
"Maybe her semblance. Dunno. Out of my pay grade," the woman said, waving a hand. "Go talk to the thief, kid. Or those glowy eyes will cut your nose off."
They had a pay grade? But still, the woman had a point. Roman was here in the present. Cinder could wait in the future.
"Alright," Nex said, grinning. Pareidolia cackled between the walls of his skull. "Can I keep the mask?"
The woman smiled. "Yeah, sure. I've already got a small collection, anyway."
And he thanked her. He really did. The White Fang's goons were people, not its ideals.
Nex strode towards the far door, weaving around the goons. Some of them even walked out of his way, muttering good mornings and sirs. Apparently, having good posture, well-stitched clothes, and a mask was enough to appear authoritative.
Who knew a mask could make up for his height?
It was definitely not because his mother's fancy sabre actually looked different from the crappy, mass-produced swords and guns that they had. Or that some of them probably bought his act, staring down the terrifying Cinder and all.
"Well, look who's here," Roman said, strolling out of the door. "Here for your dust?"
Roman waved his cane at the stacks of boxes. He nudged the door close with his shoe, standing with his back against it. Cornered in his own hideout like some common prey. Well, being outnumbered by White Fang goons probably did that to people. Especially humans.
"Take your pick," Roman said, a strained smirk on his lips. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Oh. Maybe they actually did some ball-holding in the backroom. "Dust here, dust there, dust everywhere. Just pick a box and go boom."
Nex hummed, grinning as he held up a fist. "I'm an agent of the White Fang, human. I'll be relieving you of your post. Viva la Revolution, Roman Torchwick. Prepare yourself. En garde. Bla bla bla. Go suck a dick."
Roman rolled his eyes, just under the bowler hat. "Fuck. Holy shit. I didn't take you to be like these other revolutionists. Stop screwing around, will you?"
Damn. Apparently, the only one who found Viva la Revolution funny was the woman at the door. The rare breed that actually liked his sense of humour. And books. Definitely those.
Nex sighed, tugging off his new mask and shoving it in his pocket. "I'm just shitting you. What's with the haggard look?"
Roman glared at the goons for a millisecond. Then the thief smiled. Definitely nothing wrong there.
"You saw my friend," Roman said, holding up two fingers. Fingers wagging into air quotes. "You're smart enough to put two and two together. Add it up to four."
Ah. Trouble with little Miss Fall. The woman who was obviously behind everything. Probably with regards to their little transaction—the kind where transaction meant roasting over an open fire. Definitely not the immature mature kind. Although, that one was probably hot as hell.
"I still have to finish the virus," Nex said, lowering his voice. Down to business then. "I've been busy with school."
Roman chuckled, fidgeting with the cigar peeking out of his pocket. "School. Seriously. You're wasting your genius."
As expected, even if the genius part was debatable. Roman Torchwick would have probably stolen the SDC if he had Pareidolia for his semblance. Or maybe even the whole world.
"It's not that bad," Nex said, shrugging. "Beacon's a nice change of pace."
Roman smirked, pulling out his scroll. "I'll bet. See this?"
An image flashed on the screen.
Nex blinked, rubbing his eyes. It was a little grainy, practically a blur like someone moved a little too fast, but the scene was definitely there. Weiss was resting her head on his shoulder, her arm locked around his elbow. It was dark, part of his mug concealed by his awesome fringe. But she was beaming straight at the camera, her eyes half-lidded. The amateur shot was probably taken right after they dealt with the goons.
"The heiress and her mystery man," Roman said, pointing at the tabloid's heading. It was the obscure, gossipy kind. The thrilling haunt for people with nothing else to do with their lives. "You've certainly been busy. I didn't know you had it in you."
Nex shrugged. The tabloid could substitute for toilet paper, if it actually printed stuff. "What can I say? People change."
Roman scoffed, pocketing his scroll. "You're not serious."
He was totally serious. But still, there was definitely a reason why the thief saw it that way. To the master criminal, survival had a name. It was called Me, Myself, and I. And probably Neo.
"I'm quite serious," Nex said, smiling. "She's great."
Great, and a whole slew of other adjectives his brain could cough up.
"Great and a ticking time bomb," Roman said, frowning. "What do you think's going to happen?"
Roman waved his cane. The goons were working on boxes. Boxes stamped with his girlfriend's snowflake.
"She won't find out," Nex said, his lips tightening. "As long as we stay out of each other's hair."
As long as it stayed that way, the thief in front of him was a colleague. A useful one who still owed him a favour. Maybe even a friend and an adoptive uncle.
Not a liability to be taken care of.
Roman huffed at his cigar. A fellow thief on dwindling life support. "You of all people should know. For survivors like us, there's no place for idealists like her. She'll find out. And when she does, she'll betray you and turn you in."
Smoke wafted through his nose, mingling with the bite of dust.
"Maybe she will," Nex said, his jaw clenching. "Maybe she won't."
No pain, no gain. Once upon a time, he would have clucked, pulled out, and run off like a chicken.
But not now.
Well, what could he possibly say?
He still hated losing.
Roman exhaled another cloud of black smoke, his eyes fixed on the nearby window. "Ah. Young love. Too dumb to care, Artificer? Don't expect us to bust you out."
Of course not. Everyone was alone in their line of work. They worked together, but they most definitely were not bosom buddies.
"Alright," Nex said, inhaling the second-hand smoke. The long drag wilted in his stomach. Like grass starved of rain. "Just stay out of my way."
"And stay out of mine," Roman said. He smiled, plucking the cigar from his lips. "Get your dust. You'll need it."
"Nope," Nex muttered, shaking his head. "Keep it."
He spun on his heel, Oathkeeper's hilt creaking under his palm.
"What?" Roman said, his voice cracking.
"You need it more than I do," Nex said, walking straight into the crowd of goons. "After all, I'm not the one with a very special friend."
They parted from his path. A vial clattered, shattering into pieces. The glass tore into his extra pair of ears.
Nexus Shade—no, the Artificer could live without dust.
What he needed was to get out of Roman's hole.
The smoke was bad for his health.