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Her bones snapped one by one, and the sound in her ears was like an echo, rattling off the walls and churning her stomach.

There was no pain; all around her it was a symphony, hundreds upon hundreds of voices, and the music was so loud… her bones were the crescendo, and the sepulchral chamber was white-hot and bright. It was a tomb made of windows, and each one trembled against the din. Covering her ears didn’t work; they came away wet, and when she tried to scream… she was mute.

*   *   *  
The water was cold as it splashed down over her, and she sputtered, scream half-gurgled as she fought against the cold, and the lingering feeling deep in each of her unbroken bones. “Yang!” The hands on her were small, and calloused. She threw them aside, and tried to push forward- her assailant took her by the shoulders and shook. “Yang!” The hair gel smell was dense, the voice began to register the longer the shaking persisted. It was Ruby… it was just Ruby. Slowly… the room started to come back into focus, and her sister was staring at her like she was losing her mind; she probably had been. “I’m okay- I’m..” She spit some of the water out, and tried to calm the racing of her heart. Her face felt hot to the touch as she tried to to wipe her brow- to rub the water from her eyes and shake it resoundingly from her fingers. The result was a Frankenstein's monster of sweat, tears, and what tasted like plant water. She looked at Ruby through damp lashes and ragged breathing, and tried to keep herself somewhat rational. “I’m fine… what did you throw at me?” She was brandishing the bucket she used to water her terrariums, looking aggrieved at having had to use it. Yang watched her tuck it behind her back a little bit, the metal clanging against her chains. “Just water- you were screaming again-” “You could have just shaken me, Rubes.” “I tried. You sounded like you were dying. What were you dreaming about?” The music was still ringing in the back cavity of her brain; Yang threw back the soggy blanket on her bed. Her pajamas were damp too, and her pillow… she was going to have to hang everything out to dry if she wanted to sleep at a reasonable time that night. If Ruby could read the exasperation that was probably tugging at her face, she didn’t apologize for it. One leg at a time, Yang swung herself off her mattress, and nearly sighed in relief as the cool hardwood hit her feet. She dripped from the forehead as she stood upright, and one easy push slicked her bangs back and out of her way. A shower of all things was most certainly in her future. Yang snatched the bucket as she passed, and shushed any impending complaint. “You’ve lost bucket privileges.” “You can’t do that- Yang give me my bucket back!” Ruby followed her out of the bedroom, clanking and jingling with her miles of chain and cording and spikes. She was dressed already- that was good. There’d be no competition for the shower, then. Yang ignored her and padded the hallway, rounding the corner on the stairs and taking them quick-footed and sure. Ruby followed suit, boots thundering against the wood in a way Yang’s bare feet did not. She knew what was coming; as they reached the bottom step, she ducked, but Ruby was too slow. The couch pillow came sailing through the air, and when it hit, it hit with a resounding thud that sent her falling back on her ass on that last step. Yang stepped around the banister and out of the line of fire, watching her step as she went; it was late morning, she was sure, and there was not a snowball’s chance in hell that their mother hadn’t already done the mopping. “No shoes inside!” Summer chided, and Yang didn’t stop to watch the interaction play out; she wove around the island, set the bucket down in the of the corner, and grabbed an apple from the bowl on her way, stepping over dog toys as she rounded another corner, down the small hall on the other side of the laundry room. The molding on the walls was nice; Tai had been right- the accent was a much needed touch of character to the otherwise bland strip of house.The bedroom door was cracked, and inside the darkness was thick. Yang tossed her apple core in the trash can outside the door.Pushing the door in, she saw the rise and twist of fluffy ears; Zwei lifted his attention from his gnarled peanut butter bone to her entrance, and she stepped through the room with her hands extended, using him as a directional guide. He head-butted her hand when she got there, and Yang promptly took care to ruffle both his ears. Zwei licked at her face as she dripped onto his motley fur and the quilt down, and it was her muffled snorting that woke her mother- not the light from the door, or the dog. She saw the shift as Raven rolled over from one shoulder to another, rubbing at her face. In the dark, she was shadow-black and growling, like something from a nightmare- like something from one of Yang’s. “It better not be early, Yang…” She struggled to voice, but Yang was already ahead of her. She gave Zwei another good ruffle, pushed herself upright, and jumped over dog toys and discarded clothes until she reached the side windows. There were two, and they were tall; Yang was tall too, and it took little effort to reach up and wrap the woven ropes of the heavy blackout curtains around her arms, and pull. They came apart with little complaint, and the room was an ambient orange with dawn. Her mother made a noise that was close only to something feral, and pulled the quilt over herself, disturbing Zwei in the process. He hardly seemed to mind; with old, short corgi legs, he eased himself down his step stools and took his peanut butter bone with him. Yang filled the space he’d left, swinging her legs over the mattress and rolling until she was laying in the spot closest to her mother- pushing her to the edge of the mattress, no doubt. “Go away,” Raven tried, muffled under the blanket. Yang ignored her. “I had another dream.” “I can’t hear you, I’m sleeping.” Rolling over again, Yang grabbed the quilt by its top, and yanked it back, reaching up to ring the water out of her bangs. Raven shouted, and the obscenity of it was surprising. Yang jumped back and fell on the bed as Raven sat upright, wiping aggressively at her face. It wasn’t a lot of water- certainly not as much as Ruby had thrown at her… but it was enough that she was damp now too, and grumpy about it. “What is wrong with you?” Her mother asked her, and Yang crossed her legs, waiting for the theatrics to pass as Raven shook the water off her hand and grimaced at the damp in her dark curls. “I had another dream.” She repeated herself, hating it, and waited until Raven was looking at her fully to continue. “You told me to tell you if I have another one.” Raven looked entirely like she was regretting that now. “Yeah, in a normal way. What is wrong with you?” “Blame Ruby, she waterboarded me this morning. That’s just a second-hand wakeup method.” Somehow, Raven's expression seemed to imply that she found this a worse answer. “Don’t do that again. That’s disgusting.” “You just don’t like water.” “Do you want an interpreter, or not?” Yang shut her mouth, and waited until Raven had adjusted herself and her sleepwear, squinting in the sunlight that was cast in harsh yellows over the room as the sun rose. It turned all the deep blacks and browns in the room an amber color so breathtaking that Yang cataloged it for later; she’d have to try to sample it for Jaune some time. Raven caught her staring, and her eyes were such a sonorous and murky red-black that they practically oozed; Yang could smell copper, and it churned her stomach more. Quietly fisting her fingers in the quilt, she began. “I was in a chapel… I think. For what, I don’t know… but it was loud. Everything was bright, and there were hundreds of people singing at me- all the same song, in different cords. The music would swell and my bones would start to break, but I couldn’t feel any pain. It was like being buried alive by sound… like attending my own funeral.” Raven said nothing. Her brow was furrowed, and when she frowned like that she looked her age; stress-lined and tense. Yang watched her pick at her hands and her nails distractedly for a moment as she seemed to ponder this. “...well. That’s certainly something.” She waited for the follow up… but none seemed forthcoming. “...and?” “And, nothing. I haven’t the foggiest idea.” She shrugged, noncommittally, and Yang had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her tongue in check. “That’s not helpful.” “Look, Yang… sometimes dreams are just dreams.” It was a sentiment she’d never heard from her mother before, and it threw her off her guard; Raven lazily detangled her curls with her fingers, keeping her eyes closed and her head turned away as she elaborated. “This doesn’t sound like a prophecy… It just sounds like a nightmare. A horrible one, sure… but nothing to be concerned about in a real sense.” “You said it could start happening any day now, so when then? If not last night, then when, Ma?” Her second noncommittal shrug drew the last straw; Yang flopped back down on the bed and reached to smother herself with the nearest pillow. It was soft, supple silk, and she groaned into it until her face felt hot and her lungs were fighting her- and until Raven reached out and yanked it out of her hands. She was deceptively strong, Raven. “We need to start preparing for the reality that you might not have any magic, Yang… and that’s just the way it’s going to be.” That was not a possibility that Yang was excited to entertain; especially now- after what? 15 years of expecting it to happen? She’d rather have chewed off an extremity than gone the rest of her life being… average. Raven must have seen the tightness of her face; she reached out in a way that she did not often do… and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “...you don’t really want it, anyway, kid. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.” Yang smacked her hand away, surprising them both. Even still… there was no apology there for her. Yang sat upright, and ran a hand through her bucket-damp hair, scowling. She could feel it tugging at her face… but nothing in her was keen on stopping anytime soon. “You don’t know that. You don’t have any idea what I want.” “Don’t be stupid,” Raven said, and it hurt; Yang looked at her, and the words dried right up in her mouth. She watched her mother swallow, and watched her look away- a coward. Yang couldn’t think of a response that wasn’t laced with cruelty back… so she shut her mouth, and sighed… and laid back down, covering her hands with her eyes this time instead of resorting to the pillow method. “...so what now?” “That’s up to you- you still have to go to school- no ifs ands or butts about that,” Yang sat back up. “-but besides that… the world is your oyster, kid. We’re already pretty unaffiliated with the other covens… what you do is up to you.” Raven’s shrug was easy, and her face was pinched as she combed through her knots methodically. “Well… as long as you get a job, and go to school, and move out by the time you’re 24, then it’s up to you.” “Gee… thanks Ma. That’s… so open and broad.” “Hey, don’t look at me. Your father’s the one who is so insistent on you making up your mind about a profession. Freelance work is only going to get you so far…”“I’ve been doing just fine… and it’s not like I can’t just take over the shop from him.” “When? 50 years from now? Good luck with that. You’re going to have to pry that workshop from his poor arthritic hands long after Summer and I are dead and buried.” She laughed when she said it… but somehow it didn’t feel very funny, and Yang resented how probably true it was.“Yeah…” she intoned, more sigh than anything else, and this time, when Raven reached out to touch her shoulder, she didn’t bat it away. 
            *   *   *  
The metal was hot to the touch, even after she’d pulled it into the shed’s covered shade. She set down the oil wrench, and grabbed for the nearest rag she’d tossed onto the counter. It was a small space, and the heat and the oil smell was the only thing thick enough to cover the hay smell. Yang scuffed her boots in the dirt, and tried to get as much of the gunk off her hands as possible; this had not been her plan for the day… there’d be no sunning down at the pier today- she was going to have run some errands and get a handle on this if she wanted to ride her bike safely anytime soon. When she’d realized something had been leaking oil, she’d had to get changed out of her comfortable lake clothes and into something messier. She’d spent the last hour searching out the leak and checking the other parts, before deciding to just remove the oil canister itself and spare herself the trouble. Now it was leaking in a pan on the dirt floor, and she was an oil can short. Her old man had the truck, which left few other options, though… There had to be a can she could use in the meantime hiding somewhere. The shed was a multipurpose space, for all intents and purposes… but she’d sort of taken it over. It was big enough to accommodate her ducati, and there was plenty of extra space to move around and get low to the ground. For a utility shed, it was massive, and there was still a whole wall of tall-rack shelves that her parents just sort of discarded things on and left there to rot. It took her twenty minutes, but after searching elbow-deep into the dusty, grimy shelves in the shelf backing, backhanding spiders and sorting half-used cans of paint she was certainly guilty of from middle school, she came up with a singular can of relatively recent motor oil. It wasn’t ideal… but it wasn’t too worrying either. And the closest town was only a few miles away… she’d be just fine. Installing it took less time than finding it, certainly, and by then she was sweat-damp too, as well as grimy. She tried to pat herself dry with her butchered sleeveless tee, but that hardly seemed to help. Pulling the bike out, she had to walk it to the dirt portion of the drive, around the loop and past the first few rows of Summer’s orchards. Helmet in hand, she parked it, and ran back inside for her keys. “I’m just saying that you can’t just seclude yourself here all day. There's only a month left of summer, and you’re moping around inside all day long. It’s not healthy, sugar.” She pushed in the front door, and nearly hit Ruby with it where she was slouched against the entryway closet. “Hey- watch it!” Yang shimmied her way inside, brushing her hands off on her back pockets and taking care to access the conversation here. Ruby was scowling- that wasn’t exactly new- and their mom was scowling right back. Yang focused her attention on Summer. “I’m going to town, do you need anything for supper tonight?”“No, I’m fine. It’s just a roast tonight. You’re not taking that motorcycle of yours, are you?” Her pinched expression was indicator enough of how against that she was; Yang refrained from mentioning her tune-ups… although it was probably obvious from the mess she’d made of herself. It was uncanny, sometimes, the way that Summer and Ruby looked so alike… Yang had looked at their mother instead, and yet somehow she’d still ended up looking at Ruby. Her foot was tapping, and not entirely of her own volition; if she didn’t get going soon, she was going to end up missing all her daylight- it was already nearly 5, and the dock was closed to the public after 8pm. “I’m just going to be quick- I’ve got to pick something up, and I wanted to pop into the shop.” “If you do, then just wait there and have your dad put the bike in the truck back. I don’t like you driving that thing-” “ Mom .” “It’s bad enough Raven won’t back me up about it, and your father encourages you… Just… I worry you’re going to get hurt. I see people crash those things all the time.” The sentiment itself was sweet… but Yang was no particular fan of the creeping sense of judgment that had begun to slowly slip into Summer’s voice where her bike-fixing hobby was concerned. She knew it wasn’t the fixing that was the problem… It was more so the motorcycle license she’d fought tooth and nail to get, and the interest in sport bikes over classic bikes… and that she refused to get anything more practical, like another truck, or a car.“Hey, at least I’m getting out of the house,” Yang grabbed her keys off the door, and turned the conversation back away from her; clearly, Summer was in a mood, and it was not a mood she wanted to be at the center of. Ruby kicked her in the ankle as she ducked back out, exiting the conversation and the house entirely- leaving her to the proverbial wolves. That was going to come back to bite her later, she was sure… but at least she could soothe it over with some lakeside lounging. The leather was hot through her jeans as she straddled the seat and kicked up the stand. The helmet was heavily padded and dense and it took a minute to fit it over her head, but once she had, the face shield came down and there was nothing but the road and the roar and the grip of the handles as she shot through the dirt and down the lane, onto the main road.The sun was hot overhead but the breeze was cool on her arms, and every sharp turn down the winding back-roads of Vale County ruffled her curls. Despite her parents’ hesitancies… Yang loved her bike. She loved the speed, and the rumble, and she loved looking really fucking cool, too. The closer she got to town, the more traffic flared- that was fine though; it was about quitting time, so she’d expected as much. In town, she was more careful, and the bike stayed within the limit and street parameters as she took her corners easily, and dipped down into the valley at the center of town. The parking was getting thin as restaurants opened for supper; and she found herself a spot as far from any of the major ones as she could. A little walking wouldn’t kill her. Summer was in full swing; the air was sweet and dense with heat, and it was such a pleasant and welcome change from the dreary winter sludge they suffered more than half the year. She tucked her helmet under her arm and jogged to catch the door to the shop as it swung open. Ms. Nikos must have caught the action out of the corner of her eye- she turned, and smiled a soft sort of smile that didn’t quite reach the side of her face. “Oh! Yang!”Yang hovered in the doorway a moment, highly conscious suddenly of her grime and her sweat stains. Letting the door close, she set the helmet down and met her halfway for a hug, praying all the while it didn’t last too long. Ms. Nikos didn’t linger, though, and somehow it was more embarrassing that way. Yang brushed her hands off on her jeans, and tried to smile. It felt a little tight and uncertain on her face… but she made herself do it. “Hey, long time no see. Picking up or dropping off?” “Checking in,” She countered, fidgeting with her drawstring purse. In the harsh light, she was cherry-colored and warm; Yang watched the way the air rippled around her like a mirage in the heat. “I trust your father, but I need this taken care of fairly quickly. I’ve got some new clients that are eager to have that piece for their joint office space.”“What is it?” “A shelf- nothing too far out of your wheelhouse, I’m sure. Cherrywood, with nine equidistant shelves and sectioning squares in each corner. I reminded him… but you know how distracted he can be.” “I do,” This was- despite the awkwardness of the reputation it presented- a fair assessment. Her old man had a habit of getting himself swamped with projects, and bouncing between whatever ones he found most attention-grabbing. She shifted her weight on her foot, and nodded thoughtfully, listening as Ms. Nikos gossiped. When she caught a break in the flow, Yang took it. “I’ll take a look at the plans and see what I can do. When do you need it?”“By Friday. You’re an angel, Yang.” Yang scooped her helmet back up, and grabbed for the door handle again. This time, her smile came easy. “Flattery’s not gonna get it going any faster, but I’ll get it to you by Thursday evening.”  It was a Tuesday… and she knew she was shooting herself in the foot here… but sometimes a reputation demanded sacrifices- like her sleep, for example. That was fine, really… it wasn’t like she was sleeping very well anyway.The bell chimed once she pushed in the door, and immediately she was comforted by the thick aroma of woodsmoke and lacquer. The front counter was abandoned- as per usual- and chaotic with papers and folders and wire racks of Manila envelopes marked with fat black sharpie. It was in direct contrast with the small sitting area, which was tidy, contained, and well organized. She set her helmet down in one of the two low plush chairs, and scrounged around the desk until she came up with the marker and a slip of scrap paper from the recycle bin. It only took a second, scribbling in big letters that she’d be back soon, and taping it to the helmet's raised face shield. When she was done, she admired her work, and set it on top of the nearest stack of disheveled looking paper folders. If anything caught his attention, it would be that. Scribbling herself a note on the back of her hand with the marker, she tossed it back on the desk on her way out the door again, and the chime echoed in her ears as she closed it behind herself, squinting a little at the harshness of the horizon light. Golden hour had already begun to set in… she was running out of time. The mechanic’s supply was open a little longer- long enough for her to slip inside, and little enough for her to feel guilty about it as she waved a little awkwardly to Mercury behind the counter. He didn’t wave back. That was fair… she supposed he had all the right in the world not to like her, from where he was standing… didn’t mean she didn’t dislike his attitude though. She grabbed a couple cans off the shelf- her usual brand, and his steeled expression didn’t flinch once as he started scanning, ignoring her outright. She tapped her foot and tried to make whatever came out of her mouth somewhat amicable. “…about time to stock up again.”He ignored her, again, and each can was set down harder than the next. This time, she watched the muscles in one of his cheeks flex. “…$60.42, whenever you’re ready.” “What?” That wasn’t right… “I only grabbed 4 cans… how can it be $60?”“It’s 60. I don’t know what to tell you-“ She didn’t wait to hear his sorry excuses; Yang leant over the steel counter and looked at his screen. “Hey! You can’t just do that!” “Mercury you ass, you can’t upcharge me-““If you don’t want me to upcharge you maybe stop messing around with Em.” “I’m… not messing around with Em! It’s not my fault your sister doesn’t have any boundaries-“ He hit a button, and the price went up another $12. “ Mercury !”“Say it,” he was dead serious as ever, but she didn’t miss the shift in his tone. All the petulance was gone- he could and would do it again. “Say my sister is off limits, or I’ll charge it again.” Damn it. Damn him, and damn Emerald for running her mouth about that stupid kiss. The leather on her wallet was cracked, and it crinkled when she pulled it out of her back pocket and fished out $60. She set it on the counter, and tried her best to minimize the murder she was feeling deep down in her bones. “…I didn’t do anything, and I’d appreciate it if she’d stop telling people things that didn’t happen.” He took the money, but his expression was cold and unforgiving. For such a light-featured, dainty looking man, he was unusually dark and hard around the edges. He ripped off the receipt with all the contempt in the world, and she took it. “Right. We’re closed now.” She took the hint. It was cool with the air conditioning in the store, but even still she felt warm to the touch. The thought only embarrassed her more, and she took care to slam the door a little on her way out. 
 *   *   *  
She kept the volume low, even though she was the only one in the studio. She’d told her dad to go home without her, and it hadn’t taken much convincing for him to agree- she’d just had to promise to order something for supper, and catch a few hours sleep on the office futon if she got too tired. He was okay that way, Tai. She was sure that Summer would give her an earful over it in the morning… but a promise was a promise, and as much as she treated it lightly… it rubbed her the wrong way how easily Tai seemed to forget those promises. Ms. Nikos was a repeat customer, and a nice enough woman, in most respects… and Yang had been through grade school with her daughter, Pyrrha. As much as she loved her father… this wasn’t a project she felt comfortable trusting him to remember. The cherrywood was heady and woodsy, but the sweetness cut through the air as she sanded down the individual shelves. Even with a mask on, the scent was distinct, and she admired the choice. Whoever had requested it had taste, that she couldn’t deny. The music was soft and ambient- piano runs and organ- string instruments and deep-toned drums. She kept her earbuds in her locker for overnights like this, and they dangled as she piled the sanded shelves on the farthest most long table. She had her system, and it worked well enough. One thing at a time, one step at a time, and steady hands all the while; in the corner of the room, the fan was blowing on low air, and she relished it. A few hours in she’d taken her butchered tank off; it was dusty and sweaty, and only getting in her way at that point. If her dad had been there, he’d have chided her for safety… but he wasn’t there, and Yang couldn’t bring herself to care as the clock struck 3 in the morning. The longer she kept at it, the more she ached… but she was closer now than she’d been before, and she kept telling herself that every ten minutes. When keeping her eyes open started getting difficult, she switched tactics, and the music got louder… and louder… and louder, until there was a symphony in her ears, drowning out the snapping of wood. 
*   *   *  
“Damn it!” The splinter lodged itself deep in the bed of her finger, and Yang clenched her jaw. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever felt… but it throbbed uncomfortably. She made short work of pulling it out with her teeth, and pushed up from her kneeling spot in the garden beds. The hose water was cool as she ran it over her hand and the splinter hole. “What happened?” Summer was half-hidden in the blueberry bushes, and the dark top of her head stuck out like a sore thumb as she trimmed and examined them. “Splinter,” the sting wasn’t horrible, and the cool water was nice on her hand. She supposed that was what she got for taking her gloves off… “You need to ask dad to make you a new handle for that trowel- the base is splintering.” “I’d have better luck just buying a new one.” Summer waved the idea away without even looking her way. Her hands cut through the air with ease; they were soil-dark and nimble, and despite herself, Yang paused there, with the hose pooling water at her knees to watch her mother work. They were both sweating in the heat… but unlike Yang, Summer didn’t burn. She was sun browned and lean, and her movements were practiced and precise as she pruned the branches. Everything here in the garden was lush and vibrant: the air smelled like fertilizer and vetiver and lavender, and Yang breathed it in deep. “You’d also be more productive doing all this yourself, and yet, you’re letting me help.” “Because you asked,” She sighed, and it was heavy with a growing annoyance, “-and I figured it was important to spend a little time together. I’ve been so busy with your sister lately… come here, come look at this.” Begrudgingly… Yang stepped around the boxes and open rows and sidled up to her side, getting down on her knees. Summer smelt like good earth, and something sweet, like vanilla; she lifted some of the branches, with their little buds, and Yang could see now what she was drawing attention to. “Lepidoptera- cutworms.” “Mhm. They’re gonna be a pain if they get any bigger than that. It’s a good thing we decided to do this today, or we might have missed them.” She trusted her mother’s expertise in that regard. They were small, and white, and they wriggled against the root where it tucked down into the soil, thin and fragile. Blueberry plants could be pretty finicky… “Should I check the others?” Summer’s nod was simple, but discreet. Still lifting the branch up on the bush, she picked up her trowel with the other hand and spun it effortlessly in her fingers until it was pointing hilt-first in Yang’s direction. “Take mine. See if you can gather them up in a pail from the shed- I can find a use for them that’s not messing up my plants.” “Yes, ma’am.” The handle on this one was whole, and Yang tested the weight of it in her hand. It was about the same as hers, sans the chunk of handle missing. It wasn’t hard work- no harder than depotting the soapwort. She found a pail in the back of the shed, past her bike and the shelves, and it only took about half an hour for her to pries the parasites from the bushes. Wriggling in the bucket, she tried not to look at them too long, and Summer laughed at her when she caught the shudder that rolled up her spine. “Bugs aren't for everyone, darlin’. You’re almost done, and then we’ll stop for the evening.” Summer didn’t seem to bother with the trowel- she slid on thick canvas gloves, and plopped caterpillar after caterpillar into the bucket without a second thought, or a similar flicker of disgust. Despite the circumstances… Yang wasn’t quite ready for it to be over. The sun was still pretty high in the sky, and her muscles hadn't started to ache yet- even after being on her knees in the dirt for so long. “This is… nice.” “I can agree. It’s been a while since we’ve done something, just the two of us. Since you graduated school… you’ve been busy, and I’ve been a little too hyper focused on Ruby.” It was the understatement of the year; even so, Yang was surprised when she didn’t launch directly from that into a diatribe about Ruby’s poor summer work ethic. Instead, she tossed another parasitic caterpillar into the bucket, and it clamored against the pail’s thin iron wall. “This is a nice chance to slow down and catch up with each other.” “I can’t disagree.” Her side of the patch was done; she turned the handle over a couple times, and inspected the woodworking on the handle… and passed it back. “It’s felt a little hard to breathe lately, honestly.” “Figuratively, or literally?” Yang shrugged. “A little of both… I mean it mostly figuratively, I guess. Ma says I need to get a job besides the shop… but I can’t really devote that time to anywhere else. If I did, our reputation would get thrown out the window, and nothing would ever get done. I’ve still got to finish researching colleges… but I only have a year to make up my mind, if Ma holds to our agreement… Don’t even get me started on the bike, and the Sustrais, and I’ve been trying to get down to the lake landing…” “I see what you mean- you’re getting a little breathless there,” It wasn’t mocking, the way she said it, and Yang was thankful for that much, at least. She sat herself down in the dirt, and watched as one by one, her mother pried the fingers of her gloves up, and tossed them aside. She pushed herself up a little, brushed off her knees, and fell back to sit opposite her in the upturned soil plots. They were both soil-black at the knees, but Summer’s were bare and scraped and bruising dark around the edges. “What happened with the bike and the Sustrais? That’s the green-haired one you and Nora hang out with from time to time, isn't it? Of course she had to start with that one. “It’s… nothing I can’t handle.” Summer kicked her, and the collision startled her more than it hurt. “Ow! What the hell?” “There’s an attitude that's going to get you into trouble. Tell me what’s going on- maybe I have some sage advice for you, darlin’.” “I doubt it.” “I might surprise you.” It felt like chewing nails… but little by little, Yang found the will to murder her pride just enough to talk about it with her mother. She hadn’t had a conversation like this with her since… well, since that whole Coco mess. The lemongrass was cool and damp between her fingers, and the dirt was perfuming the air with an earthy scent; Yang pulled her knees up closer to her chest, ignoring the throbbing of her ankle. She laid her head down, and sighed. “...Emerald keeps trying to get me to… date her. And I don't really want to. She’s nice enough, when she wants to be… but she’s getting a little aggressive about it, and I don’t… really know what to do. She kissed me last week, when I was dropping off some parts for replacement at the mechanic’s place… and now her brother is marking up all my orders because she told him we’ve been doing more than that.” Summer’s wince was loud enough to be telling; groaning, Yang let go of her knees, and let herself fall back into the soil wholesale. It was soft, and dense beneath her, and suddenly the term dirt-nap made a lot more sense. “...yeah, that’s definitely a tough one, darlin’.” “It’s not even the sex craze that bothers me- it’s that it came out of nowhere. We went to high school together for four years! Why not then?” “Preferably because you were both minors, and if your father heard you were sexually active from anyone- let alone a stranger- I’d be planting flowers on your grave right now.” “Is it because I got taller? Is it the hair? Is she just a girl-kisser?” “Aren’t you a girl…kisser?” Yang sat up, and her poor mother was clearly too far in over her head; she looked beyond confused, and if Yang didn’t intervene her face was going to stick like that. “I just don’t understand what the appeal is all of the sudden.” “Have you… considered it might not have anything to do with you?” Summer’s shrug was nonchalant, and her smile was tentative and cushioning, but it did nothing to soften the accusation. She launched into her defense before Yang could even open her mouth. “Maybe she’s trying to make someone else jealous, or… or she’s just bored. It’s summer, and she’s out of high school- what’s she doing for college?” “She’s… not going.” “There. See? She’s bored, and you’re the hottest girl she can find to kiss in her immediate radar. You shot yourself in the foot being a regular at that shop, and she shot you in the other the second she kissed you.” “So I’m screwed- great.” A mosquito buzzed into her ear, and she shook her head to get it out, swatting. This only flicked dirt on her face; her groaning was long and drawn out as she flopped back down into the dirt, and accepted it. “You could always get your parts somewhere else, you know.” “No. It’s the principle of the thing. I have brand loyalty.” “You have autism, and you got it from your father. You think it was easy getting him to go to that new dealership in Monroe when the truck broke down?” Summer nudged her in the boot again, softer than her last kick. “You don’t have to deal with her, Yang… just switch stores, and you won’t have to see her or her brother anymore.” “It’s not that easy! And uh, yes I will. Just because I wouldn’t see her at their store doesn’t mean I won’t see her around town. And besides- she’s going to tell everyone I ghosted her after we did stuff, and we didn't. How am I going to be able to walk around town after that?” Summer’s sigh was long, and low. There was a pause, like she was taking a few centering deep breaths, and Yang massaged at her eyelids with her dirty fingers. “...I’m sorry. I appreciate the advice… It’s just a lot right now. Should I just… take her on a date?” “What? No. No no no,” There was another nudge on her boot, and Summer was shuffling through the grass and vegetation; she shuffled until she was sitting at Yang’s side, and from her view down below, her mother’s face was shadowed by heavy dark hair and choppy feathered bangs falling from loose barrettes. “Darlin’... I realize we haven’t exactly covered the whole dating thing very well… it was never your thing. But giving in isn’t the answer. If your sister was dealing with boy trouble- or girl trouble- I’d tell her the same thing. You shouldn’t let Emily-” “-Emerald-” “-Emerald… bully you into something you know you don’t want.” Summer reached out and patted her on the knee; it was only twice, but they were deft little pats, and Yang hated that… they did actually make her feel a little better. Summer smiled at her, soft and amused in the shade of her bangs. “...thanks, Mom.” “You’re welcome.” This time, the pat was more a vehicle for pushing herself up to stand, and Yang found she didn’t mind all that much. When she was up, she extended a hand down, and Yang took it, hoisting herself up to her feet. “Now… It's about time for a shower, hm?” “Yeah, I’m probably pretty gross… Could you remind Ma to pick up more of my shampoo next time she goes to the store? I think I’ve only got enough left for-” The water came suddenly, and at full blast. The jet was freezing, and she screamed when it hit her in the arm, splashing and soaking her. Summer had grabbed the hose- when, she couldn’t be sure- and her aim was perfect. Yang tried to shout something profane, but it came out a gargle as the stream caught her in the face, and she sputtered, tripping over her feet to lunge blindly for the long green hose. Summer was laughing; dodging back and out of the way, and every time Yang caught a brake to sputter and gasp, she aimed it somewhere else; her side, her back, her neck-“Mother fucker !” She spat, and the grass was flooded and mushy under her boots, which were squelching on the insides too as she managed to grab a hold of the nozzle in her mother’s hands. Summer squealed, and the hose turned upright overhead, guizering back down on them both as Yang tried to wrestle it away from her. “You're the worst !” “You needed a shower-” Summer hiccupped between laughs, sputtering and damp now too; Yang turned the hose toward her face, and she screamed, spitting and trying to turn her head away. “Ew ew ew it’s in my mouth!” “You’re such a brat! You shot it in my face like five times! Eat it!” Yang laughed, and the sound surprised her; she almost let go of the hose… almost. Summer let go, stumbling back and waving her arms like a madwoman. She nearly tripped backward on a few of their bushes, but caught herself; Yang took the opening, and the hose hit her in the chest. It was just enough- just enough to send her onto her ass in the mud. “Surrender.” She offered, as her mother laid there in the mud at her feet, laughing herself silly and soaked through her gardening clothes to the bone. The hose nozzle was heavy in her hands, and she brandished it with full intent to aim and fire again. Summer raised her hands, and laid her head back in the grass, trying to get herself back to some form of composure. “I yield… I- I yield…… Fuck .” That was all it took. Yang threw the hose a good ten feet for good measure, and fell down next to her, letting her own heart rate ease. The water was cool on her skin, but the sun was still relatively high in the sky, and hot. She could feel the warmth eating away at her layer of cool damp, and it annoyed her that it couldn’t last longer. On her back, the sky was azure, and lavender still spiced the air; there wasn’t a cloud rolling overhead, and the flat expanse of it was daunting. Yang swallowed, and blinked away the dirt and the water from her eyes to stare up at it, captivated. They laid there for a long time, in a mutually appreciative silence that Yang wasn’t so sure she’d ever experienced before. They’d had a trampoline once, when she and Ruby had been kids… she remembered just laying on it, sometimes, feeling the heat come up from the polypropylene and staring up at the clouds moving overhead just… breathing. She got so lost in it, and the memory, she nearly missed the truck door closing, and the sound of boots on gravel and grass. When he got to them, he stopped, and his shadow loomed darkly over the both of them, blocking out the sun.“...what the hell happened out here?” She didn’t mean to laugh- it just sort of sputtered out- but then, Summer started up pretty quickly after her, and soon neither of them seemed to be able to stop. 
 *   *   *  
The cicadas were loud in the trees, but she didn’t mind. With the windows open, the cool night breeze had free reign to blow through her room, and it helped to cut the humidity a little. The candlelight from her desk and armoire flickered on the walls and cast long shadows on the room; the hands of the clock on the wall were moving slowly… too slowly for her comfort. It was nearly 2 in the morning… but even still, sleeping didn’t seem to be on her itinerary for the night. That was fine… it gave her a chance to think- to lean out her window, and breathe in the night and the garden and the forest… and take a step back. She and Summer had touched on the most pressing concern… but what about the others? What about school? Or getting a different job… could she really do that? Even without Raven’s insistence… could she really just let carpentry go? Could she leave it all to her dad, and trust that he could manage on his own? She snorted, swatting away a rogue mosquito. It wasn’t likely. She could give credit where it was due, and he deserved that much… he was an amazing carpenter… but he refused to get medicated, and his attention issues were going to be the death of his shop. She didn’t realize she’d started biting her thumbnail until it was already chewed raw. And what if she did leave? What if she got a job somewhere else… or she went to school somewhere she had to stay on campus? He’d be on his own.Yang pushed herself back away from the window, and took a couple paces around the room to try and get her blood flowing and her head clear. She was 22 years old… it shouldn’t have been this hard to leave home… to be her own person. She didn’t want to leave, though. She didn’t want to be somewhere that wasn’t… here. It made her ache from the center of her chest, and she hated the feeling; it made her paw uselessly at her heart, like that would do anything at all. And if she left… What about her bike? Could she take it with her? She wouldn’t have access to the shed anymore, or the parts store… she’d have to switch, like Summer had suggested. And that was if whatever school she attended even permitted sports bikes on campus. She supposed it was something she’d have to make a note about if- and when- she started looking into it more… but that just made the ache in her chest worse. “Why can’t things just be simple…?” She moaned, and the bed was soft when she fell back into it, her comforter downy and soft and weighted with about ten blankets; her pillows all fell over from their resting place at the headboard, but she didn’t bother fixing them. “Ughhhhhhhhhhh….”The clock on the wall read 2:20, and she could feel every tick like a chain notching around her soul. Nope. That was it. If she was going to be up and moping… she was going to blow off some steam. The house creaked quietly in the dark as she padded her way down the stairs on bare feet, and tiptoed to the door. Her parents' snores were loud, even from the other side of the house, and she knew Zwei was fast asleep- he was too old to be woken by some quiet footsteps in the middle of the night. She waited until she was at the end of the lane to start the bike, and in the dark, her headlights bathed the road in glowing-coal colors. 
 *   *   *

It was no less buggy at the lakeside, and as she pulled into the farthest most parking lot, she turned off her headlights and took care to park in the center of a small cops of trees. The lapping of the water at the rocky shores soothed the ache in her chest, and she breathed a little easier, even with all the bugs. There was no one around… the landing was closed this later- or, early, rather. Yang referenced the time on her bike’s clock, and didn’t feel any more at ease; the lake was only about ten minutes from the house… but it had taken her a couple minutes to get herself and the bike out of earshot. She was pushing at 3 in the morning…

It didn’t matter. Dawn wasn’t for another few hours… and she’d been looking forward to this for a week. Even if it wasn’t high sun and clear skies.. She could appreciate a night swim for how much calmer and more intimate it felt.

The dry dirt road felt rough and familiar under her feet, and she jogged to get up over the hillside and down to the sharp slope of the beach, where the water lapped muggy and cloudy against the harsh rocks and gritty dirt-sand. It buried itself between her toes, and she kicked the bigger, sharper rocks out from her path as she went.

It took her breath away, the sight of it:

The moon was pale and cresting high in the navy-black sky, and although there were scattered clouds, its pock-marked face alone was clear and distinct in the sky. Each crater was visibly discolored, and Yang swallowed to see it in such clear detail. The water was lapping in an eerily rhythmic sort of time, although no boats or skis were out- she’d have heard them if they were. What then, was making them move this way? What was frothing their ends as they flattened out over the pale glittering beach stones and receded back in a soft roar. It was dark, and so too was the water- murky as always- but in the moonlight the peaks of the waves glinted and glittered.

In the distance, she could see the islands- see the other side of the lake, where the other towns connected- where the other covens lived, and went about their business. Raven was right… they were as unaffiliated as witches come… but there was one consistency in witchhood that the community had no bearing on…

…the moon.

It didn’t take her long to recognize it- to feel it in her bones. Yang might not have had prophetic dreams, or plant coaxing talents… but she was as much a witch as any of them… as much a witch as Ruby, and Raven, and Summer. And this… this was not a normal feeling- not for a human. It was indescribable, the ripple that ran through her body- the way the water turned red.

It started slowly- burbling, like it was boiling up from the center, and working its way landside. She could see the divots and bubbles; the way it seemed to seep and spread throughout the murk with a butter-like ease.

The smell was… awful. It was like hot iron, and char. But she stood there… and she stomached it. When the body came up from the water, it was… lithe. Lean-muscled, and sensuous, and slick with gore from head to toe. It was like something out of a nightmare… out of a horror movie. The woman- because it was a woman’s figure- turned in the water, and not a ripple ran from where she moved- not an atom disturbed.

Her smile was pretty, and pursed… but all Yang could see was red.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Her scream was probably not what the locals were expecting when she bolted upright, panting and sweating like a dog; the boot had jostled her awake- she guessed- as the person it was attached to nudged her with it again. “I’m up! I’m up!”

“You can’t be sleeping here,” the old man frowned down at her. “This is a public beach, there are hours for a reason!”

He had a voice like a shrew, but withered and dried out; it took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow as it dripped into her eyes, off her nose and down her temples. The sun had barely settled overhead… and still she was overwarm- unbearably hot in her sweat-damp nightshirt. Yang swallowed back whatever retort might have wanted to bubble to the surface. “Yes, sir… I’ll go.”

He wasn’t the only one around… she was laying on the hillslope up from the shore… and there were a few others standing at a distance, watching her with darting, nervous eyes, like she was unwell, or something. She pushed herself up to stand, and ignored the ache in her back; sleeping on a hill was not exactly ideal… “I’ll be on my way now. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, I… think I just got tired, is all.”

“Next time, find yourself a motel. It’s dangerous outside at night- what if you’d been mugged, huh?” He was shorter than her, and thinner by half; she stepped around him, and made sure to avoid knocking into him at all, or any of the other bystanders. The last thing she needed was this getting out of hand… already, there were whispers picking up. “If I see you sleeping here again, I’m calling the sheriff, are we clear?”

“We’re clear,” What was this dude’s problem? She’d already apologized, and promised not to do it again… what more did he want from her? Yang bit her tongue; it was shaping up to be a nice day out- the sun was already bright, and the water was clear… no trace of the blood- and she was sure it had been blood in the water. The woman was gone, too- that much was a certainty. As she backstepped her way up the hill, Yang quickly scanned over the faces of the gathered… but none seemed right.

So it was a dream… another oddly unsettling dream…

*   *   *

“

Urk

- careful! It’s heavy on my end.”

The shelf still smelled like fresh lacquer, and it glistened in the sunlight as together, they managed to get a good grip on it and tilt it up into the bed. Tai was opposite, on the other side of it, and it was his job to lift it up over the lip of the truck bed; it wasn’t too difficult, between the two of them, but even still, her old man was breathing heavier than she was, and that was saying something. When it was secure enough on his end, she shifted her fingers under the rest of its weight, and lifted to even height. The important part would be sliding it onto the tarp in the back while making as few marks as possible. “It’s heavy on both ends.”

“Scoot over, let me help.” His jog was spritely, for someone with such bad bones, but when he grabbed the other edge and eased some of the weight, the relief in her shoulders was so great that she found she didn’t really care all that much.

“On three.” He shifted to lean his shoulder against its outfacing top, and, begrudgingly, she did the same. “When you push, try to leverage it so that it doesn’t push the tarp back with it.”

“Got it,” Her hands were sweat-slick and warm against the cool polished cherrywood. She shifted her weight quickly to wipe them off on her cargo pants, and to his credit, he waited for her to begin his count; his expression was serious on his face… he was a stern-looking man, her father. In the midafternoon heat, his features rippled like a mirage, but she knew the sloped set of his brow well, and the small, thin shape of his mouth. He pursed his lips and held his mouth the same way she did- and she’d stared at herself in the mirror long enough to know it. His eyes were on her, cool and blue and eager.

“Three,” he said, shifting the weight on his feet again, and she copied him.

“Two,” she nodded, evening out her breathing from his same ragged pant.

“One!” they tilted the thing as they pushed it in, and that little bit helped- if the tarp rode up, it was only a little, and the shelf slid into place in the bed with just enough room to close the door. It took a minute to straighten out the tarp, but once that was settled… they both breathed a little easier.

She took a moment, leaning against the truck bed with her arms bowed as he fell into a squat, and for a while they just sat in relative quiet. Her curls were sweat-lank and sticking to the back of her neck; she didn’t bother to brush the ones that had come loose of her updo from her face, enjoying the coolness of the damp more than she was willing to admit.

“Hey.”

It was nice of him, giving her a warning before he threw it. She had just enough time to turn and perceive his toss, and by then the bottle had smacked her in the chest, cold and sweaty. She gasped as it soaked through her shirt, but the surprise was only momentary.

“Hydrate. It’s been a while since you drank something.”

She did as she was told; he was one to talk though: she watched him pop down to sit on the tar, laying there in exhaustion just as sweat damp as she was… and where was his water? She capped it halfway empty, and tossed it back to him. It landed on his chest with a thud, and he groaned. “Same to you. If you have a stroke, Summer will never forgive you- just imagine what she’ll do to me.”

“Fair enough… I love you- I’d never put you in that position.” He shrugged himself upright, and she winced at the cracking of his shoulder joints as he did; he didn’t seem all that bothered though. She watched him suck the water down in two long pulls, blow the bottle back into shape, and cap it. “We made good time, too. It’ll only take us about 20 minutes to get to Orono, and ‘dora will be waiting for us there with the keys. We’ll be in and out before you know it, with our workout for the day done, huh?”

“Hurray.”

He brushed off her sardonic enthusiasm; that was his way, and she couldn’t say it wasn’t genetic, at least. Despite herself… the prospect did sound nice. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“Shotgun-”

“Nope. You’re driving.” His key-toss was lazy, but she caught them anyway. “If you want to get your mother off your back, you better get used to driving the truck more.”

“I drive it plenty!”

“In the winter. And when your bike isn’t running.” Fuck, he had her there. He knew it too- she hated that knowing little smile as he rounded the truck and hopped up into the passenger seat. “Come on. We’ll be done before you know it, and then we can grab something to eat on the way home.”

“As long as it’s not chicken again, then sure.”

“But I like chicken!”

“Yeah, and I don’t. Why can’t we get italian?”

“Because italian food makes my stomach queasy- and besides, I’m the one paying, so I pick. It’s the rules.”

“You made those up so you could pick every time!”

“Maybe get a job then, and it won’t always be my pick.”

Yang slammed the door as she hopped up into the driver's side, and jammed the key into the ignition. He was propping his boots up on the dash, and looking smug with himself; she started the car. “You are

such

a brat. It’s no wonder you and Summer clicked.”

It was warm in the car, too; the humidity was worse, and she blamed the black canvas seat covers. The cool air from the vents was a nice reprieve… but even still, her hands were warm on the wheel, and she hadn’t even pulled out of the alley yet. Once they started through traffic, there’d be a lot more sun they’d have to endure.

“Be glad we did,” He mused as she rotated the wheel, straightening the truck out and toeing up to the street; traffic was steady, cars passing in equidistant intervals after each other. At this rate, it would take them closer to 30 minutes than 20. “I happen to love your mom very much. If I didn't have her grounding me, I don’t know what would happen to me.”

“That’s because you’re impulsive.” The window was a small one, but she took it anyway, splitting out from the alley the second the next car passed. It was a little bit risky… but she’d made it with just enough time to file into line up one of the valley’s upward sloping hills. Even still… she tried to be mindful of the shelf in the back. Too many violent jostles like that weren’t good… and if she wasn’t careful, the piece might get damaged.

“I’m not impulsive,” he said, and it was firmer than she’d expected it to sound. Yang kept her eyes on the road. “I just need to keep busy. There’s always more things I could be doing. If I didn’t have Summer… I’d get so buried in my projects that I don’t think I’d be able to climb back out. Your mom understands that- she doesn’t let me get overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, but then other people have to pick up that slack.” She grit her teeth against her annoyance. Gradually, she came to a stop as the light overhead turned red, and so did the cars around them. “

I

have to pick up the slack.”

“I’m not asking you to-”

“You don’t have to ask, dad. I know you need variety- that's fine- but I can’t just sit idly by and watch the shop decay when you get sidetracked by something more pressing. You want me to find another job, but I

can't

. You can’t finish things, and I can’t abandon them. I don’t care what it takes: hire a secretary to manage your paperwork, have me work out back, and do the networking yourself- that's what you're best at out of all of it. But don’t just turn your back on it… I can’t, and I’m going to be really pissy if I have to keep everything going all by myself.”

It was quiet a long time; the cab smelled like pine aerosol and the sawdust clinging to their boots. They passed through the downtown with little issue… and took the backroad toward the roundabout. Yang was a little relieved to see the wide stretches of tall flanking trees the farther in that the road twisted and curved. There was something about backroads that had always appealed to her, and now, it was like some small salve on the wound of her pride. Tai said nothing.

It didn’t take long to get to the client’s house. Ms. Nikos was sitting on the long trunk of her small car, one stockinged knee dandled over the other as she pulled up the short gravel drive.

It was a big house: a nice, two-story colonial in red brick, with mortar, and pillars and stairs and all the bells and whistles. She shut off the engine, and for a half a second, they both just stared at it. Well… she stared at it. Tai ignored her, and was the first to open his door and descend from the cab.

“‘dora! Hey!” He called, jovially enough as he went to greet her, and Yang took a moment to ground herself, squeezing at the wheel. When she got out, she closed the door as carefully as possible, and followed after him.

“You’re right on time,” Ms. Nikos smiled like a woman who found little genuine joy in anything… but there was no cruelty, which was fine enough with Yang. Cracking the stiffness out of her knuckles, she cut a gesture toward the house with her chin.

“You said they wanted it in their study, right? So what’s the best way of doing that? Is it ground floor, or-”

“It’s a second floor study. They gave me the okay to hire a couple extra hands,” She assured, probably having seen the expression that had drained itself of any color on her face, “-so Pyrrha and Miss Valkyrie are here to assist.”

Oh thank fucking god.

Yang breathed a little easier, and Tai clapped her on the back like that was a completely normal thing for him to do, post-argument. It took all her restraint not to bodily fling herself out of his reach. Instead, she took a couple steps back toward the truck, and made a nonchalant show of scuffing her boots in the dirt; the steel tips winked in the sunshine, and she squinted against it overhead. “Alright… well I’ll get the tailgate down. Is there a ramp entrance anywhere, or is it all stairs?”

“Stairs,” She grimaced, and Yang took it for the apology it wasn’t- not really. Okay… so no dolly then.

“Alright… where are they? Pyrrha and Nora?”

Ms. Nikos didn’t actually have to answer that question- nor did she have the time to. Pyrrha was already jogging down a set of steps to a back entrance at the far end of the drive, looking tall and lean as usual. She got to the base of the stairs, and in the shade, every part of her was darker and murkier in comparison to reality. She smiled when she saw the truck, though, and then Yang, and that much was the same, at least- it was such a pretty smile: wide and toothy and bright.

The hug came quicker than Yang expected; the heat was making her slow. Pyrrha’s arms were sun warm and tanned, and she squeezed like she hadn’t seen Yang for a hundred years; it wasn’t far off- college hadn’t changed Pyrrha much… but it had planted a seed between them that hadn’t been there before. Yang squeezed back, hard. Neither of them said what came to mind- when they pulled away, she could see it on Pyrrha’s face too… but work came first.

She was mole-covered and dimple-cheeked, and her nose was straight and harsh on an already elongated face. Yang felt a little colder without Pyrrha’s arms around her. “..Nora’s inside eyeballing the stairs. There’s one big staircase that should do the trick- it’s got a banister on both sides, but the ceiling is open, and the hallway is exposed on top- I don’t think it’ll give us much trouble turning it.”

“Sounds perfect,” Tai was already passing them- presumably to get things rolling and put the tailgate down, like she’d planned on doing. “Yang and I can get it down from the truck and to the door, but we’ll need you girls’ help once we reach the stairs.”

“Which door is the closest, clearest shot?” If she knew in advance, directing it into the house would be easier. Pyrrha thought about it.

“Probably the front door. There’s a foyer, and the stairs are right there- its a straight shot for the most part.”

Alright… so that was a small piece of good luck. She turned to Ms. Nikos, and didn’t miss the way the woman was scowling, tugging at the corners of her lips like she didn’t think it was noticeable. “We’ve got the heavy lifting, if you want to be our eyes on the way up.”

“I can do that,” she agreed. Yang turned her attention swiftly back to Pyrrha. It was good to be able to do that again… to look at her head on, and not just over a phone call. Pyrrha smiled at her, and her cheek dimples flexed.

“Alright. You go get Nora, and I’ll help dad.”

“Done.” They split, and Yang forced herself to put some pep in her step. Getting the thing down was just as laborious as getting it in- with the added bonus of having to climb up into the truck bed to get it down, and maneuvering both of their grips not only to spare any fingers, but to preserve the varnish as much as possible. She’d put a lot of time and effort into getting it done and doing it well to the standard required- there was no way she was going to throw that all down the drain by delivering damaged product.

Her muscles screamed at her the second all its weight was on the both of them.

Lift with your hips not your back- hips not your back… hips not your back!

It was a pretty fast exchange, although it felt far slower to her; the second it was in their arms, they were moving, huffing through gritted teeth and shuffling around the drive and lawn to get to the front door. When they reached the front steps, Nora and Pyrrha were waiting. There was no time for conversation- Pyrrha grabbed onto Yang’s side, and Nora onto Tai’s, and with two extra sets of strong arms, the shelf was lighter by half. Ms. Nikos held the door, and they all shuffled in quickly, through what must have been the foyer and up to the lip of the stairs. Only here, they hesitated.

“Alright, Pyrrha you and I are going up backwards- is that alright with you?” Pyrrha’s nod was definitive; Yang looked to Nora, and to Tai. Nora was shorter than he was by a whole foot… but it would be better this way. “Nora, you good?”

“Birds the word, Yang- I’m ready when you are.”

“Dad?”

He, too, nodded his approval. She hadn’t spoken to him since the inside of the truck… but it was clear his focus had shifted now, as he shifted his grip on the bookshelf’s edge. “...sounds like a plan, Yang. We’ll match your pace. Hey ‘dora! How are we looking?”

He craned his neck to see her, but he would have been hard pressed to actually get a good glimpse of Ms. Nikos- she was too far to his side, standing where she might have a better vantage point to see from.

“You’re looking good so far,” she promised, and Pyrrha shifted her grip this time; they’d need to get a move on- and quickly, before the fatigue set in. “The study is on the left side of the staircase- Yang, that’ll be your right side, once you’re backward. Pyrrha can guide you when you get to the top, and I’ll follow behind to watch the rear.”

“Alright, on three we move.” Everyone readied themselves; Yang could smell the sweat on the air already, and even though it was cool inside, the weight was working them all ragged and warm from the inside out. “One. Two.

Three

!”

It happened even quicker than the shuffle to the front door; Pyrrha hit the top step first, and then they were level. “Turn left!”

The shift was disjointed, and awkward at the angle with Tai and Nora down lower. There was about  7 feet of hallway to work with, but it wasn’t enough to fully rotate the shelf- not without swinging it over the banister, and that was out of the question- it was too heavy, and there was no way to get Nora or Tai upstairs. There was just enough wiggle room to get it through if they turned it on its side; Yang  only spared a small glance at Pyrrha, but it was enough.

“Turn it on its side, toward me,” she warned the other two, and in the second it took Pyrrha to adjust her grip on the shelf edge, Yang had dropped down, and brought the shelf’s other edge with her to the floor. It slid against the carpeting with ease, and just like that, they’d made it up the stairs.

With the hardest part over, it was only a small matter of rotating the shelf into the easiest position to be carried through the study door; that, too, they took two-at-a-time on each end, and Yang was thankful for it. The second they were inside… the view caught her like a punch to the solar plexus.

Luxurious, hand-woven carpets with tassels and embroidery… posh leather chairs and an arrangement of ornamental displays: statue busts and tall, green plants in planters, and artifacts on pedestals. The walls were all built-in shelving, and the far wall- which must have been facing the back of the house- was all wall-to-ceiling windows, peering out on dense woodland.

Holy

shit.

“Oh my god…” She muttered, after they set the shelf against the wall that Ms. Nikos had pointed out once she’d joined them.

Nora’s elbow had come in hot between her ribs, and she’d nearly puked. Nobody could throw an elbow like Nora. “I know… bougie as hell. Who are these people anyway? I didn’t know there was anyone this well-to-do in the area.”

Ms. Nikos looked like she wanted to do anything else but dignify that with a response; Yang saved her the trouble. “There isn’t- at least, there aren’t here. In Vale, maybe one or two. But this has just been redone. Clearly, someone’s moving in.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.” Clearly, if her nervous, darting expression could be relied upon. Keeping with the trend, Yang elbowed Pyrrha- although she was a little gentler in her delivery. Pyrrha barely budged, but… if she had anything to say, she looked hard-pressed to say it. Yang tried to keep herself from chewing on the inside of her cheek instinctually. That was no good… she’d hoped that spending a year away would have helped Pyrrha better push at her mother’s bounds, but… clearly that wasn’t the case.

“We did great- why don’t we go out for ice cream, since it’s still early and we’ve worked pretty hard?” She offered instead. Damn it…

Damn it,

Pyrrha.

“That sounds great,” Tai chimed in, wiping at his brow with his shirt; he was all smiles, and it churned her stomach. Yang kept her mouth shut. “I’m buying. You girls were a great help- we never would have been able to get it up ourselves.”

“I dunno, Mr. Xiao Long, Yang’s not exactly a swizzle stick. You’re both built like linebackers- I bet you’d have been fine. Exhausted, and hospitalized, maybe… but fine.” Even sweaty and disheveled, Nora still managed to find the humor in the situation. She had a quick wit and a sharp tongue, but her words were never meant to hurt you- just to have a little fun.

She got what she asked for: against the unsettling writhing in her gut, Yang pasted a lazy smile on her face, and jostled her at the shoulder. “Please, only one of us played football, and it wasn’t me.”

“Jr Varsity doesn’t count,” she scoffed.

“Does so- if Jr League counts, then so does Jr Varsity.”

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty-” Pyrrha sighed, and the silence in the study was loud as she flopped down onto the floor, laying her head back against the carpet. “Can we please go get ice cream now…?”

*   *   *

On warm summer nights, the lightning bugs liked to flicker and dance in the tall grass, and if you sat for a while and watched, it was nice to imagine it was just for you. Yang liked to imagine that, and now was no different, sitting on the curbside of the ice cream shop parking lot. The gravel was craggy and pebbled, and the three of them took turns skipping the flatter pieces across the lot. They were turned away from the line wrapping the building, and to the right, they watched the traffic go by- headlights and engines in the dark. The sky was a clear, dark blue overhead, and speckled with stars, and for a while that was fine: skipping pebbles in the relative quiet.

Nora wound back, and stood, and they watched as she skipped and bounced the pebble halfway down the lot, toward the bushes on the other side. Pyrrha gave her a lazy clap with one hand to her knee- it was difficult to clap while holding a cone. “Nice one.”

Nora shrugged. “I could probably do better. ‘don’t want to hit anyone though.”

“Ooh- what’s that?” Pyrrha honed in suddenly on Yang’s bowl. It seemed she’d caught a glimpse as she’d tried to figure out her clapping.

Yang tilted it more her way. “Oh, it’s mallocream- did you want some?”

“Sure,” the smile was genuine and sweet, and Yang missed it. It was easy work, scooping out the last of it and pairing it with a bit of her strawberry serve. “Open up.”

As the spoon went in, Pyrrha closed her mouth around it, and moaned. She ended up taking it with her, falling back into the grass on the other side of the curb and laying down, her cone suspended in the air upright to keep it from falling. “...oh my

god,

I missed this place.”

“I’m stealing a bite of yours-” she warned, and Pyrrha was too slow with delicious delirium to stop her- she leant over and bit off the top of the cone; it was cold on her teeth, but the feeling was nice, and Pyrrha had always had good taste in flavors. Her appreciation hardly saved her though, as Pyrrha came swinging back up with a playful kind of betrayal in her eyes.

“You’re a monster! I can’t believe you still do that!”

“You’ve been gone a year, not a lifetime.” She laughed, defending against the lighthearted swatting and shoulder-bumping as Pyrrha tried to avenge her violated ice cream cone. Above them, Nora’s sigh was heavy-bodied and sharp. It didn’t take them long to notice.

When she sat back down, it was with an air of awkwardness that had yet to settle fully over them. Yang watched her grind her chucks into the pavement. “...it’s been a while since we’ve gotten to hang out like this.”

“Yeah… I missed you guys a lot,” Pyrrha chuckled, leaning forward and matching Nora’s posture; it was a little different- Pyrrha was almost two feet taller- but the sentiment was the same. “It’s a shame Ren couldn’t come…”

Nora didn’t budge. There was something on her mind, clearly… but what? Yang set her cup down on the asphalt and stuck her spoon in the core of her ice cream. Even in the bare light from the streetlamps running the length of the parking lot… she could read Nora’s expression. The way she flexed her jaw, and the stern, uncomfortable set of her eyes, darting back and forth, like she wasn’t anything remotely close to comfortable. “Is… everything alright, Nora?”

“No,” She said, and the honesty was reassuring; Nora had never lied to them- at least… Yang didn’t think she had. That being said… Nora was never one for dancing around when she had a problem with something- and that was what it was: Yang could see it now- the annoyance flickering on her face, stoic face. “I don’t know how to… interact with you anymore.”

…what? Yang hated the way her stomach seemed to flip out from underneath her. Nora leaned down and sought out a hangnail from one of her fingers. When she ripped it off with her teeth, Yang winced. “What do you mean? Did I do something…?”

To her right, Pyrrha shifted uncomfortably on the curb. “Did you mean me, Nora? I’ve been gone for a while… I’m really sorry if it seems like I’m… neglecting you-”

When she stood up again, it was to step away from them, arms crossed tight at her chest. Nora was so strong- so capable. She always had been. It was strange to see her so… vulnerable looking now. Under the inconsistent lamplight, her hair was a hundred shades of ginger and brown, and there was a stony quality to the muscles of her arms and her legs; it was like looking at one of those marble statues in the museums. Nora the Immovable, as always. She looked at them now with a kind of contempt that Yang hadn’t been expecting; she felt the wind knock out of Pyrrha’s chest beside her as she clocked it too:

Nora was

pissed

. 
“You’re unbelievable. We’ve been friends for like, two decades…and you’ve known Pyrrha longer. Why can’t you just be honest with me?” It was the hurt in her features that surprised Yang the most. “We’ve been hanging out all the time since she left, and you didn’t say anything. Now- what? You think you can get away with it because she’s been gone, and hasn’t heard around town?” 
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” It was hard to fight the rising bite that was trying to surface the longer Nora just stood there and… yelled at her. And for what? What had she done? Pyrrha was looking on and between them in horror.

“Nora, where’s this coming from?” Pyrrha was softer to voice her confusion.

They watched in tandem as Nora seemed to bubble inside. She didn’t explode- not yet… but at this rate she was definitely going to. “I’m not mad at you for keeping it on the downlow, Pyrrha… I understand. I don’t like it but I understand why. But I-... I can’t sit here and watch her do this to you anymore.”

“I haven’t done anything to Pyrrha-” This was getting irritating… Yang pushed herself up to stand. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That you’re dating!” She was shorter by a head, but Nora had never cared about that, she squared up to Yang like she was ready for it- like she’d been ready for it a long time. It made Yang’s subsequent pause a whole lot less charged. “You’re dating, and you’ve been messing around with Emerald on the side, like an ass!”

“First of all...I’m sorry… you think we’re

dating?

”

“We’re not dating!” Pyrrha sounded like she was going to cry; whatever ice cream she had left, it had been abandoned now as she too pushed herself up to stand in the conversation. “Nora,

no.

”

“Okay, well, you don’t have to say it like that,” Pyrrha blushed the second Yang turned her way, but that was something to talk about later. She looked back at Nora, and watched the cogs turn in her stubborn brain. “-but no, Nora, we’re not dating. What- did you think we’ve been seeing each other in secret for a year? She was in Austin for Christ sake.”

“I…” They watched it think itself out on her face… and come to the correct conclusion; if she was pink, she was only pink in the direct light, and Yang wasn’t about to call any attention to it. Their ice cream had already probably turned to soup… it was best to just move on. “...my bad.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me, anyway? I would have told you if we were.”

“Because I was confused! Mercury told me you’re dating Emerald- which, gross by the way- and then you saw Pyrrha again and you’ve been so close and touchy and like, chemically bonded-”

This was getting seriously old. If Nora noticed the agitation rising in her, she did nothing to stop it, just continued to run her tangent. “-and I thought that was

so

not like you to be a cheater.”

“I am not dating, seeing, sleeping with, or cheating on Emerald in any way shape or form, despite what either of them have been saying.” It was good she wasn’t holding the ice cream anymore; she felt Pyrrha’s hand on hers, but it wasn’t exactly a very effective deterrent. “And if one more person approaches me about that, I am going to do something rash.”

“I can do something rash for you, if you want.” Nora volunteered, and Pyrrha’s hand squeezed hers tighter. “Or Pyrrha can. We could go talk to them for you.”

“Talk being the operative word.”

“She means threaten-”

“I mean threaten.”

“Nobody is threatening anyone, just… let it go. I’m going to take the high ground and let it go… but if you get involved it's only going to make things worse.” This was not how she’d wanted the night to close; even if they’d resolved their argument, this was hardly a pleasant conversation to be having. “I don’t want to think about it right now. I haven’t even really been interested in anyone since that whole Coco fiasco, I just- I want to put it out of my mind, which has been really hard lately.”

She was surprised when Nora took her by the shoulders, and guided her back down to the curb; Pyrrha came too, and just like that it was as though nothing had happened- as though Nora had never mistaken her and Pyrrha’s intent, and their ice cream was whole again. It wasn’t… and the mood had definitely shifted… but it was a start.

“Well, I’m sorry I brought it up then,” Nora chewed on her lip; Yang waved the apology away.

“No, no it’s understandable… If I ever cheated I’d want you to do a whole lot worse to me.”

“Duly noted.”

Pyrrha reached over with sun browned arms and grabbed for the melty paper cup. It sloshed when she pulled it away, and they watched her scoop her discarded cone into it as much as possible, and set it on the curb, out of reach. “I guess the ice cream was a bust.”

“Sorry Pyr- I can go get you a new one.” Her muscles were sore and achy from all the heavy lifting, but even in the darkness overhead, with the breeze cool on her neck, Yang didn’t feel tired in the least. Nora seemed to feel it too; there was glint in her eye in the lamplight that Yang knew far too well: it was mischievous and keen, and sea glass colored.

“That’s okay,” Pyrrha shook her head, and her knee was bouncing, tapping in its brace against the asphalt. When Nora clapped her hands, it scared them both.

“Let’s go out!” She was beaming- the smile was lean and sharp, and was quickly becoming one of Yang’s least favorite indicators of hers that whatever she led with next was likely going to get them in trouble. But then, that had been the way for years- especially in school.

“Out? We’re already out-”

“I mean, let's go out to the

club!

We’re all legal now- lets have a girls night! To welcome Pyrrha back! Ren can be designated driver so we can all get wasted!”

The silence was almost as deafening as it had been before. For a moment, they just looked at her- unsure if she was entirely serious. Yang hated knowing that she absolutely was. “...as fun as that sounds, it’s a little short notice. And I’m sorry to break it to you, Nora, but Pyrrha’s mother is still kind of psychotic about that stuff.”

“Seconded; I love you Nora, but I like having skin more.”

“I promise it’ll be

fine.

You have to start doing things you want to do, Pyr, or you’re going to burn yourself out. Your mother should not control every aspect of your life.”

It had been a while since she’d gone clubbing… it wasn’t really her style. She went, every once in a blue moon to appease Nora, who liked the music and the lights and the drinks, and the occasional bump of something discrete from a friend of a friend of a cousin… but Yang had always had simpler tastes. “...I could call Wukong. It’s a Thursday night… he might have something going on that we could crash.”

Pyrrha’s grimace was polite… but indicator enough. “Not another kegger, right…? I think you could probably talk me into anything but another one of those. I still have bars on my bedroom window after that last one I went to…”

She watched Nora roll it around in her mouth a little. “Pyr, that’s fucked. As for the party crashing ...I guess it couldn’t hurt to check. But I still vote for the club.”

He picked up on the third ring, and immediately she could tell her assessment had been right; pulling the phone another couple inches from her ears, Yang could still hear him, but the music and the chatter feedback was less headache inducing. She put him on speaker. “

Yo, gēmenr! What’s up?

”

“Hey- where are you right now?”

“

I’m on campus, why?”

She could faintly hear what sounded like a chorus of voices chanting the same word over and over- Pyrrha looked constipated at the sound.

“You’re not at a kegger, are you?”

There was a slight pause. “

...nah, not officially. Some dude came as Dionysus though, and he brought his own.

”

“That’s a hell of a double innuendo. Dionysus… don’t tell me-”

She didn’t have to see him to hear the glee in his voice. “

Yeah… Toga party, girl. We’re hosting, so come on over. You should totally bring Nora- tell her we’ve got a jager bomb and some strap sandals with her name on ‘em!

”

“You’re on speakerphone, by the way-”

“Who’s making the jagerbombs?” Nora leaned over to clarify. Pyrrha bent herself forward to look at her over Yang’s shoulders in turn, and the incredulity there was thick.

“Is that really your deal breaker? Who’s prepping the drinks?”

“

Right now it’s kind of a free-for-all; Nep invited this Mu Mu Zeta girl, so he’s been too focused on her to be neurotic about the state of the kitchen.

” The song changed in the background, and the base became near-belligerent; Yang turned the volume down a few notches and passed it off fully to Nora- who was really the head of this decision.

“Okay, sure. That I’ve gotta see, and any drink not made with a beaker I’m super into.”

“Does this mean we have to go buy togas?” The idea wasn’t entirely unpleasant… if they could be fairly quick about it. It’d be a rushed job, but she didn’t think there was a plain white bedsheet in her entire house.

Pyrrha seemed equally as intrigued; Yang watched her do the math on a couple long brown fingers. “The store on Elm should be open for another hour… if we get them real quick, and change in the car… we should be fine on time. It’ll suck to be the only sober people there, and if we’re too late that’s exactly what will happen.”

“You underestimate exactly how quick I can catch up-”

“That is exactly how you ended up puking your guts up in their sink last time.” Yang took the phone back, and Nora stuck her tongue out, like a child. “We’ll be there in an hour- keep the party solid until we get there.”

“

No promises, but I’ll see what I can do. We haven’t started any of the games yet,

” Yang hung up the call, and took approximately ten seconds to ground herself in her extended plans for the evening. Even if she made it home by early morning… she wasn’t going to sleep well anyway, so what was the harm?

“Alright. Nora, text your husband-”

“Oh I did that already,” She shrugged, and pushed herself up from the curb, grinning. That was better at least- that was Nora, a hundred times more than the person she’d been ten minutes before, brooding among them. She bent down, and plucked another stone from the asphalt. The ice cream shop’s lights were neon pink and faint, but the glow was enough, and the streetlights were swarmed with moths overhead as she let it fly. It sailed… bounced, and tumbled into the bushes. They all watched it go.

*   *   *

“Yang, get your ass out of my face!”

“Ow- careful with your elbow-”

“I’m sorry! Sorry, are you okay?”

Changing in the car had been kind of a shit idea… but despite the flying limbs and occasional consequential wounding, they each managed to get out of Ren’s mini cooper in one piece. Nora fished the back of her toga out of her asscrack, and Pyrrha stumbled a little in the platform sandals she’d managed to get laced halfway up each defined runner's calf. They hadn’t even walked in the door yet, and already they looked like a mess and a half.

Ren rolled the window down as they stepped around the car. “Tonight’s codeword is tomato, Nora. I’ll be just down the road, okay?”

“Why tomato? I hate tomatoes.”

“Exactly.” He waved a little, and the window rolled itself up; they all turned to watch him pull the car out of the drive and to the lip of the road; there wasn’t a whole lot of traffic, even for Broadway. It was still and dark and quiet.

“Ground Rules?” Pyrrha asked, glancing pointedly toward them, and Nora’s subsequent eyeroll might have otherwise put her in the hospital with all its force; even if she wasn’t in attendance, Nora knew the college party scene. She’d been familiar with ground rules since freshman year of high school.

In the light coming through the windows behind them, Nora was backlit purple and blue, and it made all the warm tones in her hair and her cheeks stone cool. “Check in every half an hour. No property damage, no fights, pace yourselves and tap out when you don’t think you can walk straight.”

“Sounds fair enough,” Yang shrugged, adjusting her toga top. There hadn’t been a whole lot to pick from- it was still summer, and the stock in the store had been low- but they’d come away with three relatively cheap togas, some accessories, and Pyrrha had done their makeup in the car on the way over. Red wasn’t exactly her color… but it had been part of a 50% off Roman emperor costume, which worked well enough. It was thicker than she’d expected of a bargain- crushed velvet, and warm, and they’d found her a pair of oversized, thin brown strap sandals to pair with it.

“Here,” Pyrrha reached out as they reached the top step, and adjusted the laurels they’d stuck in her hair; they were just pipe cleaners, at the base, but that worked fine for wrapping around a couple concealed curls behind her ears. Nora’s were clips that baretted themselves in. In turn, Yang fixed the shoulder strap on hers, white and thin enough it was little more than a bedsheet; she adjusted it so that part of Pyrrha’s bra was concealed a little better. “-and thanks.”

The front door was open; that was expected. They all passed under the porte-cochere, and up to the front door, which was heavy, solid brown oak. She’d come through it a half a hundred times, half of those for Wukong’s parties. He liked to keep busy, and there was little exception to that rule.

Immediately the smell hit them all as they passed through the threshold and further into the throng- and boy was it a throng; someone was blowing smoke in the living room; it was clouding up through the rooms, which was probably why the door was open. There was a hard liquor smell that was hard to miss, and something else- more rank. If she had to guess, someone had probably overdone it and lost their lunch somewhere.

Pyrrha, in turn, looked nauseated; she was a whole head taller than Yang in the platforms, and it made it more of a crane upward to catch a glimpse at her, but even still, it was obvious. Pyrrha had never been a huge fan of the alcohol part of partying- that was Nora’s special interest. Pyrrha liked networking- she liked interesting conversation. As expected, she made a beeline for the darkest corner of the room, and Yang made no moves to follow her. She didn’t even have to glance at her side to know Nora was long since gone, swept away by the crowd, merged into the chatter.

There was no point in texting Wukong; she could make a handful of guesses about where he’d ended up since she’d called him. The kitchen was her first guess; if Neptune was too busy to be insane about it, then someone had to be monitoring the drinks.

It took some elbowing… but she pushed through the parlor, and past a few of the gross old couches. A couple people waved at her, or called her over; she got a couple whoops and hollers. Whether they were genuine or mocking she couldn’t have been sure. A lot of people here she’d gone to highschool with… and even more she’d never met a day in her life. It was certainly conflicting, the multitudinous stages of interaction she was having with these people… in this place.

She took a couple breaths… and found her way to the kitchen.

It was less busy there, certainly, and the weedfog had lifted slightly in this section of the house. The room itself was square and docked at each corner, with high cabinet shelves and old, shitty marbling on the backsplashes; the tile screamed 70’s almost as loudly as the woodworking throughout the house, and it was a miracle she hadn’t thrown up yet just looking at it. How such gorgeous architecture could be left here to rot was beyond her.

Wukong was nowhere to be seen, which was

fantastic.

The counters were covered in thin paper-plastic cups, and half-empty grease-dark pizza boxes; she carefully elbowed herself past a couple she’d never met before swapping saliva throat-deep in her way against one of the counters, and looked for a familiar face; if his had been there, she’d have recognized it.

The lights were bright in the kitchen, and it was a different atmosphere to the rest of the house’s hazy, fairy-lit limbo. Here, everything was a dull undulating yellow on age-yellow tile and yellow-stained oak. It was a different kind of liminal space… and it made the amber color of her eyes that much sicklier with purgatory when Yang turned her head and caught them- close enough to breathe in some of her air as they nearly collided. The woman’s hand was sturdy as it pressed against the small of her chest as though to keep them one step from that outcome; as if to keep her just far enough at bay to make each breath their own.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was muffled by the stifling bass, and it warbled in the backs of Yang’s ears, mingling with the low tones of the speaker rumble. Yang felt her heart stutter- if the woman did, she didn’t acknowledge it. There was a firm-set, unshakable quality in her, and she did not bend or retract the question; like her hand, she was stead-fast and sturdy.

“Sorry- I’m looking for the hosts.” She made herself say. It came out too quiet; she watched the way her features- pretty, delicate features- scrunched in confusion. The speaker fry was unbearable; whenever they started on games, she’d be glad for the change of music. Yang tried again. “I’m looking for the hosts!”

Recognition. For a moment, Yang became acutely aware of the fact they were still standing nearly nose to nose… and that the woman’s hand was still on her chest… and that she was not stepping away. Then would have been the time to… but she was unyielding. Yang swallowed back her pride in the name of her discomfort, and took the step back. It was almost sad, the way the long, dark hand lingered in the air a moment, pink palm suspended briefly in another time before it fell, and she shifted to carry herself differently: lankier, looser, but more reserved. Her slouch became at once more distinct and more purposeful.

She shrugged, and turned to lean on the counter, bent nearly at the waist. Her toga was black, and when she turned her head to purposefully ignore Yang (much to her chagrin) her curls tumbled themselves damply, darkly against the fabric in a way that was not unlike coal tumbling down a dark, yellow-lamp-lit shaft. She lifted a hand- almost bored- to point out the window.

“Most of them are outside,” Yang barely made out in the music’s thunder through the walls, like a constant suffocation. That was all she needed. Not wanting to be rude, she raised her hand and offered a small, polite smile of thanks. It was most likely ignored too; she didn’t stay to check. Back-tracking past the PDA couple and through the slightly smaller clusters of white-sheeted college students nursing cups or bottles or cans, she found it was easy to slip out the side door, to the side lawn where she could see them now:

Wukong was bare-skinned and glistening in the lights from the window; summer-dark with peeling tan and flushed with beer and exertion, he was grinning like an idiot, and she watched as his opponent caught him around the waist from above, flattening his body with theirs, and holding fast- she watched their heels grind into the grass and break the earth's skin to soft, wet dirt.

It was nostalgic- it clawed at the part of her that missed this; the trophies on her walls screamed at her some times, and even now, in another place she could hear them, taunting her- goading her.

Wukong was good though; he always had been, even if he was reckless about it. It didn’t take long for him to come out on top, and for all the roughness of his maneuvers, his takedown was swift and graceful. He clapped his opponent on the back when it was done, and they hugged; she didn’t miss the glee on either of their faces, red and running damp, but so wide and happy. They clasped hands, and the cheers from the spectators were almost louder than the music inside; at least a half a hundred other men were gathered around, some slicked and others not. She weaved through them all, and ignored the ones who didn’t recognize her. Three new pledges whistled at her, and she made a mental note of their faces for later, trying to reign in that hot, angry little feeling that was pooling and burbling in the center of her after the display.

Wukong was picking his toga up from the grass when she got to him, and in the window light his briefs were grass stained and sweat-damp; if he was as drunk as she hoped he wasn’t, he was going to be confused in the morning, for sure.

He jumped when she tapped him. For such a lighthearted guy, Sun Wukong had perhaps the most serious resting expression she’d ever seen; he was chiseled at the jaw and the chin, but his cheeks and his eyes were soft and rosy, and they were such a lambently soft gray color, that in the kitchen light they glowed buttery-pale and warm when he saw her.

“Yang!” His grin transformed him, and she put her observations behind her, picking some grass off his drippy shoulders. There was a strong odor on him- rustic and earthy- and she could have rolled her eyes at him so hard she saw stars.

“Olive oil,

really?

”

His shrug was nonchalant; he threw the sheet over his shoulder and looped it down to fan out over himself again at the waist. His fingers were clumsy- impaired- and she watched him struggle to loop the sheet through itself; she didn’t offer to help- something lingeringly uncomfortable from the roots of their friendship: another time, another place, another Yang. “Glad you made it. Where’s Nora?”

“Hitting a bong somewhere, I’m sure. I brought Pyrrha too- she’s in the parlor room I think.”

“Pyrrha’s here? No

shit

! We gotta have a race-”

“No way- all she does is race, man. Let her mingle.” It was a little irritating, his tipsy forgetfulness; how many times had the two of them sat with Pyrrha while she cried about that exact topic? How many toga parties had they missed in another city- how many races had she run for other’s entertainment? Wukong at least had the decency to look to contrite about her chiding.

“Okay okay- she doesn’t have to. What about you though,” he gave up on the toga; it dangled like a dead thing off his shoulder. When he gestured behind him toward the others, she noticed that others had oiled themselves and filled in the empty spaces in the motley, awkward circle of Nu Delta Delta brothers; the olive smell was thick and choking on this section of lawn, even with the breeze. “You gotta wrestle again, man, you’re the king-

queen!

- I mean, fuck-... is that insensitive? You’re not a queen, I mean-”

Her pat was… awkward, but as gentle as she could make it on the slick part of his shoulder. “Sun… stop talking.”

He shut his mouth, and she wiped her hand on her outer thigh, smearing the oil and wrinkling her nose at the smell. If her sigh was heavy-bodied, it was, surprisingly, not for his slip-up, which was almost endearing in its origin.

“...not tonight.” She said, and it was softer than she expected from herself; it came out almost simpering with reminiscence, and she ran the olive- pungent hand through her hair almost in defiance of the smell, like a punishment on herself she couldn’t inflict on herself in any more physical way for clinging to the memories. “...not here. I miss it, but… I couldn’t.”

She didn’t say half a hundred other excuses she could think of.

Not my space anymore,

she told herself, and if he saw the way it must have passed over her expression- as she felt it did- he was too intoxicated to correctly place it. For that, at least, she was grateful.

When he stuck his tongue out at her, brow furrowed, she shoved him. “Jerk!”

He laughed; it was like a salve, and she relished the cool soothing feeling on her skin.

*   *   *

It was hard to tell the music from the rhythmic beating of her heart; everything seemed to lurch and writhe under her feet. The floor rocked like the mooring of a ship, and her bones felt liquidus in her skin, her muscles sparking in complaint.

It was hard to place anything… hard to understand the things she was seeing… she needed glasses anyway- but everything was so much less tolerable now, in this condition- everything slurred and smudged itself together like an oil painting; shapes and colors… and no definition.

If she giggled, she did so loudly; her ears felt bubbly, like peroxide, and her bones bubbled with them. If she stood, she fell, and the cushions were so soft… so warm… if she writhed in them, she did so to search out the comfort- to burrow herself in and grab hold of the nearest pillow. What was so funny? Everything-

everything

was funny- of

course

it was.

If she fell asleep, it was inhaling musk, like cologne… something deep and stirring in the pit of her stomach… something tinged with teakwood and light at the edges… like pine. Like hiking…

like pine needles on the skin and dirt on the knees, and cool fresh air breathed into the lungs like a prayer- like a desperation along the silt slope halfway up, laying on the cool stone and staring up into the sky. Like halfway up a mountain, and halfway whole.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The sheets were silk; she could tell that much from the way they were cool and resistant against her sweat-dampness. She sat upright, and recoiled from the light coming through what must surely have been several windows; it was bright and white: assumably mid-afternoon light. “

Fuck!

”

The throbbing was almost unnoticeable at first… and then all at once it seemed to take her skull by the hands and

squeeze

. Yang managed to get her legs swung over the side of the bed and stumble her way halfway down a small set of stairs before the disorienting pain won out; the acid was hot and chunky as it came up, and it took everything in her not to cry when it rose up her sinuses too.

The smell was horrid; sickly-sweet schnapps and strawberry ice cream. She sobbed- not entirely aware of herself- and the sniffle and the throbbing almost drowned out the voice. It was deep, and tenebrous… and she couldn’t make out a word of it. Her hair was lank with sweat and puke and tears; she couldn’t see who had her by the underarms, hefting her up with surprising ease. The sudden peppermint and antiseptic smell was harsh; she gagged again, but whoever had picked her up didn’t flinch. She didn’t fight; her limbs felt like lead- her muscles were on fire… and everything felt delayed too long- like she was always a couple steps behind.

When the water came down on her, it was cold, and she felt it like an electroshock. Her assailant- helper?- whoever had picked her up and carried into the bathroom (and it had to be a bathroom, if she was in what was probably a shower) was talking to her… it was all underwater- all disorienting. The water ran into her eyes, and she sputtered and coughed as someone parted her bangs, and slicked her hair back out of her face. The light was bright in the bathroom, too- fluorescent- and it made the throbbing worse. When she sobbed again, it was dryly, and in defeat.

“You can relax,” the voice said, and there was a lilt to it- an accent of some kind- something vaguely European. “You’re safe.”

She caught glimpses through the harsh light- when the helper’s frame obscured the light and cast a long shadow over her. Even still… everything was hazier than it ought to have been… blurry, even without visual aids. She could make out pale skin… fair hair…

“..where?”

The response was immediate- it was refreshingly relieving. “Orono. You lost consciousness at the party last night, so I brought you home to sleep it off.”

“Where’s Nora? Pyrrha?” The helper’s hands were soft, and long-fingered. Their touch was dainty… and Yang melted into it as they ran their fingers through her hair, and lathered it with something floral smelling that was much kinder than the peppermint. “What… are you doing?”

“You have vomit in your hair. I’m trying not to be too invasive… it just smells horrid.”

Yang spit and sputtered some of the water that ran its way down her face and into her mouth, and tried to will herself to take some calming, tentative breaths. Her fingers were tingly… her body was tired. She managed to grip the edge of the tub… but her body was weighing itself down, and the weight of her soaked clothes hardly helped.

This had never happened to her before… but she’d known about it. She’d worried over it. In the center of her chest, the fear was small and curled into a little disbelieving ball; she felt like a child, and all of her fear was tepid with fresh experience. “...I don’t remember.”

Her knees tucked up to her chest inch by careful, tingly-tender inch… and the helper said not a word. Whether it was in respect for her grief, or discomfort, Yang couldn’t have been sure. Everything seemed to echo in the backs of her ears.

“...I owe you, you know.” The water ran with the soap as they worked it from her hair with tender, careful fingers. Yang said nothing. The strangers stood- their absence was immediate and noticeable, and Yang recoiled from the cold that flooded to fill their place.

And then just like that, there was a relative darkness. It was almost disorienting- she blinked back the hazy miasma of colors and starbursts and small, pinging pains in the caramel centers of each throb encapsulating her skull… and the cold was retreating again. She felt them sit back down, and reach out to her. The towel was soft against the skin of her arm. “...I think the drug was probably meant for me. Our drinks got switched… and I didn’t realize until embarrassingly late into the cup.”

In the dark, it was easier to open her eyes… easier to let things settle- to let the colors die down, and the spinning rotate itself into something mimicking normalcy. Adjusting to the dark was easier than squinting through the light, and features came easier, although still tinged with a warm haze, and throbbing around the edges.

She was slight, and straight-nosed, and one of her eyes was dark-socketed. Yang paused… took this in as much as her head would allow… and slowly leaned back in the tub, pressing her cool damp head to the back tile, and wincing at the reverberating throb, hot and angry inside her skull cavity.

“Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?”

“I was going to. I took you to the bathroom and tried to make you throw it up. When I realized you were a witch I knew I couldn’t call 911… I panicked. I’m unfamiliar with how things are done here… so I took you home. I’m as good as any human hospital.”

Well… that was certainly an explanation. It made sense. It wasn’t like she’d have wanted to go to the hospital… but it would have been anyone who wasn’t a witch’s first thought- even in her haze, she understood asking for an obvious answer was just a waste of time. “Where are you from?”

“I transferred from Munich. I arrived late last night, and was invited by an acquaintance to the party. It was my introduction to campus life in Maine… and I find it poorly and disgraceful.”

Yang took the towel, and used it to wipe at the water on her face; it was soft, and it smelled like laundry detergent and lilac. New-towel smell… store-bought, fresh towel smell. Silk sheets, spacious bath… “That was your cherrywood shelf, wasn’t it? This is 84 Atlas Rd.”

“Were you the carpenter?” She sounded surprised. “It’s beautiful; it wanted it as a gift… My sister is supposed to join me here soon… I wanted to surprise her.”

Yang swallowed back about a hundred questions… and pressed the towel harder into her face instead, easing into the softness of it. “...yeah. I made it.”

It wasn’t something she admitted lightly. But there was so much pressure in her head… so much lingering discomfort… it clouded her judgment. She shifted; the wall was cool, but it was hard, and her shoulder blades complained and radiated with ache the more weight she sandwiched them with. “...thank you. For not taking me to the hospital.”

“In Munich, a witch is responsible for her own remedies. If it’s serious, you may seek a professional- we have some of the best in the world. I’m unfamiliar with coven structure here… and I didn’t expect to run into another witch so quickly.”

“My mom does all my patchwork. Greenwitch, she uh- she’s a walking apothecary. I doubt that’s how real covens do things, though.” It wasn’t as though Raven had ever divulged any of the details to her- she or Summer, in all their past experiences. But… when they’d left they’d sworn their oaths- she couldn’t expect them to break those. And besides… she got by just fine without community intricacies. It would just have been one more stressor in her life; maybe Raven had a point about her not having magic being a

good

thing.

There was just one thing that she couldn’t wrap her head around… maybe it was just the Rohypnol… “How did you know?”

The German witch made a point of looking at her directly- which was uncomfortable for a number of reasons; Yang tried her best not to stare. In the dark, her eyes adjusted easily, and now looking at her clearer- even with the splotchy, runny, hazy edges where the remaining drugs in her system worsened her senses- it was a little thing… but it was enough, and Yang caught it: this foreign witch held her mouth with a soft, tentative tremble… and it was kind.

Her brow furrowed in juxtaposition, fair and thinly plucked. “...it was not easy, or intentional. Usually, you just…

know

. I didn’t know until- well-”

She was blushing; Yang almost didn’t believe it. She waited… and watched as begrudgingly, the witch made herself explain, shifting to sit more comfortably at the tub’s edge. She leaned an elbow on the lip, and used it to prop up her head, running long thin fingers through pallid, oily hair. “...you have the mark. Behind your ear. I saw it when I was helping you to vomit at the party. I would never have known, otherwise, which is… odd.”

“Mark?” That was new… and the room hadn’t quite stopped undulating at the edges yet. “What kind of mark?”

She thought about it… and then rummaged around in a pocket, producing a permanent marker. With no thought to it at all, she uncapped it, held the cap between her teeth, and proceeded to make five equidistant, curled dots on the lip of the tub where she’d rested a moment before. Yang watched her make another equidistant dot mirroring the first, and then round the whole thing out in a circle, before taking the cap out of her mouth. She pocketed it, and pointed at the dots. “It’s smaller in scale- no bigger than your little finger. What does it remind you of?”

“I

do not

have an abstract tattoo on the back of my neck- I’m pretty sure I’d know.”

“It’s not a

tattoo

- this is a demonstration. Each dot is a freckle. I shouldn’t have drawn the circle- forget that exists for now,” she sighed, and it was tinged with a faint amount of impatience… but the eagerness there was far more palpable. “-you’re telling me you have no idea what this is?”

“No. I’m covered in freckles,” Yang bit back the agitation that was working its way hot and wet up the back of her throat. “They’re just freckles, I don’t-”

“They’re not,” The insistence was too much; for a moment, there was a silence in the bathroom that was cold, and nauseating. Yang tried to swallow it back this time, and she succeeded… for a moment. The second she fought it back down, it came surging up with a vengeance.

Acrid… horrid… co-mingling with the floral scents and the peppermint still lingering on the witch. Yang pitched forward, and her fingers dripped down into the tub base. Her helper reached forward, but this time, she batted the hand away the second it got near; Yang’s body was vibrating from her core, and her ears were ringing with tinnitus as she tried to get her bearings.

For a while, it was just the sound of her choked spitting into the tub… and her pitiful sniffling. The witch said nothing… and made no further attempts to touch her.

“...the right nozzle is cold water. The left is hot. I will leave you to your thoughts… I’m sure you have many. Do you have someone you want me to call?” She said, tepidly, and her voice sounded distorted, like it was underwater; Yang swallowed hard, and grimaced with the viscosity. It wasn’t a touch… not breaking any boundaries, not really… but Yang felt the marker press itself firmly into the palm of her uncurled hand. “Write the number- I’ll call… no questions asked.”

It was a long moment before Yang could make her fingers curl tight enough around the marker… and tepidly scrawl out the first number to come to mind in the flat, water-cool palm of her tentative host. When it was done, Yang handed her back the marker… and didn’t watch her leave in the darkness, as the door closed behind her on new, silent hinges.

*   *   *

At first, she wasn’t quite sure what to do about her clothes. Everything was still wobbly around the edges… and she’d been soaked pretty well through just getting her hair washed that first time. She’d had the sense to strip off her vomity, soaked clothes after the foreign witch had left… and sit in the dark tub with the hot water steaming down over her. She knew she should have been using cold water… but the heat was nice, and it made everything feel a little better… a little more normal. 
It took her an indiscriminate amount of time to dry herself with the towel, and then wring her clothes out in the tub, until her hands were red and ragged from the effort. It proved unnecessary; when she opened the bathroom door again, squinting in preparation for any outside light, she found the hallway dark, and cool… and a set of clothes folded in neat squares at the doorway’s edge. They were simple… but nice quality. Silky, button-down blouse in a taupe color, and ironed white slacks. The slacks were too long for her- which was saying something- and the sleeves and breast of the blouse were tight… but she made it work. The thought itself had been kind… and what was the point of throwing away a nicety like that? It certainly didn’t fall into the manners Summer had instilled in them very early on. 
She still took her steps carefully down the hall. Walking it again… it was familiar to her. She passed the study where they’d delivered the shelf… and found the door was locked when she reached for the knob. That was fair enough… it wasn’t her house- she must have been really out of it to have even considered snooping like that.

There was pork in the air- Yang could smell it, and made her stomach heave and grumble at the same time. She leant on the wall for support, and waited for the feeling to pass. Tentatively… she reached up to feel at the back of her neck, behind her ear. That was what she’d said, wasn’t it? Behind her ear? Which ear?

The doors on the other end of the hallway were locked too… she took the stairs one tepid step at a time. They were steeper coming down than they were going up, and she clung to the railing the entire time it took her to get down to the foyer’s ground floor. There was more time to meander, now, and more cause to; Yang made a point to walk slower around the room, taking everything in.

Whatever decorating and staging Ms. Nikos had done, she must have done on specifications… because for an old English house like this, it was too pumped full of culture to be anything but foreign-directed. Marble pedestals with various busts, clay vases, and think-pieces lined the walls, spaced between multitudes of ornate and delicate looking paintings… portraits… Heirlooms, maybe…?

The smell got stronger the farther down one of the rooms she passed, letting her hand drag lazily over the long mahogany table in what must have been a dining room; the chandelier glittered in light coming softly through the small top windows in the room, the blinds pulled taut on each full-sized window. That was considerate… Yang stopped fidgeting with things, and pushed on.

She found her helper- savior? No, that sounded too heroic for something that was just panic-manners at heart- in the kitchen, which was larger than anticipated, and as colonial as Yang had been expecting. She hadn’t had the chance to see it before… but now she settled herself against a wall cabinet and counter, running her hands over the laminate idly. It was like the kitchen out of Practical Magic, and Yang tried to ignore the pinging in her chest at the master craft of it. It was a wood stove, and amber-tiled walls, and the island itself was centered between them, covered in plastic grocery bags in various states of disorganization… and yet, still Yang couldn’t shake the sense of warmth- of closeness in the room. It wasn’t claustrophobic, per say… but when her host turned around to look at her, it was as though she’d known her all her life.

She put the spatula down on a holder by the stovetop, and Yang could see it now, sizzling in a large, black skillet. In the light, with the drug slowly easing its way out of her system, it was easier to take the woman in- to get a clearer impression of her. She was shorter than Yang had expected… but she was lean; Yang could see the muscular flex to her frame from the other side of the kitchen, however half-masked in ruffles and periwinkle blouse rumples. That made her feel a little bit better about being brought bodily to the bathroom earlier at least… “I made your call. She’ll be by shortly… and in the meantime I’ve made breakfast.”

When she gestured, Yang took the tentative steps toward the island counter required to grab one of the high-backed stools and sit. The cushions were comfortable, but rigid with disuse. “Thank you, that’s real nice.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s all part of my ulterior motives,” she promised in turn, and it was awkward and stunted the way she shut off the gas, searched the cabinets for a moment for a plate, and fished a couple pieces of bacon out of the grease. There was grapefruit, too- she set that on the painted porcelain before sliding it over. “We still have a lot to talk about… but I think introductions are in order.”

Yang let the plate sit there in front of her for a moment as the woman sat down next to her. In the light, she was prettier than Yang had been able to make out- slim featured, and dainty. The one inconsistency in this smooth, blemish-free face of demurity- not unlike a painting Yang had seen once in a museum of French renaissance girls- was the pink socket inside a far more relaxed lid on the left of her face. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry,” Yang still made no effort to touch the plate; the witch woman didn’t seem genuinely bothered in the slightest. “You go first… I’m the one who ended up in your house.”

Playing absentmindedly with a loose pale plait braid off the shoulder, the witch indulged her. “Edelweiss Schnee. You can call me Weiss, if you’d like- that’s what I’d prefer. I decided to expand my horizons and see what I could learn from the Americas in my university career. I want to learn what I can before my focus shifts entirely toward my coven, so to speak, so I’m enrolled in classes through the History department- this is how I met Neptune Vasilias.”

“Neptune’s in the college of engineering though- and you said you just got here last night- how would you have met him?”

“I take the class with his friend, Scarlet David. He saw me on the registrar and started a conversation with me over text. He introduced me to Neptune, who said he could introduce me to campus life after I had arrived and settled.”

Yeah… that wasn’t overstepping at all. She was really going to have to have a talk with them both about how fucked and creepy that was. “Take my advice- if someone goes out of their way to track you down and invite you to a new location, in a foreign country,

don’t go

. And block their number.”

It was surprisingly easy, the way it came out; as easy as talking to Ruby. It embarrassed her. The woman- Weiss- had the good grace not to mention it, but even still… there was a tepid kind of amusement glittering in one cool eye. It really was a

beautiful

color… striking- like husky eyes.

“Duly noted.” She said, with little genuine promise. Yang snapped an overly crisp piece of bacon in two. “You aren’t the only one who’s been keen to tell me that. What about you?”

It was a loaded question… a tentative glance was all it took to understand that Weiss absolutely intended on wheedling what information she hadn’t been able to get out of her before, now. Not that Yang imagined she’d be very good at it. Bluntness seemed to be Weiss’ main approach, and even with a little brain fog… Yang was more clever than that.

“You can call me Yang. There’s not a whole lot to tell… I’m a carpenter by trade, and I was an athlete for years.. so I’ve known a lot of the Nu Delta Delta brothers for a long time. Including Neptune, although I met him through someone else.”

“You aren’t going to university?”

The bacon crunched between her teeth… and she chewed it methodically, in time with the light throbbing still plaguing the back of her skull. “...I’m undecided.”

“There is nothing you’d like to learn before you turn your focus to your mother’s house?”

“I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She ignored the aggravated twitch of Weiss’ dainty little French peasant face and continued to gnaw on her overdone, awkward breakfast. “Yes, you do. What’s your house’s focus? What have you inherited from your mother’s mothers? You said she was a greenwitch?”

“My mother’s mothers?” The scoff was only slight, but she could see immediately that that little twitch was growing, and the disconcerting expression that had begun to press itself to Weiss’s face was… unsettling. “Look… if you’re talking about magic, then… I guess it’s complicated. Yes, Summer’s a greenwich… and she is my mom. But-”

“Then you’re a greenwitch. Your focus is herbalism-”

“I’m not a greenwitch.” It was like pulling teeth. Yang had never met someone so easily affronted… and that was saying something- she knew Ruby. Weiss was tapping long fingers on the island’s marble counter, and the sound was soft in the reverberations of the kitchen. “I don’t have any magic yet- I might not have any at all. What did you say before? About focusing on my mother’s house?”

Weiss’ answering eye roll was one-sided and upsetting; Yang pushed herself up to stand with the plate. She was still a little wobbly around the edges, and so Weiss too stood. “Don’t- I’ll take care of it. Just… tell me about your coven structure. I’ve never had first hand accounts of American covens… and I understand things differ from place to place.”

When she took the plate, Yang let her- if begrudgingly. Maybe it was the lingering side effects of the drug… maybe it was her growing agitation with the situation… maybe it was just her dislike of the way Weiss seemed so inclined to press for information… Yang turned herself back around and sat herself down again with some vehemence. “I don’t have a coven structure- that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m not really affiliated with a coven- at least, my sister and I aren’t. I’ve never met a single relative- actually related or otherwise- on either of my mothers’ sides.”

She watched Weiss’ expression twist and morph into a distended sort of long-mouthed horror that was especially awful to look at with her pink, empty socket. “You’ve never been baptized?”

“I’m not a Baptist, so no.”

“It’s not a Christian baptism, idiot. It’s a sacred rite in sight of your ancestors and the members of your community.”

“..so, a Christian baptism.”

“

No

,” she drawled, and it was almost satisfying to hear the aggravation that Yang was feeling peeking through in her low melodious tone. “It has nothing to do with rebirth, or Christ, or sin. When you’re born, your mother would have read the moon and felt your energy within her. She would have waited until the moon was full, and chosen two others to witness as she submerged you in the element tethering your soul to your magic.”

“You’re making that up.” There was no way any of that was true. Sure, Summer had a one-woman hospital within arms reach and the capacity to manage an entire orchard, and Raven had dreams every bit as terrible and prophetic as the priestesses of Delphi… but that was leaning a little occult even for her tastes.

“I assure you, I’m not. It explains your mark… I suppose. But I always thought that was a superstition- I never

believed

a marked witch was unbaptized…” She pursed her lips together, and grabbed absentmindedly at a small porcelain mug with teal mermaid tiles and gold piping, setting Yang’s dish in the double steel sink as she did. Yang watched her brain work- watched her thoughts flicker obviously over her face as she considered every angle of it.

The doorbell rang, and whether by coincidence or circumstance, both of them jumped. Weiss startled out of her thoughts… and set the mug down on the island. “That is probably your phone call.”

*   *   *

If anyone could attend a definitely-not-a-kegger and come out the other side perfectly unscathed, it was Pyrrha. She was showered, makeuped and powdered- Yang could smell the floral quality of it- and frowning. There was a pucker to her mouth that gave away her anxiety; it was usually best observed through her mother.

Weiss passed her by and returned to the island to sit and twiddle her thumbs against the marble. “Make yourself at home.”

She did, because she was Pyrrha… but Yang watched her finger-tapping, eye-darting nerves. She barely glimpsed around; that was fair- she’d probably helped finalize the blueprints. When she sat, she sat daintily on the stool that Weiss had vacated, knees locked together and ankles crossed. There was no doubt that Mrs. Nikos had dressed her; she was almost childishly demure and quaint in an ironed blouse and the world’s tackiest cotton cardigan.

“I’m hoping someone can start explaining to me what exactly happened last night.” She breathed, and there was a strawberry scented stutter under her breath. Across the way, Weiss’ sip of coffee was tepidly loud and comically drawn out.

“I was hoping you could,” Yang admitted; her lip was sore and iron-tangy as she gnawed on it unconsciously. “...I don’t remember much.”

“I didn’t see much of you, to be honest,” the trouble was brewing in her expression and Yang found it hard to look at for long. She just had this way, with her eyes… it made everything in her feel as though it were laid bare, and not in a bad way; Yang didn’t like thinking too hard about that aforementioned seed between them, planted in between soil-dark ribs. “By the time things started getting out of control, I lost track of you.”

“Weiss says I was roofied… and I think she’s right. I don’t… I don’t remember most of last night. I remember the house… and asking for directions, and I remember talking to Wukong… then nothing. Nothing at all… until waking up this morning.”

“This is what I wanted to elaborate on-” Pyrrha’s attention shifted onto Weiss; Yang was surprised that there was no malice- no anger- only a soft and heartwarming helplessness in the quaver of her tender timbre, “-why didn’t you take her to the hospital? Or find someone at the party? We would have helped her-”

“I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know who she knew, and who she didn’t, and why? Why would I have trusted strangers, when someone had already tried to drug me? What if I misjudged a savior from an assailant?”

“Drug

you?

”

“I had the wrong cup. I can’t say when I set mine down or when it got confused with Weiss’.”

Pyrrha’s head looked about ready to implode; she could hear the train whistles. “Yang, there are ground rules…”

“It’s not like I had much control over it, Pyr.” There was an ugly expression threatening to bleed out the carefully crafted mask she had felt cementing on her face. “I don’t even know if there was any way to prevent it-”

“You should have been more careful with your cup! If you put it down, you forfeit that shit!”

Hearing Pyrrha swear was disorienting enough to give Yang about five seconds to breathe, reassess and correct her response accordingly. Pyrrha was just worried about her… “I should have forfeited it… you’re right. But that’s all you’re right about.”

Pyrrha didn’t contest that… she just sat there, looking contrite, like a kicked dog. Weiss took over fielding the conversation. “To answer your previous question… I didn’t take Yang to the hospital because of a similar religious and cultural background. That’s my fault, and I’ll take responsibility for it.”

“‘

Similar religious and cultural background’?

”

Weiss’ glance in her direction was quick, but dry. And the question was clear:

does she know?

Yang’s little wave of dismissive leave was taken with surety, and Weiss said it that way, too- with complete nonchalant seriousness. “I’m also a witch by heritage, German born. There are some minor… differences, as I’m discovering.”

“Okay, I’m agnostic- what does that have to do with not involving the hospital, or filing a police report? You’re going to file a report, aren’t you?”

“What’s the point?” It wasn’t like, in a perfect world,. She wouldn’t want to figure out exactly what had happened… but she knew the chances of anything actually coming of it was slim. It was one party in hundreds… one tablet in a million. She’d gotten incredibly lucky as it was.

“The point is that someone in or around Nu Delta Delta is drugging people.”

“-which is concerning behavior that should be disciplined.” Weiss chimed in. Neither of them spared her a glance; Yang threw the argument around in the pit of her stomach and tried to find some other feeling than a sickening dread. What had happened in that little space in time- that disconcerting chunk of absence?

She still couldn’t believe that Wukong, or even Neptune would stoop that low… but it had been their party. If not them, or any of the other Nu Delta Delta brothers- then someone they knew. Vale county was relatively small as it was, even with the influx of college students from across the states. Everybody knew everybody, to a degree. It wouldn’t be impossible to figure out. Cardin was probably capable of it… and if Yang had been the intended target, that might have been plausible. But it had been Weiss’ cup they spiked. That complicated things.

“”I’m not going to file a report,” She said finally, after a long moment of turgid silence in the practical magic kitchen, had time to fester between the three of them. “I’d rather forget it happened at all.”

“I disagree that it’s not worth pursuing.” Weiss set down her mug with the finality of an aged professor in the middling of her life. “But I can appreciate the traumatic nature of it. And the cultural ties, however lacking in your case.”

It was clear that Weiss’ continued mention of their shared familiar interests was beginning to irk Pyrrha; Yang watched the way her fingers twitched against the table, tapping in nervous rhythmic patterns. The only other indicator- the longer she looked- was the dark, splotchy purple rings under her eyes; there was no question she wasn’t sleeping well back in the Nikos family home, with all its ghosts.

“I don’t like it, Yang… but I’ll try to respect your choice.” It was the kindest thing; Pyr had always been good at doing the kindest thing- to a fault, sometimes. Her attention focused itself back on Weiss, though, so Yang missed her opportunity to thank her. “You were lucid, right? You saw everything? Tell us what happened- the whole thing.”

“What part of ‘

I’d rather pretend it never happened’

did you not get?”

Pyrrha ignored her, and to her chagrin, so did Weiss, locked in to her equally off putting focus right back. “Yang can shut her eyes to it and cover her ears but I'm not going to let this stand. What happens at the next party? Or the one after that?”

“This is a discussion best saved for another time,” she implored, “I think it best we honor Yang’s wishes, Pyrrha Nikos.”

It took her a second, because it was so… oddly paradoxical of them. All at once, she understood the way their roles had switched. It made her head spin harder. It took reserves of civility she had left not to ball up her fists, bang them on the counter, and wail inconsolably like a child until everything became simple and she got her way.

Only, she was not a child… and she could tamper her rage down- she knew she could. Even still, she felt the bite of her nails into her pals as her first sat stony and warm on the cold marble. “You two can do whatever you want- I’m going home.”

Only Pyrrha stood up when she did, clearly with the intent to follow; Yang didn’t bemoan it.

“If you ever want to talk more about our common interests, Yang,” Weiss said, not bothering to rise from her stool; Yang didn’t blame her, she looked oddly in place, sitting there with legs crossed, demure and polite. “My door is always open.”

It was strange… in all the short time Yang had been a guest in her house, the German woman had seemed… approachable, and honest. A blunted, brutal kind of honest, that was at its heart kind. There was an undertone there now, though… a shift in her tone that Yang… Yang didn’t quite know how to interpret. Her one pleasant eye was narrowed in an intimacy that embarrassed her… so Yang looked away.

*   *   *

The house was eerily quiet by the time they got home.

Outside, the porch light was on, and dusk had barely settled over the horizon. She hadn’t realized how late it was until she’d gotten into Pyrrha’s car… and found it nearly past supper time. The drive had been silent, for the most part, and Yang liked it that way. If Pyrrha opened her mouth to say something, she had only to glance in Yang’s direction to read the absolute disinterest festering there.

The car came to a slow and bumpy stop along the grit and gravel, and the radio was low between them. Pyrrha parked… and they sat there, for what felt like far too long. Yang reached for the door, and pushed it open.

“Yang.”

She didn’t turn around; didn’t remove her hand from the roof, or tuck her feet back into the seat. She stood, and took a deep breath.

The world of the farm was unlike anything in the city- in any city- and breathing it in was like reviving herself. It was earthy and deep, with sweet flower fragrance and apple presses on the breeze. She could taste vetiver on the wind and kick up the mowing Tai had done at some point beneath her feet… she could block out everything but the rustling of the trees flanking them from every other side; reds and browns and oranges crinkling underfoot along the lane’s rugged edges.

In the woods, the crowing of carrion was loud and obnoxious; Zwei was answering them, somewhere, old and rumbly and tired. She closed the door, and it wasn’t a slam… but it was firm. Yang took a step, and then another… and pretended she didn’t hear the other door open with her third. To her credit, she didn’t take another step… and to Pyrrha’s, she said no more words of dissuasion.

‘Don’t look back at her,’

she told herself. There was only so much a person could take in one day… and Pyrrha’s pity was too costly. So she didn’t look back… and the walk up the steps to the door was more lonely than Yang had felt on any given day for the last year.

Dad was asleep on the couch. The tv was playing the news, muted on the wall, and he laid there, sprawled out in his summer sleep clothes, tacky with sweat and snoring, mouth-open, like an animal. She fought down the nonsensical agitation that was brewing in her the longer she looked at him… and passed over the room.

She took the stairs two at a time; if there was any lingering exhaustion tugging at her muscles, she ignored it, and pressed on; the study was dark under the door, which was odd. She paused, but only long enough to confirm that there was no one moving inside. That was fine… she wasn’t looking for Raven anyway.

Ruby was laying on the carpet in the center of her humid attic bedroom, sweating in her holey sports bra, with her hair splayed damp around her on the hardwood. She was flipping idly through a comic book; Yang didn't say anything- just settled herself down on the floor in the opposite orientation- staring up at the slanted beamed ceiling. There was greenery everywhere, even in the humidity. It seemed to writhe along the walls and the beams… dripping from hanging pots and tall tin barrels in the corners of the room. The grooves in the wood were soil-dark and smelled just as fresh with dirt as outside; she played with it idly with her fingers as Ruby turned a laminated page.

“You were gone a long time.” She said, nonchalantly- almost bored as she flipped her page a second time- flipped through the pages- set the thing down on the carpet between them. She heard the shift as Ruby readjusted her position on the carpet into something assumedly more comfortably.

It would have been nice if she’d been able to form some kind of coherent statement, or rebuttal… instead, Yang began to cry. It wasn’t cute… they were thick, ugly choked sobs… and immediately Ruby’s arms were around her, lean and sweaty and reassuringly tight.

Ruby didn’t ask her anything… she didn’t say a word. Just squeezed… until Yang thought she was going to puke again the sobs were wracking her chest so hard. She smelled like mud and salt… and gaudy, overbearingly musky cologne. Yang laughed, the longer she took it in. It was such a Ruby thing… such a Ruby smell-

“Breathe,” Ruby urged her. This time, Yang really was sick, and the trashcan was in her hands before she was halfway through her first full-body jolt. It was small, cool plastic, and the bag was a soft, baby pink color; the smell made her eyes water, and the pork taste in her mouth was thick and horrible. She gagged again, but nothing seemed to be in reserve… that much was a relief at least.

And she told her everything.

And nothing.

And every part of the nothing she could remember.

*   *   *

Ruby didn’t tell; that was an unspoken agreement between them, as all things of any seriousness had always been. It hadn’t mattered, tattling over little things… but there were moments when you knew that- even though your parents loved you- even though they probably would have understood, to a degree- the only person you could trust was your sibling… and you were the only person they could trust too.

It was a blind kind of faith that transcended all other feelings… and it was the only kind of faith that Yang had ever put any of her real stock in.

So Ruby didn’t tell. And Yang put what had happened away in a neat little box inside herself.

Things pressed on; the world continued to turn; Yang spent that weekend knee-deep in Summer’s vegetable garden, with the sun browning her back and her trowel in constant motion. She didn’t give a second thought to town, or to her bike, or to Weiss or Pyrrha or any of her friends… she didn’t think about what Weiss had told her, about baptism- at least… she didn’t

try

to.

But the images wouldn’t leave her. It was only flashes now and again: murky brown river water; clear navy sky; dark curls falling on baby-fat flesh and a moon the size of a walnut overhead. Each one, she shook away with a determined vehemence.

It hadn’t happened. She knew that much- knew that it was just her brain conjuring up pictures of something she…honestly didn’t know if she genuinely wanted. What was she so upset over anyway? This wasn’t new- hardly; Raven and Summer had gone out of their way to steer them away from tradition at every turn, so why was this any different? She’d never mourned the absence of any of those traditions before… so why now?

Because Weiss was a witch too? Yang stopped planting.

“I’ve never met another witch before.” She said, and hadn’t realized she’d said it aloud until she heard the end of her sentence trickle out into the breeze-tousled summer humidity. The trees rustled their leaves in cool acknowledgment, and the words were lost to the woods beyond.

For a moment, she just sat there, with the dirt dampening her knees, squelching at the provocation as she shifted to fall back on her behind. There was a lavender fragrance in the air, and every few seconds, a mosquito landed near her… made a show of finding a place to land… and seemed to reconsider. Had she ever been bitten by a mosquito? The thought was suddenly maddening.

The garden was cool and welcoming against the soft summer sun overhead, coming down warm, and thick, but not horribly oppressive at the moment. The horizon was tinged with a dark, rolling stretch of clouds that promised thunder, and Yang almost wished it would just hurry up already.

“I’m heading into town-“ the voice startled her, but not nearly so much as the hand from above, coming down with such a sudden unyielding forcefulness that Yang almost screamed as it flattened the top of her wicker sun hat.

“

What the hell!

Don’t do that!”

Raven was as immovable as she was unconcerned, which was typical. She glowered down with half-lidded eyes at Yang, and waited a full moment before deciding to speak.

“I’m heading into town,” she said in sepulcher tones, and her awful coagulate eyes were drippy in the humidity, like they were slowly melting from the centers; Yang shuddered. “Why don’t you come with me.”

Even as she phrased it like a question, it was understood by them both that it was- at its heart- an order more than a plea. Still- for Raven, Yang delighted in being difficult. She gestured, lamely, at herself, “I’m covered in dirt.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I’m sweaty.”

“Again, not my problem.”

“Did you baptize me?” It slipped out before she could really understand what was happening; Raven froze, and the stillness was almost as horrifying as the look on her face.

Raven was a beautiful woman, there was no getting around that, but when

horror-

an expression that Yang rarely saw on her long, sonorously dour, lined face- bloomed with a darkness not unlike a bruise, it rearranged all of the most recognizable aspects of her.

Yang doubled down. “Did you baptize me? It's a simple enough question- either you did or you didn’t.”

Raven said nothing.

“Why don’t we talk more, about being witches? Why haven’t I learned more?” Yang pushed herself up to stand, and the breeze was rushing and lukewarm in her hair and against the wet of her neck and cheeks, wicking at her ears and attempting some form of cooling restraint. Yang pushed through it, and felt her feet shift and lock in the garden silt. “We don't talk about culture, or history… What is my body capable of- what makes it different from a human?”

“What makes you think it’s different at all?” It was a non-question question.

“We don’t go to the hospital. I can’t remember ever being bitten by a mosquito. I scab over quick, even without Summer’s paste. I’m constantly running hot. Dare I go on?”

“Is there more to catalog?”

Her flippancy was getting annoying. Yang chewed on her instinct to bite, and let her answer roll out of her mouth instead. That damnable expression was still plastered to her face… It was so off-putting, that it was hard to feel like any of her attempts were landing; she was getting distracted… and knowing it didn’t make the feeling so tight in her chest lessen in any way.

It was a low blow…Yang crossed her arms about her waist, and the dirt smell was thick in her nose on the breeze. “You’re my mom… can’t I come to you with this?”

The wall Raven had put up shattered; she watched it splinter on impact, and the heartbreak that flickered over her face made her jaw slacken on instinct. She swallowed, and the victory was bitter as Yang watched her struggle to be honest.

“...of course you can. I-

shit

.” She stepped away; turned her face, and rubbed at her eyes with a ferocity that made something in Yang’s face ache just watching her. When she turned back… her expression had evened itself back out into her neutral, half-mocking mask. But her tone was kind. “Of course you can. I’ll tell you anything you want to know… within reason. But there have to be some ground rules.”

“What kind of ground rules?”

“No complaining about what I tell you. I’m allowed to cherry-pick, if I think it’s harmful for you to know, or unimportant. And you can’t tell your sister anything I told you. She can find out if she ever asks, in her own time, after her own guilt-trip.”

Yang didn’t bother to feel embarrassed. So far… those weren’t very promising, but they were hardly the worst ruleset to follow.

“And you have to swear to me you won’t seek the covens out- not ours, not anyone else’s- are we clear?”

“Why?” That was the part that dogged her. “Why not?”

“Because we left for our own good, and yours. It’s our lifestyle choice, and you need to respect that. What we’ve built here is more than perfect.”

This was the one unsavory part of the rules. Yang had a hard time swallowing it down. “Why should I have to agree to that? I’m a grown woman-”

“You’re

21,

and you currently still live under my roof- unless you’ve made much progress in your college search?”

She had not. Yang stewed on it as she continued, nearly breathless. The unsettling expressions had left her… but now Raven was wild around the edges- hair tossed by the wind and eyes red-rimmed and running wetly; the pollen allergy was kicking her ass… and Yang felt a little back about it, being in the garden. “No ma’am.”

“Then we’re back to square one. Get in the truck… we’re going to pick up groceries, and I’ll talk on the way.”

Yang made no attempts to argue. Somewhere in the trees, the corvids were crying again… there was another smell on the breeze, too, as she pinched her hat and threw it down with the trowel, sparing a glance back at the tree line as Raven left her- bruskly, as always- to start the truck. It was thick… and metallic. There was a tang of it in every breath… and the breeze was getting cold. Overhead, the sky was still graying with impending thunder.

*   *   *

“Covens operate on a system not too dissimilar from other organized religion. There are masses, and services and the like… rites of passage, like the baptism, and death-rite… and a strong sense of…

community.”

When she said it, she said it with a sneer. Yang didn’t miss it.

“Why’d you say it like that?”

“Like what?” 
“Like that- community.” 
Raven put on her blinker as she turned a sharp four-way intersection corner, the first few droplets of rain starting to plink down onto the windshield. “Covens are communities in the same way an HOA is a community.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. Summer and I had each had our fill of it… so we left. It wasn’t easy… but it was what was best. No one in either coven approved of your father at all.”

“Because he was human?”

“...yes.” The pause was slightly disconcerting… but Yang let it go. They hit a pothole, and she jostled a little in the passenger seat. “Coven history and culture is pretty well cultivated, too… it’s very biased from coven to coven. Even if I wanted to tell you our coven’s history… I’d just be perpetuating the false accounts. That was something I had to learn and understand over time… and it took a while to rewire the way I was taught to understand the world. I don’t want to feed you those lies- not when my whole reason for leaving was to let you be your own person.”

“So… unpacking all of that… 1. You were definitely in a cult, and 2. You were already pregnant with me when you left your coven? I thought you and Summer left before you even started dating dad?”

“No,” She said, and it sounded begrudging as she shifted gears and turned onto the main road toward town; they could see the tall city buildings getting closer and closer as they passed the outer Broadway auto body shop and the small, abandoned chapel on the corner road. “Summer and your dad were just good friends, still, but… your father and I connected in a different way. It’s always been easier, between them. Sweeter. But he understands I can’t- I’m not built that way. It’s what I love about him- about them both.”

“Gross,” She could only find the words to mutter in response. Raven ignored her, and kept on farther and farther into the heart of town. Overhead, the sky had swallowed itself and bloated dark and threatening. The windshield was plinking every couple seconds with the beginnings of what was going to be a torrential downpour, inevitably.

“We weren’t careful, and I got pregnant… my parents were pretty unhappy about the whole situation- I wasn’t too much older than Ruby.”

Yang’s wince was too loud in the otherwise relative quiet of the truck, and it seemed heavier in the humidity too; Raven’s mouth pursed tighter. “Yeah. I… made a lot of poor choices around that time.”

Yang chose not to take that personally. If Raven recognized the way it sounded, she didn’t backpedal, like Summer or Tai might have. She just reached out and turned the radio up a peg or two, and turned it into a half-hearted lesson that felt anything but patronizing. “For your own sake, be careful.”

She didn’t have the heart to use science as a definitive way of putting that worry away for her mother; Raven was barely conscious when she wasn’t locked in her study- Yang doubted she remembered what kind of estrogen she was on, let alone how long it had been since she'd started it. If being a teen parent was this exhausting in the long term, it was a good thing she’d never really given a shit about dating.

“Understood,” she said, instead of arguing, or denouncing the idea outright.

The truck came to a slow stop at the next intersection, and Raven surprised her. “Summer told me about your issues with the mechanic’s kid. I’m sorry.”

“...that’s alright. I haven’t thought about it the past couple days,” She admitted. “‘Been trying to keep busy.”

“I know it’s hard for you to switch shops, like Summer thinks you should do. Your dad’s never been very good at handling confrontation and change like that either.”

“What do

you

think I should do?”

The red light turned green, and Raven let up off the break. “Honestly? Take her out on a date.”

The brake slam came on suddenly, and the car that stopped in front of them did so even more suddenly. Yang jolted forward in her seat and groaned as the seatbelt kept her from falling too far forward. Raven swore, and it was deep-toned and venomous. The car stayed fairly still, brakes still on in front of them… and now Yang could see it wasn’t just that car, but the one in front too. “...must be roadwork.”

“I wish they’d pick a different season for this shit…” Raven grumbled, two-hand gripping the wheel. Yang watched her eyebrow twitch a little. “Summertime is horribly inconvenient.”

The radio was still low; Yang reached out and turned it up a notch or two as Raven took a moment or two to gather herself, wiping a layer of sweat from a crinkled brown brow. “...you were saying?”

“Take her on a date. I know Summer says it’s a bad idea, but trust me. This way, she thinks she’s getting what she wants… and then she lets it go when she realizes she’s not actually interested.”

“I don’t know if that would even work. Besides- she’s already spreading all kinds of lies about me- what kind of ammunition am I going to give her by doing that?”

“Ham it up, but don’t go too far- just… be boring. Make her lose interest in you. She’ll latch onto someone else, you’ll see. And that will be her exact excuse for why she dropped it: you were

so boring

.”

“Thank you- that’s extremely helpful and not at all vague in the least.” it came out bitter… but the frustration of it was starting to rear back up again. She bit her lit, and tried to tamper it back down. “How am I supposed to bore her?”

Raven’s shrug was noncommittal. “Talk about how you have no interest in college, and you don’t have any big dreams. Tell her you’re probably going to spend your whole life managing your dad’s small business, and… tell her you’re thinking about selling your bike. Ask if her brother wants it, to really sell the idea.”

Raven really was cruel- she laughed when she glanced over and saw Yang’s face. “Sorry. You make it a little easy, kid.”

“You’re kind of evil, you know that? Who comes up with that?” What kind of master manipulator shit…

The truck started rolling faster, and the cars in front were stopping less and less. Raven got to the end of the intersection, and rather than continuing in the line of traffic, she cut down the park road, and took another left, bypassing the traffic down a parallel street. They continued the drive in relative quiet. The air conditioning was a nice, soft cool cutting through the truck's humidity, even if it took most of the drive to get up and running. They turned onto the downtown hill road, bypassed the tall, multi-level shops, and somewhere, Yang could hear the sirens as someone was either getting arrested or being rescued from a crash. That wasn’t entirely uncommon, here in town. She turned her attention back out onto the hills as they took them one by one in, and then out of the valley to get to the other side.

The grocery was a small, privately owned building with a smaller parking lot, and a hand-painted sign. It was one-story, and even just pulling into a parking spot, Yang could smell the barbeque smell coming through the vents in hazy whisps. Raven turned off the wipers, and the truck too.

Even though it was so much farther than a lot of other chain shops, this one was the go-to for everyone in their house. Besides its comfortable, homie atmosphere, it was witch-owned and run, and the owners were kind, regardless of their covenless-status.

Lie greeted her from the register the second she stepped through the doors; Raven ignored them, and made straight for the back. That was typical- she didn’t like being outside the house longer than she had to be, even here.

She had known Lie Ren nearly as long as she’d known Pyrrha, and certainly as long as she’d known Nora. Finding time to hang out with them had just gotten easier when the Ren’s had agreed to let Nora move in around middle school.

He smiled when he saw her, and always it was soft and demure, and half-lidded behind long, beautiful lashes. Nora had done his makeup that morning, and it looked nice, surprisingly. Usually, it was Ren’s hands that were steadier. “Hey, Yang.”

“Hey,” she greeted, coming over to stand near him and lean on the tall wood and marble counter they’d customer redone for the Rens a few summers past, after a bad storm and a worse roof nearly destroyed the old one. “What’s up.”

“Nothing much. Nora’s still worried about you.”

For such a pretty person, he was really very blunt. Yang’s scowl prompted him to raise his hands in a semblance of recognition. “Just saying.”

“I’m fine. Don’t let her get too wound up about that, okay?”

His nod was to the point. What surprised her, though, was when he cut a glance left… and then right… and then at the monitor with the security camera behind the counter. When he appeared to be satisfied… she watched him take pains to until the apron over his pretty silk blouse and leggings. It was a startling green over the butter-soft pink of the shirt… and the thought made her think of fresh summer watermelon.

“I have something for you. Come with me.”

Begrudgingly… despite the strangeness… she followed him back around the counter, hopping over the turnstile and ignoring his eye roll as he held the curtain for her to the employee section. They were deep velvety curtains in a similar pink, only these one were a couple shades deeper in saturation, and patterned with little string-thin lilies in silver embroidery. She ducked as the lavender and hay bundles threatened to knock her from where they were tied to the rafters overhead, and he turned on the oil lamp in the room with little flair, waiting until the room was mostly lit and flickery to turn back to her.

It was a small room- just enough for a small one-person table, a counter with coffee cups and wooden herb box for emergencies… and a door leading to the back, where their house was attached.

“Am I allowed to guess what it is?” she asked, following him as he passed through the little room and into the back entryway of the house. It was equally as homie and carefully eclectic as the shop, with its ceiling-hung ceremonial herbs and flowers, and the hangings on the wall of glass-framed strictures on old yellowing paper, the writing ink-blotched and heavy-handed.

They took the hallway past the kitchen; An had earbuds in as she worked on dinner, dicing facing away from them. It was a stroke of luck that they managed to slip by without her seeing them, and more so that clearly, his dad was not home to bust them for ditching the counter- Lie specifically.

His room smelt like weed smoke and sage, as per usual, and even though it was small, it was cozy enough that Yang had a hard time whittling down what was his and what was Nora’s. But nothing screamed, ‘this is for Yang’... and so she was about as confused as she had been before.

“Don’t freak out.” he said, instead of any kind of explanation, and that boded extremely well. He was shuffling his feet, looking nervous at her as he picked up a few articles of clothing- presumably Nora’s- and tossed them into a hamper in the far corner.

“Ren, I love you buddy-”

“Just bear with me,” He asked, and begrudgingly… she wired her jaw shut. There wasn’t a ton of room in the bedroom, but there was room for a small closet off the side wall, with two sliding wicker doors that Nora had nailed pride flags to years ago. He shifted them open now, and then stooping down to sit on his heels, she watched him reach inside, tepidly at first… and then removing a long, sleek black animal from what must have been a metric ton of laundry. It blinked in the light coming through the half-blind window, and its eyes were big and tawny brown, amber at the centers and flickery- alert. It mewed once, lower in register than she expected, and seemed to struggle for half a second as Lie adjusted it in his arms.

“Ren…”

He ignored her. “This is Gambol… Nora and I found her a couple days ago… but we can’t keep her here. Mom’s allergic, and she’s starting to catch on.”

“Take her to the shelter then! There’s got to be someone who’ll take her.”

“Let’s be realistic, Yang,” His expression was not sympathetic… but it wasn’t without a layer of judgment either. “Humans are cruel to black cats… it’ll be a miracle if she’s adopted by All Hallows, and that’s if she isn’t adopted just for some sick vendetta. I can’t take her… so either you do, or you find someone else who can. She’s sweet… I think you’ll end up liking each other.”

Damn him. Damn him, and his sound logic… she swallowed her pride, and took a couple steps forward to join him on his haunches. Up close, she cute- that much was undeniable- but there was something about her… Yang couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling deep in her bones. It was like a sense of familiarity…

“I don’t know, Lie… Raven’s not going to be happy. And I don’t know how Zwei will be with a cat around…”

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn't think the farm was the safest place for her.” He assured. “I’ll cover expenses for the first couple months, too. Nora and I are prepared to help you until All Hallows, if it will make it easier to decide… but she needs a home. Even if staying with you is just a trial period. I’ll talk to your mom about it- she’s always liked me best anyway.”

For the cat’s sake, she didn’t jostle him by the arm like she wanted to. It was so sudden… and there were so many things going on… so she didn’t know what it was that made her do it.

Yang fell back onto her butt, and sighed, long and low. Damn him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Chapter 4: It took one of Nora’s oversized jackets and an extra, free bundle of lemongrass stalk for Yang to sneak the cat- sorry, Gamble - into the cab of the truck with her, and then all the way home. If Yang was anxious at all about the thing giving her away before they could even get down the road, she tried not to make it so obvious. She turned the radio up as high as she could without Raven wanting to kill her, and tried to keep the jacket as puffed as possible. It was a horrendously Nora color- pastel pink and run through with purple and blue squiggling line pattern; the fabric crinkled at every opportunity, and it was horrendously difficult to turn that to her advantage. But the cat surprised her. Maybe it was the heat rolling off her, pent up inside the jacket, or maybe it was just lethargy- she was not, by any standard, a cat person- but there were no hiccups as the drive progressed home. It was markedly more silent, and with the cat having curled itself into the space where the rolls of her stomach muscle connected to her chest cavity, she slumped partially in the seat. Raven made no more attempts at motherly advice- and that was fine. Yang hardly expected her to. It was usually touch-and-go, in that way with her. When they pulled back into the lane and toward the house, neither of them were inclined to linger; Raven hopped from her seat at the same time as Yang eased herself down from hers, and they both shuffled inside animatedly, each with plans of their own. Raven shut the door to her study behind her as they reached the top of the stairs, and Yang kept going until she reached her bedroom, closing the door in a similarly blasé fashion. It was just the way she’d left it. Orange and red woven rug kitty-corner to the bed, unmade and landmine-littered with a myriad of heavy blankets, her pillows piled up the back of the tall polished dark oak headboard. There were still stickers, peaking out around the bars at the top where she’d plastered them in elementary school- worn down now, and mostly faded, she couldn’t have taken them off if she’d tried. Gamble seemed to take to the room quickly enough; she dropped down and out of the borrowed jacket with catlike grace and finesse, and Yang watched her circle the room a couple times. It wasn’t huge- just enough space for her bed, a desk and a vanity, and a closet. She had a window, and a small bedside table, too, and that was nearly the first thing the cat found that she stayed perched on for a good, long while, staring out the window. Yang was left… uncertain where to stand. Ren had said he and Nora would support the- what was it, exactly? A… fostering? Maybe?- until All Hallows… but how often and discreet would that support be? She’d never had a cat before- she had the barest idea how to handle giving her the cans of wet food that Lie had stuffed into her coat pockets. She shrugged off the jacket, and tossed it somewhere indiscreet, sliding down against her door to sit with the hardwood pressing into her ass. At least it was cool… she was still a sweaty mess, and the humidity in the room wasn’t exactly helping. The start of a massive headache was just beginning to brew in the backmost cavity of her brain, and she dreaded it fully and entirely, rubbing at her temples with those thick-fingered thumbs in a slow, rotating sort of motion. It didn’t exactly make it better… but it was something to do besides sit there and stew.She couldn’t believe she’d let him talk her into this… why had he talked her into this? This was insane. Summer, or Raven- or most likely, Tai- would find out sooner rather than later, and she’d be absolutely busted. At the window sill, Yang watched as the little black thing reached up and pawed at the glass deftly- once, and then twice, lingering on the pane with one long, extended paw. It made a pitiful mewing sound, and Yang’s heart trembled. “Fuck you,” she said aloud, not unkindly, and it turned back to look at her, ears tall and twitching. She was already pushing herself up to stand. “...I shouldn’t just let you out to wander. You could get hit by a car, or eaten by a bear or something.” Another meow; Yang sighed, and ran a hand through her hair just to dig her fingers in her scalp. “What do I know… what does Ren know? Maybe you know perfectly well how to handle yourself out there- what if you get depressed, all cooped up in my room? Don’t answer that, it was rhetorical.” There was no immediate response. Instead, Gamble stared out the window a few minutes longer, and then seemed to change her mind- or maybe it was just a loss of interest. Instead, she shifted to walk over Yang’s lap, stepping with tiny, pressurized paws, and jumping down to the floor soundlessly. She circled around the room for a few minutes, pausing to inspect some of the laundry, or the pillows on the bed.Yang contemplated her next move. Unsure, she sat as delicately as possible on the edge of her bed, not wanting to spook the thing, and when she was certain that Gambol could not have been bothered less, she threw herself back against the mattress and rubbed at her eyes until her face felt sore. Her resulting groan was long and low. “What am I doing … what am I doing ?”“I’m talking to a cat; I’m talking to myself, and a cat- a cat I took in- a cat that the moms are going to kill me for.” It was slow, but inch by inch, she slid off the end of the bed until her ass was on the floor and her neck was bent at a 90 degree angle over the edge. How would they do it? Torture by vacuuming? A life sentence of mopping? Mulching duty? Summer would, too… Yang wouldn’t put it past her. “Don’t get too comfy, cat. I give it a day, before we’re found out- tops- and then you’re probably going back to the shelter.” She was surprised just how immediately the thought soured her stomach. No… no she wasn’t going to let that happen. Yang took a deep breath in through her nose, and took a deep breath out… and made up her mind. 
*   *   *  
“I’m scared to ask…” Pyrrha drawled, reaching out to pluck at the long sleeves of Yang’s turtleneck. It was black cotton blend and form-fit, and in the humid afternoon it clung to her lower back and arms. She adjusted her sunglasses on her nose, and everything was sepia toned in huge orange frames. Ruby called them her ‘douchey sunglasses’, but they were prescription, so Yang always talked herself out of buying a different set.She waved Pyrrha’s hand away, and shifted her backpack over one shoulder. It was heavy, and even though she could more than handle it, the weight still slowed her down; Pyrrha’s strides were long and quick- Yang struggled to keep the pace down the hillside as they scuffed down the dandelion-cracked sidewalk. “Then don’t ask.” “I don’t like this plan, Yang. You have no idea what you’re getting into here- I thought you said you were satisfied with what Raven told you?” Yang’s mouth worked in a hundred different starts to that conversation. She side-stepped as a woman passed her side of the sidewalk, and still ended up nearly knocking right into her; the passerby barely stopped to hear her quick, ’ sorry ’, waving a dark, sturdy hand back over her shoulder.Yang turned her attention back to the conversation at hand, and settled on a simple, “I can solve my own problems. Just keep Mercury preoccupied, okay?” “Am I allowed to break his nose if I have to?”“...I worry about how much time you spend with Nora, you know.” She sighed as they stopped for a traffic light at the base of the hill. “No. Don’t break anything- or anyone - just… back me up?”Traffic was surprisingly light at the intersection, and for a moment, they were standing in one of the few rays of amber sunshine in the canopy of flat gray that had settled overhead as the day had passed. It was warm on their skin, and Yang drank it up for as long as she could- separating it from the oppressive humidity. Somewhere in the distance, thunder crackled. It had been storming a lot this summer; that wasn’t by itself all that unusual… but she was beginning to notice the frequency with some tepid concern. Summer’s crops were probably going through hell…Pyrrha’s hand was soft against the curve of her cheek. “Hey… I’ve got you. Always.” It was nice: the feeling of Pyrrha’s hands on her skin, sun warmed and brown. Yang let herself enjoy the contact for a moment… and then let the feeling pass. She turned back toward the crosswalk, half a block down from the mechanic shop. She knew she could find them there; anywhere else in the city was a hedged bet- there were too many places Emerald liked… she’d never be able to guess right on the first try, let alone the 12th. But this was her home turf. Yang didn’t like it any more than Pyrrha did, in truth… but it was the quickest way to get this all sorted out. It turned out to be a lot easier to find Emerald than they’d anticipated; she waved at them from the side entrance as they came up the sidewalk, about four shops away. Yang waved back, stunted and awkward with her free hand. It felt wrong in her bones… but pleasantry said it was mandatory, so she did it- god forbid she look like an ass. If Pyrrha was looking at her, Yang ignored it, and if Yang nudged her in the sneaker, Pyrrha ignored it right back. Yang's smile felt all wrong: twisted and nervous on her face. She wondered if she looked half as moronic as she felt. Emerald jogged to meet them halfway, and they stopped in the cross section between two buildings- a lotion store and some kind of artisanal cheese market. She was shiny with luster dust, and her hair was freshly twisted with a dark, forested green. The strength of her wildly French perfume was suffocating; she didn’t wait for conversation- Yang had barely gotten a lazy, uncomfortably half-smile to settle on her face, and already her arms were around Yang’s neck, long and thin and dark. Her nails were acrylic and tipped in white, and they scraped the back of her neck as she settled herself into some desperate sort of embrace. Yang shuddered with the feeling, and the jolt was the only thing that saved her as Emerald seemed to respect that, at the very minimum, humming under her breath in understanding.“I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” She said, and let go of her hold on Yang’s neck. Her tone was light- airy- but there was a threat there… Yang wasn’t stupid. Pyrrha had long since passed them by. Yang waited until a couple of dog walkers passed to shift her boots into the gravel and shove her hands in her jean pockets. “I was avoiding you, Em, and you know why.” Emerald was unyielding; nothing passed her face but a cool, steely calm. “Yang… I don’t understand. It was a good kiss. I did everything right-” “You told your brother we slept together! How is that doing the right thing?” She couldn’t help it; the heat was sudden and explosive, and it splattered over them both the second she opened her mouth. Yang said it so hard she tasted blood in the back of her mouth. Again, she ran the hand through her hand, clenching at the roots for some kind of centered relief in the pain. “You didn’t ask to kiss me- you just did it. Why couldn’t you have just asked?” It was a genuine question- she watched it flicker for a moment pensively in Emerald’s eyes… they were so lightless and liquid- like pitch. Or they would be… if there weren’t warm hints- tones of mahoganies and deep, bloody browns. The image pitched her stomach. “...I thought you wanted me to.” She said, a little wistfully, as though recalling the scene- as she must have been doing, so glassy-eyed and far away- would put it into a new and better perspective. “You come in so often… and you smile at me. You always smile at me, and hold the door, and take my coat when it rains, or in the snow- you helped me with the display that time, and you touched my hand, and-” God… damn it. “I was just being nice !” She hissed, “Hasn’t anyone ever been nice to you before? That’s just common courtesy stuff! And you don’t just make shit up like that- it’s all over town now that we’re sleeping together!” She sucked in a breath… and it took Yang two to calm down, and push the sunglasses up to sit on the top of her head. She rubbed aggressively at her eyes, not caring about her eye makeup, or the pain in her brow, or anything but sorting this whole mess out. It was just one thing… just one thing she could tick off her list of problems stressing her the fuck out… Emerald was quiet. Yang took that for some sort of processing delay, and pressed a hand to her forehead searching out some kind of coolness from the damp accumulating on her forehead; not a single breeze could cut the warmth, and she was suffering for it- it was putting her on edge. “I’m sorry.” It took her completely by surprise. Emerald opened her mouth, tepidly… and then closed it again, and then seemingly made up her mind. “...I’m sorry. I didn’t-... I shouldn’t have done that.” She swallowed, thickly, and Yang watched her body language change, her posture shift, and her eyes… soften. She was, at once, a completely separate person, with the air of a frightened prey animal, darting cautious glances at the streets and up at balcony windows. She reached out, and the move was so sudden that when Yang flinched on instinct… she actually felt bad about it, seeing the immediate effect it seemed to have. Emerald withdrew her hand, and the action was nothing short of meek. “...It got out of hand. It wasn’t my idea… but I shouldn’t have thought it’d work that way. I really fucked up, if I can get you of all people to blow up at me.” Yang wanted to kick something; she’d very much have liked to scream. Instead, she pursed her lips, bit off another piece of the back of her cheek, and turned fully in a circle, taking physical pains not to lose her mind. This was not how things were supposed to go. She had come here expecting a fight. A witty tet-a-tet. A two-person cage match to the death over her hypothetical sexual honor. God… what a joke. She turned back around. The Emeralds had combined, now, into a mixed sort of person that was simultaneously remorseful, and unyielding. She stood like she had never been more bored in her life… but there was a red-rimmed quality to her eyes… and that only made Yang’s head spin harder. “...I accept your apology. But I want damage control. You have to tell people the truth.” “I can’t do that,” She scoffed, surprising exactly nobody.“You can,” Yang nodded, with emphasis, “and you totally will.” They stalemated. Yang’s stare was as cool as she could make it, but there was a fire burning somewhere deep in her, no matter how desperately she tried to tamper the flames. “Look… I don’t know your life. I don’t. I just want a chance to live mine-” “And what, people thinking we’re together ruins that for you? I think that’s more than a little dramatic.” “We are not together! And it wouldn’t be such a big issue if this weren’t so… big . I don’t just go around sleeping with people, Emerald, that’s not my style. I have clients in town that are going to start looking at me differently- I have friends who are jumping me over this, because they’re getting the wrong idea about my feelings. Do you have any idea how harmful this has been to me?”“It doesn’t have to be! You’re blowing it out of proportion- it was a mistake!”“You can say that again-” “Look, I just-... Just let me set this right. Go on a date with me- you’re attractive, Yang, and so kind… I know it was a lie, but why is being in a relationship so disastrous for you?” “You didn’t give me a sideways glance until now so don’t even- do not pretend right now that you’ve been interested for ‘ such a long time .’” Emerald’s mouth was working in a bittersweet sort of tremble and bite, as though she were unsure whether to snap back or to retreat. Yang gave her half a second to defend herself, as a courtesy, though she deserved far less than that. This whole thing was ridiculous; this whole conversation had her wound and pent up and raw with some kind of catharsis she hadn’t realized she’d been searching for. “...See you around town, Yang.” She said with no shortness of placid, stony venom. Yang slammed the door on her feelings; it reverberated through her chest like a river stone. She didn’t bother to say goodbye- just walked right on past, as though ten minutes of her life were just… gone now. Pyrrha met her down the block, at the little gelato bar on the corner, and ran her fingers through Yang’s hair as she sat there and laid her head at one of the picnic tables, and sighed. “...fuck.”“I told you this was going to go disastrously,” Pyrrha’s fingers were delicate as they traced curls from root to the curve of her ear, tucking them away. “I wish you’d have listened.” Yang’s responding grumble was inaudible; Pyrrha didn’t pry for a repeat. “Yes Pyrrha; I should have listened, Pyrrha; you’re right Pyrrha, and I was so wrong.”“Yes, Pyrrha…” She managed. The humidity hadn’t let up any, and she was damp with it as Pyrrha’s fingers hesitated on the back of her neck. Yang sat herself upright, and pushed her turtleneck’s sleeves up to the elbows. Pyrrha made a noise in the back of her throat like a hum, and it was dense with a kind of suspicion. “Yang…?” “It’s just the cat… She destroyed like five of my pillows last night… and I got some battle scars in the process- ah !” Pyrrha’s fingers brushed the deep laceration on the corner of her brow, and Yang’s flinch was decidedly instinctual. She’d disinfected it and put some of Summer’s wound paste over it… but it would take a day or two to heal up. The little ones on her arms would be gone by the end of the day- if she was lucky. “What cat?” “Ren talked me into fostering this stray he found… she’s a black cat, and he doesn’t think she’ll be adopted by All Hallows- if some kid doesn’t try something sadistic. It was a serious con job, and he’s gonna have to talk circles around Raven and Summer to get his way.” “I wish him luck,” She breathed, with no shortness of disbelief. “Hasn’t Raven vetoed every pet you and Ruby have ever tried to get?” “She’s not a pet- she wouldn’t be staying with us after this anyway. But… yes. She’s never liked the idea of us having animals- besides Zwei. But he’s dad’s dog- she doesn’t have any say in that.” “Is she allergic? My mom’s the same, but at least she can say it’s because of an allergy to dander. I think your mom’s just kind of a hard-ass.” “Really? I always thought she was wizened beyond her years.” Both of them jumped; Yang slid the glasses down over her face again in an instant, and Pyrrha’s chest was heaving heavy as she reached up to hold her hand against her ribcage, closing her eyes a moment to recuperate as Raven side-stepped her at the bench and faced them both. She was dingy and comfortable in the horrible gray atmosphere of the overcast afternoon, in black sweats and a motley black and red baja hoodie with ugly, duckling-yellow patches at the joints. She was sunglass- clad too, and her smile was anything but genuine; it sat like a dead thing on her face- worse, it propped itself like a corpse for photography between her frown lines. “You. Truck. Now .” “I am… seriously not in the mood,” Yang rolled her jaw, and it cracked off the left side, sending a little twinge up the side of her face and into her scratch. She refused to wince, though; the lightless black barrier between her mother and her was too thick to soften her resolve. Unfortunately, that seemed to work both ways. “Ignoring the hard-ass comment, I wasn’t asking. We have a discussion that needs to be had. In private .” “Personally, I feel pretty much like family-” “Pyrrha, you’re lovely; there is nothing personal about this- your mother would shoot us both if you finished that sentence,” Raven didn’t even turn her head to spare her a glance, still focused squarely on Yang- at least- assumedly focused. “Also, it’s kind of a little personal. Fuck you, I’m not a hard-ass.” “You’re trying to threaten me home for no reason, you kind of are,” Yang scoffed. Crossing her arms under her chest was only partially in spite; she watched Raven’s shoulders hike up and ease with her measured, collected breathing. “...I’ll text you later, Pyr.” Raven was graceful about her win, at the very least; she jiggled her keys in her hand, spun them on her carabiner like an asshole, and turned halfway on her heel toward the direction she’d come. “Nice seeing you, Pyrrha. Tell Theodora I hate what she’s done with her hair.” “Yes, Ma’am…” Pushing herself up to stand was easier said than done; every inch of her was hot from the inside out; today’s excursion had been nothing but a disaster… first her pillows, and then Emerald… and now this. She wasn’t excited for this chiding- less so for the news she’d have to give Ren and Nora: that would go over well, she was sure. She slipped the sunglasses back down over her face as she stood up, and they made everything warmer by comparison. It was almost comforting, in the gray malaise of a pre-storm day. Pyr reached up and squeezed her hand in what little remaining semblance of comfort she could provide, and it was… nice. Really nice. When she got in the truck, Raven was waiting, sitting with the keys in the ignition and the air conditioning on high. She didn’t bother to spare Yang a glance as she hopped up into the truck, and Yang returned the favor, pointedly staring out the windshield like there was even a single thing more interesting to look at. The radio was turned down low again. “That was a dick move,” She said, not to Raven in particular, just… into the air of the cab. Raven shifted gears into reverse in response, and took the moment to pull out of the space she’d pulled into along the downtown sidewalk. She hated parallel parking- Yang never understood why she kept doing it. “You didn’t listen to my advice, did you.” It wasn’t a question. “You just confronted her.” “Oh, were you listening in on that too?” She scoffed- like she actually had a right to be offended. “Please. I caught the last- very insulting, might I add- two words of that conversation. I wasn’t snooping, I’m not a monster. And no, you’re just predictable, and your favorite pastime seems to be slamming yourself headfirst into brick walls, so- one can assume that literally nothing I say makes any kind of lingering impact.” “Oh my god- literally everything you say has an impact! You're my mother! Congrats on being the pessimistic voice in my head- does that make you happy?” “You sound like Ruby right now, I hope you know.” Yang bit her tongue- and her next comment back. She supposed, if nothing else, then Raven at least had perspective. Yang leaned her head back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and let the air conditioning blow on her throat for a couple seconds as her mind raced. Maybe taking a moment to collect herself was a good thing. “Can I ask about the sunglasses?” She said it with surprising delicacy. Yang didn’t even open her eyes to acknowledge it. “...it’s a bit of a stretch, even for me.” Neither of them said anything as the downtown passed them by, cresting up over the valley hill and taking the least trafficked areas Raven could find to weave through Vale and back to the sanctity of the farm. They made it all the way back to the winding road with the storage locker facility off the corner, before Raven tried to broach conversation one more time. “...change can be… upsetting. I know that well enough. If you’re experiencing any… changes… you can talk to me.” Yang debated the health risks of throwing herself from a moving vehicle. “I have quite literally been through two separate puberties- what the fuck , Raven.” “Okay! Fine! Deal with it on your own time, jerk.” She took a sharp turn, and Yang ended up shoulder-checking the window. It was a miracle they pulled into the lane without wrecking the truck. The millisecond after they parked, Yang was already hopping down, slamming the door behind her. There was woodsmoke in the air, and petrichor mixed in with it; she could have breathed it in forever. Instead, she stormed the door- which Raven was holding open- and shoulder-checked her on the way through it and up the stairs. She took them two at a time, and didn’t stop at her bedroom. She couldn’t deal with the stupid cat right now- she couldn’t even think straight. The door slammed behind her harder than she meant it to, and the bathroom fan was cool on full blast as she turned the lock and shut off the lights. What was she going to do? Fuck! What was she going to do? Yang turned on the tap, and ignored the tepid knocking on the door. It came down hot and steaming, and she breathed in the vapor thickly as she stepped into the tub and let the shower soak her from head to toe. She felt heavy… and feeling heavy helped to ground her. If she sputtered, it was only momentary. If she rubbed at her eyes, it was to drag the suffocating exhaustion out from them. The knocking persisted… and she ignored them. Walled off inside the shower, she was able to breathe for what felt like the first time all day. She pried the sunglasses out of her curls, and closed them deftly, one leg at a time, setting them on the outside lip of the tub. She let the hot water run off of her for a moment- let sound fade into nothing- the patter of water melting into something monotonous; she unfocused her eyes, and shut them tight, and swam in the darkness for a moment, as the sparklers went off behind her eyelids. She could smell the sulfur in the water- could just latch onto the anise soap in the basin at the tub's edge- could smell the antiseptic lingering in the toilet bowl. Yang’s mouth was as dry as cotton; her tongue was sandpaper-consistency, and her throat crackled like foil when she swallowed. She opened her mouth, caught some of the shower water, and spat it out. It was the viscosity that did it- the coagulated chunks in her mouth. When she opened her eyes, she blinked back horrible, cartoon-red, and froze, breathing hotly through her nose; she didn’t scream. Her hands were dripping with it in dense brown straights, like molasses, and the stench was iron and foul. It dripped down off her head, and splattered down in plinking droplets to the porcelain. It ran back into her mouth, and she gagged, throwing the curtain back and lunging for the trashcan. Everything was dizzy- the bathroom spun and her field of vision narrowed as she heaved dryly into the trash can, drooling more than anything else. She spit again, and this time, when Yang leaned back in to scramble up and shut off the tap… it was water again. Her hands were wet… but there were no signs of anything out of the ordinary. No blood… no viscera… just water. Yang shut the water off anyway… and just sat there for a long moment, breathing hard and deep from the center of her chest. She pulled her knees to her chest… and let herself weep a creeping, choked little cry.
*   *   *  
When she’d finally stepped out, Yang had no real concept of how much time had passed. The bathroom clock was ticking… but the hands weren’t moving, stuck at 9:00 on the dot. Yang didn’t bother. Tepidly… she kicked off her pants one sopping wet leg at a time and tossed them in the corner. Summer could yell at her for that later. The sink was damp with humidity, and the mirror was fogged over entirely; Yang reached out, and wiped at the surface, until most of the moisture was gone, and it was just them, then… just her, and herself. She looked like a wreck. Her makeup was streaked thick and black down her face, and what foundation she had on was long gone. Her skin was flush- there was a nervous tremor in her hands as she leaned against the sink’s body, stared for a long moment, and then slapped herself fully in the face. “Get it together…” Every beat of her heart was slow in her ears, drunken sounding as she pitched forward, and pressed her forehead to the coolness of the counter. “ One thing at a time… please , just one thing at a time… ” Emerald was going to make her social life a living hell… Raven was hiding something from her- something about their culture… she had to be. She was seeing things; it wasn’t just her dreams, anymore, this was… violent. The nausea roiled up her chest and into her throat in response to the thought, and she fought it down with a dizzying gasp. Her hair dripped onto the floor- she could see her roots were starting to show. No. Nope. All it took was one strong push, and using the momentum to right herself, and once she was up, she pushed all the hair from her face back and slicked down her hair. She breathed in, and she breathed out. “Get it together.” She said again, and this time it wasn’t a plea to herself. And she was… good. She was functional. She left the bathroom, after far too long a time, and no one was waiting for her on the other end. She’d locked her bedroom door from the outside, afraid Summer would go in looking for her dirty laundry- not that Yang wasn’t perfectly capable of doing it herself. She procured the key from her hair, small and simple, tied with twine to a miniscule strip of hair in the middle of her dense curls. It was pearled with shower water, and the door clicked when she turned it to the right inside the keyhole. The old crystal handle spun a little without grasp, before it locked in place, and she pushed the door forward with a small shove of the shoulder. There was no eager, aggravated feline waiting at the lip of the door to bolt. She looked around… took in the room. A quick scan confirmed that there was no cat here… not anymore. No more of her pillows had been brutalized… but neither had the bowls of wet food and water been touched, and that was more concerning. She fought the little rising flash of something hot and panicky in her chest, and took timid steps inside. “...Gamble…?”She checked the closet. She checked under the bed. She checked behind the vanity mirror. Nothing.
*   *   *

Yang laid in her bed, limbs pointed out in a star of her body. The sheets were pooled at the bottom of the bed, and she couldn’t seem to make herself move. The world was heavy… and the damp was oozing from her, leaking and seeping into the mattress, the frame, the wood. There was a salt smell in the air, and it was briny like the sea.

She couldn’t see as the water began to pool at the floorboards, rising… rising… rising up to lap at her heels- her elbows- to soak the sheets under the small of her back, but she could feel the viscosity of it. It began to rise over her knees- to make islands of her toes, and creep up her sides; her arms wouldn’t lift. She couldn’t get her feet to budge- and the water- which was black not blue, and too thick to be anything nameable at all- was up to her bellybutton now, dipping in and out, threatening the edges of her chin.

Yang gaped for air- soundlessly. Her mouth formed words, but they were all silent. In her mind, she was thrashing- screaming- kicking; they were like flashes of alternate worlds in her minds eye… but they couldn’t help her here.

She felt it brush her side- and the panic in her surged as it passed. There was something in the water.

The muscles in her neck tensed, and struggled; she felt the veins protruding- felt the quiver in her throat without sound as she whimpered to God to save her- and managed to turn her head to the side.

That was all. No other movement- not an inch of give in her limbs. Just a head, turned enough to rest against her submerged pillow as the void lapped at her cheek… and the window. She had a view of the window, open and cool with the night breeze, cutting through the heat like a prayer.

Yang closed her eyes, and sank to grief.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Yang woke in a cold sweat, seeping into her mattress, smeared black with her mascara. There was a sound that was gurgling from her throat, and it was monstrously,

inhumanly

unhinged; there was someone in the room with her- hands on her wrists, on her shoulders, in her hair, pushing back her limp wet bangs and dragging some cool, damp cloth there. She was feverishly hot; her chest felt tight with a racing, rapid panic, and the pain that was beginning in her throat was tinged with the taste of blood.

She was screaming- continuously- and even as she became aware of it, it persisted, until her throat began to pool irony and hot. She pushed the nearest body away, threw herself from her bed, and retched. It came up horrible and acidic, and she could feel it in her nose. Her limbs were trembling- with exhaustion, or fear, or whatever else, she couldn’t be certain.

It was dark in her room- she could tell that much- but her vision was dotted with millions of white-hot stars. Now that the scream had stopped, no more seemed forthcoming; her body rioted, and another wave of overwhelming nausea and bloody bile pitched her forward into her carpet. She fell into what might have been the only sliver of light in the room: the door was open, casting a long amber strip from the wall to her window, and she was smack in the middle of it. Yang glanced up, and saw Ruby standing in the doorframe, shiny with summer night heat in her attic, and wide in the eyes.

Maybe it was that, that did it: maybe it was Ruby, standing with her hands on the doorframe, fingers pinched tight against the wood and her face a horrible twisting blankness… it was the look they’d applauded in every thriller they’d ever watched together, curled up on the couch.

It made her sick to her stomach. Yang buried her face further in the carpet- further in the foul-smelling mess, and cradled herself up and around the ribcage, holding fast until she could feel the capillaries breaking under the skin. The only apology she could make was a low groan; the only disgust she could voice was a long, agonized moan, sob-choked and wet.

Someone hooked her under the armpits- it might have been Tai, or it might have been Raven, she couldn’t be sure, at first- and bit by bit, lifted her up to sit with her back to the side of the bed. The cloth returned to her forehead… and then a hand, dense and warm and flat against her brow. When she opened her eyes again, Raven’s eyes were as lightless and gaping as a pit in the earth, and it frightened Yang; with the pinpricks of stars exploding in her field of vision, her mother- who’s features were blurred and smeary- was the dead of space.

Yang sobbed like a wounded, fitful child, and was unashamed for it; every blink was agony- every move vibrated through her body like a livewire.

Raven took her by the face, and pressed the skin of her forehead to Yang’s until their noses were brushing, and Yang could smell the irony slosh of her eyes, and the way they oozed from the spaces between meat and socket; Yang’s breath came in hot, staccato pants, and those, too, were thick and nauseating with something not unlike a perfume made of a million copper pennies.

“Don’t fight it,” Raven was saying, fisting her hands in Yang’s hair. “Ride it out. You have to let it happen Yang-”

“

No!

” Yang sobbed. She watched the splatter as it hit her mother in the face. Raven didn’t flinch. The pit of her eyes got blacker and deeper as the sparkling got brighter and hotter, and sharper. It was like needles behind her eyelids, stabbing her over and over and over again every other half a second as she strained to make out Raven’s details.

“

Listen to me-

” Yang had turned away- had torn herself from the contact, and refused; Raven forced her focus back, and the pain rattled around in Yang’s skull.

“This is too much!” Summer’s words were wet around the edges, and Yang felt each of the miniscule attempts at tugging Raven away reverberate through her body. “Don’t hold her like that!”

“Tai!” Raven barely moved her mouth, but it was animalistically raw and loud. The tugging stopped, and forcing her face around Raven’s for the entire millisecond Raven lost the struggle to hold her head in one place, Yang watched as Tai wrapped his arms around Summer bodily, and held her while she kicked and screamed and protested. Ruby had gone from the doorway.

Raven’s voice dropped so low that Yang wondered if she was hearing it at all- or if it was just some strange hallucination again. Her face was stony and unflinching, flecked black with blood-spittle. “I know this is a lot but I need you to trust me. Look at me- Yang… I need you to trust me. It hurts, I know it hurts. Breathe from your belly, low down… keep your eyes on mine. Hate me. Fight me. Kick me, bite me, sob yourself dry- but stay awake. Stay awake… please.”

In all her life… Yang didn’t think she’d ever heard Raven genuinely beg her so tenderly for anything; her fingers dug at the roots of Yang’s scalp like a vice. Yang breathed from the pit low down in the lowest reached of her gut, and it rattled up her body and through every synapse and muscle she had.

It was white-hot misery.

She lost track of time, or… lost track of awareness, maybe. She lived in intervals of heaving herself dizzy, leaning on Raven, and soaking in the ice water that- after a time- Summer began to sponge over her arms, her back, and her forehead. When a pink tinge began to creep its way across the lightening blue from her window, they shuffled her downstairs, each with an arm over their shoulder as they eased her down one step at a time.

Their bedroom was pitch dark and cool, and they helped her to sit on the edge of the bed before they swung her legs over, and Tai came in with the bucket of ice water.

Raven never let her sleep; three times, the dark, and the cool water, and pain fogged over her motions and her mouth, and three times, Raven urged her to stay conscious. Yang waited for the pain to ease… to tamper itself down… fade away, little by little. But it did not.

“

Mom

…make it stop,” She whimpered once, mid-forehead sponge, and it had dripped down the length of Raven’s arm to drip from one dark elbow onto the flat of Yang’s stomach, cool and shocking. Summer and Tai came and went at indistinguishable intervals; Raven was alone, sitting over her in the dark. “...

please make it stop.

”

“...it’s not going to stop.” Raven said, and it had been the worst possible thing for her to say; Yang’s chest felt cavernous with the death of relief. If she whimpered, like a kicked dog, and covered her eyes, Raven had the good grace not to look at her pitifully when she finally uncovered them. She just continued to wet the cloth, and squeeze its cool contents out on her skin as the hiss of heat sizzled in the air. “It won’t stop in a while, or in a day, or a year. It’s worse right now, because the exchange is fresh, but… you’re always going to be in pain, Yang. You’re never going to feel whole again, or healthy. When you wake up in the morning, there will be pain… when you go to sleep at night, there will be pain… when you’re with your friends- your lovers- your teachers- it will be there too. I’m… sorry it happened to you. I didn’t want this.”

Yang’s world was red and oozing.

“What am I going to do…?” It came out a long, wet hiccup, and she laid her head back on whoever’s pillow she had long since soaked through by then. “...what do I do…?”

“You’re going to keep going.” She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world- as though it were obvious. Even still… there was no malice in it. “You’ll have to wear a bandage, for a while. I’ll get you a reliable pair of sunglasses, after we expose them slowly, over time. This… is going to be a process, and it’s going to be strenuous on the both of us. I’ll show you how to make yourself a numbing stimulant… and eventually, you’ll be able to maintain more than an hour or two outside on sunny days.”

So that was what was in store for her, then. Becoming a hermit here, like Raven, living in pain every minute of the day she wasn’t doped up on painkillers. Weeping hurt, but she couldn’t help it; Raven said nothing further about it. Yang was too achy to move, and all her musculature felt like it had sloughed uselessly off her bone any time she tried, or she might have pulled away from Raven’s touch, curled herself in a ball, and screamed any time the woman made to touch her.

Somehow, time elapsed. For a beautiful moment, after a seeming mirage of blurry, fragmented minutes, Yang considered that maybe, all of the horror the previous night had seen had just been a hallucination- or a vivid nightmare. But then just as quickly, the pain began, hot and sharp in the meat of both her eyes. Before, the pain had been somewhat of a full-body spread of agony, with a pointedness toward her eyes- now it was localized, and somehow that was worse. The scream was silent, but it pushed the corners of her mouth to their splitting points, and her jaw radiated with a rolling, hot pain against its hinge’s capabilities. Her hand’s flew to her eyes on instinct, and the second she pressed the heels of her palms into them, she regretted it. This time, the scream was hot, sharp and loud; she barely had the consciousness to roll onto her stomach and muffle it in her pillow, stuffing her gaping maw with damp satin.

“

She’s awake!

” She heard Ruby scream from somewhere in the room; the footsteps thundered in multiple pairs up the steps in immediate response. Yang wanted to cry. Why…

why why why?

It was another small eternity before they could turn her back over on the bed, and the smell of iron was harsh again in the dampness of the pillow where she’d muffled her pain. The second she saw Raven’s tall and imposing figure overhead, she balled her first in the fabric with a sickening squelch, and threw it at her with what little strength she might still have.

Raven batted it away like it was nothing, and Yang sank back to the mattress to clutch fitfully at the space over her eyes, “Make it stop!”

“I can’t-”

“You can! You have to!” Her demands were ignored outright.

“

Go, I’ll sit with her

,” she heard the low, simpering reply, and she wanted to spit her displeasure; instead she bit down hard on the inside of her lip and drew blood. Summer said something in an even lower register that she couldn’t hear, and then she was gone; the bed depressed slightly to her left, and Ruby smiled at her when she turned her head to look, sitting upright with her legs crossed, picking at her butchered black jeans with nervous fingers. The smile was uncomfortable, and forced.

Yang turned her attention- and her anger- pointedly back on Raven. She thought she was so clever, keeping Ruby here… trying to soften her feelings, get Yang to dumb down her pain, for

Ruby’s

sake… what a joke. “Make. It. Stop.”

Raven grabbed a dining room chair- when had they brought that in?- and set it down on her right side, where she’d spent the night sponging down Yang’s fever. There was no light coming in through the thick drapes on the windows, which, suddenly made a lot more sense, and Yang got the idea that if there had been, Raven would have been backlit and radiant with the orange light of dawn, all the warm tones in skin and her hair and the deep brown robe she wore in loose rumpled drapery made golden.

Raven struck her first blow gloves off, below the belt. “I can’t make it stop. Nobody can. It’s a generational curse on our coven, and if you get it, it’s permanent. I have it, and you have it, and if you ever have a daughter, she’ll probably have it too.”

She felt Ruby shift a little uncomfortably on the mattress beside her; Yang stored that away for later. “You said I probably didn’t have magic, that all my dreams were just dreams. I’m in my twenties… Ruby’s been making things grow since she was

six

. So why now?”

Not a muscle on that stony face tweaked. “I lied. I thought it would pass over you. Your dreams-

prophecies

- they were so mundane, insignificant. I assumed that because your father is mortal, it had watered down your capabilities, and your chance at exhibiting the genetic traits. That’s my fault, and I’ll take the responsibility for that… I should have prepared you more.”

It took all of her physical strength and considerable amount of extra, pain-fueled rage for Yang to lunge forward with the intent to grapple the woman who had so recklessly guided her so far, and even then, she was unsuccessful. Ruby’s arms wrapped around her torso, and Raven leaned out of reach, and together, they managed to wrestle her back to the bed, screaming every obscenity Yang had ever imagined and could possibly think to string together. It was only after Tai came in and switched places with Ruby to hold her in the bed, her arms flattened out at her legs, that she breathed herself into enough relative calm that the pain was an evenly-paced, wet throb behind her eyes, and the red had- metaphorically though in no way yet physically- faded from her field of vision.

“Should have prepared-

you think?

You are truly the cruelest woman alive oh my GOD-”

“Yang-”

“No! This is not fucking okay! What else haven't you told me? Where do I go from here?” She’d been awake for too long, and in a senseless kind of pain and discomfort for most of it. If she was crossing lines, Yang didn’t care. There was blood on her clothes and sticky in her hair, and her cheeks were wet where the thin anemic consistencies of it were seeping from the edges of her eyes. “You let me have a life. You let me have friends, and parties, and a job, and freedom. You tried to make me go to

school.

I’m going to spend the rest of my life in this house, useless, and it’s all your fault-”

“Don't,” Tai’s voice was hot in her ear, and surprisingly harsh. “...don’t. We can’t control what our ancestors are responsible for, Yang. And you can’t blame her for giving you everything you ever fought to have.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Raven said, and it was as stony and impassive as the rest of her. Yang hoped she crumbled away into dust. “She’s right- just let her get it off her chest.”

“She should have told me- you should have

told

me.”

“Raven didn’t start this curse, Yang,” she could feel him flexing his arms, squeezing her with a small, gentle effort at some kind of hug. Raven said nothing. In the dark, Yang considered her for a long, tense time, with Ruby fidgeting in the corner by the window, and Tai’s voice like minty balm to the burns on her soul soothing her ear, half-muffled in her hair. “-sometimes ignoring things is easier than facing them- for everyone involved.”

I’ve got you

, he was saying without actually saying it. Yang swallowed back her anger the tiniest fraction.

“...what happens now?” She asked again, this time a little more pointedly… but a fraction less hostile. It had started now… it couldn’t be taken back. So Yang was just going to have to buck up, and move on. She flexed back a little, and Tai let go of her almost instantaneously, getting back up off the bed and wordlessly understanding her request. Ruby, too, stood more upright in her corner, shuffled back and forth for another second or two, and made up her mind to come over and kiss delicately at the top of Yang’s head, before tucking back and following their father out of the room. They closed the door behind them, and what little hall light from the kitchen was coming it gave way to a flat and affectless darkness. The air was stale with blood and sweat; Yang swallowed back the bile in her throat along with the reproach as she continued her point of questioning. “Where do I go from here?”

“We take things slow. It’s going to suck, but-”

“You misunderstood,” Yang ran her tongue over her gums and hated the taste, smoldering a little still. “I’m prefacing right now to save us both time- I’m not becoming a hermit. I’m not going to coop myself up here all day every day, and I’m not going to take any kind of special lessons with you about this. So

where

…

do we go

…

from here

?”

“I understand you perfectly,” Raven promised, with more grace than Yang was expecting, “-but I’m still your mother. I'm owning up to my mistake, Yang, and offering to fix it. Don’t you mistake my calm for acceptance. If you want to keep your lifestyle, I suggest you check your attitude at the door.”

The warmth in the room was uncomfortable and dogged; Yang tried to ignore the white-hot, pinging pains in her eyes as she focused on her mother’s dark silhouette. “...fine.”

“Fine.” Raven didn’t make any moves to get up, or shift herself in preparation for the shift in conversation, or anything. She just sat there, like a marble statue, soaking up the dark like a void in the stomach of greater space.

“I’ll teach you how to make that numbing stimulant, and in the meantime you can use what I have left. We’ll bum-rush your exposure therapy. It’s going to be painful… but I don’t doubt you can take it, if you want your life back so badly.”

“How long will that take?”

“A month. The full moon was two days ago, and we’ll have to wait for the start of the new cycle. Learning how to make it isn’t the hard part- it’s making it at the right time that’s important.”

“Can I be back to about normal in a month?”

“If you can be anywhere remotely near normal by the equinox in three months, I will be severely impressed.”

“How long did it take you?”

Raven laughed, loudly, and with a twinge of bitterness. “...too long.”

“Ma.”

She waved her hand, impatiently, as though dismissing Yang- or maybe herself. “Alright, alright. It was about a year before I could even see straight. Summer’s helped me with this for a long time… we’d both be a lot worse off if she hadn’t made the strides for me that she has in curative sciences. I suspect Ruby will jump at the chance to learn, too.”

“I don’t need Ruby to waste her time on that for me- I don’t want her to have anything to do with this at all. Speaking of: fuck you for bringing her in here as a buffer. That was underhanded, and it didn’t go unnoticed.” The pain was twinging in the farthest most parts of her eyes, and Raven let her muscle through it for a few moments before she clapped back.

“Yes, of course. How stupid of me, to think you wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m going to be better by the end of the month-”

“I’m sure you will be.”

“-and then I’m moving out.”

It was quiet for a long, expectedly tense time. Outside, birds were beginning to chirp in a sporadic, tone-deaf melody, and another hot, wet rivulet ran from the inside corner of one of her eyes. Yang drew it away with the pad of her thumb, and wiped her hands of it on Raven’s bedsheets.

*   *   *

Watching Nora kick up dirtsand to leap in the air, calf muscles powerful and flexing was like watching a golden god. The flat of her hand hit the ball with an audible

crack!,

and it wound through the air in flashes of white, like lightning. Her hair was tied up- at least as much as they could pull back at the top- and her headband was grooved to stay rooted in her hair as she made her counters. She was on the offensive, and when it came back around again- almost quicker than Yang was prepared for- she smacked it again with such ferocity that the pole vibrated deep in the earth, and the tether wound the ball to the base of it’s rope and then all the way undone again. Jaune hadn’t stood a chance.

The glasses made everything orange, as per usual, but even accounting for the red smears still threatening to drip from behind her eyes, Jaune was sunburnt and blistering. Ren had smeared him from head to toe in enough complimentary aloe goop to smother him, and this seemed to have worked enough to get him back on the beach for Nora to bat around, like a game of cat and mouse. Even still, his movements were stiff, disjointed, and awkward.

That being said… it wasn’t like she could do much better.

“I’m tapping out!” He called, squinting in the sun, and reaching up to ward off what was likely to be a barrage of displeasure from Nora- and to a degree, Ren. He took careful steps on the rocky sand to get out of the ball’s way as it lazily swung around with the residual of Nora’s monstrous strike.

“What? But we just started!” She caught it mid-swing as it came back around, and cradled it under one sculpted arm.

Jaune had already made it halfway toward her, off to the side bank of dry, scratchy grass with the blankets, bags, and tall shaded umbrella they’d dug out of Jaune’s attic space for her. Yang watched him plaster his face in something conciliatory. She hated when he did that…

“I’m gonna cool down a bit,” He said, in tones like that was not his intent at all, and although half-turned it was harder to read his face, between all the little hot, white pinpricks in her vision, she could see the unspoken conversation they were briefly having- the one in which Nora’s face eased out of tepid annoyance, into something more understanding. Yang pretended to be preoccupied with the book in her lap; she had yet to turn the page for a full 20 minutes, but attempted- however lazily- to appear as though she hadn’t seen and understood immediately.

“Alright Lie! You’re up!” Nora shifted focus quickly, at least. By the time Lie had kicked off his beach shoes and shuffled over to take his place at the pole, Jaune had come up the bank and eased himself down onto the towel. She watched him, subtly, as he grabbed one of the coolers and rifled around in it, producing a wet strawberry, the cream cheese, and a plastic-wrapped pastry he’d stolen from the kitchen of his parent’s bakery. She watched him take a small plastic knife and cut the strawberry into slices, with all the delicate gentleness in the world.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” She said, and he looked at her over his shoulder. He was no longer squinting in the sunlight- half shaded by her umbrella- and his eyes were bright and clear blue: as open and tranquil as a cloudless summer sky. The color was breathtaking, and it hurt her eyes to look at them too long.

He paused in his slicing. “...It’s just a plastic knife, Yang.”

She let him rethink for a minute- for two- and when he did not correct, she elucidated. “...you know that’s not what I mean.”

He shrugged… kept slicing, and when he was done, he popped one of the thin slices into his mouth, which was long-jawed and soft with white peach fuzz. He offered her a slice, hanging off the flat of the plastic looking unceremonious and simple. It filled the air with a strawberry smell, and her throat watered.

She took it, and popped it in her mouth, looking back out on the small stony shore. Nora had been so excited, when they’d heard the pole and the slide dock had been put back up. It was annual tradition here, and she wouldn’t have missed it for anything- especially not her own physical limitations. “You don’t have to pretend you need a break to come check up on me.”

Jaune looked out on the beach too- they both watched as Ren was nearly hit with the ball one vicious strike back from Nora. He opened up the cream cheese and tore the seal; it was pungent smelling, and heady. “No… but it’s easier to get away if it’s for a good cause.”

“So you're pretending to pretend to come check up on me to get a break- ahhh I see now. That’s kind of genius, actually.”

“You think so? You make it pretty easy. You’ve been very sullen and hostile all day- you’ve got Nora all kinds of confused.”

It wasn’t that the idea wasn’t sweet- and Nora was, if nothing else, known for her blunted edges. In a small way, it was flattering that Nora was so uncertain about how to go about Yang’s sudden shift in mood; on the other hand, it twisted something deep in her gut at the thought. She and Nora had been through more than most… Yang’s friendship with Pyrrha was one thing… but Nora was in her own, equally meaningful league to contend with. Through sports, school, hormone therapy, moderate familial independence- they’d been attached to each other. But this… this was different. Nora couldn’t follow her into this one- no matter how hard she tried.

The thought soured her mood further, and to her small, quietly twinging dismay, it seemed to sour Jaune’s a little too. He bit into and sucked the flesh from a strawberry, but his gaze was distant, wandering the lake, the beach, the tree line- anywhere but her. A breeze tussled lightly at his hair, and the cool of it against her skin was heavenly.

“...we should do another sleepover soon. Not a party, just… a sleepover. Like we used to do.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” he nodded slightly after a moment, and she loved that that was all it took with Jaune to win back his favor. Just a couple steps forward could buy her so much of his patient regard. “Thinking the whole gang?”

“Pyr, Nora and Ren, and us two, yeah.”

“I’ll try to find a date to host here soon. My parents are leaving town in two weeks, I think, so that should line up with everyone’s off days.”

She nodded. The sound of a car door turned her head, and she watched through straining, throbbing eyes and a thick pane of orange glass as Pyrrha stepped out of a small, ratchety gray car in sparkling sunrise colors. She was long in the leg and high-waisted, and the curve of her swimsuit cut above her sharp-boned hips, rolling in shades of shattered red glass patterns. They’d picked it out the summer before, on a shopping trip, and it was as perfectly suited to her as ever. With her hair down and waving auburn in the blue sunny breeze, she was divine, and breath she drew from Jaune alone was enough of an indicator that of all of them, Pyrrha had always been the brightest blossom in the bouquet.

“Pyrrha’s here,” She said, to no one in particular, but something was dogging her… the car was unfamiliar, and Yang knew cars- to an extent. It was old, and battered, missing half the front bumper, and scratched on the passenger door. It certainly couldn’t have been Ms. Nikos… so who then, had dropped her off.

She watched in real time as the driver-side door opened, and from so far, it was hard to tell exactly who had stepped out… but then the back doors were opening too… and Yang closed her book definitively, setting it aside and doing everything manageably within her power not to crack every single one of her back molars.

“Oh,” Jaune said, as they started across the small field, trampling the wildflowers to bridge the gap. “That's… new.”

Pyrrha reached them first; she wasn’t smiling, as usual, and there was a lingering, tugging sort of scowl that was twitching her face in an uncomfortable way. She looked directly at Yang, when she spoke, which was at the very least gratifying enough. Count on Pyrrha not to tiptoe around her- even in the direst of straits. That being said, Yang took great pains to reign in her fury and give her friend a chance to properly explain why the Sustrais and another complete stranger were supposedly joining them.

“I didn’t invite them, I swear,” She breathed her ragged, quick defense. “I went to talk to Mercury, and Emerald saw my swimsuit and assumed… and she dragged them here.”

“And you just came with them?”

“I was going to walk the whole way here- my mom refused after she heard I went over to talk to Weiss. That’s not important right now,” She hissed back, and Yang spared the approaching problem a quick darting glance before turning back to hear her out. “I didn’t want them to get here before I could warn you… and Mercury offered.”

“It’s alright…” It was not, but that was fine. Yang reached out and squeezed quickly at Pyrrha’s hand as she rounded the umbrella, and took long, quick strides to Nora at the pole, reaching her in an instant. Jaune could only stare, eyes flashing as he seemed to be cataloging the incoming intruders. God damn the world and all its moving pieces, and god damn Emerald Sustrai to hell.

It was momentary; Yang moved quickly up out of her lounge chair and from under her umbrella, and intercepted Emerald like a brick wall, chest to chest. The sun was hot and yellow, and it threatened to take her out at the knees, the slow, creeping burn was seeping into the edges of her eye sockets, even behind the sunglasses. But she stood, and she weathered it.

“Emerald.”

Emerald smiled; it was a coy sort of smile, and it was wholly that side of her that was petty and mischievous and provocative. “Yang.”

She was oiled and lotioned, and smelled overbearingly like powder and something artificially floral. They were the same height, but on the grassy slope, Emerald was taller; she stood like a conqueror, and her eyes were pointed and rolling bloody brown. For a moment, Yang faltered… and then checked herself. “What’re you doing here.”

“It’s a public beach, Yang.” Emerald scoffed, and her expression was a masterclass in relaxed, easy acting. “You’re the one avoiding

me-

why should I suffer out on summer fun for your convenience?”

“Do we have a problem?” Mercury asked, leaning a little closer over Emerald’s shoulder. It wasn’t a threat, the way he said it… Mercury wasn’t even dressed for the beach, and his expression was long, and dark-eyed. Something about the way he looked at her… maybe he wasn’t as gullible as she’d taken him for initially. If he knew the truth of his sister’s little puppet show… he was getting bored of it. Yang put that away for later, and tore her attention back to Emerald.

“No…” She decided, after a long moment. “No, we don’t.”

When she stepped down, and off to the side with such blatant and immediate release of the building tension, she watched the fall of Emerald’s face- before the mask repositioned itself, and then cracked again, a little bit, in what was unmistakably anger. Yang ignored her, and turned her back fully to ease back down into her chair, the shade washing over her like a cool, murky tide. The stones at the base of the slope were sunwarm on her toes, and the sand crunched and pooled like a non newtonian fluid as she played with it absentmindedly, grabbing her book again, and opening back up to the never-ending page.

At the tetherball pole, Nora snorted an instinctual, astounded laugh, and immediately sucked it back in with pursed lips. Emerald shuffled down the stope, and made a point of heading there first; Pyrrha’s swallow was audibly dense, and she didn’t move out of the way, even as Emerald stood far too close, her focus on Nora entirely.

“I haven’t played since first grade- show me how.” It wasn’t a question, and the rudeness of it was absurd, but to her credit, Nora didn’t say a word about it: she smiled, rolled her dense, muscular shoulders, and cracked her neck, producing the ball in her hand for Emerald to take.

“You can take the first shot.”

It became evident quickly what Yang’s unintentional direction had set the precedent for with the new arrivals- particular and specifically, with Emerald. No resistance, no indulgence, just an unbothered regard. Yang, for all intents and purposes and with no malice whatsoever, had employed the last and most genuine tactic in her arsenal: indifference.

As much as she hated it… she had Raven to thank, in a way. If her mother hadn’t ruined her life, Yang might have cared more about handling Emerald’s temper tantrums. But she didn’t care anymore. Nothing was ever going to be the same for her- there was no such thing as a pristine life, and she wasn’t ever going to fall for that again. So… whatever. Whatever Emerald wanted to throw at her, fine. Yang didn’t care anymore.

Emerald hit the ball with a wrath that bordered on desperation. It was a good hit… but it was nothing. Nora let the ball wrap nearly all the way to the last rotation, before she wound herself back, and gave it one cracking blow that nearly split the leather itself. The pole rattled, the stones clacked at its base, and Emerald- who was nearly a foot taller than Nora, and in face-range- screamed as it wound around her at breakneck speed, unwrapping fully and rewrapping to the ball’s base in a near instant. Ren had to walk away to the little grill patio a few paces back to keep from laughing outright at her.

When it had slowed, Nora caught the ball, and held it out to her again. “Warmed up?”

From beside her, Yang felt the shift as Jaune put the lid back on the cream cheese and tucked the pastry back into the cooler, pushing it beside her chair and grunting as she shifted himself up. She didn’t have to ask where he was going; Mercury had settled unhappily next to Pyrrha, standing off to the side by the big rock, watching as the antagonistic tetherball battle ensued. He had sand in his hair, and the aloe had long since dried on his deep red burns. She didn’t wish him luck; he’d hardly need it.

And then it was just her again, sitting on the side-lines, and watching the proceedings as she pretended to be invested in a book she couldn’t even recall the plot of. A boat drove by and the motor was loud; they were playing music over a speaker, and as they passed, the lake rippled and churned, lapping in long, pulling waves down the sandy hill. Unintentionally, she was reminded of the dream she had, and the memory of it churned the pit of her stomach. It was blurry now… the details were difficult to cling to. But the water remained, and the woman.

The towels depressed again, and for a moment, she had been so distracted that she figured she must have missed something… but no one from the group had moved. Yang glanced sidelong at the space beside her.

Her eyes were a liquidus and supine amber, like the flat of a golden coin; Yang called to mind the image of a dead man, and a fee for the ferry. Behind that striking amber color, there was deep seated warmth unlike the warm browns she was familiar with: ruddy and rusted or earth-crusted. They were set in dark, dense lashes- bottom and top- and for a moment, Yang was so thoroughly frozen in the sense she had seen those eyes before- that she’d seen this woman before- that she almost missed the way her pains had begun to ebb and flow, not unlike the undertow. It made the harsh pains softer… but it trembled through her body in a lash of pinpricks and numbness. Yang felt red-cheeked and slack-jawed.

A strand of tawny, lank black curl fell from the curvature of one long dark ear, and hung listlessly for a moment to curtain her face as the woman tilted her head, ever so slightly. She had the face of a porcelain doll, the eyes of a panther. Yang swallowed as quietly as she could make herself as the stranger reached out, and gently withdrew the book from where she had abandoned it in her lap. Her hands were warm and sturdy looking, and there was no hint of a tremble in them as she rescued it, and then made a show of studiously examining the cover.

“Who are you?” She asked, sounding more sullen and hostile than she’d meant to. Damn it, Jaune…

The woman didn’t give her the time of day; she ran her fingers over the book: traced the title, and the spine edges- and peeled open the cover with such a deft gentleness that Yang couldn’t help but just…

watch

as she turned the pages one by one in an even paced rote, as though she knew their contents by heart.

“Em’s told me a lot about you,” She said, instead of giving any real kind of answer, and Yang waited for the follow up, however thin her patience. “What happened?”

“Absolutely none of your business.”

She made a little humming sound, but her face was stoic and unsettlingly blunted for such pretty, delicate features. It was a look that plucked at something hot and angry deep in the center of Yang’s ribcage… but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. The stranger closed the book, and crossed one long brown leg of the other, halfway exposed to the sun as the rest of her sat shrouded in the umbrella’s darkness. “...I’m a friend of Em’s, you could say. She told me you’d be here… and I wanted to meet you.”

Did none of these people understand a fucking boundary?

Yang ground her molars, and bit down hard on her tongue to ward off the responding agony as the meat in her sockets rubbed dryly in painful, craggy stabs. She had the stimulant that Raven had rationed out for her in her beach bag… but it wasn’t time for that yet. She could weather it out a little longer. And besides- it would be harder to slip away now, with the unwanted arrival.

The woman seemed to notice her fidgeting, and Yang chided herself for it mentally. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but Emerald kind of just invited herself-”

and you

, she said without saying, “-to our function to upset me.”

There was a pause… and she shrugged, shifting her legs underneath her sit halfway on her hip. She was, unlike Mercury, wearing what might pass for a swim suit, and Yang was not blind to the attempt at showing it off- however blinded she may actually be. It was pitch black and ruffled off the hip she was favoring, cut taller up the hip than even Pyrrha’s had been- and Pyrrha’s legs were at least long enough to accommodate it. Why should Yang have been surprised- it was as flimsy and promiscuous as Emerald and the world's smallest bikini top was. They were perfect for each other. If Yang didn’t know any better, she’d have been sorry for Emerald: this woman knew what she was doing, and she knew how to do it far better than Emerald.

“Oh I know that,” She said, as Yang had expected, and she turned her head to look out on the lake- but her stare was far more distant. The islands across the water? Oldtown on the other side of the lake? “The problem with Em is she’s too in her own head. And she lacks incentive. She’s

bored

… and you’re cute. She’s very bad at the game.”

“I don’t know what game either of you think you’re playing, but it’s sick. People’s lives are playthings- mine included. That’s what you’re saying, right? That’s why you came here? You’re playing the game with Emerald, and she’s playing the game with me-”

“Shittily-”

“-shittily, yes- and now you’re here to play the game with me too.” Yang scowled. Her head felt tight, and hot, and compressed. She reflexively flexed her fingers and tried to find some better ground to stand on. “Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to treat me like a toy? You don’t even know me.”

“That’s the best way to play with someone,” the stranger countered, unabashedly. Yang expected something to give way in her expression- something to reveal the pleasure underneath- the sick depravity of hunting someone for sport.

There was nothing… just a cool, solid resolve. Clinical. Detached.

Through the glasses and the sun and the shade; through the density of the space between them; through the watery pain in Yang’s body and the ebb and flow of the tide on the rocks, Yang memorized every inch of her face- cataloged ever slope and hill and valley in the planes that made her up. And Yang still couldn’t put her finger on the hot and angry something deep in the center of her.

The woman did not smile. She kept her gaze out on the lake, and seemed to be listening as the tide rippled in and out, splashing violently on the rocks. Nora smacked the ball, and Mercury’s voice carried through the air; Ren set fire to the charcoal in the grill with a whoosh of hot flame.

“... not knowing them. That’s the way.” She said, more to herself, Yang sensed with a tepid sort of unease, than to Yang. “If I know you… then I lose the game.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The needle went in with a sickeningly slick movement, like a board through a wave or mist on the hill; Yang strained to keep her face as straight and steady as possible as she pushed down the plunger, and retracted the needle. It was quick- no more than a minute or two- and her iris oozed gelatinous bloody something for a minute, but all Yang had to do was blink a few times, wipe at the accumulation in the corners of her eyes, and gently splash cold water on the area to ease any inflammation. Injections had never bothered her before. The location of this one was a little upsetting… but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t willing to do to ease that awful pain. Yang uncapped the needle tip and dropped it into the empty coffee canister with her estrogen disposables.

She stood there for a moment, throbbing under the lowlight bulbs that Tai had changed nearly every light in the house to. They made the bathroom blue and cold around the edges, and Yang wasn’t sure quite what to think of the change.

In the mirror, she was ragged… but not wholly unkempt. She reached up and- with a hesitance that had lingered on her like a dense perfume- tucked a few burnished blonde curls behind her ears. The result was girlish, and pretty- in a worn out kind of way. She was blotchy-cheeked and her eye bags were enormous… her roots were coming in too, brown-black and virgin and thick with oils natural and built up.

“What’s up, you fuckin’ nerd,” She said, and hated the way it tasted in her mouth. Even cringing back at herself in the mirror felt awkward. One of her eyes gave an involuntary twitch, and the shudder that rolled through her body came with a horrible cacophony of sparks and hot white deafness. She planted her hands against the counter to ward off the numb feeling beating casually at her bones with a steady ebb and flow. It would pass… she was learning that it always passed, with time.

The color was trippy to look at, in the aftermath of the numbing solution. Goopy, astringent- like an Outlast themed snow globe. Ugh.

“That’s enough of that,” It took her a couple steps to find her depth perception and balance again, but that was all she needed to get the bathroom door, and it was smooth enough sailing from there. Tai was waiting for her; she almost hit him with the door, she swung it so wide, but he caught it mid-swing, all smiles. “Oh! Fuck, don’t do that.”

“Sorry- hey, did you want to go into town with me?” He swung the key on his finger like he was cool, and she wrinkled her nose at the idea of it.

“Not particularly.”

He shrugged, nonchalantly. “That’s cool. I’ll see you in the car in ten minutes.”

Yang was getting real tired of people ignoring her

definitive

answers outright. It had been barely a day since that damned woman had wormed her way into the most invasive and dehumanizing conversation Yang had ever had the displeasure of being a part of… and it continued to leave a bad taste in her mouth even now. There was something upsetting about the nonchalant way she’d said it all, sitting there in the tall grass, staring out at the water like it was a rock and she was a coat pocket.

“UH, no. You won’t. I’m perfectly fine not going with you,” She scoffed, leaning against the frame with the express purpose of being a nuisance. “I can say it in chinese if you’d prefer-”

“Yang,” he said, and she didn’t like the shift in his tone… nothing about his features had changed, but even still… “I’m trying to do something here- would you indulge me just this once.”

It wasn’t a question. She wanted to say no- just to be spiteful- but, no… no, she supposed that wasn’t entirely fair. “...fine.”

She barely had the brain capacity to catch the sunglasses as he tossed them at her- from an absurdly close distance, too, the

ass

. “Wear something nice, but not

too

nice. And do your hair. Do you have any shoes that aren’t open toed or hiking?”

She could have shaken him; instead, she ground her molars together until she could feel her injection sites start to ooze again. “First of all, if you want me to do my hair it’s going to take me a hell of a lot longer than 10 minutes, second-”

“

I’ll

do your hair then. Grab some pants, let’s find you a decent shirt, and let’s go. We don’t have time to squabble about this- come on come on come on.” His clapping was disorienting enough that when he started pushing her down the hall toward her room, she was too focused on keeping her balance to snap back at him, or resist; it made her tight in the chest, but she bit back her tongue and stumbled through her own threshold before him. “Nice shirt, nice pants-”

“Alright!

Fuck

, dad, alright!”

He made a point of pointing at her pointedly on his way out, and this time when she threw the door in his face it was intentional. What was he up to? Nothing convenient, thoroughly planned, or sensitive, that was for sure. Yang toyed with the idea of going in a plastic skirt and bluejeans, just for the sake of spite.

But no… even if he was a brat… he was her father first and foremost. And as much as she did not trust him within an inch of her own life… what did she have going on today, anyway? Exposure therapy with Nora at the beach? It was overcast. Pyrrha was helping her mother with a house renovation, which was becoming increasingly more common, Yang was noticing every time she asked Pyrrha for her availability. So, what? Mope here all day? Wander around town herself, like a wraith? Skulking from street to street, making awkward waves and small talk with old school acquaintances Emerald had been steadily winning over to her side?

Sides… Yang scoffed to herself as she snatched a pair of thick, high waisted slacks from her closet, and tossed them onto the blanket heeps on her bed. Through her open window, she could hear Summer swearing to herself in the garden, and the cicadas in the trees losing their minds; it was too much noise. But the breeze was nice… so she did the next most logical thing: she walked over to the radio on her vanity, and cranked up the volume.

*   *   *

“Raven’s been very impressed with your progress,” He said, unprompted and unwarranted as he cut the wheel. Yang gripped the handle on the passenger side ceiling, and tried to tear her focus away from his shitty driving enough to process what he was trying to discuss. The road they turned onto was long and winding, flanked by tall pines on each side. Thunder cracked overhead, but there were no other signs of an impending shower- at least not here, and not immediately. No droplet plinked against the windshield, and no distant shower could be seen over the treeline.

“Seriously- she said you’re blowing this whole thing out of the water in terms of remission, at least. Qrow was bedridden for almost a year, and she didn’t start getting better until Summer formulated that pain killer, which must have been at least six months of researching and experimenting-”

“Qrow has it too?” How had she never noticed that before? Her mother’s twin was not exactly the most family oriented person… he traveled about as much as he breathed, and you were lucky to catch him in whatever spot he’d nested in for a day or two, before he was gone again. Clearly, the night-and-day adage of twins was correct, in their case. But had he always been cursed this way too? For how long? The same amount of time as Raven?

He hadn’t meant to say it. She saw well enough when she glanced his way that he had halted, paled slightly, and turned his focus exclusively out the window, his mouth pursed and working nervously at the insides of his cheeks, his eyes pointed almost uncomfortably consistently out the window. She must have blinked four times for every time he blinked in turn.

“Does Qrow have it too?” This time, she made a point of directing it as a question. He shifted in his seat, and adjusted his seat belt as they coasted down a long, sliping hill over a bridge into civilization again. It dawned on her quicker and more begrudgingly than she was willing to admit as he continued in a near straight path down a main road. “Are we in Orono? What do we need in Orono?”

“Look… What I was trying to get at is that, you’re doing so well with this that, I thought you could use a little launchpad. Don’t tell your mother- either of them- but… I’m proud of you for making the decision to move out. …I also know you don’t have any apartments lined up for viewing.”

“Dad…”

“It’s not concrete. And there's more to it than just an apartment. Think of this more like a job interview.”

The urge to shake him again was slowly returning, as was the twitchy, achy pain in her eyes from the tension she was feeling, despite the painkillers. “I’ve never done a job interview, dad, I work for

you

.”

“And I’m not saying you have to stop. Truth be told… You keep things running a lot better than I do, most of the time, and… I’m trying to be better about that. But I’ve been thinking about what you said, before… and I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have other options, or opportunities, because you’ve got to babysit my business for me.” She was surprised how far from bitter he sounded. This was one of those rare topics that- although she didn’t appreciate it- she could see why he was usually on the defensive.

Maybe it was this whole curse business, maybe not… but there was an edge to him that wasn’t there before, and the more she began to notice it, the more nervous it made her. “I’m your father. I know… things have been

weird

, and we’ve talked about it before… I’m always going to love you, no matter who you are, Yang. Even when you’re an asshole, I promise-”

She smacked him- just lightly, on the arm. He took a left up another tall hill.

“-what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been… weird, about things. I didn’t really realize I was doing it, either, I just… I think something’s clicked now that hadn’t, you know? Before? When you first started your girlification-”

“I am begging you to stop talking to Ruby,” Something about this conversation was supposed to be sweet, and she loved him for that… tepidly. Once she could piece together what he was trying to get at. It was strange hearing him beat around the bush this way. As long as she’d been alive, Tai had coped with humor. It was one of the earliest things either of them had learned from him… but even though he was still doing it now, his demeanor had changed, and he was trying his best to muscle through anyway.

“I just want you to know that I’ve got my feet under me again, and I’m going to stop letting you do all the lifting. I’ve been trying to be your friend, and that’s the opposite of what I should have been doing. I’m not saying you have to move out asap, or that you can’t work at the shop anymore, but I’m going to start making changes. And the first thing I want to do is help you prepare to be successful without relying on us, or the farm. That means apartment hunting, and… that means taking signs for what they are, and grabbing them while you've got the opportunity.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” It was a sweet speech; if she really thought about it, she supposed she hadn’t put much thought into his shift in behavior, since her transition began… but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate his candor about it now. He tugged on his hat brim in a fidgety way, and kept his eyes on the road as they rounded a sharp hilltop curve.

“I talked to an acquaintance of ours. There’s an opening in the house for a roommate… and a position as a bookkeeper in-residence.”

Bookkeeping? What did she know about bookkeeping? Besides keeping track of his finances, and inventory… She supposed it wasn’t a huge leap. Even still… it was a jump, and one that tickled at her ribs with something bubbly and trepidatious. She crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to think it through a little more clearly; out the window, the houses passed by, curtained in greenery, and speckled with flowers in myriad summertime colors. She counted each house with lilies, and began to get dizzy. “Who’s looking? Peter? I don’t know if I’m cool rooming with your old college buddy dad, even if he is pretty nice.”

“No, not Peter. And I wouldn’t suggest it, anyway- he’s twice your age, and he acts a quarter of that at most.” To his credit, the uncomfortable look that was pinching his long, suntanned face was convincing, and she watched him roll the idea off his shoulders like he wanted nothing to do with it, white-knuckle gripping the wheel. “I think you’ll get along, if all goes well. Just remember your manners, and answer questions honestly. This one seems to appreciate honesty, so I don't think it’ll hurt your chances.”

“I love you- if you’re going to keep being cryptic I’m going to get out of the car.” She’d barely finished saying it before he was shifting to park and twisting out the key.

“Too late.” His smile was pursed and apologetic, and he hopped out his door before she could lean over and shove him out. She knew even before she was fully out of the vehicle that- once again- she had found her way to this lavish and upsetting house, wherein a foreign witch was waiting for her, apparently. She wondered if he had any idea at all that she was a witch- it hardly seemed like a thing that would come up in conversation.

“When we get home,” Yang brushed her sweaty palms off on her pants as she rounded the front of the truck to join him, “I’m gonna kick your ass for this, old man.”

“If you can still take me, Varsity champ,” He said, all smiles as he reached out, clapped her on the shoulder, and swung himself back around the vehicle and into the driver's seat.

Ass

.

She was waiting in the front doorway, hands pocketed in her matt blue designer jeans, hair down, and stare intent. In the orange tint of the glasses, she was more colorful than Yang recalled, but then, as she reached the top step it was reassuring to see that little else about her had changed. In all the recent turbulence… that constant at least was nice. She was wearing a strapless, triangle patch over the eyeless socket, and it didn’t quite cover the scarring, but it did its job well enough. Yang made a point not to stare as they came face to face halfway up the steps. “Edelweiss.”

“Yang. I was surprised to see you getting out of the truck.” She voiced, not unkindly, and her voice had that curiously deep pull to it, accented and warm- but it was the kind of warmth you find buried in the coals of a dying winter hearth. There was peppermint on the wind, and Yang knew instantly it was her; that was going to be a hard smell to forget.

The truck had yet to pull away; she kept her posture casual, just to spite him. “How much did he tell you exactly? And what the hell, by the way- I thought you said your sister was coming to live here? What happened to that?”

It wasn’t like she didn’t have the room for more people to stay… but it was odd that the word was out, apparently. Weiss seemed to mull it over a little, impassive-faced and pretty. Her nose twitched, and she seemed to make up her mind, relaxing in posture. “...she’s not coming. Regardless, I planned to hire some research assistants, once I found more witches. I was being honest that it was a surprise to see you; all your father told me was that you have strong witch lineage, and are looking for housing.”

“He wasn’t lying…” It tasted like chewing glass, and like freedom the second she felt the words forming. “I’m trying to gain some… newfound independence. I feel like, since we talked, I’ve been starting to notice a lot of ways that I’m… attached to my mother, and our magic… and this was the last straw.”

When she pulled off the sunglasses, it seemed to take a moment, but she watched- through a strained, pained shifting of light- as Weiss nearly jumped out of her skin. Her brows knit together, and the doe shape of her singular eye bugged even bigger as she reached out with tepid fingers to feign a brush at the air in front of her cheeks. When her fingers did make a tentative kind of contact, they came away wet, and she rubbed a smear of it between her pale fingers.   “Is that blood?”

Yang blinked back more of the wetness, and it ran down her cheeks in what must have been a horrifying display of dramatism. “How’s my resume?”

Weiss didn’t even dignify her with a response; she stepped back, and Yang watched the cogs turning in her head as she stood back against the door to let her pass, rubbing the blood methodically between her fingers. It was bound to stain… “Come inside. I put on the kettle.”

It was as ornately and historically decorated as Yang remembered, following her inside the foyer. They bypassed the rest of the house and went directly up to the study; she watched as Weiss procured a long-toothed metal key like something from a horror movie, and inserted it into the lock on the door. It opened with a click, and then another series of 12 or so clicks that was… concerning.

“Why in the Fort Knox are there that many locks on the door?”

Weiss shrugged, and pushed it in. “It didn’t exactly come up the first time we met, but I am an Archivist, if that has any meaning to you?”

The office had changed since Yang had helped bring the shelf in: there were scores of boxes, totes, crates, and cabinets on one end of the room, each bursting with thick, rubber band-bound folders, loose papers stacked, square manilla packages, and tall rolls of paper that might have rivaled her height, if she’d dared to step far enough inside to measure. The windows were minimally obscured, so the view was still breathtaking- but the shelf sat empty and unused in the middle of them. “You haven’t decorated the shelf?”

Weiss was leaning back against the doorframe, methodically running her fingers over the teeth of the key like she was memorizing each atom. “...it was a gift, if you recall.”

Ah… that was right. Her sister… “I did remember that, yeah. I’m sorry she’s not going to be here with you, that’s gotta be tough. Are you very close?”

This responding shrug was equally as nonchalant. She looked past Yang, out the window, and her brow was curiously drawn together- not with consternation though. It was a heavy sort of regret that made Yang hot in the ears; she shuffled her feet a little, and looked away from her back at the piles of junk scattered through the room. One of the two desks at the opposite ends of the room was clearly well used: there were mugs and various stacks of small plates- a pen tucked into an inkwell, running ink down the side of the pot.

It was… surprising, to see it that messy. Weiss had in no way struck her as the type. The other desk- though shrouded still in boxes and carts and bins full of papers and folders and files- was bare, undecorated, and uncluttered by personal touches. It was cold, and utilitarian. If Weiss had caught her looking, she waited until Yang had walked over and touched her fingertips to the cool metal surface. No intricate woodworking here. “I’ll have to get another desk set up, but in the meantime, I hope you’ll be amicable to the idea of sharing with the other researchers. It’ll be in shifts, so you won’t be sharing air unless you do it on your own time, but I understand how challenging even this small nonstarter can be to hurdle.”

“...uh huh.” She voiced it more to carry the conversation, than in real processing. That was one other

small nonstarter

that Yang was going to have to hurdle: that Weiss spoke like a delegate more than she spoke like a college student. She took the chance to glance back at her over her shoulder. Weiss was watching, as Yang had entirely expected, but her expression was tight… uncertain. Anxiety had always been a friend of hers; Yang turned around fully, shoved her hands in her back pockets, and nodded back toward the door. “You said something about tea? I imagine there’s some questions you’ve got, and a contract to sign?”

The effect was immediate. Weiss’s entire body practically melted, and she nodded, breathing out in a quiet, but noticeable sigh. “Absolutely.”

Yang hadn’t seen the sitting room before. It was connected off the other side of the foyer by a set of french double doors with curved golden handles, and drapery on the windows: thin, taffeta-like white lace, bordered in thin stripes and tiny stars. They were on every window, she notices, as they came inside, and each of the windowsills was cushioned with downy looking pale blue pillows, sea green tassels and a long-wrapping gold-dusted trim. There were a couple of couches, all pristine white, and velvety to the touch as she came inside and sat down, at Weiss’s motioning.

Weiss took one of the two tall-backed blue armchairs sandwiching the right end of the couches. There was already a teaset waiting for them, porcelain and delicate looking, painted in watercolor peonies with long, thin green stems like snakes winding the base, splattered with blue. The cups, too, were ornate, with gold trimmed lips, and peonies painted along the outsides. The plates, too, were shaped like petals, and glazed a soft and pearlescent blue. It was nestled onto a plain silver tray on the cherrywood coffee table, and Yang had to take a second when she reached for a cup, to detour and run her fingers over the wood’s varnished surface. It was well done- nice work, and certainly not of any kind of local quality. She traced the grooves like veins and searched for the heartbeat- for the uniquely human touch that might give its maker away.

Weiss reached out and picked up the tea pot with two hands, clearing her throat. Yang watched her catalog inside for a moment- measuring the temperature, maybe- and scowl in a quietly dissatisfied way. She must have put the tea on before they’d arrived, and even then- Yang was sure they’d been a couple minutes late, even sans the office tour. She pulled back from her examination of the wood, and tried to shift her awkward, open legged, pitch forward into some kind of reasonable, comfortable posture that was not at once unprofessional. “Sorry about the tea.”

The wave in response was dismissive, at best, and quick. “It’s fine. Just a small nuisance.”

She watched in a sort of malaise, deeply curling in the bottom of her stomach, as Weiss shifted a small square quilt onto the tray, and set the pot back down on it. She left her hands on the sides, though, and they were long fingered and knobbled in between-finger calluses. It was like the moment before a gunshot, or an explosion; time seemed to slow, and for a half a second, she forgot what breathing was like.

Weiss’ hands had gone unchanged, for the most part… but the porcelain was beginning to heat. The steam was funneling up through the spout, and the whistle was starting, thin and sharp.

And then the shockwave blasted her back against the couch. Yang’s eyes contracted; she felt the sickening wet splatter sound as her injection sites spit with a sudden terrible vehemence, and dripped. Yang’s vision went red- literally, as the gore pooled and covered her eyes- and if any sound escaped her desperate, gasping maw, it was a backwards breath sucked inward.

There was a scramble; the tea kettle was screaming, since she could not, and all too suddenly there was a cloth over her eyes, soaking up the blood. Weiss was saying something to her- something reassuring? Yang pushed her away, breathed deeply through her nose, and just… took a moment, blinking the red around her eyes a moment, and letting the trails drip down her face where they may. Everything was red… but she could still see.

“Are you alright?” Weiss asked- to be polite, probably- and she was a few feet back now, holding her bloodied handkerchief.

It took a hefty amount of her composure… but Yang managed to readjust herself, fix her posture, and run her bloodied hands through her hair to push her bangs back from her face. “... yeah. I’m good.”

The throbbing was awful… whatever that had been, it had completely run through her painkiller. Yang tapped her nice brown dress shoes against the floor in some minimal kind of effort to distract herself, and grit her teeth. There were blood splatters on the floor, too, and the tops of her shoes, now. “Sorry about your handkerchief.”

“That’s alright,” it came out in a breathy sort of laugh. Yang looked up at her, and was mildly surprised to see the almost wild look in her eye, wide and stunned into a finger-fidgety kind of shock. She lowered herself back down into the chair with a tense-muscles sort of ease, and her breathing was ragged in her chest. Yang was at once warm in the face- it must have come across in her face what she was thinking, because Weiss’ porcelain pale complexion reddened almost instantly, and she reached up to fix her hair, and crossed one leg over the other. They sat there in awkward silence for a long time before Yang managed to find enough resolve through her pain to ask- all pretenses of politeness gone with the ache creeping into her head.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I used magic to heat the pot-”

“Yeah, I got that. The thing after.”

Weiss’ cheeks were a dark and freckle-pocked red, and she at least had the decency to look embarrassed with herself. “...you have a lot of capacity for magic. I was not… prepared for it to just… explode like that.”

Clearing her throat and uncrossing her legs, Yang watched Weiss reach out and grab the pot again, by the handle this time, and pour two ornate cups. “At this point, it’s safe to assume that you’ve been kept in the dark about many things. Now that I’ve done some small research, I find that it’s not unheard of- especially here, in your country- for witches to be unaffiliated, or disconnected from their covens. I initially assumed that your case was the same: that you were a descendant, with no knowledge of your heritage. It would have explained the low magical energy I had trouble sensing from you. Then you informed me about your mother- the greenwitch.”

“She’s not my biological mother,” Yang informed her, and Weiss didn’t bother to stop her motions as she pushed one of the cups lightly toward Yang, and lifted her own to her lips, sipping on it silently. Yang looked down at her own cup, and picked it up tepidly, smearing a tarry red-brown on the otherwise pristine porcelain. “My sister- half sister, I guess- is her biological daughter. She’s the one that got the greenwitch magic.”

“You mentioned earlier having an unhealthy attachment to your mother… and I wondered, if maybe I had misread the situation. Do you have contact with your birth mother? When we talked about baptism, you seemed completely oblivious to the concept- I imagine you were far too old for baptism when your stepmother entered the picture. It would make sense that she wouldn’t even consider it necessary… although, your sister should have been baptized. Unless you were Irish twins… then you should have some memory of it.”

Yang set the mug back down decisively. The red glare over everything was starting to blink thinner and thinner every time… but there was still a pink tinge to everything she saw. “Firstly: she’s not my stepmother, she’s my

mother

. Whether she gave birth to me or not. Second… yes. I do. It’s not like she left, or died or anything- she’s just an asshole. My dad and my birth mom had me, and they both fell in love with her. They both married her: my dad did it legally, and my mom did it the witch way, I guess. Ruby was born when I was four, and I don’t remember them doing anything like that.”

It took her a second to process, certainly; Yang watched each addition pass over her features like reading a book. “I see… and your biological mother- I assume you asked her, about your baptism then?”

“I did. She didn’t tell me anything at all really… not about baptism. She just admitted to having done it. She said some more about how she left the coven because of the shame of being pregnant with me, I guess, and how biased and stuffy it was-”

Weiss had gone stiff in her chair. “...What?”

Where she had been holding her plate and glass daintily before, now her knuckles had begun to whiten with her grip, and it was… disconcerting to say the least. Yang watched her swallow, thick and knotted in the back of her throat. Her focus was pointed… her gaze consternated and drawn. Yang sat a little more upright. “...Weiss?”

“You said she

did

baptize you? You’re certain?”

Yang nodded, tepidly, and tried to fight down the twitch that was working itself up in one of her eyes, causing her top lid to flutter aggravatingly, amid the dull ache and throb that was shifting in and out like the tide from her eye sockets down the center of her back and to her toes. “Within reason… Raven’s a liar, but this was different. She was telling the truth. I thought being baptized was the thing she was

supposed

to do? Why are you acting like it’s somehow worse that she didn’t? Isn’t that why you couldn’t tell I was a witch, at first? Because I wasn’t baptized, or something, so I have the like, incomplete witches mark thing…?”

It was like grasping at straws- she could barely string together enough of their conversations to have a basic concept of what might be so jarring… but Weiss was shaking her head. It was not a damnation, though, or any kind of rebuttal. She shook her head and set her brow in the cradle of one palm, pitching forward to rest her arm on her knee. Her gaze was a mile long, and the striking husky-blue of her eyes was glazed over in an alarming kind of mile-long stare.

“Yang,” She said, as though the wind had been knocked out of her- as though it were a sick kind of funny, “If she baptized you, then you shouldn’t have that mark. And if you swear she did… then she must have done it

wrong

. She left her coven when, you said?”

“...I don’t know- 17 or 18… she said she was barely older than Ruby, and Ruby is going to be 17 this year.”

A scoff, harsh and pointed, Yang rolled it around in her mouth a little to keep her manners as Weiss straightened up, and pushed back her hair. “...well. That would certainly make it likely. Teenagers- especially pregnant teenage runaways- aren’t exactly going to be the pinnacle of accuracy-”

“

Hey

-” It came out before she could stop herself, but even still- Yang could feel the tension curling in the base of her stomach, hot and unruly and intensifying the ache behind her ribs. “That was uncalled for. Be civil.”

It wasn’t a request. She watched as Weiss sobered, just a little, and straightened back out to match her posture. “...I apologize. I meant it as an insight, nothing more.”

Yang waved her off. “Fine. Just… what does this mean? She fucked it up- okay, so what does that mean for me?”

“It means that in essence… you

are

an incomplete witch.” Weiss’s sigh was light, and annoyed, but there was a glitter of something else there, deep in the back tones of what she was saying. “When I described it before, I talked about the ceremony aspect of a baptism. But there is more. A baptism is a sacred rite for a reason. It forever connects you and your magical energy to the planes of nature, binding you to the rest of your kin and weaving your soul into the tapestry of the world. Humans- people without magic- their threads are thin, and they fray easily. The more magic you have, the thicker, and stronger your soul thread. There are at least a hundred different ways your mother could have ‘

fucked it up

’ so to speak- any of them might be the reason you’re detached from the world’s weave.

“If you were baptized incorrectly… I suppose the running theory would be that you were still

baptized

, therefore, still connected: you still have magic, and you still have a connection to your mother’s kin… but it’s not complete. Something is blocking you from fully connecting.”

Well… that was just peachy, then. This was all starting to be… too much. Yang leant fully back into the couch, and ran her hands over her face, pulling at her awful, aching eyes and suffering through the subsequent pain like an anchor amid it all. Weiss persisted. “Clearly, you possess a large quantity of magical energy. It was completely overwhelming, a moment ago- the circumstances of which I’d like to study in greater length, by the way-”

“You’re disturbing on a number of levels-”

“-but I sensed nothing from you at all, when we first met… and until your outburst, nothing in the time we’ve spent in each other’s company. Nothing now, either. It’s astounding- like… well it’s like you have a child lock on your soul, Yang Xiao Long.”

Yang pushed herself up to stand. It was easy, rocking herself forward and up to her feet before any part of her body could protest. “Okay, you know what? I’m done. No more theorizing, no more analytics. I’ve about hit my limit for one day, so how about this. I’ll make you a deal: You let me move in here, and I’ll help you do your research. But you have to help me put all this insane magic business to rest, alright? I’ll tell you everything you want to know… but you have to help me figure out exactly who I am. … do we have a deal?”

She watched Weiss think it through- though she could tell there was really no actual consideration needed on her part. Weiss stood too, and brushed herself off, like she’d been doing anything remotely dirtying in the time they’d been talking. “To tell you the truth, Yang, you never needed any real interview. You can move in by the end of the month. We start research next week. Your room will be your own, but every other room in the house that doesn’t belong to another researcher is communal. I trust you to respect that. Clean up your messes, respect your housemates, and we won’t have any issues. You’ll be paid a wage biweekly, and have a minimum of 6 weeks paid vacation time. Magic is encouraged in the house, but prohibited outside of it, to maintain discretion and privacy for the researchers; no coven will reach you here. Is that agreeable?”

6 weeks of paid vacation? Well, shit. “That’s… definitely agreeable. How many others will be staying here?”

“I’ve interviewed two other individuals I think will be valuable assets to the research I have planned here. Myself and one of these other researchers are registered students at university, therefore it may be harder to reach us at certain points, but I feel confident that you will find time and common ground with both regardless.”

“Do you think we’ll find common ground?”

Weiss laughed as Yang gestured pointedly between them, and rested her hands at her hips not in any kind of intimidation, but with a simple sort of grounding conviction that set Weiss posture to a relaxed, contemplative sort of slouch at one narrow muscular hip. “The two of us? Oh, we found that a long time ago.”

Despite everything… when she smiled, Weiss was pretty, half bathed in the parlor light. Husky blue and ringed in black… there was something inherently dainty about her, but that eye… it reminded Yang of the ropey swathes of muscle that corded Weiss’ arms underneath her clothes- of the way she stood like a drill sergeant, when she wasn’t standing like a school teacher.  It reminded Yang of the scarred, patched-over hole in her skull where another one of those breathtaking eyes must have once been.

Yang reached out, and Weiss’ hand met hers in a firm solidarity.

*   *   *

“God

damnit!

” The pot hit the shed wall with a crumbling, starry-sounding shatter, and Summer’s shoulders were practically heaving as she stood there in the drizzle, her hair dampening darker still, dripping lank and wet into her eyes. The ground squelched beneath her shoes, and she looked very much like she might start to cry as she stood there, panting in the mugginess and staring down at the mess of shattered pottery like she wasn’t done with it yet.

It wasn’t about the pots. Yang didn’t have to be a prophet to know that. The rain had not ceased except in small, sunshining, one-hot-day intervals in nearly two months, and Summer was- as each of them had privately predicted- losing her shit.

Sprinkles, mists, torrential downpours- an ever present overcast sky rolling with tepid, distant thunder in intervals from dawn until early into the wee hours of the morning. And always oppressively humid… Yang had managed to mostly avoid it by sulking indoors, however begrudgingly, and Ruby was, as always, confined to her attic, where the heat seemed to have little effect on her at all, surprisingly.

And increasingly, the dark cloud that had hung over Summer in tandem with the overbearing weather had seemed to worsen. Yang watched from her window, on the more heavily clouded days, as Summer struggled to save the crops she had put so much painstaking time and effort and magic into. On those days, the rain fell in intervals of light, tickling sprinkles that cooled the air momentarily, and thunderous, violent torrents. Summer worked right through them all- not bothered… but focused.

But the insult could be borne no more; they’d all come out when she’d screamed- a long, frustrated howl of a shout that had roused even Ruby from her deep and sweaty sleep. She’d come down last, after Yang, grown lankier by the day, and danker. There was an aroma when she joined them of hair gel, sweat, and something distinctly herbal.

“

Are those the same sweatpants you’ve been wearing for four days?

” She’d asked- more like mouthed- as discretely as was manageable. Ruby had given her a look so withering and blunt it was fit to beat Jesus, and Yang had told herself when she’d torn her gaze away it was because her eyes had begun to ache, and certainly not in fear of her skin being peeled from her bones by her pubescent sister.

Summer was at the apex point of their little haphazard, five-sided star now, standing in the side yard by the garden- or what was left of it. The rain had flooded the beds that Tai had made for her, and they could all feel the squishy underfoot consistency of the soil. What plants were still standing just barely made that classification, only half-wilted in the heat, fruits beginning to decay and wash into the roots below. The blueberry bushes were resilient enough, it looked like… of all the crops in this section, they appeared the most whole at first glance. But then she caught the little white forms glinting in the reflections off rain runoff, and she sucked in a little breath.

Oh…

Summer wound back, and this time she connected the pot with her foot; it shattered on impact, and she panted a few more times, before hunching down to lean forward, hands-to-knees. Yang watched as Tai and Raven seemed to snap out of their surprise simultaneously. Tai was the first to reach out and try to take her in his arms.

“Sunny, I need you to talk to us-” He tried, rubbing at her arms, but she refused to look at him- tried to tear her arms from his hold every time he put them back and squeezed a little more tenderly.

“Dad, does it look like she wants to talk right now?” Ruby was scowling when she said it, and she made no moves to step forward… but she had the right of it. Yang could see the vehemence in Summer, and recognised it deep to the core of herself. “Let her smash a couple pots- this sucks.”

“I have to agree-”

“I am

right

here,

shut up!

Stop talking about me like I’m not two feet away! ….fuck..!” The swear came out delayed, and stinted, and she was crying now, thick and black-streaked with her eyeliner. “I have one thing and it’s

fucked!

It’s ruined! ‘

...and a plague upon thine ground; upon thine womb; salt the earth and bleed, said Zelena, and-

’ fuck, just…

fuck

..!”

Oh, no. Yang could remember in the whole of her memory Summer working herself up to the point of reciting scripture

maybe

twice… and neither of those instances had been pretty either. Tepidly… Tai stopped trying to hold their mother, and tepidly, she drew into herself, her brow a dark and pursed thing. He took steps back to join Raven- and admittedly, this was the first time Yang had bothered to notice her other mother had been a part of this interaction. She’d been so pointedly quiet… It was irritating.

The sound of the rain hitting hot bodies was rhythmic and hypnotic. Yang breathed in the wet grass smell; when she turned to the rest of them, each of them flinched when she looked them in the eyes, ignoring the warmth running down her cheeks. Even nearly a month into her recovery- after countless falls from the pain, nights of screaming nightmares, days and days of keeping her eyes open to the world, despite the agony… they still flinched to look at her and the unsettling, gelatinous red-brown her eyes had begun to oxidize into. Even Raven. Yang wrestled down her own frustrations. The mask was thin, but it was the farthest thing from patronizing when she turned her head on the three of them, put her hands in her pockets, and looked back at Summer. “...leave us alone for a bit.”

“I don’t need you here,” she said, and it was meant to hurt. Yang let it dig into her, and ignored it, pushing past the feeling.

“I don’t need to be here,” Yang countered back, shrugging, “-but out of everyone here, I’m least likely to stop you.”

“Yang, that’s enough,” the hand was pocked with eczema and long-fingered where it wrapped around her arm, but Yang too shrugged her shoulders and rolled the touch away. Raven’s mouth was pursed in a tense, uncertain look… but it was her eyes that were doing the most work, flickering and shifting and

thinking.

She was disgustingly preoccupied, and Yang hadn’t even gotten to the bottom of her list of things to be upset with her mother about, yet. What was one more shitty mindset, right?

“I’m going to stay out here a while,” She decided, pointedly, and turned her focus back on Summer; she was obstinate and drippy, and those upsettingly bright eyes were as turbulent and stormy as the sky rolling above them. “Is that okay?”

It was enough; Summer turned her back on her, fully, and sat herself down in the mud, squelching wetly. It was as close to an invitation as Yang was going to get.

She waited until the rest had gone- until Ruby, Tai, and Raven had finally left them both to sit in the corpse of Summer’s livelihood. Her mother’s shoulders trembled, but she didn’t spare Yang a backward glance as she plopped herself right down in the mud next to her. It was a far cry from the laughter and water spray that was playing itself in the back of her consciousness, ringing out through her memory and lingering in the air like a bad taste on the breeze. It wasn’t about the pots, and it wasn’t about the garden, either.

“...I still have a few weeks, Mom.”

Summer laughed, and it pitched her head backward. It was an awful, sardonic sound, and Yang pretended- for her sake- that it didn’t hurt a lick as much as it actually did. “...that is… awful presumptuous, darlin.”

Yang kicked at a tuft of grass. “I might be stubborn and autistic but I’m not stupid, and you’re… you’re chronically depressed, Mom. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to assume that you’re a little emotional about me moving out.”

The laughter soured; she didn’t have to see Summer’s face to recognise the nasty way it was probably pinching in, twisting the otherwise sharp and bold angles of her face. “...what would you know about how I feel? How I feel… god, everything I feel… It's like falling asleep. Like walking through molasses… how could you know?”

Overhead, the thunder cracked somewhere in the distance, and Summer made a sucky, simpering noise in the back of her throat, pulling her knees up in the mud. She breathed in, and it was a ragged thing, half-choked and wet-sounding in the back of her throat. “You walked here… we did it together. Your hands were so little… but we did it together. You used to sit in the plot and eat sugar snap peas, two or three at a time in your fat little baby fists… oh,

god

.”

She didn’t complain, too preoccupied now as Yang scooted herself around to sit kitty-corner with her, their knees brushing. The water had run her hair into her eyes, clinging to her face, and Yang had been right- she was weeping, and her face had convulsed and twitched with each hiccupy breath that rocked her chest. Her hands were clasped together over her heart, like she was trying to keep it all in one piece, and the sight was enough to tug at something tender in the farthest reaches of her heart. Yang swallowed her pride and spit some of the water that had run off her own face and into her mouth, reaching out to push the long, fraying dark strands back slick against her head, out of her face.

Summer leaned into her touch like it was holy. “...everything changes so quickly. It’s all just…

gone

. Nothing stays the way it was, and it’s- oh god it’s all on me.”

Her body shook, and the sobs came harder now. Yang reached out, and caught her as she leaned full body into Yang’s shoulder, convulsing with her grief. Yang wrapped her arms around her, and held fast. Even in the rain, she smelled like vetiver and home. “Nothing is in my control anymore… Nothing stays. I get older, and time passes, and things change and people change, and there’s nothing left of the girl I used to be except inside of me and no one seems to care… The only happy memories I have are all gone… the only happy places and things that kept me centered and alive are all rotting away or lost entirely. There’s nothing left… there's just

me

. And I hate it..”

She sucked in another raggedy, hiccupy breath; Yang tried to tamper down the hot, rickety feeling reverberating in her own chest where her heart was doing laps. Her face felt hot and wet, and she could smell the tang of iron in the air… but she didn’t care. Summer came first. Summer was most important. Yang squeezed until her arms felt like they were going to implode off her bones.

“I hate it I hate it I hate it…” Summer moaned into her collarbone, her head a limp and useless thing, and her fingers clawed at the mud and dirt, like that might do anything at all. A flash of lightning struck the weathervane on the house, and Summer screamed like she was dying.

It startled Yang half to death, and rattled around in her skull, snapping and popping synapses in charge of her sanity. Holding her mother became a lifeline as much as it was a benefit for the other party. She couldn’t even feel her fingers anymore. Even still- Yang kept her expression as tempered and even as possible- as immovable as she could manage, even if Summer couldn’t see her.

“Why?” She asked, warbly-toned, thick and slurring with drawl and drool both, “Why does it just have to be me? Why do I have to endure people shitting on the things that made me happy- why do I have to stand face to face with the corpses and ask myself how long it’s been since I stood there? Why do I have to grit my teeth and realize that nobody loves me the way I love me; that- that nobody cared about the things I cared about and now they’re all

gone

.”

The second she pushed, Yang let go. She knew what it was to struggle- to hate- to have this irrational need to distance and comfort at the same time- this vehemence down to your bones. It was what the others didn’t understand about Summer- it was what Yang had grown up sharing with her.

Even still… she tried to ignore the way that this outburst- however necessary- was worming its way into her veins, nesting there like viruses. They were big claims… but they weren’t unfounded, and Yang understood the urge to bottle something- or ten somethings, or a hundred- until they exploded out with such force they often took you with it. She understood… but it didn’t make listening to it any easier. Yang steeled her reserve, but Summer didn’t meet her eyes. She leaned back, and laid down fully in the mud as the rain started to come down hard and fast; the shower was torrential, and it drowned out the sound of her pathetic sobbing, face to the sky as though to let the water wash away any trace of her despair.

“Why am I the only one who misses tradition?” She asked, deceptively clear. It was a moment of brief sanity, and Yang leant into it. She hesitated, still sitting with her knees nudging her mother’s bare feet, not sure how best to approach. “Why am I the only one who has to make the decision to pass the torch, or let the last spark die? Why do they all hate me for making that choice?”

“I don’t understand-”

“It’s already dead,” She laughed, and it was burbled and half-drowned as she laid there, letting the sky come down on her with all its destructive fury. She pushed the palms of her hands into her eyes, and Yang’s throbbed in a hot sort of sympathy as she cried, hiccupy at first, and then loud and racking. “I can’t take you to the temple… who knows if it’s even still standing? If they’d even have me… I can’t take you to the river, or do sunrites on you, or they’ll know… I can’t see my parents anymore, or pray with my abuela… I can’t exist as that person anymore, that wasn’t

my choice

- someone else made it for me.

“I finally got to a place where I felt better about who I used to be, and who I was never allowed to be… and now she’s gone forever, because everywhere I go someone’s torn down all her monuments… I can’t take you home… I can’t take Ruby home- I can’t go

home

. I lost it once, and I’m losing- it- again-....

Fuck. God damn it…”

Now wasn’t the time. Yang ignored the sudden urge hot in her chest to stand up- to walk away. She ignored the white hot rush of something that begged to be eked out in tears. She didn’t mean it, not really… it was a lot of compartmentalized stress, was all… and she didn’t mean it.

*   *   *

The room felt terribly empty, with the boxes stacked halfheartedly in the corner. The walls were bare, devoid of her posters, and her highschool diplomas and certificates… she'd packed up her desk, and her vanity, and all the smaller pillows on her bed. She’d left the radio, and even now, sitting on the floor of her room with her back to the bare mattress she’d laid down for the night, sans box spring and frame, she breathed in the static in the air as it played a craggy, half-hearted song in time with the cicadas in the trees outside her window. There was a pleasant breeze cutting through the humidity, and the windowsill was still damp with the earlier rain. She traced circles in it lazily with her finger, and as the station fizzled out, she picked her own song to drown it out.

It had been a long time since she'd sang anything at all; doing it now felt like an appropriate goodbye.

“

Place a beehive on my grave… and let the honey soak through. When I’m dead and gone, that's what I want from you.

” Somewhere overhead, the moon was shining down… and that cool, gentle breeze was spicy with petrichor and wet pollen. Yang scooped a bit up with her finger, and rubbed it back and forth against her thumb pad until the pale palms of her tanned hands were a gaudy, star-bright yellow.

It called to mind springtime… sitting in long green strips of hill down the far end of the lot, where the dandelions grew by the hundreds. The middle of May, when she could be swallowed whole by them, and it wouldn’t have mattered a bit- Summer was always there- and even when she wasn’t… Yang could feel her in the memory of it. Sitting together on the hill, watching cars drive by in the distance, methodically picking out the fullest, brightest ones and rubbing them each one by one on the end of her mom’s wideset, freckle-pocked nose.

Arms around her… the sun high in the sky… Tai driving a tractor somewhere far back on the property. “

The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, but I’ll stick with my plot and a pot of honey… Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through…

”

It wasn’t… fair.

Here in the relative quiet of an empty room past midnight, Yang could ache in a relative sort of privacy… Ruby was stoned upstairs, and Summer and Tai had long since gone to bed… If Raven was awake, she had no interest in speaking with her, which was fine… Since she’d come back from her ‘interview’ with Tai, things had been tense between them. She didn’t ask anything, or berate her about it, but her silence was almost worse. It was a long-standing disapproval that lacked regard at all: it was indifference, and somehow, after 21 years of it, it still hurt her.

Maybe that was fair; maybe she deserved that much. Maybe, as she was discovering with Summer, Raven too had her regrets that Yang had been otherwise oblivious to. Maybe the distance wasn’t a punishment… but an anchor, to keep Raven from hurting herself.

Yang physically shook the idea away, and laid back until her head hit the mattress, and her ceiling fan was staring at her, rotating in fast-paced circles overhead. Or maybe Raven was just upset that Yang wasn’t going to go with the simplest, half-assed, half-fabricated explanation anymore.

The rustle in the trees is what caught her attention first. She’d barely propped herself up by the elbows, when the first set of paws hit the sill, and then the next. It was a blur of black and matted fur, and she swore as its descent down from the window ledge landed her two sets of thin and weight-bearing feline legs trample the inside of her thighs. The breathe came out of her in a tense, panicked sort of rhythm for a moment, as she collected herself; all the while, Gambol- and she had never been so sure it was this particular cat

in her life

, the menace- sat politely and at posture, watching with big amber eyes as she grimaced and readjusted her sitting position.

Damn it… of all the times for this evil little thing to come back…

“And where the hell have you been?” It meowed, in response, and she quite literally waved it away, as though there was any real capacity for understanding or conversation there. “I don’t want to hear it- Ren wouldn’t talk to me for like, a whole 20 minutes after that disappearing act you pulled. I hope you’ve got an apology lined up, or you're out of here.”

This time, Gambol walked over, stepping over her legs and ignoring the tension in Yang’s body with her approach as it hopped up on the mattress over her shoulder, using her knee as a launching pad. When it got there, there was another short, crass ‘

meow’

, and Yang whipped her head around to look at the thing. “Shitty apology not accepted. You owe me new pillows, too. And you scratched me all to hell- you’re kind of the worst.”

“

Mroww

,” came the immediate response, and it was paired deceptively as a tender nudge to the cheek. It’s nose was cold, but still… Yang leaned into it begrudgingly, as Gambol found perschase on a square of mattress just behind her shoulder, purring deep and rumbling into the bone there.

Damn it, this cat…

“...you missed a lot.” She admitted, despite herself, and eased back to relax against the purring. “Ren told me about your name, by the way. Sorry I was misinterpreting it.”

He’d been cool about it, which was nice. After she’d explained the whole debacle of the cat’s disappearance, somehow they’d gotten onto the topic, and he’d been patient and forgiving enough to explain the difference between Gamble-

to gamble

, and Gambol-

to jump playfully.

There was no immediate response to this; that was fine. Yang stretched as long and as taut as her muscles would let her. That was when she caught the first whiff of it: iron-tangy, and smeared. She scowled, and moved to sit more upright.

If Gamble seemed to note the change in her demeanor, it was weakly executed at best; its tail moved from side to side almost lazily, and there was an on-and-off-again half-lidded state to its eyes. Yang reached out, and with tentative, gentle fingers, ignored the warning hiss as it’s ears flattened back against its head. She stroked one hand down its matted, damp back, ignoring the responding bite into the meat of her hand. It came away hot, and damp, and the smear across her fingers was a dark and oxidized brown that was clumped and flecked with mud.

“That’s not good…” What had happened to her, out there alone? The property was pretty massive, but it had been weeks… and she didn’t look any thinner or sicklier than she had before… even still. This was concerning. Yang pushed herself up to stand, and when Gambol didn’t complain- at least not audibly- she took it as a reproachful allowance. “I’ll be right back.”

This time, before Yang left the room, she closed the window tight.

Summer kept an arsenal of healing remedies and supplies in the downstairs bath- it didn’t take more than five minutes to root through and find what she was looking for. A couple bandages, some wound cleaner and a jar of healing paste were good basics. She grabbed an antibiotic too, and a tranquilizer… a pair of tweezers, a flashlight, cotton rounds… a sewing kit.

When she got back upstairs, Gambol had hardly moved, and she wasn’t sure whether that was for better or for worse as she came over to the bed. Shrugging off her creme cotton crop top and tossing it over with her boxes, Yang let the towel drop and unravel. Catching it in her free hand, and setting the rest of the supplies down, Yang gingerly, with some more biting, eased Gambol’s increasingly tense body onto it and into her lap, sitting down on the bed and tucking her feet up to make it easier on them both.

With no physical fight left in her, Gambol was reduced to crying as Yang took tender care to locate and anesthetize the wound- a long, horrible slash down her stomach, and a couple smaller scrapes hidden in her matted hair. Something had gotten at her, certainly… Yang took care to hold her with as much firm comfort and deft compassion as she could manage, as she began to disinfect, dress, and suture the wounds.

It didn’t take long, but all the while, in the hazy yellow light that her lamp was still casting in the corner of the room, Yang continued her song, humming in intervals as the night got loud with bugsong and radio static. To her credit- and it was due, certainly- Gambol did not make any moves toward vengeance, or wanton violence. As she bandaged the wound, Yang was glad to acknowledge it.

“See,” she said, more to herself than to Gambol, who was asleep now curled into Yang’s legs. “Good things come back around, sometimes.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The duffel hit her square in the breastbone, and it knocked the wind right out of her. Yang sat upright and tried to blink the dream sleep from her eyes. They ached softly… but somehow, it was less than usual. Clearly, Raven had decided to compensate for that. She tossed a shirt and a headlamp in succession of each other, and each hit her in a similar area to the first solid toss. The light, however, stayed off. That was the first indicator that it was Raven. The second was the humorless, deep-throated voice that urged her, in unfriendly, sepulcher tones to, “get up, and get dressed. We’ve got a lot of hiking to do.”

“Hiking?” The sun hadn’t even started to shine into the room yet, and her curtains were rippling a little in the wee-hours breeze. Yang closed her eyes, laid her head back, and groaned long and low in the back of her throat. If it wasn’t even dawn yet, then she had barely slept two hours. What in the hell was wrong with this woman? Was she just intent on torturing Yang for no reason at all?

Curtains… the breeze… suddenly, Yang was up just as quick as she’d laid back down, and her body felt electric and wild with panic. She checked the bed, tossing aside the towel, and her only remaining pillow. There was nothing- just the memory of antiseptic, and the smell of blood lingering on the mattress. Not that that was out of the ordinary for her, anymore. Yang launched to her feet, and ignored her vertigo, leaning headfirst out the window to peer into the tree closest to the room. There was no slinking black figure perching on the branches or jumping from gnarl to gnarl; Yang didn’t know whether to relax… or to worry about the implications.

Would she be alright? What was going to take a swipe at her this time?

“Yang let’s go. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.” There was little room for complaint or argument in her tone… and besides- what would she have said? That she’d been harboring an illegal cat in her room on and off again? Raven would probably nail all the windows shut, if she knew that. What her problem was with pets, Yang didn’t expect to ever find out.

It was a good thing she’d be out from under her thumb sooner rather than later. The shirt was thick cotton and long in the sleeve; she pulled it on over her head, ignoring the cold sweat that was prickled over her body. Some time in the night, she’d thrown off her pajama pants, but she didn’t bother to search for them now, one arm in and one arm out as she grabbed for the joggers she’d set aside for the day. All her other clothes were in the boxes. “I’m supposed to start moving today.”

“Thanks for the reminder. One more day won’t kill you. It’s a full moon, and today’s our only chance to get you trained on how to prepare your eye solution.”

What a crotchety old witch. Yang stuck her feet in each of the pant legs, bunched them up at the ankles, and stood fully upright to pull them waist high. Raven tossed the boots next, and just barely missed her feet.

That

took the cake. Yang refused to look down at them and put all the resilient

fuck-you

energy she could summon- which was a lot- into her returning stare. “I tried to do this the polite way, but you seem real keen on being a piece of shit about this whole situation. So, what is it, Ma? What is it about this that isn’t exactly what you asked for?”

In the dark, Raven’s brow was set, and her eyes were a tumultuous and impenetrable black in the darkness; once, Yang had seen them as nightmarish and growling, like a predator skulking in shadow. Now they slipped and slinked like an oil spill on maroon waters- like iridescent death, and it was a peaceful kind of violence that seemed so much worse. There was nothing in her voice but apathy when she spoke. “You broke whatever passed for a bond between us the second you turned your back on our agreement. I can’t do that. I’m going to teach you this one last thing- and it’ll be the last thing I ever bother trying to teach you.”

“No complaints here.” Yang snatched up the boots with barely a bend. She could feel the skin on her knuckles pulling taut- the groaning of the leather beneath her fingernails as she clenched her fists. But she said nothing. There was a horrible, skin-peeling sensation ping-ponging it’s way through her rib cage, and she ignored it outright, shoving it down and out of the way as she shoved her feet into each padded boot, pulling the corded laces taut to the purpling of her fingers.

The downstairs was eerily quiet. Outside, the cicadas were chirping low and melodic and there was a thick coffee smell low in the air. The radio in the kitchen windowsill was turned down low, and the crackle of unintelligible news anchorage was a whisper in the breeze of the ceiling fans turning overhead. Yang took a second… and just stood there at the foot of the stairs.

It was a moment and a space in time in the house- no, the farm itself- that was so rare she had never stopped to breathe it in before. Was it only because she was just now leaving that she was finally noticing? Underneath the coffee smell, there wasn’t anything spicy, or sweet, or savory lingering from late 10am breakfast. The lights were all off, casting cool blue shadows over the living room, and it was such a stark contrast to the wheat-gold and orange-glazed color of summertime at noon. For a moment, it was like a phantom image, and she was there, standing in exactly the same spot, with the breeze from the open sliding porch doors tickling her cheeks and tucking into her curls, and the warmth of the light on her skin, eating at the winter paleness; Ruby stomped right past her, and it was so… Yang couldn’t even say she got a full picture of her- just her shoes. Just her ratty running sneakers, with the triple knotted laces and the awkward stitching on the toes; they were a deep and rich red color, and there was vetiver and boxed fabric dye in the air as her ghost hurdled around her. Somewhere, Zwei was barking.

Raven’s boot shattered the illusion, knocking her in the shin, and she bit her tongue against something unkind- not that Raven deserved the restraint. “Come on, let's go.”

Yang stepped out of the way, and her mother didn’t pause to wait for her. She was completely removed from the Raven that Yang had maybe gotten a little too comfortable with. Her hair was matte black in the dark, pulled up and pale where the moonlight trickled in through the front windows. Her back was bare, and the rippling of her tattoo caught the eyes and drew it close: dark ink on dark skin, running in tumultuous rivers down the path of her bony shoulder blades. She drew on her coat before Yang could see it in full.

Her boots were already on, and she was strapping some kind of north face water resistant pouch to her thigh. Yang pushed right past her to the door and grabbed the truck keys off the hook; Raven stuck one booted foot in front of the door, and kicked it closed the second Yang tried to pull it open. “Not those ones.”

“I’m not taking the bike with you.” It wasn’t a question. Yang set her jaw and waited for the rebuttal. Raven didn’t offer one. She never offered anything, Raven- least of all an explanation. Opening the door herself, she stepped out onto the porch, and didn’t wait for Yang to follow. Yang watched her stride her way across, jog down the steps, and turn down the side of the house, abandoning the lane and the vehicles entirely.

For a moment, Yang seriously considered not following. At this point, what did she have to lose? Raven clearly wanted nothing to do with her anymore… this was just a courtesy. Did she really need to go through this emotional hot and cold for something that Summer would probably have shown her how to make if she just asked?

Why take the abuse?

It was a longer moment than she’d meant it to be. Even still… Raven didn’t double back, and Yang made herself take a step… and then another… until she was meeting Raven’s easy jog, following her footprints in the gravel around the stark white peonies and lemongrass. She found her half an acre down, the old shed door ajar.

It wasn’t much of a shed- it hadn’t been in use in the 20 years she’d been alive. Tai had always said it was a relic of his father’s time, and she’d get tetanus… so she’d left it alone. She felt the corners of her lip and the center of her brow tense and dip in something like a pucker; she tasted iron in the back of her throat and pushed one paint-peeling wooden door further open as she reached the threshold. The hinges creaked, and the moonlight overhead cast a long sliver of ambient light into the shed. It perched, long and flat like a guillotine blade over the curve of Raven’s steady, stooped shoulders; she had tucked herself into the back of the room, and the there was little noise as she rooted around in some tote or another tucked into a tall but flimsy looking metal shelf.

Yang coughed, and there was a dusty cloud in the air in front of her nose. When she sneezed, she watched Raven’s shoulders quietly lift, and then fall again; Yang’s cheeks felt hot. She kicked a rusted, decrepit bucket by the door she’d swung fully open. “Is this where you keep your DeLorean?”

She didn’t even bother to respond. Yang took about half a second to consider- in which no actual thought was occurring- meandered over to another rickety nearby shelf, and stepped around whatever half-tarp-hidden clunker she’d left rotting in the center of the shed. She grabbed a small, dirt-crusted can of something that sounded congealed when she held it up to her ear, tested the weight of it in her hand, like one might a baseball, and in a way she had not done since middle school, Yang wound back with her pitchers arm and lobbed it with all her might at the center of mother’s back. The embroidery of her leather jacket served as a perfect bullseye, and when it made contact, Raven nearly fell over herself and into the shelf. It was almost worth it.

“

Yang!

” Raven spat, catching herself on the tips of her fingers, and there was a wild look in her eyes when she swiveled at the neck like a monstrous creature; Yang faltered, warm from head to toe.

“Fuck you!” She came up with, and it was… pitiful. The wild look sparked out and died on impact, and Yang was almost ashamed of the rigid annoyance twitching its way like a mask back onto Raven’s face.

“Fuck

you-

” Yang watched her push herself back up to stand, brush off her knees, and turn to look at her full circle. She stood in a lazy, half-cocked way, like she only had the rigidity of one hip- or the patience for half her body. The rigid arm was bare up to the jacket’s cutoff at the elbow, and the can she held aloft between her fingertips- all splayed out and distributing the weight- swayed a little with the kinetic motion traveling through her body. “Shut up and put that can back where you found it.”

“What does it matter? It’s rusted and congealed and-”

“Put. It. Back.” There was no discussion to be had about it- that much was clear. The cicadas were an ambient symphony in the tension between them, feeding off of it like muses; Yang took a step- then another two- and Raven was still so much taller than her…

Up close, her mother smelled like salt and smoke and something… indescribable. Yang had considered for long hours the plains of her face: the ways that she had inherited Raven’s features, her ticks, her tendencies. But it had always been Tai she’d been more concerned with looking like… when had she flipped perspectives? When had she started to loathe those pieces of Raven in herself

more

?

“I hate you,” She said, and she didn’t mean to say it… but it came out, whispered and soft, the way only a truth

can

come out. There was none of the vehemence in it that she’d been trying to temper- not even a drop of vitriol. She said like it was the only thing left to say; like she couldn’t believe she’d never said it out loud before.

Yang wished for another mirage of summertime at noon- of sunshine and noise and a cacophony of smells.

“Good,” Raven said, and there was less than a twitch of her cheek in the dark; with Yang blocking her, the moonlight had abandoned the long, stern plains of her face, and for a moment of shared, tentative breath between them, Raven was cast entirely in her shadow.

When she moved, it was to lift the can she’d been holding up, and press it into Yang’s chest. It was solid, and hefty, and whatever had congealed in this one left a sulfur smell in its wake. The lid was cracked, and craggy with a flaky, dry residue that crumbled as she took it from Raven with a deft gentleness- the only minor apology she could bring herself to make. “...we’re going to the river- we need some of the running water. We’ll have to stop around the edges of the forest to find the basil, but Summer marked them ages ago. And we can stop for breakfast if you want, before we leave for the rest of it.”

… was that really all it took? Was that-

Yang made a sound that was halfway between an intake of breath and a stunted, half-choked laugh; it came out syrupy and nervous, and her fingertips felt tight against the can’s dented aluminum. Was she joking? Straight-forward answers,

now

? “...what’s the rest of it?”

Raven reached out- effortlessly, and with no resistance- and tapped the can’s top

once, twice

. “We only have today, so we can’t drive all the way to Mississippi- I have some of the second portent left from Summer’s last trip. It’s a slurry of sanctified rosemary and aloe vera. We’re going to make three others: a fairybasil and dandelion cocktail, an anise paste, and frankincense resin.”

“And Summer doesn’t have any of these in stock already in the greenhouse? That's a little far-fetched-”

“They should be picked on the full moon for full potency, and we have them growing around here anyway. Besides,” She smiled a ghastly, red-toothed smile in the dark, like a wraith, and Yang clutched the can tighter. “You make your own way after this, remember? Practice makes perfect.”

*   *   *

They found the basil easily enough. By the time they’d canvassed the outskirts of the forest flanking the farm from three sides, they’d stumbled across half a dozen of what Raven called ‘fairy circles’: clusters of pale brown-capped mushrooms flowering out of each other in sporadic, patchy rings, half-hidden in overgrown foliage and greenery. There was a musty smell, like rain or wet rubber, and she followed Raven’s disturbingly detailed and alarmingly gentle guidance; she showed Yang which leaves were best for picking- how to smell them for ripeness- and most interestingly (despite herself)- how to channel magic through them as conduits.

“Watch,” She’d said, holding one between the pale pinch-points of long brown thumb and forefinger. Her brow was furrowed in a type of concentration that bordered sweat-breaking, and it was slow… Yang could feel the breeze picking up as the sun peeked over the horizon line, flickering in strawberry peach colors through the trees, and the birds were chirping, flittering from tree to tree. There was static in the air… and it was so gradual that in the second she’d gotten distracted, nothing seemed to have changed…

But she saw it. Yang had watched as the place where Raven’s fingers touched the basil’s thin veiny core began to fray and discolor. It was a slow progression… the leaf wilted at the limbs- those small, jagged edges that crept up the sides to a point- until the whole thing was bending at the knees. She watched it bleed from the center out… it curled into a ball in her fingers, and ate itself, until all that was left was the sprig of stem, and the smell of rot in the air.

“Jesus fuck,” she’d murmured, and Raven hadn’t even batted an eye, handing her an untouched specimen to corrode.

Yang held it with a far softer regard; was it sad that she felt pity for the thing? It was just a leaf… a sprig of a plant she was going to grind up and destroy anyway… Her touch was lighter, and she held it like it was fragile; Raven didn’t chide her on it, surprisingly. She just reached out and guided Yang’s hands into a tender cup around the stem base, as though cradling an open flame.

“Close your eyes.” Why she did it was the real question… but Yang did it, regardless. “Can you feel it in your fingers?”

“Yes,” She nodded. There was only darkness behind her eyelids, even with the dawn turning the trees a brighter shade of ochre. The pine needles underfoot crinkled when she shifted, and she could smell the basil on the breeze, mingling with the blood smell of them both in a sickly, minty kind of tang. She could, too- she could feel the velvety surface of the leaf- the road its veins ran up from the core; her fingers were right on its pulse point…

“Can you feel your wrist, there- where it connects to your hand?” Again, Yang nodded. “Follow that feeling up your arm… through your chest… Can you feel it plugging in? Connect your veins with its veins, and complete the circuit.”

It was… warm. She could feel what Raven was trying to guide her through; the sensation wasn’t entirely different from joint pain, in the way she knew what it felt like to feel your nerve endings connecting at each joint- to be keenly aware of the way your bones were moving in your body. This was like that… but the deep, throbbing ache came from thin, hollow tubes instead of dense pads of muscle and knobbly cartilage. She could feel the flow from joint to joint- from the tip of the leaf to the center of her chest.

Something in Raven’s voice had softened when she said, “Yang.”

Opening her eyes was like blinking herself out of a dream- or, more accurately- blinking herself through a dream. The feeling was still there, running through her arm, into her chest, and back. There was no real direction to it- it seemed to ebb and flow, like waves on the beach, cycling in and out over the rocky dirt sand. Nothing had happened to the leaf; it remained unspoiled. If she was surprised, it showed on her face, and Raven’s chuckle was surprisingly lacking in mockery.

Plucking another ripe leaf from the plant, she held it up in example again. “You’re feeling the circuit running through itself completely right now. Try to pivot the direction. Think of it like switching a heavy lever, or pushing against a current. Take the flow from the leaf, and move it through your body, back to your heart. You want to siphon it, and when it’s settled in your chest, the connection will sever itself. You can’t make something out of nothing- but you can take something out of anything.”

It was… surprisingly difficult to do. Maybe it was the blatantly shitty (although admittedly interesting) theory behind it. Maybe it was the way she said it- like it was a good thing- like it was

cool

. There was a very large part of Yang that was naturally repellant to the idea of sucking the life out of things- even pitiable little basil leaves- but admittedly… there was another, smaller part of her that was curious. Maybe it was because this was the first time she’d ever felt anything remotely magical- actually

felt

it; maybe it was a refreshing feeling, like she’d been missing out on this one simple thing for way too long…

She tried. She did what Raven said and traced the feeling from the veins of the leaf through the veins in her fingers, her wrist, up her arms and through her chest. She tried to memorize it- to distinguish it from the flow of her own body… she planted her proverbial feet, and it was such a strange feeling, like… like holding your bladder. Her brow felt prickly and over-hot, but she ignored it. But if there was a lever, it was a thousand pounds… if she tried wading through the current, she kept slipping- it took the clenching of every muscle in her body to stand and face it head on. The leaf trembled in the wind, and the smell was pungently green; her neck was damp, and a curl or two had started to stick to her forehead, lank and blonde, and tickling at her nose.

“Concentrate-”

“I’m trying,” talking was hard… it came out blustered, and through gritted teeth. This should not have been this hard… so why was it? Raven’s brow, too, was furrowed- at least, what little Yang could make of it, out of focus and in the corner of her attention. The basil was front and center, the sprig standing tall in defiance of her.

…and Yang let it go. She stopped resisting the current, and let it sweep her back into the natural flow… and she dropped the leaf to the forest floor.

She expected Raven to yell- to scowl at her, and gripe- or worse, to resume her silence from before. She expected Raven to cut her off again entirely. She did none of these things. Somewhere acres away, Zwei was chasing some poor wayward chicken, his bark a low, ringing register, and she could hear the tractor starting up. In the forest, the birds were warbling from tree to tree, and cicadas hummed in the steadily thickening humidity. Raven reached down, picked up the basil leaf… and put it in the mason jar they’d grabbed from the shed, along with the side-strap bag full of similar empty jaws that River had slung over her shoulder.

“You finish this plant,” She said, gesturing vaguely at the one closest in the circle to Yang, and turned her attention to its neighbor. “I’ll get this one.”

Yang started picking.

*   *   *

Two hours, a jar full of the leaves from 12 different basil plants, and a short hike later, the rush of water was roaring on the ears, and it afforded Yang the first moment of blissful deafness she’d had all day; while Raven stooped down to scoop some of the water into small glass vials, Yang took her opportunity and stripped down to her underwear. In the open air, the day had grown hot and sunny, and she relished it, wading out on trembling, rock-cautious feet until the water was blissfully cold and lapping at her chin. Raven paid her no mind; if this was her farewell present, it was the best one her mother had ever given her- including her bike.

For a half an hour Raven said nothing, and sat herself on the shoreline with her boots discarded, her toes dug into the silt as she squinted in the sun. Yang floated and submerged herself in intervals, until the idea of ever getting out had long since left her.

*   *   *

“Thank you,” Raven said, curtly and through gritted teeth as the employee leaned out the window and handed her the tall white paper cup. She passed it immediately to Yang, and then followed it up with the two white paper bags of their breakfast. She didn’t even pause to have Yang confirm everything was correct- Raven hit the gas, and they were out of the parking lot and back on the road just like that.

“Where’s the fire,” Yang murmured, setting her coffee down in the cupholder. She didn’t mean it literally- her mother’s affliction was no new thing… the fact that they were going on a trip at all was surprising in and of itself. Seeing Raven’s aversion first hand was always surreal, so rarely did she have the chance. A quick root around the bag proved that it was more nuisance than it was prudence. “They gave me the wrong sandwich.”

“Suck it up.” This, of course, meant the old, crotchety Raven was back; Yang tried to let the dampness on the back of her neck ground her, like a calming mantra and a vision of cool blue depth.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.” The sandwich- despite it being entirely not what she’d ordered- was delicious. Maybe she was just starving; besides a handful of basil leaves to chew on during their short hike to the river, she hadn’t eaten since the day before, and the sun’s place in the sky was telling her

noon

. She sank her teeth into the flaky croissant and moaned as a tomato burst in her mouth; Raven reached over and flicked her in the ear. “Ow! Wha tha hewl?”

“Don’t be gross. Just eat the sandwich like a normal person, please.”

“Fuck you,” She swallowed the hearty mouthful she’d torn from it before the flick. It gummed up her teeth, and she took a moment to search out the build up with her tongue; her side-eye was strong- she could enjoy her breakfast sandwich if she wanted to, sour mood or no. “Can’t you go back to being weirdly nice?”

“No. I hope you enjoyed that, because the next time it happens is on my deathbed.”

Typical. Yang took another vicious bite of sandwich, and made a show of it this time, shaking her head and moaning- she smacked a couple bites too just for the added annoyance. Raven rolled her jaw in the driver's seat, and cracked her neck twice on each side. If she was regretting the trip, she was likely regretting it more now; Yang relished the idea.

“You spend too much time with Ruby.”

Somehow, the drive was simultaneously longer and shorter than she’d imagined it would be when they’d yanked the tarp off the car in the old shed, and piled into what must have been the most well-maintained and serviced Mazda Miata for at least a hundred miles- in

machine gray metallic

. “

When you die

,” she’d said, wiping the slack from her jaw, “-

I hope this is going to me

.”

While she’d suspected that Raven had some agonizingly drawn-out mission in mind, it had seemed unlikely that her patience would win out past an hour or two. Yang was unpleasantly surprised as the second hour rolled past them and gave way to the third… and then another half an hour past that. Any farther, and they’d be dangerously close to the border.

Yang got comfortable.

She wondered how things were unfolding at Weiss’ house… had the other researchers moved in? God, that was weird…

researcher

… Somehow, it felt like a much heftier responsibility than ‘carpenter’ or ‘part-time mover’. She hadn’t even met the others… or picked out a room.

Ugh. That was another thought entirely. If this excursion lasted too much longer- which was inevitable- she was going to get stuck with the last pick. “How much longer?”

Raven turned on her blinker, and the question answered itself; the road was bare dirt, and she didn’t need to be a genius to know it was going to be another half hour

at least

of winding backwoods, and narrow, mountainous driving. The truck would have fared better… but then, sitting in the cab of a truck for four hours and having to endure Raven’s terrain driving for the last leg of it sounded like an invitation to puking her guts up. “Not long. Just sit tight, and I’ll let you know when we get there.”

“Okay! Oh, mom, look, a frog! Hey, you wanna play some driving games? I spy with my little eye-”

“Don’t be an asshole. It’s been a while since I’ve been up this way, so it’s gonna take a minute… I don’t need your sarcasm, Yang, or your angst.”

“I’m just in a bit of a time crunch, okay? I was planning on doing things today,” Reiterating it was going to do little, she knew, but it was at least clearing the air. “I still have to move all my boxes a couple towns over-”

“What do you even know about those people?”

The suddenness of it made her blink for a long moment; it was an honest question, however crudely packaged. Even still… Raven’s body language was more relaxed now with the heavy tree cover, and her hold on the wheel was loose and finger-tipped, even at the speed she was going. Yang couldn’t read her eyes behind the sunglasses she’d slipped on- matte black and reflective- but there was a calm set to the ridge of her brow and the curve of her jaw. It really

was

an honest question. “Your Archivist friend- did she tell you anything about what they do? What they

really

do?”

“I mean… no.” She could feel the annoyance working its way into her frown… but no measure of restraint could get it back to neural. The first hill churned her stomach something awful; when she closed her eyes and pinched her brow together to ward off the feeling, Raven reached into the back and handed her a trashcan like it was second nature; Yang said not a word.

“...I don’t agree with the Archivists’ methods. As far as covens go, they’re not the worst… but they don’t run like covens to begin with, so that's kind of a nonstarter.” The second hill came faster, and Yang slid down in her seat until the trashcan was at chin-level. It smelled like breakfast sandwich bags and tomato. “I think I said once that a coven is like an HOA… if that's true, then the Archivists are more like a society- or an organization, more specifically. They operate out of branches instead of families, and each branch is tasked with the keeping, maintenance, and updating of specific types of magic. Sometimes, a branch will assign and relocate an Archivist to a specific coven to retrieve this data. It can take years- I should know.”

“...what is that supposed to mean?”

Raven breathed out from her nose, and it… wasn’t quite a sigh. But it wasn’t a pleasant noise either. “...we had one, in my coven. She came to stay with our community when I was small… Qrow and I were her favorite research subjects.”

The look of horror must have been immediate on her face as she looked up from the trash can, but Raven shook her head with a definiteness that put an end to the thought. “Get that thought out of your head. She never did anything like that- she just… she was studying the prophecy magic… but she had her own motives. They always do. I-...”

There were another few hills, and each one did less to sicken her than the deep regard that had settled on her mother’s face… It was like looking at a woman twice her mother’s age, with twice Summer’s vehement sorrow. “...she taught us other magic- techniques our elders had forbidden for a

reason…

we didn’t know better. We were only

twelve

. There’s… I don’t agree with the way our coven was run- you called it a cult, once, and… I can't argue with you. But some of the restrictions in place are for the good of all, not just for control’s sake. Magic is nothing to play with; Summer and I tried to raise you girls to be responsible with it- Ruby more than you… but still.”

“Ma… you’re not seriously arguing that a

cult

has healthier practices than a bunch of glorified librarians.”

“Why is everything so black and white with you?” Her side-glance was venomous- maybe that was fair, but Yang squashed the churning back down anyway, as they took a sharp curve, and a few potholes. Out her window, the trees were thinning along the curve, exposing endless blue sky on crystalline waters. The salt smell was coming in through the air vents, and it was a kind of pungent that could only settle like silt and home in the pit of her chest. It was an odd juxtaposition: the comfort of something vast and beautiful, and the claustrophobia of a closed-in car on a one-lane road going nowhere.

“...I just want you to make informed decisions. You don’t need to know everything, Yang… I don’t think anyone should.” It was the best consolation she was going to get… but all it did was serve to remind Yang of every hypocrisy she’d managed to sling so far that day.

“Make up your mind,” she rolled her jaw, and turned her gaze away, back on the ocean and the smell of salt and woodsmoke as she rolled down her window to drown any further conversation out. Raven didn’t try to broach the topic again.

She lost track of the time, arguing the hundred other things she felt like screaming about in her head on loop, rewinding and retracing the conversation, picking it apart hand in chin. She watched the gulls on the breeze- flashing white against the rolling greens and early autumn yellow-browns. What would it be like, to go wherever you wanted… be beholden to no one… what would it be like, to live without pain, or guilt, or manners? Cold, probably. Wet. She hardly even noticed as the car slowed, and eased down a red-dirt slope toward the water.

It was a small plot- closed in and flanked on nearly all sides by the tallest, thickest pines Yang had ever seen, even hiking. The water was a sliver through another path down a smaller slope of trees… and the cabin sat perched next to it, like a rotting corpse. Raven stayed buckled, but Yang- Yang opened her door, and climbed out on stiff legs to lean against it, taking it in.

The air was spicy with sea brine, and it choked at the lungs; the lap of waves down the slope was deafening… and the cabin sat with it’s walls sloughing off one panel at a time, flower boxes drooping beneath it’s window sills, rugs bleeding from the windows- piled on the porch, spilling out into the dirt in maroons and tarry browns and vibrant greens where the earth had started to take them back again. Somewhere, a corvid cried in the trees, and it sent tremors down her spine, like an ill omen.

Here in the shade, she could lift her sunglasses to perch on the top of her head… to lift the orange filter over the scene. It only made everything that much colder with age.

“What is this place?” The driver’s side door had opened quietly, but not quietly enough. Raven ignored her. Instead of answering, she just… stood there for a long moment, breathing. In a way, it was strange… seeing the wind tug at the loose fly-away curls on her forehead. The breeze carried a dampness with it, and it made the dark of her reflective, like glass. It was the clearest Yang had ever seen her- second only to the second after, when the sound of cabin door creaking echoed through the trees like a death rattle, and he stepped out from behind the door.

She hadn’t seen him in years… some time around her junior prom, maybe? Earlier than that? Had it been closer to freshman year? He was as ungainly tall and thin as she remembered… but he was scraggly-looking, and less put-together. His hair was lank with sweat and matted to his forehead and neck; it cupped his face and crowded his eyes in half-choppy bangs he’s likely done himself. They bled into the deep black of his lashes, which even from here she could see were long, brushing his cheeks as he stared at them through half-lidded eyes. His beard was patchy and half gray; his shirt was half buttoned, sweat-stained and wrinkled; when he smiled at them after a long-drawn, breathy pause from all parties, it was like a springtime.

“Hey there, kiddo.” He said, and his voice was as deep and tenebrous as Raven’s.

“Hey,” she managed, only half surprised. She supposed that in retrospect, it should have been obvious… although one learned not to take chances at guessing when it came to Raven. Even still… Yang could have kicked herself for not picking up on it quicker. Instead, she intercepted the hug as he came jogging in bare brown feet down the rickety, wood-rotted porch steps. He was scrawny, but his muscle mass was all lean and wiry- not unlike Ruby. He smelled like sweat and brine, and there was a grit to his arms that must have been sand. When she hugged him back, the scratch of his stubble was pressed against her forehead.

“I like the blonde,” he said with his sandpaper voice; his hands were wide and calloused as he tussled her head around while she squirmed, despite herself. “It suits you.”

“Cut it out!” She ducked out of his grasp, but he just reached out and nabbed her again, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing until she was groaning from the gut, legs kicking like she was ten again. “This is

so

not fair- put me down!”

“No way! You’ve got to tell me everything I’ve missed- I’m not letting you escape that easily.” His humor was infectious- she fought the laughter with everything in her as he turned toward Raven, holding her in his arms like a rowdy hostage. “A little help?”

Raven said nothing at all. His arms eased and slackened… and Yang watched as she detached herself as the humor in him slowly died. He took a step toward her- he took two- and she watched what seemed like molasses movements, they were so slow and deliberate as her mother reached up and peeled the obscuring lenses from her face. Her expression was… ineffable… and it drew him like a magnet to her.

Apart, they were two different people- two separate entities. They shared their coloring, their height, their tones and way of speaking… but together-

Yang watched them collide; he took her in his arms, and for the first time in her entire life, Yang watched her mother melt into another human being like she was made to be there. She fisted her hands in his shirt, and he squeezed her until Yang could see the tips of his fingers discoloring. Neither of them said a word, and in the trees somewhere, the corvid cried.

*   *   *

“Sorry for the mess,” he tossed a couple discarded clothing items into a basket in the corner, by a closed door she assumed was probably his room.

The inside of the cabin was surprisingly put together… and definitely out of character for Qrow. Neither of them had said it yet, and it didn’t seem like either of them wanted to be the person to… but this was not his typical style of living. The floor was whole, polished wood panels, broken up by sections of rectangular, shallow throw rugs; the walls were pristine and draped in picture frames; in the small main body this cabin had to offer, there was a couch-and-coffee-table set up, a kitchenette with a two-seater table in the far corner, and a thin wooden desk piled in stacks of papers, canvases, and boxes upon boxes of robust smelling oil paints. Everything was stylized (if messy) and cultivated (if haphazardly), and it was so far from the backpacking, sleeping-in-a-tent-or-the-backseat-of-a-car nature that Yang had been associating with the man since before she could remember.

“Are you… living here?” Raven braved the question first. She hadn’t said much since their embrace… but now that she was talking again, she was beginning to warm back into her codgery, belligerent self. There was an air of distaste on her features, and it rankled as he turned to look at her, three mugs to each hand- the image of domesticity.

He scowled right back at her in turn. “... you don’t get to make that face at me. In case you forgot, you did it first, idiot.”

They watched as he brought the mugs over to the small porcelain sink, set them down in the basin, and just… stood there for a minute with his hands on the sides, looking out the window at the light coming in. When he turned back around, he pushed the hair back from his face, and it slicked itself back with sweat and whatever pommade he used. Up close, his eyes were such an acid-washed pink color that the coagulates in his iris were a myriad of individual shades of red there within. There was no overflow of blood there- they were, for the most part, clear- and in the sunshine it was like looking at stained glass. “I come and go… but yes. This is…

home

, now.”

“Does this have anything to do with the coven?” Raven said, and he said nothing in return. For a long moment, there was just silence. Yang shuffled her feet a little in the doorway, watching as her mother took carefully restrained paces, running her hands along the walls, toward the desk in the far corner, tucked beside one of the front windows. Her fingers trailed the wood for a moment, and then the canvases… catching on a stack of them that were painted along the edges- although Yang couldn’t see the actual portraits from there. “Or are you just as much of an idiot as I was?”

His eyes flickered to Yang; it was quick, but it happened, and his response was just as icy as he turned it back on her. “I don’t have to dignify that with a response.”

“Which one?” Raven was tight with tension- it was singing up through all her muscles- Yang could see it. “Because I never expected either out of you.”

“...that makes two of us. Some people are more cut out for it then others, right?”

“Can someone please fill me in, here?” It was getting aggravating, being ignored in this conversation, like a spectator. She wasn’t in the particular mood to watch professional sibling squabbling- there was enough of that on hand at home. Yang stepped into the cabin fully, and bypassed her mother entirely, stepping between them the only way she could think might work to keep them from just ignoring her and continuing on. His gaze leveled on her, and it was terse… but not unkind. Never unkind. “It’s really nice to see you, Uncle Qrow… but I have to get home as soon as possible. Whatever Raven dragged us out here for… can you help?”

“That depends on your mother, kid, not me.”

Raven side-stepped her with ease; Yang hadn’t even heard her coming. “If I’d known it was going to be such an intrusion, I’d have brought a house warming gift.”

It was like watching the calm moments before the storm. He processed the gauntlet, rolled it around in his mouth for a moment, and then threw it right back. His eyes were like churchglass, and the rage there was bitter and lutheran. “I’m not doing this again. Grow up, Raven. How many messes have I cleaned up for you? How many times are you going to spit at me for each one? But it’s okay for

you

to be self-righteous, right? It’s okay for you to condemn me for helping you, but it’s

never

okay when I help you- despite that you always crawl back here and you

beg

me for it.

Right

?”

“That doesn’t-” Her bristled blustering might as well have been mute silence for all he listened. Yang watched him push off from the counter with his hands, and step closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. He was wiry but he was just as tall as her, and they were titans in the little bohemian living room, with the seagulls squawking outside the window and brine in the air, and four hundred miles between them and home.

“It

does

,” He finished for her. “I would serve the world on a silver platter for her- and you’d condemn me for that too.”

He had a way, Uncle Qrow, of talking with his hands. It was subtle, but it was the movements of his hands that facilitated the movement in his words, and so close to Raven now, his knuckles brushed the front of her blouse, and each word was laced with the open-fingered, begging motion of a man at his wit’s end. She watched him lace them together- press them to his lips- and hers too- like a prayer; like the prayer of the desperate, or the dying. She realized, not immediately, but with a kind of perfect and horrified certainty, the closed circuit they made together… and Raven was the one who seemed to suck all the power right out of the exchange.

“I would,” She agreed, and Yang wanted to hit her; she wanted to walk over and rip them apart; she wanted to scream. She wanted to put her boxes in the back of the truck, sit in the air conditioning, and cry until night overtook her, and she could slink into her new home; until she could lay on the cool floor in a blank slate of a bedroom and be anywhere but anywhere.

Instead, she took a deep breath- she took two.

“Uncle Qrow,” it took a moment, but his eyes turned back to her... and it broke the spell. She watched him bite his lip, and saw the cogs turning- watched the way his features worked as he cataloged his regret… and acted on it- something she’d never seen Raven do before. Not for her, at least- not genuinely. “I need your help. This is the first and only thing I’m going to ask of you… because I’m done too. After today, I’m on my own… no silver platter required.”

Maybe it was presumptuous to assume he’d been talking about her… he could have been talking about Ruby, or someone else entirely for all she knew. But it softened what little had yet to soften in him when he looked at her, and he took a full step back from Raven as though to process it. His hands worked in twitchy, nervous knots, and she watched him rub at his patchy scruff and pick at some side-jaw abrasion. “...what do you need?”

Raven scoffed; both of them looked at her almost in sync, and she visibly faltered, the planes of her prickled, half-scrunched expression easing out back into her narrow default. She held her ground… but her grip was shoddy at best; she was slipping.

“Why don’t you wait in the car a while, Ma,” She said, and it was… oh

god

what a feeling. She could taste it in her throat- could feel it settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

Her mother looked at her like a woman who had lost whatever respect she’d been able to produce in her entire life. It was such a stark difference from the woman she’d been two months before, when she’d thrown herself down on their bed too early in the morning, and Raven had been groggy, sure… but she’d been happy, and so had Yang.

Maybe that was the difference; maybe Raven was the same as she’d always been- maybe it was just Yang who had lost the illusion of happiness. It was harder to stomach her now, without the filter… and she didn’t know how to handle that. It was something she’d been struggling with all day, as she’d been roped into this mother-daughter hostage roadtrip. How do you tell the woman who raised you- the person who cradled you- who should care about you… that it burns you alive from the center of your stomach to the top of your throat, and each breath bubbles when she’s around? I hate you isn't enough… not when you don’t ever seem to be.

And it made her want to weep. It made her feel like the whole of her was drowning; like she was a terrible person.

She really was

done… god.

It had been an empty threat before. She’d meant it… but now it was a necessity. There were no more bridges- at every opportunity today, she’d gone and nuked them all.

Yang looked away, and the shame of it was hot and raw in her chest as she did. For a minute, no one moved. Not her, not Qrow… and not Raven. All the air seemed to have sucked itself out of the room. Seagulls… salt… oil paint. Yang didn’t watch her leave- she didn’t even hear her.

*   *   *

The water was cold as it lapped at her ankles, the algae on the rocks a filmy textural nightmare as they waded the shoreline. A couple boats were out on the water, making waves that dragged the current. She’d stripped her boots and socks off, and knotted her joggers up to her knees to trudge after him, kicking at the clumping seaweed.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” he admitted, stooping down to squat at the knees. She watched him search through the stones as the foam collected around his arm, all the squirrelly black hairs standing up on end on his forearm. When he stood back up, his arm was dripping, and he shook it out with a simple and unaffected deference- like it was a thing he did so many times a day it had become a part of him. He smiled at her, and tossed the stone.

She caught it; it was cool, and smooth- shaped like a guitar pick, and about twice as thick. “Aren’t you supposed to look for light ones? It’s going to sink.”

“That’s what you’d think… but if you get one with a little meat on its bones- not much!- just enough-” he stooped, picked up another one, and she watched the twist in his hips, the point of his fingers, settling the curve of the stone in the groove between calloused thumb and forefinger. “-it builds more momentum.”

It was always possible with Uncle Qrow that he was just show boating… but this time the stone went sailing out over the water in a perfect, flat arc, and the water still soaking it’s surface glittered as it coasted, coasted, coasted… lower and lower until it tapped the surface and seemed to ricochet out from there, rippling the water so far out that her eyes began to water in the harsh light.

“Wow…” she’d breathed out, turning her own stone over in her hands, feeling the sun-warmed smoothness of it. He hadn’t even turned to look; there he was again, squatting down in the water, rooting around for another perfect tosser. “...you must practice a lot.”

“I’m out here for a couple hours every day, just taking it in,” he shrugged. “It helps remind me to stay grounded- keeps me in touch with my element, when I get bogged down with other techniques. That’s something they don’t really tell you about Archivistry- the more you learn and the more you practice those things, it’s easy for your sense of self and magic to… muddle. Being out here helps clear my mind. Being in the water helps restore my magic circuit- flushes things out..”

For a moment as he stood back up, all Yang could do was just… stand there, staring at him. He caught her gaze, and gave it a moment before he broached it- very gracefully, thankfully. “...everything okay, kid?”

“That is, I think… the straightest answer anyone has ever given me.” It came out a laugh- why was she laughing? But he was smiling too… and another boat drove by, rocking the water and sending the waves rushing up her thighs; she squealed, and tried not to slip on the rocks that were poking into the bottoms of her feet as she balanced.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Raven’s always been a closed book… and the other two aren’t very far off, either.” Qrow didn’t seem to mind the splashing. He paused for a long moment, and there was a pensive kind of expression on his face… but it wasn’t like the kind she had been expecting from him at some point. He didn’t try to tiptoe around it, and there was no desire on his face to mince words. His eyes were kind, “Are you still going by Yang?”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for asking.”

He waved off the courtesy, and skipped another stone about a mile out. She whistled as she watched it go. “I shouldn’t have assumed, but- she pronouns?”

“Yup.” Her stone went maybe a few feet out, and that was a generous estimation. They heard the

plop!

sound as it sank, and the ripples trickled out around them. “Mom’s been getting me estrogen for a couple years now.”

He nodded a moment, and it was still watching the spot where her stone had sunk. “... good. I’m glad you know who you are, Yang. Not a ton of people do… and it’s important you don’t let your parents get in the way of that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they’re very supportive… but I’ve known Summer and Tai for a long time. Just… don’t burn yourself out worrying about them, okay?”

“I’m… not really sure I know what you mean.”

“I love my sister… and I love you, Yang. It’s not that I think Raven

shouldn’t

have been a mother- I think if our mother could see everything she’s given of herself to build something new and better with your parents… I don’t think she should have been a mother so

young

. We weren’t… raised right. I let her get away with so much because I know it was hard for her. I know that’s not right of me… but I think to some degree, each of us are cursed with this… need to give everything of ourselves for the people we care about,” He breathed a kind of deep, rickety breath, and flicked another little stone out on the water. “And then we get angry, and we bottle it up, because we know it’s not fair… but we keep doing it. It’s a compulsion… but it’s also a need. We love the people we care about so much… we’d do anything for them- every time.”

When he looked at her again, it was with a kind of searching, hopeful regard; she met it fully, and hoped he could somehow feel the beat of her heart from there- somehow sense the way every word had burrowed itself in the meat between her ribs and bubbled up to choke her throat from the inside. She swallowed and it hurt.

“Raven means well… and I know that's not what you want to hear. But I can swear to you right now that if someone gave her the choice, she’d pick you a hundred times over, hands down. She’s my sister, and she sucks, but… she loves with everything she’s got, and desperation can drive people to extremes.” For a long moment, there was only the breeze, and the sunshine, and the salt spray on her face. The foam was pooling around her ankles, and there was a piece of gnarled seaweed clinging to the side of her foot. And then he was taking steps over to her, reaching out. She clasped his hand, and it was cool and wet, and gritty with sand. He had a serious expression on his face- long and solemn- and it was moments like that with the hot orange light on the side of his face, casting highlights through his hair and over his stained glass eyes, that he instantly looked both everything and nothing like Raven. “There are things I can’t help, that are… outside my control. But I promise you always have a place here with me, Yang for… for however long I’m here. I’ll teach you anything you want to know, and answer as best I can any questions. It’s not much, I know, but… it’s what I can offer in condolences.”

His grip was light, but firm. Yang squeezed his hand back. “... okay. So tell me about the Archivists.”

If Qrow looked surprised… It was barely a second or two before he was nodding to himself, seemingly trying to get his thoughts together. “...alright. What has Raven told you about us?”

They migrated to the shore, where the thin sandbank hit a dirt slope; he sat down on a rock, and she crossed her legs at the top of the slope. Down the path they’d come down from the cabin, the breeze was rustling the trees, and she could just see one of the car’s headlight from her spot. “A lot of biased, incoherent warnings, mostly. She didn’t say you were one… but I guess I understand the hostility now.”

He blew the air out through his teeth, and pitched himself forward a little to lean his arms over his knees, scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah… she’s got a chip on her shoulder about the whole thing. Since Cinder, things have been different between us. All she seemed to get out of the whole experience was trauma- I walked away with a bit of a clearer picture. When we were twelve, the Archivists sent Cinder to us. Archivists traditionally operate like a profession rather than a birthright, which is how other covens tend to operate- at least here in the states. Their researchers are sent out to observe, study, record and preserve the magical techniques and inherited abilities of covens, in order to compile what they call a ‘collective understanding’. The Archivists’ goal is to make it common practice for covens to learn and exchange other types of magic from the ones they were born with, while also monitoring and policing certain types of magic, and preventing the abuse of this ‘collective understanding’ by any individual or group. It’s… I don’t agree with a lot of it, to be honest… but I think the base idea is important: that covens are too isolated, and if we want to survive and adapt, we either need to assimilate with humans, or learn some new tricks.”

“Raven seems to think that Cinder did something… untoward. What’s that about?”

He rolled the question around in his mouth, and cracked every knuckle on his hands. “...it’s not my story to tell. I can tell you that half the coven was raised to ash, in the aftermath. We rebuilt, but things never got better- not really. It was all our father could do to keep us from exile, for our involvement. So Raven sought out friendship elsewhere…”

“Summer,” Yang answered her own pending question, “and Tai.”

He nodded, and brushed the conversation from his hands in one fell swoop. Already, the sun had started its decent from the sky’s peak- she noticed it at the same time he did. “What did Raven bring you here for?”

She shrugged. “Anise, I think, and frankincense.”

“Ah,” Qrow’s smile was so off-puttingly warming… something in her was resistant to the easy way it fit on his face- the way it lined the corners of his mouth, like he did it a lot. What was that like? When he stood, it wasn’t without offering a hand down to her, pushing his hair back out of his eyes again in a way that brought her unavoidably face to face with them. “...why am I surprised.”

Yang took his hand. “I don’t know.”

*   *   *

It didn’t take long for Qrow to gather the supplies; Yang followed him back into the cabin, and made a point of not looking anywhere near the Miata as she did, leaving sandy, pine-trail footprints along the hardwood as they went.

“Right here

,” he’d said, opening a tall oak cabinet built into the wall off the side of the mini-fridge. Inside were rows and rows of spice racks, each lined in small topical jars with labels. They were not organized in any way that seemed to matter- the only thing of note was perhaps that they were so disorganized- now that was more Uncle Qrow style than any of this newfound homemaking. He’d reached up and procured a small, half-empty jar of frankincense, and searched around for another minute or two before procuring the anise, in a similar state of use. He’d handed them to her with little caution or unease. “

You can take these. I picked them on a full moon, so they should still be good in terms of quality.

”

“

How easy is it to get more? Does it have to be picked under a full moon, or is that a superstition? Where do they grow?

”

“

Whoa, easy there firecracker. One question at a time,

” He’d laughed, still rooting around for something.

“I guess you could get some from stores… but it's going to be weak shit. You’ll find a lot to do with magic has to deal with cycles, and the moon counts with that, believe it or not. For the most potency, you should always try to pick from places with high concentrations of elemental magic, and pick under a full moon, because that's the end of a cycle.”

After what felt like ten minutes, he’d finally grabbed what he seemed to think was the right jar, and carried it over to the little table. Grabbing a little baggy from the box half hanging off the side of the table, she watched him pour out three teaspoons of a powdery, miasmic orange dust, and then sweep it unceremoniously into the bag with the side of his palm. It left an orange smear on the tabletop.

“

What’s that?

”

“

Chrysanthemum powder. Do me a favor- before you try whatever it is Raven’s concocted to help you with the eye pain… try this. It’s what I use, and I promise… it will help.

” He sealed the baggy, and held it out to her in the thin space between them. If she hesitated… he didn’t push. “

Trust me. It can’t be any worse

.”

“

I suppose that’s true…

” She’d pocketed it, but not before he cracked a smile. “

And there's very little assembly, comparably.

”

Since they’d gotten back - after another grueling 4 hour car ride in complete silence- Yang had thrown herself into moving her boxes into the back of the truck, until long after the sun had started to dip below the horizon line. It wasn’t like there was a ton… but it had been in and of itself a long and emotionally exhausting day- after, what? An hour of sleep the night before? Two?

Against her better judgment… she kept the bare mattress on the floor, and made the decision to stay one more night. It was too late now- if she showed up in the middle of the night with all her shit and started making a racket, there was no way that was going to end up well. So she muscled through her smiles, and hugged Summer every ten minutes or so, and sat down for dinner with Ruby and her dad, and Raven, who wouldn’t look at her, or speak to her, or acknowledge her in any way. That was… swell.

The second everyone parted for the night, she went up to the empty room that used to be hers, sat down on her mattress, and stared at the baggie for a solid 5 minutes… before putting it away. What was she even supposed to do with it? She’d given Raven all the stuff when they’d gotten back, and she had yet to hear the exciting lecture on how to make the numbing agent (not that she needed or wanted to know, at this point). She assumed that- like with most things- Raven would wait until the very last minute; that was fine- Yang didn’t much care.

She laid there for a long while- maybe too long- and the stillness of the room and the dust buildup made her eyes teary, and the air feel stale.

What was it going to be like there…? She’d never lived anywhere but the farm. It was a job, technically, with on-site living; she doubted it was going to be like the movies, where you moved into an apartment with a couple of friends and everything was, well, shitty… but shitty with friends, which was nice.

She didn’t know any of these people- not really… maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe she’d rushed into things…

Yang rocketed herself off the mattress. It was too hard to breathe in here- too claustrophobic to think; she threw up the window in what must have been record time, and sucked in the fresh air. It was cool and damp with rain- and not the humid kind. She let it wet her face and slowly eased down onto her knees to rest her arm gently against the water- moist sill…

…and she fell asleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The rooster had barely begun to crow before Tai had roused her from sleep with a tender shake, and together they’d carried her mattress down the narrow stairwell, past the family pictures framed on the wall. Yang tried her best not to linger on them.

There were no lingering moments of nostalgic longing today; it was gray outside, and stormy. The sky rippled with the promise of rain, and a dense mist had overtaken their visibility. Tai was uncharacteristically silent and pursed the entire endeavor, and it did not cease as he climbed up into the truck.

“I’ll see you there.” Was all he said, and it was in low tones that tightened the sense of foreboding that was lingering in her chest.

But the mist was cool on her arms where her own body heat threatened to choke her, and she nodded, placidly. “See you there.”

He was gone before she’d even rolled the bike out of the shed. She ran a hand over its body- over the chipped yellow paint and grooved rubber handles. So much work, and so much love put into this… It had been the first thing she’d ever been so thoroughly and lingeringly proud of. Her Ducati purred the second she straddled the seat, turned the key, and strapped the helmet snug under the curve of her jaw.

Summer and Raven had neglected to show for any kind of goodbye- however temporary. That was fine; fewer people to chide her for her lack of gear. Yang wanted to feel the moisture on her skin- to enjoy the first few moments of the kind of true independence she had been thus far lacking. Once she got to the house in Orono, that was another matter entirely. But the road between then and now was just for her.

“Yang?”

She almost missed it, over the purr of the bike, and the helmet’s thickened padding… but she heard it still. Ruby had appeared in her mirror just as suddenly as she hadn’t been there before; it made her jump a little, and she bit back any swears that leapt to mind- not that it mattered anymore. Ruby was older now that Yang really wanted to acknowledge- it tugged a little at the center of her chest just thinking about it.

But she didn’t look that way now. Something about the mist, or the dreary morning made her soft-eyed, and tentative. All of the roaring, repellant teeth-bearing had shrunken in her, somehow, and rolled itself into a chittering, wiry fidgetiness; Yang lifted her visor. “Hey, Rubes.”

She shifted on her feet, and Yang watched her seem to struggle with the words. “...are you going to come by?”

“Sure,” Yang nodded, without missing a beat; the relief in her sister was immediate and without subtlety.

“Good,” she sighed, and it sounded a little breathy, like it could swing halfway between a laugh and a cry. “I don’t know how much sanity I’ll have left with these people if you leave for good.”

That was certainly fair enough. “I promise I won’t be gone forever. I wouldn’t just throw you to the wolves like that.”

Ruby took a couple steps closer, until they were standing side by side, looking out down the lane into the misty morning. For a moment, there was nothing further to say, and they just stood there, drinking in the quiet on the farm as the rooster and the chickens started to wake, the occasional car passing down the far-off road.

“I’m going to miss you,” Ruby admitted, so quietly she might have missed it, if she hadn’t been thinking the exact same thing. Yang wanted to reach out and hug her. She didn’t.

“I’m going to miss you too, Ruby.”

*   *   *

She couldn’t see any lights on when she pulled up to the house-at least, not on that side of the house. There were no other vehicles in the driveway, besides the truck, and Tai was sitting on the tailgate with an energy drink in one hand, and his car keys in the other, fidgeting with them and flipping the key in and out of its holder like a switchblade. He was nervous- she supposed that was to be expected.

When she climbed off the bike, he hopped down to meet her, and they didn’t waste any time; he put the keys away, and she pulled the singular set that Weiss had mailed to her out of her jean pockets. “We can just unload everything out here for now, and I’ll take it up once I figure out which rooms are taken.”

He nodded… but slowly, like this was not his idea of an ideal situation. There was a slowly twisting frown turning his lips down in an unnatural pull against his smile lines, but he said nothing, beyond, “...alright.”

What was in the water this morning? She tried not to let his strangeness bother her. Ruby was understandable… Summer and Raven both had their reasons (valid or not) but Tai? He’d practically pushed her out- in a more literal sense than maybe the other two. He’d sought this job out for her himself… so why now? Why the sudden clear unease?

“Getting cold feet?” She asked, unable to help it, and maybe that was cruel, but they were so close now, that it was hard to resist. His frown didn’t falter, and as they began to unload the mattress and then the box spring, and set them propped against the side of the stairway, he deigned to answer.

“...no. I think you need this.”

“Then why the long face? Why’s everyone so depressed about this- besides Mom?”

They walked in tandem back to the truck to start on the boxes. The mist had dampened the cardboard, but thankfully the structural integrity was still maintained enough that shifting them from the truck bed wasn’t such a hassle. Those went over by the mattress, one by one as he mulled over his answer.

“...I’m just worried about your mother, is all. I thought this would be good for you, and it will be- I just-”

“It’s not like I’m never going to visit,” she sighed, and it came out maybe a little more charged than she’d meant it to. Gingerly, she paused, and bit the inside of her lip. Yang took a moment, and tried again. “I’m going to come by, when I can. I can still help her with the harvest this fall, and we can plan out some dinners- maybe once a week. I know it’s not my responsibility to make sure she’s secure, so you don’t have to start on that again, but… I know being around helps. I’m not just going to leave Summer high and dry.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything at all. They stood there, the last of the boxes in hand, as the clouds rolled overhead in a myriad of grays, and the air clung to the fine blonde hair on his arms; the thick dark curling on hers seemed to repel it.

“Okay, sunshine,” he said, and there was something indescribable laced in the under breadth of it. “Okay.”

He set his box down with the rest, and she followed suit. The key was beginning to burn a hole through her pocket, and she struggled to find any lingering words now that the damage had been done. He didn’t seem to have many either. When he stepped toward her, it was stunted and awkward, and she could feel the age seeming into his bones. It was strange, with her arms around him like this, on the brink of this new and solitary thing, just how frail he seemed. He was like a completely different person from the man she’d seen him as before.

When he pulled back, she held fast. It seemed to shock him; she heard his breathing change, and felt his hesitation… but then he was back again, and some of that youthful image of him- some of this warmth- came back in the squeeze of his arms around her. He kissed the top of her head, and it was warm against the damp in her hair.

He let go first, and she let him this time, stepping back to get her footing. He lingered a moment, and seemed to be taking a mental picture; she tried not to let it intimidate her. “I love you, kiddo.”

“...I love you too, Dad.”

That was all. The entire exchange took perhaps less than a minute, and then he was stepping back up into his truck, glancing at her out the side door as he made a 3-point turn, and started back off toward home, exhaust adding to the morning’s dense miasma.

She took a breath; she took two. And then Yang pulled the key out of her pocket, and climbed the front steps of the massive two-story red-brick colonial. The key fit into the lock on the front doors like a knife through butter, and the click was audible; she pushed in one of the double doors, and stepped into the foyer.

“I see the key works,” the voice shot something through her- probably adrenaline- and this time, the swear was unstoppable and vehement. Weiss waited patiently in the doorway, seeming unfazed as she stirred the little silver spoon in her teacup, making not a cling or splatter. “I was wondering if you would come.”

Once she’d gotten her skin back on, Yang rolled her jaw back toward patience, and pocketed the key again, turning to greet her wholesale. “Good morning to you too, Edelweiss.”

Was it usual to greet one’s boss in their nightclothes? Yang couldn’t be sure, but Weiss seemed otherwise unbothered. She was wrapped in a silky, thin nightgown in periwinkle colors, and the sleeves were wide and drooping, cuffed in gaudy lace and subtle flowering embroidery. It was like something Raven would wear- just in all the wrong colors. Her hair was down, and her face was bare- in this, the freckles that had lightly speckled the highest places along the bridge of her nose and the undercurve of her eyes had darkened significantly into what one might describe as ‘noticeable’, and Yang found that- instead of the empty, scarred socket- it was these her attention seemed to drift toward. They were just so…

girlish

.

“The others have already arrived and unpacked. You have missed your opportunity to pick your room.”

She figured as much; that didn’t make it suck any less, though. “Peachy. Everyone else asleep, or can I bring my stuff in?”

The responding shrug was indifferent at best, and amused at worst, though she made no expressive signs toward the latter. “That should be the case. I would, if I were you. It is likely to rain.”

“What are you even doing up this early? Besides waiting for me not to show?”

You know

, she didn’t add,

like a creep

.

Again, Weiss shrugged. This one though held a modicum of softer reception, like she was bored of the game-

that

at least, was refreshing. “I rise early. I have classes to maintain, despite how you might think I spend my days here. Which reminds me-”

She lifted the ornate little cup to her lips, and took a long, silent sip. When she lowered it, the business in her little french peasant girl face had returned. “I mentioned before that it will be difficult to find me at certain hours- this goes for another of the researchers, if you remember?”

“I do…”

“I will be spending a large sum of time on-campus during daylight hours. You’ll find me most often home in the evenings, into night. That is when I recommend you have any reports into my inbox. Is that clear?”

It wasn’t said unkindly; her accent waxed and waned with her words, but Yang got the picture. “Understood.”

“Good.” She took another sip of her tea- as Yang presumed it was- although it was a shorter sip this time. “Now, let's get you moved in.”

It took less time, overall, for the two of them to bring all the boxes inside than it had taken her and Tai to unload them from the truck. Yang had not honestly expected Weiss to help at all; she’d set her cup on the nearest ornamental end table, slipped on a pair of soft-looking slippers by the door, and followed Yang outside. Two by two, the boxes migrated to the foyer hallway, and once the mattress and the box spring too had been shifted in the door and up the stairs to the landing, Weiss had wiped the sweat from her hands (of which there seemed to be little) and waved, a little dismissively as she turned and glided her way back down, ghosting peppermint smell all the while.

That was fine; it didn’t take a genius to figure out which room was hers. Out of the seven doors on the top floor, only three were closed: the Archivist study, and what she could only assume were two of the bedrooms. The bathroom, a small sitting room, what looked like a miniature library, and one other unfurnished room remained. Unsurprisingly, it was not a large room.

For such a big house, she wondered how a room might be so small… but then, she supposed this was due diligence for her tardiness. She could blame Raven, really… but it was true that she was hardly without fault whatsoever.

Nearly a fourth the size of her bedroom on the farm, it took almost ten minutes to finagle the mattress and box spring in the narrow hallway, through the door and into the room, which was no farther in diameter than a sardine can, for all she was aware. There was a window- singular and bare- that looked out on the back garden. She supposed that was nice… but the fact that she could walk three paces from her bed to the opposite wall somewhat dampened the effect.

By the time she’d assembled the frame, nestled the two most obnoxious belongings on her checklist into their divots, and shuffled the small retinue of boxes up to the landing to pile outside the door until she could find space for them, the mist had lifted into a soft and depressing sprinkle as the clouds parted in sporadic, patchy showers of transparent yellow sunlight. Her stomach growled at her indignantly, but Yang continued to slice open the thick layers of packing tape Summer had wrapped the boxes in, pocketing her knife and popping them open one by one. She was glad she hadn’t brought her vanity, or her dresser. If she talked to Weiss about it, she might be able to install a couple shelves on the wall… but for the time being, she could probably ask if Wukong still had that pipe-abomination hanging-bar closet he’d hand-me-downed from Ren and Nora.

For a long moment, she just stood there over the current open box, things strewn around her close quarters without a home, as outside the window she began to hear the first real chirps of birdsong. She listened for a long moment… and felt the tightness in chest turn to ashes.

…shit.

*   *   *

The rain maintained its sporadic, half-hearted attempt at a drizzle through the better part of the late morning. Once all of her boxes had been systematically shifted into her closet of a room, mutilated, and scattered across her bed or piled in the corner, Yang had taken a moment to catch her breath, rinse her face in the bathroom sink, and get her bearings.

Weiss was gone by the time she jogged her way back downstairs, the teacup vanished from its temporary resting place by the door, and she took that as her indicator that she was on her own for the remainder of the day. She sincerely hoped that the woman did not expect her to start on the research right away- considering she had no actual idea what they were supposed to be ‘researching’ to begin with. Some kind of magic, yes… that much was clear. But what?

She tried not to dwell on it.

The kitchen was still gorgeous, and she meandered around it for a full ten minutes with Weiss gone, opening cabinets and trying to memorize the layout. What even was the protocol for sharing a house with people who weren't family? Was it office protocol? Bring your own dishes? Use whatever you want? She’d have to clarify with Weiss…

The note tucked next to the fruit bowl on the counter was nice- but it did not answer the pending questions; even still, Yang leaned against the counter under the window and tried her best to manage the awkward handwriting. The paper was crisp and white, and it crinkled beneath her sweat-oiled fingers. 
 
House Rules:

Amenities are at your disposal. This includes the water, electricity, and heat. 
Noise ordinance between 0300 hours and 0600 hours.
File your days off at least a week in advance.

All forms should be filed accordingly.

Communal meal times will be held at 0530 hours and 1730 hours.
Any allergies or dietary restrictions must be filed in advance.

All forms should be filed accordingly.

Guests are subject to approval post background check.

All forms should be filed accordingly.

All relevant case studies, findings, and progressing work should be submitted weekly for review by each Sunday at 1800 hours.

All forms should be filed accordingly.

Shift Schedules:

R.W.S. //  1800 - 0300  Mondays thru Fridays

R.B.B. //  1800 - 2300  Mondays thru Fridays

R.E.S. //  2300 - 0300  Mondays thru Fridays

R.Y.X. //  2300 - 0300  Mondays thru Fridays
 
Well… wasn’t that just neat and tidy. She should have expected military time.

Even still…

fuck-

talk about keeping late hours. If anything, it wasn’t that far off from the work she did late at the shop, and it would probably give her more time during the day to do that work…

Yang set the paper back down on the counter. Assuming she was the only one who had yet to read it was probably a bit on the nose… so for now it would stay there, by the sadly untouched fruits.

Deciding against risking the plate dilemma, Yang clipped the house key onto her carabiner, pocketed it, and left the kitchen and its movie-esque perfection behind, taking care to close the door gently on her way out. It seemingly didn’t matter- she got halfway to her bike before it opened again, creaking in the otherwise still morning. The hair on her arms prickled, and while it might have been the chill, something else deep in her gut protested to the noise…

Against her better judgment, Yang turned around.

“You’re going out for coffee, aren't you?” Emerald smiled a half-shy, dimple-cheeked smile, leaning halfway out the open door in what barely constituted pajamas; Yang seethed so lockingly, that she nearly backed into her bike. She caught herself on the handle, and tried her best to breathe. “Couldn’t figure out the kitchen rules?”

“She wasn’t very specific.” There were half a hundred other things that Yang could have said- half a hundred things she wanted to scream at her, too. That feeling she’d touched on at the beach a few weeks before had not lessened- the apathy was still there, trying to bring her to some kind of stable calm about the entire situation- but now that trembling, righteous anger was ramping up to meet it, and there seemed to be little stopping point the longer she stood there, smiling at her like they were so tender and close.

How dare she? How dare she act like they were friends- like they were

more

. How dare she pretend to know a single thing about Yang.

She seemed to read the feelings on Yang’s face… and for perhaps the first time Yang could recall, there was a mark of genuine…

something

on her face. She stepped out of the doorway a little more, and stood there in her floral cotton shorts and her braids, picking at the cuticle beds of her glittering acrylic nails; even from a few feet away, Yang could see how red and raised and raw they looked. “...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that… and I shouldn’t have lied.”

For a moment… Yang was unsure what exactly to say. She just… stood there. Overhead, the sunshine was starting to broaden in swaths over the yard, and it cast over them both in warm reprieve from the damp. It felt nice on her skin, and good in her soul; Yang took a deep breath. “Yeah, well… good. That sucked.”

She turned and straddled the bike, gripping her helmet in both hands as suddenly Emerald seemed to jolt with the motion. She took a couple quick steps forward, down the front steps, and lingered there, just a foot or two out of reach. “I- I thought a lot about what you said. About just asking…?”

It took a lot of fucking restraint to roll her jaw and keep it shut… but Yang did. For half a second. “Do not fucking ask if you can kiss me right now, Emerald. What are you even

doing

here? Since when are you a

witch

?”

She shrugged and crossed her arms, a little defensive now, and hey- maybe that was better. Maybe Yang could deal with that, and not this creepy repentant act. “I didn’t even know, okay? It just kind of came up, and I didn’t know what to do- I figure this is as close as I’m going to get to like, any kind of help with this. I didn’t

know

you were going to be here.”

“Well, I’m here,” it came out a scoff, and when Emerald looked at her again, it was that same darting, uncertain look she’d had before- just that brief moment on the sidewalk before any of this had gotten so petty and drawn out. The ruddiness in her eyes had seemed to soften to a warm and wistful brown, like good earth… Yang bit the inside of her cheek and hated the taste. “...so what now?”

“...coffee?” She shrugged, like it was all she had left to offer. Her dainty dark shoulders shivered a little in the cold, and Yang fought the rising kindness in her nature; the jumper tied through her belt loops remained in place squarely under her ass. “On me?”

Yang thrust the helmet between her thighs, and counted silently to twenty. “...get some clothes on.

Real

clothes- I’m leaving in five minutes with or without you.”

Emerald saluted, and the smile was wide and blinding; Yang wanted to kick something. Instead, she sat there, and counted out the five minutes in 60 second intervals as Emerald ran back into the house, and eventually reappeared in something considerably safer for sports bike riding- however tame Yang intended to keep it. Even still- it

screamed

Emerald: the bell bottom jeans with the embroidered seams and the Laura Dean white ruffle blouse.

Yang started the bike, and passed her the helmet. “Strap that on. Tight.”

“Yes ma’am,” came the inevitable reply. The bike dipped momentarily as she swung a leg over and settled herself on the back seat. Yang could feel her fingers flexing against the sides of her tank top; she didn’t try to reach fully around, and she didn’t try to hold onto her wholesale- it was like anything more than a light knotting of her fingers in the tanktop fabric was lethal.

“You’re going to have to hold on tighter than that.”

“But-”

“I am not fucking explaining to your brother why you fell off and died somewhere between here and Vale. I’m not going to explode if you touch me, just-”

“Yeah, you seem totally cool, Yang.”

Deep breaths… Yang kicked up the stand. “Hold on the right way or get off now.”

Emerald flattened her hands against Yang’s sides, and for a moment- despite her protestations- it made something in Yang want to set herself on fire. She rolled the feeling off and started down the drive.

It was nice, feeling the wind whipping through her hair, the sun and the moisture combatting now against the cold wind. It burned her arms and her cheeks, and the flat of her forehead with her bangs swept away, but it was nice too- refreshing, after the moving. Yang tried not to dwell on that, though- just the thought of her tiny little room with its lonely little window was enough to dampen the raw elation that was tentatively creeping into her chest cavity, nestling next to her heart and beating in time.

Overhead, the sun was shining and it made everything butter yellow and saccharine. Maybe this had been a good thing, after all. Things were already starting to look up… Emerald had apologized, as reluctant as she was to believe it… that was a start, certainly. This was going to be a new chapter in her life… she just had to see it through, and take it as it came.

Emerald whooped as they made a sharp corner, and despite every fiber of her composure and restraint… Yang felt the twitch at the corners of her mouth.

*   *   *

“Why all the way to Vale? I mean, don’t get me wrong- I think I’d rather shoot myself than get it from anyone but Coco- but it’s not exactly close by anymore.”

Yang couldn’t say she didn’t have a point. Even still; it was the principal of the thing. She always went to The CFVY Bean- when Raven wasn’t in a hurry, at least. Anything else was practically sacrilege.

The white paper cup was hot in her hand; she liked the burn. “It’s routine.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

It was busy that morning; Coco wasn’t at the register, which meant she was either out making a grocery run, or running around like a crazy person somewhere in the back. Yang didn’t bother to make a point of asking. Emerald’s order came out next, and it was significantly simpler than she’d been expecting. “You take your coffee black?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know… just a little bitter, I guess. I took you for a sweeter brew.”

“...I’m not going to flirt because I don’t want to get stranded here… but you make it real easy, you know.”

Yang ignored her; they stopped at the sweetener station, and she took a moment to nab a couple packets of the raw brown sugar, and a cup of cinnamon. They’d wrapped her bagel, which was good, because she could hold the paper with her teeth as she took the goodies in one hand and her drink in the other. Emerald said nothing about it. Good; Yang wasn’t likely to care.

It took a little bit of winding and maneuvering to get around the crowd- the line had nearly hit the door- and that would have proved a problem in and of itself… if Emerald didn’t breeze to the opposite side of the wall, and plop herself into a booth- like she had nowhere else to be. Yang spit the bagel onto the table, and it rolled an inch or two and stopped flat.

“What are you doing?”

She looked up, already shrugging off her mossy-colored cardigan, doe-eyed and innocent as she popped the lid on her coffee with the pads of her thumbs. She blinked like a cartoon character, and tilted her head- just a little. That apathy feeling was building in Yang again… but she let it simmer. “Eating? Why, aren’t you going to?”

“No, Emerald, I was going to drive us home.”

“How exactly are you going to drive a motorcycle with a coffee cup in one hand?” …fuck.

“...that’s not what I meant.”

The snort was loud, and highly sardonic. “Okay.”

But she scooted over, and patted the seat without another word. Yang blamed the windburn for the heat running through her. Even still… she trudged to the other end of the booth, and inched her way in. She watched, in turn, as Emerald unwrapped her steaming, flaky croissants from their wrapping, ripped off a chunk of one with dancing, heat-sensitive fingers, and dunked it in the open mug, leaning low to toss it without mess into her mouth.

Yang turned her attention to her own food before Emerald could notice her staring; that was the last thing she needed. The coffee was good; she nursed that for a while, playing with the wrapper on her bagel and pretending to watch the cafe as it bustled in and out and roundabout with the morning crowd.

“You never really told me you were a witch either, you know.”

For a moment, it was the accusation that took her by surprise- and the tepid seriousness of the tone. She watched the way Emerald seemed to distance herself- physically, and somewhere in her gaze, like she was far far away. Yang continued to nurse her coffee. It was warm and sweet, and it sent floods of something rushing and hot through her chest and her limbs as the sips went down.

She set down the mug. “...it's not like I hid it, or anything. You just weren’t ever close enough to be in the loop.”

“...I guess that’s fair.” Emerald’s shrug was tense. “...I kind of regret that.”

“You didn’t show even a sliver of interest in me until this summer. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve never been on each other’s social radars. Was it the transition? Or do you just want a summer romance?”

“I don’t know.” There was an honest note of upset in her tone that Yang didn’t quite know how to read. Her brow had furrowed, and a few loose green braids were curtaining her cheek; she brushed them away, and seemed to struggle for a moment with the wording. Yang watched her cross her arms over her chest. The steam from her mug was wafting into the air between them, and it only added to the warmth of the cafe.

“..I used to date a lot… if you could call it that. My mom didn’t really care, so… I did a lot of bouncing around in elementary school, and middle school… and then I moved in with Merc and Mr. Black… and that wasn’t really something I was allowed to do anymore. I don’t know. It was kind of nice… but it also felt really…

suffocating

, you know?” As though embarrassed, she directed her attention away, and out the window- not that there was likely anything interesting out there to look at. “...I don’t really know if it was the transition or not. Does that make it bad…? I think I was just kind of on autopilot for so long… the first time I saw you again after graduation was the first time I really thought a girl could be so

pretty

and it meant something

different…. Christ,

I’m going to stop talking now.”

It was… a lot to process. And it didn’t exactly make it right- the explanation- but it was a start. “Then why did you kiss me? If you were so new at it, that’s kind of even more of a brass-balls move.”

The paper on the bagel crinkled as she reached across the table, slid it over and unwrapped it; there was still some heat coming off it, which was a pleasant surprise, and the center was soft with melted butter. She spread them out on the wrapper, tapped the packets down, and tore them open, sprinkling liberally until the golden brown was flaked with melting sugar, and the cinnamon came down like a blanket to boot. It crunched satisfactorily when she brought it up for a bite, and it seemed as though Emerald’s focus had momentarily shifted.

“That’s… kind of genius. How long have you been doing that?”

It melted in her mouth, and Yang shrugged, trying not to indulge too hard into this one little act of superiority. At least she had this one, meager thing to lord over. “Eons. You were about to explain consent to me- go.”

Emerald’s responding scowl- and subsequent flush- was palpable. Her tone dropped an octave below friendly. “I know it was shitty, Yang. That’s why I’m trying to apologize.”

“Congrats, you’re horrible at it.”

For a millisecond, Yang wondered if rationality was perhaps something she might benefit from in this situation- at least in the long run. She was going to be living in the same house as Emerald now, whether she liked it or not. Hell… she was going to be

working

with Emerald five days a week. Forgive and forget was definitely a virtue… but

god

if pettiness wasn’t a vice.

“Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”

“Why tell me when you can just kiss me?”

“Ugh!”

“Hey- you don’t have a right to be frustrated about this. This isn’t just about a kiss- which I might have been fine with, by the way, if you hadn’t tried to

ruin my fucking reputation over it.

”

“And why is sleeping with me

soooo

detrimental to your reputation? It’s not like you were seeing anyone else-”

“I have people I care about, Emerald!” Fuck, she was getting a little loose around the edges. If a couple people passed their booth whispering, she could take three guesses at what it was about- their glances were hardly subtle. Tepidly… Yang struggled to lower her volume. This was a public place- a place she frequented regularly- which would not be the case if this continued much farther. Emerald’s eyes were dark as grave dirt; there was a stubborn twist to her mouth too, the hypocrite, and Yang tried to swallow down her more colorful vocabulary to accommodate the situation.

“I have people I care about,” she tried again, as flat and tenebrous as she could make herself go, ignoring the coaching she’d spent so long adapting to and perfecting. It was a little weird, going back to it… but the choke that was threatening to start in her throat was too volatile to risk. “Sure, nothing’s cemented, or reciprocated, or whatever, but… I’m not the one-night-stand type. I don’t let people touch me, and I don’t like giving up control that easily. I don’t want to be that kind of person, and I don’t want other people to see me that way either.”

It had the opposite effect she’d been hoping for- or maybe expecting. That glazed over, far-away something slid right back into place in real time, and she watched it happen, as the cruelty slapped itself right back onto her features, tight and unforgiving. She snapped the lid back on her coffee, and didn’t look Yang in the eyes once.

“Right,” she said, pushing herself up to stand and balling the croissant wrapper in her fist; she snatched the coffee up next. “-sorry you had to associate with me then.”

“That’s- Emerald-”

“No, you know what Yang? Fuck you. I tried, okay? Don’t wait up, I’ll see you back at the house.”

She was gone before Yang could even stand up; her belt hit the booth, and her coffee wobbled- she barely caught it, and that was even with the lid popping and a slosh of it coating her hand. It was warm, and the syrup made it sticky against her skin.

Emerald was already out the door, the bell tinkling behind her. …fuck.

*   *   *

The doorbell was louder than she expected it to be. She’d heard it before, when Pyrrha had come to rescue her from the post-roofie wake up… but it seemed louder now, in the empty feeling house.

She’d spent the better part of the day after Emerald had walked out on her assembling the shoe closet of a bedroom she was so entitled to as a researcher. God… if she rolled her eyes any harder into her skull, they’d leave skid marks.

… would they, actually? It was a disconcerting thought she hadn’t considered before. She’d gotten lucky so far- the irritation had been minor all day, and she was resisting the urge to rub at them- which was good, because when she did, it left bloody smears on her palms that would have made anyone nauseous.

She’d found ways to entertain herself: after at least half of the boxes were unpacked, she’d decided to stretch her legs with a jaunt to the cheap shop in town. There was still no one home by the time she got back; that was fine. She’d brought her little radio, and no roommates home meant free reign over the audio levels in the house.

So, for the past hour and a half, she’d been rooting around the little metal desk in the study- which, as luck and curiosity would have it- was also unlockable with the house key. It looked like no one had bothered to touch it yet. Whether that was on purpose, or suggestion, Yang had no idea- there had been no clear instructions in that regard.

So she turned the dial on high, crossed her legs underneath her, and spread out every paper, file, and folder on what meager floor space that half of the room had to offer, in consideration of the creeping nature of Weiss’ mess on the opposite side. It was… a lot.

Half of it was incoherent- most of it was written in her god-awful english handwriting- and the rest was all so disorganized, scratched out, posted-noted over, and full of question marks that Yang had to wonder how she’d gotten this far on her own. For someone who seemed pretty adamant about timely filing processes, her actual processing skills

sucked

.

God, she hoped this job paid well. In retrospect, she probably should have asked about that beforehand.

It had taken her nearly two hours, but she’d managed to find some labeling tape, a fine-point marker, and a strip of multi-colored sticky tabs in one of Weiss’ top shelves, and systematically find each of the papers, files, and miscellaneous notes a newly labeled home. Pink was for Illusionists; Purple for Blurs; Red for Prophets and Orange for Stars; Yellow was Archivists; she kept Blue as Return to Weiss, and Green as Blank Forms. It was certainly a start.

When they’d all been tucked neatly into one of the empty filing cabinets in the corner, she dragged the whole thing over to the side of the desk, and set about organizing the books along the desk’s back row, where metal met wall. There weren’t nearly as many books as loose papers… which was a relief. She organized them from Thesaurus to Resource, alphabetically by author in each section. She found a couple pen cups in one of her loose knick knack boxes, and brought those into the fray, and just like that all the spare pens, pencils, markers and highlighters found their home.

She’d barely noticed the time until the radio announced it for her; her stomach growled its piece in turn.

So she’d called in the order for a pizza.

The doorbell jumpscare didn’t last long; she came to her senses fairly quickly as she pulled open the door. The delivery kid was lanky, a little sweaty, and he had the pizza in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other; his eyes were wide and flickery as the door pulled open, and it probably wasn’t healthy for someone to have that much tension in their body. She opened the door wholesale, and stood in the doorway. He swallowed, and the motion made a lank brown curl fall into his round little brown mole-splattered, acne-pocked face. “84 Atlas Rd…?”

“Yep.” She popped the ‘p’, and procured the loose bills she’d shoved in her pocket for convenience. “How much do I owe you?”

“That’s $10.39,” he shifted the box on his hand; she reached out and took it from his poor sticklike arm with care.

“Here, give me that,” she balanced it for a moment, and used the free hand to shift and flatten the bills as much as possible, passing them off to him. He took them, blinking like a deer in the road. “Are you new? I haven’t seen you before.”

His nod was succinct. “I just started…”

“Well you’re doing great so far. Keep the change, okay? And tell Vel that Yang says hi.”

“Okay,” the laugh was a little nervous, and half under his breath, but that was fine- to be expected more than anything. She watched him head back down the steps, and then closed the door behind her, enjoying the heavenly aroma wafting from the pizza box.

Finally

.

It was like lava in her mouth, but she couldn’t find the decorum to care; she trudged back up the staircase, pizza box in hand. It was getting late… who knew when Weiss or any of the others were going to be back- presumably before 5:30 on Weiss’ end, at least. She still had another hour to spare…

…which was what led her back to her broom shed of a room.

The first thing that caught her attention was the window- still bare- but open now, and whipping back and forth in the breeze. The second was Gambol, sitting there on her bed like she’d been waiting patiently all the while; she purred, and it was a hum that bounced off the walls. Yang could have cried; instead, she tossed the pizza box onto her bed, and leaned against the door frame, like she couldn’t be bothered in the least. She was

not

going to stoop so low she needed to beg attention from a stray cat.

“And where have you been?” The response was quick, and coy- if a cat could be coy. “You missed a lot, let me tell you.”

Another, more conversational mew; she waved it off, like she had little time and less consideration to spare. “I don’t want to hear it. Come one- we’ve got work to do before the others get home.”

Shit… she faltered. There was something she hadn’t considered… what was the pet policy? Weis hadn’t put anything about it on the house rules, file requirements or otherwise. What paperwork would something like that entail?

But no- no she was overthinking this. It wasn’t like Gambol was

her

cat- she was a free agent. Her recurrence was no more unusual than any other stray that might be certain where to find food and shelter- not that the thing ever ate anything she offered it. She’d probably have to start locking the window…

Another conversational mew, this one a little longer, and a little more pointed. Her eyes were big and molten-amber colored, and Yang could suddenly feel herself scowling; she righted the expression, and took a breath, running a hand through her hair. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll stop thinking. Put those things away and let’s go.”

She followed Yang to the bathroom.

*   *   *

The bleach had started pretty well into her senior year; Wukong had given her shit for it, and the rest of the guys… but it had seemed important, somehow, and she liked it better. The bleach fried her curls, and turned the thick brown-black depth of her hair a warm, nectarine- blonde that knew no shortage of hues in the right kind of light.

She liked it better; it was pretty.

It was a son of a bitch to work with, half the time… but it was pretty, and that was at least a solid chunk of what really mattered to her.

With a migrated radio hanging from the shower wall, a piece of pizza halfway digested and a potentially contraband cat sitting on the toilet seat, Yang cracked open a box of corner store bleach, snapped on a pair or rubber gloves, and got to work on the unyielding, nightmarous roots that had begun to creep down her temples in shadow-tones. The music was nice; it was peppy and new, and although it wasn’t usually her go-to… sometimes an exception was called for.

It was a beautiful bathroom; the walls were tiled teal and grouted white, in a million little perfect squares, each one painted at the corners with little red poppies. She ran her fingers over them as she stood in the shower, sputtering against the hot water from the world's widest shower head. She ducked fully under for about ten seconds, and tried to shake the bleach out before she had to gasp; the pending mew bordered on a yowl.

“I know! I mean who says that shit and just… walks away!”

“

...mrowww

.”

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t fucking worth it- even for CFVY’s.”

“

...mrow.

”

“Don’t patronize me- I know what my time is worth, okay? Why don’t you find another window to bust open unannounced.”

“...”

“This is the part where you-” she paused to spit as another mouthful of water ran into her, and her eyes began to itch, “-keep yelling at me as though you understand what I’m saying… and then I check myself into a mental hospital for talking to a cat.”

There was no further pending reply.

“Fine. More music for me.”

Another minute went by. And then another. And then it was five. For a moment, Yang got lost, tangled and half buried in her own curls… but by the time she’d washed, lathered, rinsed and re-lathered and rinsed

again

… there was still only the radio volume, cranked absurdly high and ricocheting off the tiled walls.

She tepidly hovered her hand over the body soap bottle she’d brought with her. “Gambol…?”

There was nothing. She didn’t pick up the body soap.

Pulling back the curtain, she squinted against the red-runny blurring and the dense heat-fog that had accumulated despite- it would seem- the gap in the doorway that had not been there before. That was great; really, no- it was lovely, that of all the strays in Vale, she ended up the on-again off-again entertainment for Mew-fuckin-dini.

Yang snatched her towel off the wall; she didn’t bother to turn off the water- water be damned. If Weiss wanted to get specific about it with her later, then great! She had about a half a hundred other clarifications to ask for anyway.

“Gambol!” She tried again, sucking in a breath against the cold as she left the haven of the bathroom, braving the hallway wrapped halfway in her ratty old towel- because of course Sofia hadn’t let her split up the set- not that she had any storage space to put a bunch of new ones.

There was shuffling somewhere, but she couldn’t be sure if it was feline; she had no idea what time it was. When was everyone supposed to be back again? Emerald was a mystery, but the other two…

She pushed open her kitchen-cupboard door. The bed was unruffled and the pillows untouched, and the window was still swinging in the breeze, though the sky had taken on whiskey tones through the cloud cover.

And the pizza box was gone.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She slammed the bedroom door perhaps a bit louder than she’d intended… but no- no, absolutely not. Yang tried to tamper down the irrational, white-hot feeling that was pearling up between her teeth; she felt fucking

rabid

.

Walking out on their discussion was one thing- and that was just the tip of the iceberg- but this was a whole new kind of petty. She didn’t waste any time; her jeans were up and her bra was on, and each hot, heavy footstep down the hall came down like god on high as she strode toward the first of the two bedrooms- the one closest to her room, because Emerald was just so predictable. She was still yanking her camisole on as she banged her fist against the closed door.

“Emerald!” It came out a holler, “Emerald open up!”

Her hair fell lank and wet into her face; she hadn’t had the time to wipe away her makeup, and she was sure it was smeared and horrifying. The slickness in her sockets was tangible, and she was aware of it, somewhere in the back of her mind, but it only added to the R-rating of the pending image. She banged her fist again. “

Emerald!

”

“WHAT?!” The door threw itself open, and the culprit stood there, brow furrowed and eyes half-lidded with something like fatigue, and something a little more raw. Yang swallowed back her remorse. “Christ, Yang,

what?”

“Give it back- I paid for that, you can’t just take it to make up for this morning. That is

not

how this works-”

“What are you

on?

I didn’t take anything-”

“It was sitting on my bed and now it’s gone. Why would Weiss take my pizza? Huh?”

It was a miracle that when Emerald lashed out, it was only to slam the door in her face, not to punch her; Yang flinched regardless. “Emerald!”

It wasn’t any use; whatever had become of the pizza, it was gone now… and her stomach was growling, animalistic and tense. She took a deep breath… and turned on her heels. Fine. Fine- Yang wasn’t going to feed into it. This was childish, and she was above that.

The walk back to her room was short, but she resisted the urge to slam her door once she got there. The tension was still eating away at her stomach… she tried to quell it, and ignore it. Maybe it had nothing to do with hunger though… Yang had yet to really settle into the idea that she’d be technically starting work tonight. Probably.

Knowing Weiss, dinner that night would be a suggestion, not an option, and she and Emerald would be forced into close working quarters right out the gate. She checked the little analog alarm clock on the boxes she’d stacked as a make-shift nightstand under the window. There was less than half an hour until ‘mealtime’ as it had been put on the note… In such a big house she doubted she’d be able to hear any kind of clattering around- maybe smell something, but even then… there was nothing at the moment. No aromas, pleasant or otherwise.

Maybe she’d just skip it. What was Weiss going to do? Drag her down to dinner in cuffs?

Yang couldn’t help but scoff; nothing about Weiss suggested she owned a pair of handcuffs, let alone had the temerity to use them. Throwing her towel halfway out the window to rest on the sil and dry, she flopped down on her mattress, and sighed. At the very least, this was the same. In a new town, a new house, a new room- her bed was the same, and that was all that she needed, when you got down to it.

Her pillows were cool and silky against the humidity that had built up over the evening, and the warmth of her body from the shower. Her breathing evened out, and deepened… she clung to the lingering smell of musty boxes and rain from outside the window. For half a second, everything seemed to align

just

right… and her eyes began to droop-

Bang BAng BANG!

Yang started awake.

“Yang!” Emerald’s tone was mocking and sharp. “

Yang

!”

She pounded her fist into the door again, and again, and again- Yang was so tempted to just roll over and ignore her. The analog clock read 5:32 pm.

Grinding her teeth… Yang made herself sit up. “Okay! Okay!”

The knocking persisted, but she ignored it. Somewhere in her stuff, she’d left a tube of hair ties… but it seemed to have vanished. She searched around for a full five minutes, until the knocking stopped, and she managed to procure one from the depths of a pocket in some random pair of jeans. Careful of her damp curls, Yang took the time to shift her hair up into a loose ponytail, and when she was satisfied that it was out of her face enough, she yanked open the door. Emerald swore, having been sitting with her back to the door for some ungodly reason; she fell back a little, but Yang stepped around her. “What?”

“We’re late for dinner.” She’d changed out of her nicer clothes and into some oversized, lace-sleeved hoodie, and matching ruffle shorts. Brushing herself off, she eased back up to her feet, and her glare was withering and fiery-toned; the lighting in the hallway made the brown of her eyes look ruddy, and it churned Yang’s stomach. She looked away.

“I didn’t think that was mandatory.”

“Weiss wants us to honor it as a sort of ‘

team bonding experience’

- whatever that means.” There didn’t seem to be any particular joy at the idea in Emerald’s tone either… that at least was promising. Yang didn’t stick around to talk it out; she headed downstairs, being careful to take the steps as lightly as possible to avoid sounding like a herd of elephants.

Now she could smell it- and the smell surprised her.

Weiss had laid out plates on the island, and the center was piled with boxes and takeout tins of chinese food, the lights turned up high and the radio in the windowsill turned off. Yang grimaced in the doorway. She’d have turned around to get her sunglasses… but Emerald was behind her, and without having to ask, she could tell that there wouldn’t be any opportunity for her to slink back upstairs.

Great.

“Good of you to join us, Yang.” Weiss had relegated herself to dishing out servings of rice, looking as put together and corporate as usual while she did so. Since Yang had seen her that morning in her flimsy, frilly nightgown, she’d done her hair into a straight, rolled sort of updo, the pearls in her ears winking in the light. The collar on her silky navy button down was pristine and cuffed with little silver spears, and the cut of her slacks made her (short) legs look longer, taller, and slim-figured; it was a contrast to the way her biceps strained against the silk of her sleeves with every scoop of rice.

“You didn’t exactly say dinner was mandatory, Edelweiss.” Emerald elbowed her, but Yang ignored it; from where she was scooping, Weiss’ mouth seemed to be twitching against a smile, and that was enough for Yang not to care. As she set the serving spoon down, she seemed to smooth herself and her shirt over any imaginary wrinkles before she looked fully their way. The socket was pink and stark in the high overhead light; Yang squinted against it, and heard the

squish

somewhere in her skull.

“I’ll try not to make it a habit- but this is our first night all together. It’s important to make acquaintances.”

“Oh trust me, Emerald and I have met.” She tried not to grind her teeth when she said it- she knew it was bad for her teeth… but Emerald breathing down her neck hardly helped.

“Excellent. Then that’s one less introduction to make.”

This woman was going to be the death of her; Yang tried- she really did- to retain her composure. But something about this whole situation just curdled in the base of her stomach. Was this how it was always going to be? She’d picked Weiss’ teachings over Raven’s in the hope that it would be different… that she’d get somewhere with all of this without feeling like garbage for it… but so far she was just getting one short straw after the other.

“Who else is there to meet?” She ignored the jolt as Emerald pushed past her, striding over and taking a seat at the island. Yang watched her pointedly ignore the discussion she’d just stepped into the middle of, and grab a tupperware of teriyaki beef. She was smiling, and it looked smug on her pinched, pretty face as she took a bite of one.

“I’m sure she’ll be down in a moment. The shower was occupied when we arrived, and after the meal it will be time for her and I to begin the research.”

“So she gets a late pass for meals because I needed a shower?”

“Yes,” Weiss sighed, heavily, like she was already regretting the entire ordeal- it was a sigh like Summer was prone to make, and Yang tried not to resent it or the tight feeling in the bottom of her throat it produced. “You could argue that. Come sit, you’re blocking the doorway.”

Yang was perfectly comfortable where she was standing; the charm of the little movie-esque kitchen couldn’t alleviate the agitation this entire day was producing in her. At least she’d gotten to take care of her roots.

“

Boo

.”

Every single hair on her body stood at attention, and Yang felt the prickle from the bottom of her feet up to the base of her skull as the voice murmured in her ear, hot and low, and

something

about it was familiar… the breath tickled the back of her neck in a cool, soft rush of air.

If she lurched, it was to stumble out of the door and spin on her heels- to gasp for breath outside of the molasses feeling she’d been caught inside of; suddenly, air didn’t feel like such a commodity, and she gulped it down greedily as she stared.

The woman was lithe and brown, scantily clad like Ripley from Alien and unapologetic about it; she stood in the doorway where Yang had been, leaning like she had all the time in the world, and her posture spoke to something immovable and sturdy. Her curls were a glossy black, supine and cupping at her cheeks on their descent down her shoulders, tickling at her prominent collarbones. Yang could feel the heat creeping up through her, and the tension in her body the long she stood there; something behind her eyes felt wet and sloshing, and it was strange, this terrible foreboding that seemed to settle up inside her ribs…Yang had to fight the urge to claw it out as she stood there, ferryman eyes watching with a flat and affectless directness that made the feeling that much worse.

She smiled, and it was all teeth; dainty and charming, and for some reason, all Yang wanted to do was cry.

“

Yang

?” Weiss’ voice was a warble in the back of her hearing; she knew she was breathing hard… but when had the world faded away too? It felt like it was just the two of them in the room… just her and this woman with the detached stare and the bait body.

She felt like she was going to throw up. When she lurched, it was in tandem that the overhead light flickered, and the tile smashed against her knees; Yang’s chest felt tight, and she retched- it was hot and acidic up her throat and onto her hands against the cool blue tiles.

The woman said nothing, watching as she collapsed; as she vomited; as the blood ran down her cheeks in hot, chunky streams to drip from her chin onto the knees of her toughskin jeans. The humidity had not broken, and there was a denseness to the air around them; even through the floor was cool, there was a dense, warm fog filtering through the kitchen, clinging to her skin as she tried to blink back the red overlay her eyes were developing, soaking in the gore they produced. Like a filter, it turned the woman’s smile into a horrible, taxidermy thing… but that wasn’t what struck the most horror into her.

It was the way it transformed the look in her eyes from that flat, unbothered clinicalness into a raw and unfiltered

guilt

. She watched it ripple and travel through every atom of her, like a stone on the water, and when it had trembled through every limb, Yang watched her take one step- two more- and collapse on her knees. They were a mirror of each other: Yang sweat-soaked and shaky, the woman trembling too… her hands dipped in gore to her elbows.

The woman screamed, and it was an ungodly, earth-shattering sound; Yang heard it shatter each of her ribs, but the pain wasn’t tangible- just the horrible snapping sound, and church bells in the distance; a train horn blew in the center of her stomach, and she could taste the rain- smell it deep in her sinuses.

Bang BAng BANG!

Yang rocketed out of bed; her feet had barely hit the floor before she nearly fell, her knees wobbly and slick with sweat. Catching herself on the bed, she took a breath- she took two- and tried to steady the trembling in her hands.

“Yang!” Emerald’s tone was mocking and sharp. “

Yang

!”

She pounded her fist into the door again, and again, and again- Yang could hear her heartbeat keeping time with the thuds. The analog clock read 5:32 pm.

Tepidly… aware of the feeling that had begun to ricochet around in her chest, Yang made herself sit back up. “Okay! …okay.”

What… was that? A nightmare? A dream? It had felt far too real to be anything of the sort; there was still a creeping acid taste in the back of her throat, and she swallowed it back with the nausea it brought. Pushing herself to stand on careful feet, she pressed the heel of her palm into one of her eyes, which was throbbing now in a horrible, arrhythmic way against her skull. The palm came away wet, and she didn’t have to look at it long for red to linger in her field of vision.

The orange powder that Qrow had given her was sitting in its little baggie half-tucked under her pillow… but she still wasn’t sure how to take it. That would warrant further research; she supposed that for all his comparable openness, he was still Raven’s twin, and secrecy seemed to be genetic.

Emerald had stopped banging on the door… but this did nothing to alleviate the pending headache Yang was fighting back. She didn’t like the way that this was all starting to pan out eerily similar to the dream… and it put her on edge, her stomach twisting with the idea that things could escalate so quickly in real time.

When she opened the door, Emerald was sitting with her back against it, and like the dream, she nearly fell backward as it was suddenly pulled back from under her. She caught herself on the doorway, and Yang waited for her to get up, instead of stepping around her.

“We’re late for dinner,” her voice echoed inside Yang’s head like a portent, and it set all of the hairs on her arms on end.

“I had dinner already,” It was only half a lie; Yang watched the bubbling aggravation on her face shift and fall. Emerald sucked a breath in, and reached out shaky fingers (not unlike Weiss had) to her cheeks. Yang stepped back before she could reach.

“Oh my god, Yang, your eyes-”

“I don’t really feel like explaining it right now, alright? I’m fine, I promise.” It was a halfhearted promise, and

definitely

a lie. She glanced down the hall, first to the bedrooms, and then toward the stairs. “Where’s Weiss?”

If she blustered, Yang didn’t have time for it; she didn’t like doing it, but sometimes leveraging the horror show she’d inherited for eyes could pay off. The dripping off her cheeks and onto the hardwood only added to the effect as Emerald stared at her, wide-eyed and wheezing for what felt like entirely too long. There was something there, behind her own ruddy eyes that was indecipherable and twitching… but Yang put it away as the throbbing between her brain meat and her bones continued to pulsate a simpering, agonizing beat. “...she’s in the kitchen.”

As quickly as she could go without tripping, Yang breezed by her and down the stairs. Everything was the same; the kitchen was lit so bright her vision was blank and white around the edges- she nearly screamed she slid into the room so quickly- and Weiss was at the island, scooping rice as far as Yang could strain to see.

“Good of you to join us, Yang-” She barely got the words out; Yang was already feeling her way around the island. When she reached her, it was only a matter of taking her by the hand still holding the ladle.

“Pantry.” She managed, ragged and bedraggled and dripping. “

Now

.”

Up close, Weiss’ eye sparkled like lake ice in the sun, ringed in that husky black. She smelled like peppermint oil and pine, and there was a powdery quality to her skin that implied that all the freckles she was missing were on purpose. That too had a perfumed scent, and it was altogether overwhelming against her senses; Yang felt dizzy.

“Emerald, take over dishing out the food. We’ll be back shortly.”

“But-”

Weiss didn’t wait for an answer, and neither did Yang; mostly with Weiss’ (almost upsetting) upper body strength, they managed to shuffle into the walk-in pantry out of kitchen eye-sight, and when they were in the clear enough, Yang let go of her to lean on one of the cereal shelves.

“What is it? What’s going on?” Even in the dark of the unlit pantry, Weiss’ eye was darting and shiny.

“I had a dream,” God, this was going to be like pulling teeth. “I’m a prophet- you know that already. I dream weird, cryptic shit that may or may not come true- it’s usually too vague to tell.”

“And this dream? What was it?”

“It wasn’t like the usual ones- it was still cryptic and weird… but before that it was completely normal.” Emerald set down a box or something onto the counter a little harshly; both of them held their breaths, and waited a few seconds. Then Yang continued. “Look, I don’t think we have a ton of time here. I don’t trust the other roommate- whatever her name is-”

“Blake?”

“Yeah. I’ve met her before. I’ve met Emerald before too, but that’s less important. Just- keep an eye on her. I can’t place why, but for some reason she sets off this feeling in me- I need you to keep an eye on her.

Please

, Weiss.”

For a moment, there was just a long, drawn out silence between them. In the kitchen, there came the sound of quiet chatter- a second voice joining with Emeralds. It was low and breathy and keening, and Yang’s heart threw itself against the bars of her ribs until she felt sick and drippy with splatter. Very deliberately, she raised a finger to her lips, and made a point of looking Weiss directly in the eye.

Weiss stared assuredly back at her… and there was not an ounce of misunderstanding there.

Searching quickly through the pantry, she procured a roll of paper towels from the bottom shelf. They were downy and soft, and although she was far shorter- even in heels- Yang could feel the warmth of Weiss’ breath on her face as she stepped forward in the dark, and pressed them to her chest with a soft urgency. “...sit through dinner. Tonight, write a report about the dream, and I’ll see what I can do for you, Yang Xiao Long.”

Yang’s swallow was thick with the blood clotting in her sinus cavity. “...thank you.”

Weiss left the confines of the pantry first, turning fluidly on a heel to strut out of the room as though nothing were amiss; it was only a start, but Yang relished the little wash of relief that lapped at her ankles like the beach. She wished she had a stone to skip.

“Get it together,” she mouthed the words silently, like a prayer, and tore off a section of paper towel, dabbing at her eyes. It wasn’t going to be pretty- blood always smeared and stained- but if she could slow the drip a bit, she could sit down for dinner for long enough to fulfill Weiss’ request and get some kind of a read on this ‘Blake’ character. Her stomach felt tight and twisting with the thought; she’d come face to face with her before… but her throat was thicker now, and her palms were sweaty.

She shook it off. Seven paper towels and a whole lot of deep breathing later… Yang rolled back her shoulders, balled up the waste, and strode into the room in a similar fashion to Weiss- sans the pomp, maybe.

Weiss had dampened the lights- which was nice- and while they weren’t all the way down, they were a much softer white now, and it was… bearable. The Chinese food was still scattered along the length of the island, and Emerald had settled herself up onto a stool, working on a skewered teriyaki with awkward, bent fingers to mitigate her acrylics’ contact with the sauce. Yang could feel her eyes the second she moseyed out of the pantry, and made a point of ignoring her. Even still… There were only so many stools at the bar.

Unsurprisingly, Weiss was heading the table, sitting atop her stool with an air of disregard and nonchalance that was at once entirely opposed to what she’d suggested in the pantry. Yang ignored it; some people just had better poker faces than others, she supposed.

The elephant in the room sat like she was completely at ease- at least, as at ease as you could be, say, at someone else’s party, or a social function you’d only recently been invited to. There was something… Yang took one of the empty stools opposite Emerald, and reached out with a horrible, pink-stained hand to slide a can of ginger soda over from the case, and crack open the seal. It was loud in the otherwise silent room, echoing off the movie-perfect eclectic walls.

“I don’t know if you remember me,” Blake said, half focused on the paper plate of rice and pot stickers, “I’m a friend of Em’s. We met at the beach a couple weeks ago?”

There was a musical quality to her voice, but it was raw and low in her throat- that pearling, not-quite southern, not-quite Midwestern Pennsylvania sound that was rubbing the inside of Yang’s ears raw and lighting the bases of her ribs like roman candles. But that was the only semblance of the woman in her dream that seemed to be lingering on her…

Blake was not practically naked, nor were her curls tumbling and loose; she sat at her side of the island with a tepid kind of interested recursion. She was swathed in scratchy-looking black fleece, and highwaisted brown slacks that Yang could see creeping up under her ribs through the cardigan’s open buttons. Her curls

were

glossy and dark… but there was a warm churning brown to the edges of them in the low light, and she had taken the time to pin up at least half of the mass of them. When she looked up and caught Yang staring, there was a soft, warm flush to her cheeks, and she looked away again, as though

embarrassed

. “It’s Yang, right?”

Yang felt the aluminum crinkle under her fingers with the pressure of her grip. She breathed in through her nose, and let it filter back out again slowly.

“

If I know you,

” she’d said on the beach, with the wind whipping at them and the air dense with her friend’s background chatter- the tetherballs smacking and cutting through the breeze and the char of the grill and cream cheese lingering, “

-then I lose the game.

”

“Yeah.” It came out surprisingly nicer than she’d meant it to… but that was fine. “Blake, right?”

She nodded, passively, and her smile was tempered and demure- nothing like the wide-toothed, predator smile of before. “Yeah.”

Yang sipped on her soda, and let the swallow burn through the blood pooling in her esophagus. “Sorry for the appearance… I didn’t have time to clean up.”

“Do you work for a butchery or something?”

“No. My eyes bleed. A lot.”

“...oh.” The tepid way she stabbed at the pot stickers with her chopsticks spoke in tandem to the way her honeysuckle eyes glazed over her, lingering stickily on her hands… her camisole… her face. When their eyes met, it was Yang who made herself look away this time, catching Weiss’ attentive, low-notice stare out of the corner of her eye.

“You’re not from here as well, is that correct Blake?” It was the reprieve Yang needed; Weiss shifted in her seat, and served herself a second serving of soup- yellow and filmy- into a ceramic bowl she must have grabbed from the cupboard.

“I was born on Ni’ihau, but I’ve been traveling around the states for a few years now.” She shrugged, and it was a nonchalant, if shy sort of motion. She caught Emerald’s glance and smiled in her direction, and Emerald returned it; she didn’t seem to have any of the reproach that Yang was feeling, or that Weiss was turning into, for her sake. “Em let me stay with her for a while, and that’s how we realized she was a witch- so I got to looking for any local Archivists, and… here we are.”

“We figured once I’ve learned how to deal with my magic enough, we can hit the road together- maybe circle back to Ni’ihau for a bit, and see where life takes us.” Emerald discarded a stick, and grabbed another. The kitchen was aromatic with beef and pork and egg; it made Yang’s stomach grumble and complain, but she just clutched at her soda, fighting back the low, rhythmic pounding that had muffled itself, tucked back into the bottom compartment of her skull cavity.

“Not that I really care… but does Mercury know that’s the plan?” Damn it. Yang swallowed back another burning sip of ginger soda, and it prickled all the way down. Emerald didn’t even spare her a glance. Her voice had sharpened itself into a stake aimed pointedly in her direction.

“I don’t think it’s really any of your business,” she said, stabbing an egg roll from the center of the table and bringing it closer to her plate. “It’s not like you were ever his friend.”

“It’s not like I didn’t try- you know how he is. And middle school changed everything-”

“Then why wait till graduation?” The vehemence as she set the egg roll on her plate and dropped the fork was indicator enough; Yang swallowed, and suddenly, there was a feeling in the air that prickled the back of her neck and set every hair on her arms on end. She knew exactly where this was going… and there was a glazed over intensity to Emerald’s expression that said she was in exactly the kind of mood to just blurt it out to a bunch of relative strangers. “Why stay on the team, and participate in all the pranks, and talk shit with your little group? If you were so self-realized why couldn’t you reevaluate one potential friendship? Middle school sucked for

everyone

- you didn’t

know

him, not really. So why? Where you just too busy wishing you were-”

“

Emerald

!” The chair scraped the tile in a hideous sound as she pushed the chair back.

Emerald stood too. “It’s not fair! Why? Why do you get to look down on us? On how we have to survive? Merc’s an asshole, sure, but he’s

my

asshole. My brother. You don’t know what his life is like, or what he enjoys, or the things he wishes he could have. How could you? All you focus on is his shitty attitude-

which you have too

, by the way. You’re a hypocrite!”

“I am not!”

“You are! You and Jaune and Nora and her husband all make these snap judgements about us and it’s not fair! You all have parents that love you! You all have opportunities to pursue the things you want, and the people you want. You have room to be assholes, and sluts, and whatever you want because for you it’s just another quirky trait, and the whole time you refuse to see us in any other way than disgusting, or desperate and I’m

sick

of it! I apologized for the things I did, I’m trying to be better- but what’s the point if you won’t reevaluate one way or another?”

“Em…” Blake too had stood at this point, and Yang was surprised to see Weiss too, pushing herself to stand silently. “...take a deep breath.”

There was a wonderment in Blake’s eyes, tucked deep in a rolling, rotating corner of those saccharine eyes, behind a vehement and terrible kind of fear- and the whole thing took Yang by the bra straps and held her for a moment, swallowing back the rising argument in the back of her throat. It was just itching to come up… but instead she watched in a muted kind of trance as Blake tried with ginger hands to ease Emerald back down to her seat; her hands trembled the entire time, nearly invisible it was such a miniscule motion. But the tremble was there.

Weiss was looking at her… but her words were for the whole table. “That is enough. I did not realize you two had such a sordid past… that is my mistake. But this is not the time, or the place. As of now, you are on the clock… and I will not have infighting in the workplace. Is that understood?”

“Understood,” Blake nodded, derisively, as though she spoke for them all; Yang clenched her fist and felt the bite of her nails into the soft skin of her palms, never once breaking eye contact from the liquid amber color that seemed so intent on haunting her sleeping and waking moments.

“Goodnight,” was all she could bring herself to say, and it came out a deep-throated warble. Unlike Emerald, there was no physical hold on her- Weiss’ stare was only psychologically restrictive. It was like Velcro, tugging her attention from Blake’s horrifically captivating stare… but she did it, and tried to ignore the question in them, deep-seated and confusing.

She dripped all the way back up the stairs, and slammed the bathroom door behind herself. It reverberated off the walls, and she ignored the chatter through the vent as she slid her back down against the wood until her ass met the floor, still damp from the shower before. She felt hot to the touch; her chest was tight, and the chill of the door did little to ease it.

…damn it if she didn’t have a point. The thought was like a needle into the center of her brain; it was throbbing, low now, and dull, but it would get worse before the hour was done, she was sure.

She didn’t care that she’d only showered a little bit ago… she didn’t care what was happening downstairs, or whatever game Blake was playing at… she didn’t care about Emerald.

Wiping away the steam on the mirror smeared the glass pink; that was fine. Yang was still wet, prickling with sweat and shower-damp… there was a raggedness to her eyes… a deep-seated frustration that curled up in the center of her stomach and ate itself. With long, calloused fingers she traced the lines of her face- the frown tugging at her brow and the corners of her mouth- the hatred that was starting to well with the blood on her cheeks. There was a stoop to her shoulders as she leaned, and for a second, it wasn’t her in the mirror- not at all.

“You did this to me,” It came out a jagged, squeaky sound, and she swallowed back the saliva threatening to floor her, choking on it. “She’s right… I’m an asshole, and it- fuck, it’s all your fault…”

There was only silence, barring the drip from the tap. She sniffled, and tried to ground herself, grinding her heels into the bathroom carpet; the heels of her palms into the marble countertop. “...yeah. Nothing to say, huh?”

Yang didn’t wait very long for an answer she wasn’t going to get- and wouldn’t have gotten if her mother had been there to say anything. So she wiped her eyes, spit the last of the foul taste from her mouth, and stepped into the shower. This time, the water came down cold… and Yang sat there and cried until the lingering horrors of her mothers’ influence had left her.

*   *   *

The itch wasn’t insanely difficult to ignore… but it wasn’t pleasant either as she shuffled down the hallway, pulling her cardigan sleeves tighter around herself. There was a chill in this house; it seemed to cling to the walls, and she shuddered as she reached the study door.

It was ajar; she’d waited until the footsteps had padded softly out of the room- first in one set, and then, surprisingly, in another. The analog clock in her room had read 11:00 on the dot as she’d shuffled out.

Emerald was on her knees at the filing cabinet, grumbling something under her breath. The beads in her braids made music as she pushed them out of face, and slammed one of the color coded folders down onto the floor. Yang took her opportunity.

The knock was light, but it was still enough that Emerald’s shoulders lurched with surprise, and she breathed a little raggedly for the half second before she looked over and saw it was Yang. “You’re looking for your file, right? Couldn’t figure out the organizing system?”

“I’m fine.” She said, anything but. Yang rolled back the snarky remark threatening to burble up into her throat. Emerald slammed the cabinet drawer closed, snatched the file off the floor, and stood. She hadn’t changed her outfit since dinner, and her makeup was still fresh and aromatic. “Why are you lurking around? I thought you would have quit by now.”

There was definite malice in it… which was fair, Yang supposed. She leant a little more into the doorway, trying to relax as much as she knew she was physically capable; it wasn’t exactly a lot. This was going to take a lot of work… but if she could see it through… then this whole thing would be better for it. “...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have judged you like that… at breakfast. And in general. I’m not trying to be an ass… but I’m going to try not to be now.”

The snort was brief and sardonic. She turned away and walked back to the desk like it was any other, normal conversation. “Good… you kind of suck.”

“Can I come in?”

“You’ve got four hours of work to do that I’m not going to pick up, so, yeah.”

It was warmer inside, somehow, and she pushed the door fully open as she stepped inside, shuffling a little in an unbearably kind of awkwardness that was like putting her fingers into a blender one at a time. Yang bit her tongue and soldiered through it, looking around as though she’d never seen the place before. “...I’ve been thinking about what you said- about hypocrisy?”

“This better be good- you’re cute Yang, but it won’t buy you more than a minute of my patience at this point.” She wasn’t even looking- her back was to Yang, standing at the desk with the file open on it's cold steel surface. She was spread out at the arms, head down and distracted.

Yang swallowed, and let her stomach settle for another second as Emerald flipped through the papers Yang had spent an hour collecting and arranging inside in careful order. “A minute’s all I need.”

There weren’t a great many places to sit… so Yang didn’t bother. She hovered there, waiting for Emerald to turn around and look at her- to glower at her- to look at her like the brightest thing in the room and the darkest splotch on her life.

Yang took a deep breath, and began. The first few cords were easy; she’d been singing the tune for years and the strings were taut under her fingers as she pulled the guitar from behind her began to pluck. A little improvisation never hurt anyone- and maybe if she could just turn this whole frigid introduction they’d had around… maybe things would start to feel a little more like that new chapter she’d been looking for.

This isn’t your life

, she told herself as she opened her big mouth, and stepped out of her comfort zone a little,

it’s mine

.

The initial hum was low-throated, and keening; she watched as Emerald stopped her sorting, her body tensing momentarily at the sound… and then she was turning around, incredulity peppering her face in the low lamp light.

“

The mountains or the city, I’d go anywhere with you… as long as you tell me what you want me to do. It’s one if by land… and two if by sea…”

It was melancholy and acerbic… but the melody ebbed and washed against her; she felt the chill- the foam tickled the tops of her feet, and her stomach roiled with the brine. Emerald was looking at her with these big, surprised eyes- the annoyance softened into a kind of tentative recognition; Yang watched her chew on the bottom corners of her lip for a half a second, and when they parted, her voice was such a contrastingly soft timbre. “

… and for you… I'll be on… my… knees

.”

Yang put the guitar down. Something about that… was more deeply intimate than she’d meant to go.

“I didn’t know you had a musical streak.” Emerald murmured after a moment, seemingly despite herself as she backed up against the desk. There was a wild kind of flush to her face that hadn’t been there before the harmony, and it embarrassed them both; Yang looked away. “How did you know I liked

Mouth of Babes

?”

“I saw the shirt hanging off your bed, when you opened the door earlier.” She shrugged. Dammit if that didn’t sound creepy… “Lucky guess.”

Her fingers were so small and slender, tipped in the French acrylics, and Yang watched as she scratched at the side of her cheek with them, glance just as evasive. “...that was more than a minute.”

“But you forgive me anyway, right?”

It wasn’t said with any kind of force, or even any particular seriousness; the desired effect was the impending glare- the way it eased, and crinkled, and the soft brown planes of her face lifted in the ghost of a temperamental smile. “Easy- you’re not out of the woods yet. Someone really should have taught you the meaning of the term ‘

mixed messages

’, too. If you keep this up, I’m going to get whiplash.”

“Well,” The guitar was relatively light, but even still, Yang took the time to lean it against the nearest wall. “We can’t have that. Am I allowed to set the record straight?”

A glance at the clock hanging on the back wall. “If you can do it in two minutes or less. Weiss should be back soon, and… I don’t know about you, but this is a pretty nice job I

definitely

would like to keep so far.”

Yang made herself smile back- the kind of smile her dad wore, with its broad-shouldered confidence and unshakable ease. “Agreed.”

“I think we’ve both put each other through the emotional and romantic wringer…” It was a rocky start, but she had a point to it. Outside, the cicadas were quieter here than out in the country… but they were still there, filtering the room and the conversation with orchestra music; she heard midnight owls in her memory, and the sound of wind through trees. It bolstered her; Yang took a breath, and continued. “...can we start over? I mean, genuinely… Can we start from the beginning?”

“I don’t know… how far back is the beginning?” It was a fair question; Yang swallowed it down as Emerald tapped her nails in adjoining percussion against the steel of the desk. “How much do we just… forgive and forget?”

“All of it. For both of us.”

“That’s a significantly bigger ask for one of us than the other, Yang…”

“...I know. I want to work together on the research here, for Weiss… and you’re right. I don’t know you, Emerald. I… suppose I’d like to. If that would be something you’re open to. Maybe… maybe you can get to know me, too.”

There was a pause… and her smile was back, small and sweet. She pushed herself back upright, and there was something warm in the way she reached out a hand- an offering- and stepped up. Yang stepped up to meet her. Her hand was warm and dainty, and not entirely of her own volition, Yang gave it a little squeeze. “...yeah. I’d like that.”

The rap on the doorway startled them both; Yang pulled her hand back first, but it was Emerald who stuck hers under her armpits, and nearly fell over herself backward. Weiss had wrapped her hair up in a towel (presumably after a shower) and there was a fork in one hand and a steaming Tupperware container in the other. It perfumed the air with leftover Chinese and heady sauce, and Yang’s stomach roiled. “Are you ready for your first shift?”

If given the option, she would have given quite a number of things to start the shift as soon as possible- under the impression that starting the shift would mean learning magic, which would put her that much closer to answering Raven’s mysteries for herself.

So she simply blinked a moment, said, “Oh, yeah for sure,” and waited for the impending lecture that would lead there directly; Weiss was not a woman of posturing, nor was she keen on smelling the roses.

But Weiss seemed to ignore this outright; they watched in tandem as she nodded succinctly to herself, walked into the room and to her side of the space, navigating around the mess of book stacks and the mug towers and the cabinets overspilling with loose papers. The Tupperware tapped down against the wood, and she let the fork hang a moment, perched between her lips as she sorted quietly through a number of other stacks on the back line of her desk for nearly five full minutes.

All the while, they stood there together, watching her in tandem. She moved with a fidgety, broken pattern that was unlike how she seemed intent on carrying herself usually- at least as far as Yang had observed so far.

“If you’re going to stare, at least do it quietly,” it was not an unkind rebuff; she took a distracted bite of rice, and blew on it though her teeth as she flipped over a stack of manila envelopes. “Blake has a little more insight, so she can jump right in- I don’t expect that of you. You’re both… special cases, so we’ll be moving a bit more slowly.”

“Like an intro class?” Emerald didn’t look thrilled by the idea… but she wasn’t scowling, which was indicator enough.

“Sort of. We have a tradition of seeking out young witches with promise and giving them opportunities to expand their horizons early- I think I will think of it more like that.”

“My uncle was one of those, I think,” She hadn’t really meant to think it aloud; Weiss stopped her shuffling for a moment… and turned herself around. But there was no surprise on her face- no consternation pinching her petite features-  she just took another bite of rice.

“First things first- we’re going to find out your element tonight.” The fork set back down on the Tupperware lid, and she turned toward them completely. They watched as she rummaged around in a pocket, and procured two raw matchsticks. She handed them over, and crossed her arms, watching with eager, maligned eyes. “Emerald, you’re new to this, so I don’t expect you to answer-”

“I’ll answer any question you’ve got.”

The smile was tepid; Weiss continued, after a drawn out pause. “... what are the natural elements a witch’s magic may be tied to?”

“Fire, water, earth and air…? Doesn’t seem that far of a leap.”

“That’s partially correct; Yang?”

It wasn’t like Raven had spent copious amounts of time running her through flashcards… but Summer certainly had. “Fire, water, earth, air, and metal. There’s sub-categories too. Medium magic is a subcategory of earth and metal- it’s why some greenwitches have a higher likelihood of being possessed by spirits, and some spiritalkers have a higher affinity for medicinal healing.”

“Correct. Do you know them all?”

“I do not.”

Emerald inspected the match stick scrupulously, pinched between her finger pads. “So, there's combinations? You can just mix and match what magic you do, if you’re naturally good at it?”

“Not really- at least, that’s what a lot of covens believe I guess. Archivists are just jacks-of-all trades.”

Weiss crossed her arms across her chest. “An Archivist believes in the shared collective of understanding across all of the magical community- covens are an outdated structure. They stagnate and discourage exploration. Just because you have an aptitude for one kind of hereditary magic, doesn’t mean you can’t experiment with others. You should understand this better than most, Yang Xiao Long.”

There was the beginnings of a pit starting to form in the depths of her lower intestine; Yang swallowed back the discomfort crawling through her arteries and up toward her chest cavity. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Weiss ignored her, took a couple steps away from the desk, and rounded them; Yang turned on her heels to watch, never taking her eyes away as she slinked like a lean, muscular leopard around them, her singular functioning eye piercingly blue and ominously ringed. “You are a chimera; I’ve gone over every detail I can find- and I’m sure together we will uncover more in time, but in the meanwhile, I must conclude that you are- contrary to your attitude- the

perfect

example of Archivistry. What would you say your element is?”

This was stupid; there were half a hundred interjections she wanted to make… but Emerald’s braid beads clacked in the periphery of her hearing, and the cicadas chirped in a soft hum out the window… and Yang forced herself to take a breath and adopt as casual of a stance as she could make herself. It was hardly very successful; she could still feel the rigid tension in her shoulders, and her eyes were slick in the back of her head, and pulsating dully. She rolled her jaw, and made an attempt at unconcern. “Water. My mother’s water, and so is her twin. She comes from a prophecy coven, so, water and metal.”

“You are wrong,” Weiss had circled all the back, now, and Yang turned with her, never breaking her poignant and horrible cycloptic stare. “You are water and metal, certainly… but it’s not just prophecy you’re inclined toward… it’s

blood

.”

“What?”

“Ew,” Emerald’s nose scrunched; they both ignored her outright. Yang felt clammy.

“What do you mean, blood?”

“This curse you spoke of- it’s not so strange that you’d be afflicted with it. The kind of bleeding you experience has been recorded before-

singularly

in prophecy witches. With the limited data we have, it’s generally assumed to be an overlap of the two subcategories- water and metal are the only two elements with

two

subcategories of the same parent elements- every other element only has one subcategory with each of the others. In this way, the prophets are singularly predisposed to perhaps the most misery of any standing elemental combination. It’s no wonder your poorly teenaged mother made the errors she did in your baptism; clearly, she was petrified of the prospect.”

Don’t hit her, don't hit her, don't hit her

. Yang clenched her teeth just hard enough that her molars were in danger of cracking, and bit the back of her tongue. Through this, she made herself say in simple, turgid response, “That still makes me water, so

no

, I’m not wrong.”

“It makes you water

and metal.

” Weiss put her emphasis on the latter; the attitude did not escape her, despite Yang’s restraint. “At least, as far as I can be sure. There is always a margin of error… and your naturally violent reactions to certain stimuli are cause for concern… but we will work with what data we have, and adapt as we go. The incomplete nature of your baptism may throw any number of wrenches at us.”

“Weiss… don’t push it.”

There was a silence then, and it ate away at the air with so little effort… that Emerald was forced to intercede, clearing her throat with no lack of subtlety. She held out the match again, and the movement caught Weiss’ eye; like a parakeet, she cocked her head, and Emerald jumped at the opportunity. “So what are the matches for? And what am I?”

This alleviated a small amount of tension. There was an excitement in the planes and high bones of Emerald’s face, and something in her joy was irritatingly contagious; Yang chewed on her lip until it fell back from its instinctual lift, before either of them could take notice.

“Well, after our interview and the few select demonstrations we’ve been able to muster… I’d have to guess air. Illusionists always are- and as best I can tell, you seem to fall squarely into an illusionist’s rawest talents.”

“You said it was hereditary, right? Does that mean that, like Yang’s mother gave her her magic, I got mine from my mother?”

This… was not such a black and white question; Yang watched Weiss struggle for half a moment, her lips thin and pursed. She tapped her slippers twice against the hardwood, kicked them off, pivoted on her heels and strode over to one of the towering piles of books. She scanned, squatted down, and plucked a book with the thickness of a shoebox from the center of the stack, effortlessly and without a wobble to the structural integrity. The cover groaned as she slapped it delicately aside, kicking up a plume of soft, pungent dust.

She flipped the pages distractedly, trailing her attentively singular gaze back to Emerald. “Well… yes and no. There is a genetic factor… and usually it wins out in favor of the mother. However, if the potential of the father’s element is stronger, sometimes it leans in the father’s favor. If one or more parents are without a strong tie to an element- therefore not a witch- the element may be passed from a carrying grandparent, or in some rare cases, seemingly randomized. There are few studies on these occurrences, however, so they are largely discredited among Archivists. Since you say your mother has shown no signs of magic- at least that you could perceive- one can only assume it is the latter two options that have resulted in your talents.”

“Translation, Weiss,” Yang ripped a hangnail from her thumb with her teeth, watching the carefully cultivated intrigue on Emerald’s downy-soft mouth where it puckered.

Weiss closed the book, pointedly. It plumed another spray of noxious dust. “I can’t say. I’d suggest talking to her about it, but I know that’s not an option for you.”

“No, it’s not.” Her frown was palpable. Again, she waved the match, and Yang could see the impatience biting at her, now, too. “What’s the match for?”

“Confirmation.” Weiss procured her own match- seemingly out of thin air. There was a half a second pause, and then a charge through the air, like balloon static on steroids; Yang felt the hairs on her arms stand up, and the metal in her ears heat. The match struck itself- there was a quick, dazzling flash of white-hot blue, and a deep and gritty char smell. Her eyes throbbed like a sonofabitch.

“

Fuck

, Weiss!” Yang could smell the iron in the air, raw and spicy and itching at the very tip of her nose, like a feather duster; she could hear the drip from her eyes hitting the floor with little sizzling sounds. The match- once her vision had bled back out of white void blankness- was charred and blackened, and there was a campfire black smoke seeping up from the floor underneath one of Weiss’ thin white feet.

“Metal.” She said, unbothered, like it was a regular Thursday afternoon and this was a regular, non-hazardous school lesson. “Lightning.”

Emerald’s hair had been blown back out of her face, and there was a look somewhere crossed between astonishment and fear there; she reached a hand up and smeared some of the soot from her face. “Oh my god.”

“What the

hell

are you thinking? Are you trying to

kill

us? Sparking lightning in here… confirmation my ass-” She didn’t even care she was talking exactly like her dad; Yang rubbed at her eyes until her fingers were a dark and suffering black.

“Nobody said that knowledge was a clean and uncomplicated process. You won’t be able to confirm yours without twice the damage.” It wasn’t a challenge- she said it like it was inevitable. Yang cracked her jaw- maybe it was her tooth, who could say? The match was dry in her fingers, and oh,

so

snappable.

She knew that Weiss was going to try to explain it to her- to instruct her, and Emerald, too- on how to think about it- how to feel. Maybe it was a whole different process… maybe it really was so very complicated; Yang didn’t really care.

“

You can’t make something out of nothing,

” rang in her brain, like the sickening, cacophonous church bell of her dreams, “-

but you can take something out of anything.

”

It started before she could really get a grasp on it- wild and fluctuating in a rhythm that was entirely uneven with the pump in her veins. They crossed each other, like skipping rope, and the feeling of it made her brain tilt 90 degrees and wash with hot throated, nauseous acid. She felt the racing of the two feelings- the way they clambered up the wood, into the grooves, neck-and-neck. It was such a little stick, but it felt ten meters long.

Through red-lidded eyes she watched the water leach itself from the flesh in the match- watched the wood brittle and crackle in the mockery of a scream. It strangled her heart, and something in the acid caught in her throat and choked her. The snap back was visceral- she felt it from her toes to her eyes, and especially on her heart, like a slap to the organ. It chased the rhythm out of sync, and the match tumbled from her fingers, each digit twitching as she coughed and hacked.

When she fell to her knees, she expected the chill through the floor- the shaking, red-faced and embarrassed as they looked down at her- or worse, looked away. Emeralds hands were soft against her back, and the clacking of beads brushed past her ear in a perfumed, aromatic mist; Weiss’ hands were cold on her forehead as she reached up and pressed the pristine white cotton square from her pocket over her tender, streaming eyes. It seeped through the cloth at a terrible speed, like an omen; Yang shuddered at the touch.

“I told you,” Weiss said, although she sounded more intrigued than upset. There was… something much more tender than Yang had been expecting there, blanketed in her words. “It is not an easy parlor trick. You made good progress- especially for a prophet.”

“...that was pretty cool.” It was more reserved than Weiss had been- which was saying something- but Emerald’s hand never strayed from the center of Yang’s back, moving slow, high-arching circles. The friction brought heat, and with it, Yang started to breathe again, deeply and with a tremble she had not had before.

For one entire, selfish moment- despite the horror of her inadequacy- Yang wanted to sit there and revel in the feeling- in the moment- for a while more. It was strange, this new house, and these new people… and there was undoubtedly something in her that was kicking and bucking at the lack of resistance, like empty air. She swallowed it down… and picked the match back up.

*   *   *

“

What is the purpose… of bringing a compass with us… if we’re just going to ignore it?

”

It had not been a very fun hike, this one. The idea had been Weiss’ surprisingly, and she had a sneaking suspicion her reports had been some kind of twisted inspiration for it. At Weiss’ instruction, she’d been directed to fill her folder with copious, detailed accounts of every instance wherein she’d participated in or born witness to magic in her mother’s presence, as a sort of field journal for the lessons to come, for ‘

comparisons, and contrasts, and things I might better explain to you-

’ as it had been so delicately put.

But when Weiss had wrangled them from their beds (in Blake’s case) and urged them to shower and eat some crackers (in hers and Emerald’s) at 3 in the morning, boots all laced and hair tied up, and stringing a duffle twice her torso width, of all these very familiar things, she was not prepared to open the door to Pyrrha, standing there at the steps just as dressed, and just as purple-eyed as the three of them, brown paper bag and drink holder in hand.

She’d just smiled, awkwardly, like that made it so much more normal.

Now they were halfway up Borestone, and she had barely gotten half a minute to talk to her, outside of quick-checking for ticks, and picking branches out of her hair.

The darkness was thin and fragile around them as they eased up the incline, careful of the root ladder that spindled up from the earth just waiting to trip them; the sepia-red pine carpet was threaded through them like a tapestry- but the colors were muted and purpled in the pre-dawn. Every footstep crunched, and the cool chill of early autumn mist tickled at their skin and the napes of their necks. When they hit a small plateau- decked and railed and shiny in the dark with damp- Weiss finally slowed, and the four of them took a well deserved and long-winded moment to suck in some good deep breaths, and untense their muscles.

“We don’t need the compass,” Weiss, breathed, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her hankie. “The point of this exercise is not to rely on non-magical sources. We followed the trail up this far, now we diverge from the path.”

“Bullshit we do.” It was insane- there was no reason to- especially at this hour. “That’s a terrible idea, Weiss. You’re going to get us eaten by a bear.”

She heard the zipper on Weiss’ duffle, and the crack of an open water bottle. Pyrrha pressed the cold, sweaty surface to her skin, and for half a second it jumped the shit out of her- but only half a second. The other half, she took it and pressed it to the back of her neck herself, letting the air out through her teeth as her sweat sizzled on the plastic. “I don’t think it’s a good idea either.”

“I don’t… want to get eaten by a bear.” Emerald gasped, bent practically in half with her hands on her knees, coughing into the dirt. Pyrrha walked over and offered her a bottle next.

“You need to learn growth patterns- directional skills- and I have an assignment for each of you… barring Miss Nikos, of course.”

“Remind me why she’s here again?” It was soft and husky and sharp. They all clutched at their waters, Pyrrha still lingering in the transaction as the third bottle sat cool and damp in Weiss’ outstretched palm. The trees rattled with birdsong and there was a breeze amidst the fog; Blake sat far off to the side of the plateau, pitched forward with her elbows pressing into her knees as she rested on an enormous tree stump. It was gnarled and slimy with moss and forest damp, but she seemed to pay it no mind. There were bags under her eyes, and her hair was wild with the sleep she’d been torn from. Gone was the girl from the dinner table a week before, blushing and posturing- but the flirt was gone too. She was curled up into herself in yet another new way, small and quiet, and lashing like a knife.

“We needed a guide.”

“I’m sure Yang’s done this hike a hundred times…” She pointed out, and it was the quickest condemnation Yang had heard in a long time; she swallowed a mouthful of water, and tepidly… chose her side.

“I have,” she said, not looking at Pyrrha, or by proximity, Weiss. She was squarely focused on Blake. “Pyrrha knows what she’s doing too, though.”

“But she’s not a witch,” She said, more derisively. The bags under her eyes were a solid inch of purple-black on dark, sweat-damp skin. If she too had suffered the exhaustion of the hike up, she wouldn’t announce it.

Yang ran her tongue over her teeth. “So what?”

“....nothing.” There was a moment then, when her stare met Blake’s, and the collision was nothing short of atomic; she watched them burn away in the air between them- watched Blake’s eyes soften and ooze like caramel in the dark. She turned her head, and she looked away. Yang took another drag from her water bottle.

Emerald, meanwhile, had righted herself, standing upright and pressing her own bottle to her cheek. “If she’s our guide, why’s she taking the rear?”

“That’s what she said.”

“B, that doesn’t even make any sense.”

“It doesn’t matter why she’s here,” there was a definitive edge starting to creep into Weiss’ voice. She did not miss the lingering, guilty look that passed over for a millisecond to Pyrrha, who was pointedly silent and out of place looking in the midst of this conversation. “Blake, Emerald, with me. We will take the path the rest of the way up, since you are so critical this morning. Yang and Pyrrha can take a more direct route and we will see them there.”

“Fine by me.” Blake pushed up from the stump with the grace and effort of a rag doll; Emerald stretched for a second or two, as though considering. She glanced their way for a moment… but it was only a moment, and the note of concern twitching at her nose and driving her to itch at the side of her jaw was endearing (and probably an indicator that she assumed they would get eaten by bears).

Yang tightened the straps on her bag, and slipped her water bottle into her side pocket. “Lead the way, Pyr.”

There was nothing immediately wrong with Pyrrha taking the lead- despite the protestations from the others. Yang followed her through the brush, winding round spindly, narrow-gapped trees, and up turgid, rocky incline patterned in highly-trippable roots, until the sound of the their chattering had long since disappeared in the distance, and only the birdsong remained, among the snapping of twigs and the quiet crinkle of pine.

Dawn would break soon- the dark was easing itself bluer and bluer as they climbed, Yang never far from Pyrrha’s hip as they went. It reminded her of that morning- before she’d come to this new house- and the morning she spent with her mother, hiking and foraging and bickering. There was no such bickering now… and it made her sick, missing it.

“Sorry I haven’t been very chatty, lately,” she huffed as they reached a section of jagged rock. Digging the dirt into their nail beds, side by side they began their assent. When Pyrrha reached the top, she turned around and offered out a hand; Yang took it, and together they hauled her up. “Acclimating to this has been… rough.”

“It’s fine,” was all she said, soft and curt and distracted. Her eyes were such a lambent and moss stricken green… they soothed the soul just by looking at them… and Yang swallowed back her reproach.

“Clearly, it’s not.”

She took another two paces, and without looking back at her, Pyrrha stopped in tandem. Yang could see the quiet heave of her shoulders- the way what little light was beginning to blanket through the trees illuminated the mist- made it cling to her hair, and her jacket, and her breath like a miasma of attachment. She breathed out, and back in.

“...I’ve missed you,” she said, after a long and aching moment. The glance over her shoulder became a full turn, and when she did, there was a tremble in the air; a drop of rain plinked down on a stone from a nearby branch, and a squirrel dashed up the tree in reaction. There was mist on her face, too, smattering her freckles with wet Maine autumn; Yang stepped up, slow and awkward, at first, and then with a swift fluidity. She fit herself into Pyrrha’s arms, and inhaled her shampoo and her deodorant, and the smell of her sunscreen- long since ground into her from summer after summer of hot sunny days. She smelled like history, and Yang squeezed from her the only semblance of happiness she could find to cling to from the world she’d left behind.

God…

she’d left her behind.

Pyrrha squeezed her back. There was no hesitation on her end, despite her earlier quiet discontent. She buried her sharp chin into the top of Yang’s head, tucking down ever so conscientiously to avoid the point, and pressed soft, tender-lipped kisses to the crown of her head, holding her over the shoulders at the base of the neck. Her touch was so warm and serene… Yang choked back a sob, and if she joined her, Pyrrha’s was muffled in bleach-soft root.

They must have spent an hour there, holding one another… or at least, that was what it felt like. Yang soaked up every second she could get of vanilla and teakwood and something minty- like toothpaste.

“I’m sorry,” She said, tucking her chin up and over the crest of her muscular shoulder. Her fingers were like vices; Yang sucked back a sniffle, and pressed her mouth, trembling to the cool sleek fabric of her windbreaker, “Oh Pyr, I’m so sorry…”

Her hug got tighter, and her kisses lingered longer, warm and warming at the center of Yang’s stomach. “...I’m sorry I overreacted, I-... I didn’t know what to say. We’re okay… we’re okay.”

When she let go, Pyrrha let go too; she knew Yang, and she knew how to touch her. “I feel like until recently, I was living in a nightmare… things still aren’t perfect- my roommates are… questionable… but I-”

“You’re not her,” Her voice was firm; Yang sucked in the remnants of her wobbly lip. “You’re not your mother, Yang.”

It was enough; Yang reached up and wiped at her eyes. No blood this time… only tears. “Yeah… I’ve been trying to act on that.”

“Do you want to sit for a minute?” It was a fair enough offer; even as much time as they’d already taken, Weiss was unlikely to wrangle Emerald and Blake long enough to get them to the top first. Yang took a couple steps away, and sat herself down on the nearest, least-damp log she could find; even still, her pants creeped with cold and damp seep. Pyrrha leaned herself against a tree, playing with her hair in idle, lazy finger curls.

“Speaking of mothers… how's yours?” It was a shitty jab- but it worked the way she’d wanted it to, Pyrrha stiffened against the tree, groaned, and threw her head back against the grooved, flaking wood.

“I am a 22 year old woman, and yet, she insists on treating me like I am five.” There was certainly no shortage of disdain there; Yang watched her pick at her nails, kicking her feet in the pine, chewing on her lip. “I’ve been… staying somewhere else, when I can.”

“When are you going back to school again? That should get her off your back for a bit- at least in person.” Immediately, there was a flash of something underlyingly annoyed… and red in the cheek on her handsome, olive-toned face. Yang could only stare. “Pyr… you

are

going back… aren’t you?”

“...I got a job in Vale. Jaune and I are looking for apartments. Ren and Nora might come with us, if they can convince An it's what’s financially best.”

It was… surprising. On a number of accounts. But she was surprised first and foremost how…

hurtful

it was, hearing it. She was sure that hadn’t been the intent- not for a single one of them- but even still… there was some little piece in her chest that withered and died, and it felt so bizarre… like something pruning from the inside out. She swallowed… and made herself smile. “I don’t see why not- splitting rent three ways is better than paying it wholesale.”

“That’s what they’re trying to convince her, anyway. I just- I can’t take the helicoptering anymore… and Jaune’s getting a little sick of having to work at the bakery, and

live

at the bakery, and spend every waking moment having to do

something involving the bakery

- especially with Saph back.”

“So… what’s he going to do then?”

She shrugged, nonchalantly, like these were all typical run of the mill things; Yang pulled out her water bottle, and took a swig. It tasted like swallowing glass. “Ruby suggested art school, but… he doesn’t think it’s worth it. There’s no guarantee he’ll get a loan, and even if he does… he’s not very confident, despite the past ten years of us all telling him how good he is.”

“But you’re going to keep suggesting it, right?”

“Why?” It wasn’t an accusation; Pyrrha’s brow was furrowed, but only in the lightest mockery of confusion. “It’s not like I’m the poster child for staying in school. Or you, or Nora, or Ren. If anything, we all make really unintentionally great arguments against it.”

She had a point… even still. “I didn’t choose not to go to college… I

had

a choice, and I didn’t get to

make

it.”

“I’m just saying… he doesn’t have to go to art school to be a great artist.”

“It’s not like it’s all bad- there are things I’d kill to experience- things you got a taste of, like dorm rooms, and campuses, and majors. The most accolades I’m ever going to have are ‘

highschool varsity wrestler

’ and ‘

best local carpenter

’.”

“Best, huh?” She squatted down and plucked a pinecone from the needles blanketing the section they’d stopped at. Overhead, dawn was beginning to crown in frost blue, and the birdsong had harmonized into something rhythmic and disorientingly ping-ponged. “Someone’s a little full of themselves.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she said, smiling. The pinecone fit in the palm of her long-fingered, broad hand, and she turned it over for inspection once, and then twice. “You take yourself too seriously, sometimes. When we were ten, you thought the whole world revolved around you, and I never forgot it. Why do you think my mission is to keep bringing you back down to earth?”

You were my whole world,

she didn’t say,

I revolved around you

.

Instead, she cracked every knuckle on both her hands twice, and stood up from the stump. “Yeah, yeah… I’m working on it. Let’s go catch up with the others.”

There were no arguments to this. She put the water bottle back in her bag, and Pyrrha pocketed the pinecone, and together they ascended up the side of the mountain, careful of the rocky terrain, and the damp of the forest floor.

*   *   *

The television cast a pale and flickering light over the room as it crooned with the orchestral music and ethereal vocals of the 1950’s. Everything was so ornate and neatly detailed, here; the throw rugs were a soft brown-beige, faux hanging moss clung to the walls in sporadic patches, illuminated by the string of dampened lights that stretched from wall to wall.

There was room to walk here, and for furniture too- a canopy bed with gauzy green and gorgeous shag bedding, a vanity, a desk, an array of rich brown velvet bean bags, crescent- circled around the delicate looking twisted steel display and the television, maybe the size of her torso. Yang chewed methodically on a snap of licorice, watching with no shortage of quiet upset as the black and white cast the room in an upsetting degree of light, reminding her all too seriously of the difference in their room size.

She snapped her licorice with her teeth again.

Emerald had turned on her side during at some point in the film, yawing wide and rubbing her face into the beanbag with such little disregard for her makeup. Her hair was loose and condensed, and without the green she looked like another person entirely; Yang shifted on the bag, and she made a quiet sound, like a groan, curling until her lengthy knees were pulled up to her chest.

It was a Saturday night- or rather, a Sunday morning, at this hour. As Weiss had been so kind to detail for them when she was clarifying her rule sheet and the schedule, Saturdays were at their disposal, and Sundays too- although Sundays were still allotted as assignment-deadline days. This was fine; she’d planned on doing nothing of note on this first Saturday in the house- nothing but sleeping in 12 hour increments, at the very least.

Weiss had done nothing but run them ragged. Maybe things were different for Blake… but she and Emerald had spent the better part of the week after their hike practicing their magic with a diligence that Weiss force fed them with a spoon- and a paycheck.

She’d bloated matchsticks until her fingertips were raw and her brain was soggy, and Emerald had been at the very least an equally as frustrated colleague in this, vanishing and reappearing them until her eyes were crossed and she was halfway through a bottle of migraine reducer.

That had been a fun discovery; Yang had been so focused on keeping the blood from dripping down her chin into the carpet she’d barely noticed Emerald buried nose-first in it, clutching at her head like it was going to implode. Weiss knew better now- there was a small standing cabinet in the study chock full of medical supplies to keep the two of them in one piece.

Blake didn’t seem to have a need for any of it- in fact, she seemed to float on air whenever she could be counted upon to slink and slide her way through the house, attending dinner sporadically (almost never) dodging curfew (ignoring it entirely) and using the rest of her oh-so-valuable time to lounge about the house in creative and unfortunate places, mocking and simpering and going out of her way to make every interaction seem like it was with a different person.

It was driving her insane. Yang had never before met someone so inclined to be so unreadable… and she hated it. She’d vowed to play the game- that was still very much the plan here, even if she had gone out of her way to cut Emerald some slack.- but so far, she’s only managed to corner herself at every opportunity.

Whatever her angle was, she was an expert at it… and something about it didn’t sit right- beyond the general discomfort of her presence.

She’d been nowhere to be found when Emerald had offered a movie night. At first, it had seemed against her better judgment… but then, what harm was a movie? And she was trying to be more friendly… start from the beginning, and all…

She’d shown up at Emerald’s door post-nap, heavy-lidded and half-dressed, as autumn had yet to release its stranglehold on warmth, and the house was usually so pleasantly cool. Fuming quietly and smiling through her teeth about it, Yang had joined her on the bags, cracking open cold cans of ginger soda and cranking the volume on the television until the room was awash with static sounds. It hadn’t taken long for Emerald to fall asleep- clearly napless.

And so, ever so gingerly… she inched herself up and off of the bag, despite the practical difficulties of shifting a sleeping Emerald, and brushed herself off of wayward popcorn kernels. They hit the custom carpeting with barely a sound- not that she would have woken to it otherwise.

“

Taxi ma’am? Cheapest rates in Glen Cove!

” The television blared. She left it be; Emerald had curled the remote into her arms when she’d turned, and there was no way of retrieving it now. She could always turn it off when she woke up.

Dropping the uneaten licorice back in the little bin Emerald had procured for their movie candy snacking, she turned to leave… and happened to catch those simpering, sickly molasses-amber eyes flicker through the open door. That

sneaky

, low-down witch…

Yang strode over to the door.

The hallway was dark, and the wood was cool on her feet as she pushed it open, standing out in the open air. The other doorways were dark, and there was a wafting, fragrant something as she walked, moving with her like she’d just caught it on a breeze. Her bedroom door was ajar now; it had not been before.

“

Well hello, how are you!

” The sweet, keening voice wove its way through Emerald’s open door, echoing in the quiet. Somewhere- probably her room- shades were bumping and rattling against glass, and the sound in conjunction with the demure, pleasant voice sent shivers down her spine. One tepid foot at a time, she inched her way down the hall; Blake had disappeared from sight… and it was as ill an omen as any, as the responding voice called out after her from the television, “

Well I’m fine, how are you? And I might add, who are you?

”

“

Who am I?

” Something in her room hit the floor; she heard the thud, and watched the light flicker through the crack, casting out on the room as it creaked open. Yang pulled her cardigan sleeves tighter around herself, and balled up her fists. The floor creaked and moaned, and she could hear her breathing out of her periphery- the rhythmic, nervous pattern of it high in her chest. “

Am I supposed to know?

”

The light was still flickering as she pushed open the door with a withering creak. The lamp had been knocked over- it was slumped against the wall, as the window blew in bitter, chilly air. The sill was damp and the dollar store shade she’d put up clattered for it; she reached out, and slammed it down, listening with relief as her heart eased its palpitations. “

Come to think of it

,” whispered the voice from the TV, eerily, “

-no, you’re not supposed to know.

”

It was quick, when it happened. The light blew itself out- snuffed, like a candle, and she sucked in a haggard breath as the room was thrown into darkness. It happened so quickly: her feet were kicked out from under her; she felt the hands on her arms, grabbing her, pinning her down- or trying to. They were sturdy and wide, flat-palmed against her chest as she kicked and tried to scream; then she was being yanked to her feet- she felt the slam against the bedroom wall- the mattress underneath her-

Her assailant’s breath was ragged and raw, wheezing and struggling; it was warm on her face, and she could feel the bones in their knees pressing into her thighs- pinning her down- swearing in deep-throated, warbly sounding complaints as Yang fought to rip her arms away. They covered her mouth with one of the sturdy, unyielding hands, but the other was preoccupied; Yang reached with wide-spread, desperate fingers and searched for something vulnerable. Her fingers tangled in thick, curly hair, and she buried her fingers as deep as she could get them. The yank was terrible and controlled; the assailant cried out- in pain, in pleasure, she couldn’t be sure- and the darkness quivered around the edges. She watched it suck itself back in, and then stop, struggling to ooze back and take control of the broom closet of a room. Yang tugged again, and this time she could feel the closeness of them- feel the tickle of long, downy-soft lashes on her cheeks and hot, panting breaths against the top curve of her mouth.

She swallowed; her assailant’s mouth quivered against  her skin, and the warmth that passed between them radiated. The assailant breathed an almost inaudible, “...

fuck

.”

If you’d have asked her on any sane day- at any sane point in her life- before all of Raven’s bullshit, an Emerald’s bullshit, what she was thinking, she probably could have told you. Most of the time, given half an opportunity, Yang loved sharing her thoughts- however productive it really was.

Most

of the time, Yang would be inclined to make the most rational, poignantly correct decision… and stand by it. If there was anything in the world she’d have taken credit for as far as personality went, it was stubbornness.

Stubbornness, however, was not the white-hot exploding star desire that was this pitch-obscured stranger’s mouth on her mouth- it was not anywhere within the general realm of rational, or poignantly correct to thread her fingers further into their hair, or claw at the soft, hole-pocked cotton of their shirt. She ran her fingers over the holes and traced them in the dark as the person that had pinned her kissed her with a ferocity that demanded constant fulfillment; Yang did sprints to meet them halfway. Tearing at the holes in the back of the shirt with flexed, pointed fingers and a heart that was threatening to explode like a star.

Their teeth were on her lip- tugging and pulling- her knee was jutting up, catching them between the thighs, hooking them closer. They let out a raggedy gasp, and the tension shattered; Yang watched it fall and sparkle around her like glass.

And they were gone.

Just like that.

…she sat there for what felt like an eon and a second, all at once. Panting, and ragged, with blood-pooled lips and frazzled bleached-peach curls tumbling into her eyes, half laying on her bed. The light was still on the floor, but it was casting light again, no flicker present- not then, and not ten minutes from then, either. Down the hall, she could still hear the television, speaking in low, penumbral tones. “

...you’ll be alright.

”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The truck rattled on, the trees shimmering in overnight autumn colors. She watched them blow in the wind, the valley dipping and rising in a myriad of miniature foothills. She held her breath through each one, watching as the sun turned the world gouache. It caught the wheat of the passing farms and shadowed the distant barns, tied by lanes like balloons to their strings. Tai said nothing; the radio was silent. The farm came into view so much quicker than she anticipated; maybe it was all the driving she’d done lately… maybe it was something more. Stained glass caught the thin light up in her mother’s study window as they pulled up to the garage. The chickens were out and about, running around her heels. There was manure in the air, and apple smell- crisp even now. It was moldering on the breeze, turning the amber color of the world pink- the antithesis to the murder of basil. The house hadn’t changed- still standing with its stately windows, and its creaking, wrap-around porch; she sucked the wind chime music in through her teeth. To his credit, Tai said nothing at all. He stood with her for a brief moment, appreciating the same thing. It was nice in a way she couldn’t quite describe. They marinated in it for as long as he could handle, and when he grew too antsy, she appreciated that he made no moves to include her in his departure. The door creaked and the hinges moaned on the screen.She closed the car door. Zwei sat panting in the dirt by the shed. Gray and shaggy, he curled up in the shaded corner and yawned, tall and pitched. He rested his jaw on her knee as she bent down to kneel in the cool mud beside him. His nose was cold; she kissed the crown of his head as he nestled it into the crook of her arm. “Hey.” Ruby had always been light on her feet; it didn’t startle her, regardless. Leaning against the shed door like she’d been there all the while, her lips were pursed in that perpetual fatigue. Her eyes were misty and gray like morning fog; her face gave away nothing- not a thing. “Hey,” Yang returned the civility. “I told you I’d visit.” “I thought it’d be sooner.” Yang focused her attention on scratching the underside of Zwei’s ears, listening to the arrhythmic pattern of his old, tumbling heart. “....me too.” She didn’t watch her walk away… only heard the shuffle of her boots in the dirt. Zwei melted into her as the shadow grew longer and longer in the impending dark. The house seemed to thrum to life, each of the windows casting dull anemic light onto the yard and off the nearby trees. She watched the night be borne- listened to the dull canine breathing in her lap sync in time with the chirping in the trees. Lightning bugs winked from the tall dark grass, like stars.Summer didn’t come from inside the house- she didn’t step out from the door with exasperation on her face, or heat swelled in her cheeks from the stove; there was no neatness or order to her. This was not that Summer. Yang watched as she emerged from the trees like a snaking root, muddy from foot to elbow. Her step was heavy and loping, like an animal; her arms bone thin.  Zwei made no complaints as she stood. He yawned and stretched his stiff limbs; she pushed herself upright, and took timid step after timid step down the lane at an uneven, jagged angle. The fruit trees cast their perfume on the wind and it was sickeningly sweet. The closer she got, the faster she went- a step, a hop, a canter, a jog- until she was smashing into her with the force of an elastic band. Summer’s collarbone was defined, winding up into her hair, tanging at the root. Her face was wet- with mud or with tears Yang didn’t want to know. Her heart quivered with the smell of vetiver as she buried her face in her mother’s hair. It took nearly an hour and a half to scrub out the mud. After she’d eased her into the tub, careful of her thin and tremulous limbs, she’d spent the first round of hot water soaking the moss and the growths of dense, articulated mushroom clusters from her joints- from the webbing between her fingers and the malleoli of her ankles. She unwound and detached the snaking, thick-bound roots with their delicate tendrils from the folds of her neck and her hips, and one at a time, she used her pocket knife to scrape the sections of hardened, calloused skin away on patches of her arms where the skin had begun to ripple and harden and flake. Cedar smell filled the bathroom as she shaved it off, exposing the delicate pink underneath. Three full tubs of hot, steaming water until there was no more mud to seep off of her- no more dirt to coagulate the drain. She didn’t say a word all the while as Yang sat on the stool and section by section combed out and treated each part of her hair, until the whole of it was soft and silky again. The bath tap dripped rhythmically as her mother stoppered it with her toe- not unlike Ruby had always done- the only semblance of her cognition. Yang brought her mother to bed- to the Alaskan king sized bed with three untouched pillows and a dog, sleeping so soundly in the middle where Summer had always preferred to be. But she made no complaint. Yang helped her into bed, in the dark, and pulled the quilt up over her with trembling hands. She waited until Zwei had adjusted himself to lay against her hip… and she closed the door behind her as she left. The kitchen was dark. There was no chill here, even in autumn. All the windows were closed… there was no smell of meat or spice. Tai was spread out on the couch, nestled into the pillows, snoring. She was glad for the creak of the stairs as she ascended up; that at least hadn’t changed. The study was closed- she didn’t bother stopping inside. The door to her old bedroom opened as smoothly as the day she’d left. It was a shell of a thing, in the dark, and it took her not by surprise… but by the chest as she stepped inside flipped on the light switch by the door. The bare lightbulb above flickered, sputtered, and died, casting only a simmering orange glow a few inches out. Yang tucked her arms up into her elbows one at a time, until she was holding herself around the midsection, trembling at the shoulders with each step inside. She took a turn about the room, walking in slow, easy paces, inhaling the dust and the untouched, lingering smell of her life here. 20 years she’d called this place her home. When she reached out it was out of instinct more than it was conscious, and her fingers brushed the discolored layer of paint along the wall, where her vanity had hidden the birds, painted in delicate strokes half-winged and midair, for so long. Touching them had a violent aftereffect; she felt the pain ripple up through her knees and into her chest; she flattened a palm against them. There was no one there to catch her but nostalgia as she struggled to put her weight shoulder-first on the wall. She choked down her tears without ever opening her mouth.  Raven was sitting at her desk, scribbling away at a some paltry piece of paper; Yang felt red-eyed and raw as she stood there in center of her gorgeous Persian rug with all it’s richly tassled colors, and all her stacks upon stacks of books, and her haphazard stacks of cups and bowls and pens. There was a human smell to the room that mingled with old, mildewing paper, and it was foul. Yang stood there and burned as the scratch of ink on paper filled the room and mocked her. “Why didn’t you do anything?” Raven didn’t even give her the satisfaction of looking up, let alone turning around. She was frank, and unpleasant; this was perhaps the most insulting part- that it was so mundane for her, even now. What she would have given to see her mother crumpled on the floor, weeping like a child- to see Raven just as desolate as the wife she’d participated in neglecting. “I did do something.” “Doing nothing doesn’t count.” “I did everything I could. You know how she can be, when she’s… when she gets this way.” “Bullshit,” It was perhaps the calmest and quietest Yang had ever heard herself speak. The pen stopped scratching for exactly a millisecond. “She’s wasting herself away-” “That’s not my fault,” came the sharp reply. It was unkind, and unwarranted. Raven swallowed, and Yang ground her jaw just short of the kind of pressure that could crack bones. “...I can’t get to her when she’s this far gone. She doesn’t listen, or hear… she barely exists anymore. I stopped trying to pull her out of her black moods a long time ago… but I saw this one coming a mile away.” “Then why didn’t you do anything about it-” 
“I did!” 
The study was still. Yang could see the dust in the air, filtering past the open curtains and the window sill with thin filmy light. Each particle winked at her and ran up the walls. Yang watched her mother’s tall brown back tighten and clench at her shoulders- watched as she gripped the desk until her fingers turned white. “ You shouldn’t have come back . I did everything to drive you out… but you had to come back. Why don’t you see it…? This is just another turn of the cog… but if you’d stayed gone, she could have moved on.” “That’s not true.” It wasn’t, not in the least. Her eyes were dry and itchy as she blinked, kicking the lumps in the carpet. She knotted her fingers in her zip up hoodie sleeves, and breathed evenly through her nose. “I would have just been another lost piece of her.” “We all lose pieces of ourselves,” When she finally turned around, it was with no small satisfaction. Yang cataloged the exhausted planes of her face, the now unabashed streaks of crusting, dried blood down her cheeks as her eyes churned, turbulent and viscous. “Some of us are quieter sufferers than others.” It wasn’t an untrue sentiment. Maybe that was what Yang hated about it the most; maybe that was what Yang hated about Raven the most: that no matter how much time and effort she put into it… deep down and despite herself… she knew Raven always had a point. But the larger part of her was kind. It sat in her chest like an apple orchard at dusk. She reached for an apple, and plucked it from the center of her ribcage, biting through her lip to stifle the pitiful sadness that welled from the stem and oozed, like a wound, as she held it out in front of her for Raven to take. Her cheeks were wet, and she couldn’t be sure what was tears and what was blood. “I don’t know how to suffer as loudly as she does… and I don’t know how to stop giving you all my pieces.” For half a second, she faltered- was teased with the possibility of it- as Raven’s mouth drooped at the edges, and for another fleeting millisecond, they were mirrors… and then just like that she was closed again. The sharp edges around her tightened back into something recognizably detached. She turned halfway back to her desk and picked back up her pen. “...Tai will drive you home after breakfast.” She said, easing back down into her chair. Yang wanted to scream. She wetly swallowed and choked back the sob that had halfway bobbed itself down into her throat. … but she did neither of these things. She did not go back to her empty, dusty bedroom. She didn’t even go to the bathroom to sit in the tub and cry. That room, too, now had a different smell and a different association to it; that, too, was tainted by the touch of her parents in all the ways she was their homunculus. Yang slipped her boots back on to the music of her father’s snoring, and laced them so tightly her fingers purpled with the strain. Outside, the grass was alight with the lightning bugs, and an orchestra was croaking through the night. Her feet hit the dirt, and the plume each step kicked up down the lane just added to the haze of her eyes. Why? Why was she even here at all? It was a thought that had never quite left her, even if most of the time it sat alone in some dark corner of her brain. Why bother to go through the trouble? Why all this misery and heartbreak? Overhead the sky was clear- there would be no rain tonight. That wasn’t very fair either. If there were any gods listening- if they knew her- they’d have sent a torrential downpour to drown her; or at the very least, to blanket her with a weight unequal to any physical tool. She ran until her legs were screaming; her breath came in hot, heavy pants that shot pain through her lungs, but she pushed on. Each heavy push carried her another stride, and each stride made her brain a little softer- a little smoother- until all there was was the pain. Maybe this was why Ruby liked running so much; maybe this was why she pushed herself so hard at it. Yang could feel her heartbeat in her ears and her lungs in her throat; even without the rain, the damp ran in rivulets down her arms and her back and her thighs. The hills gave way to smooth, paved roads with no potholes to hurdle, and the lightning bugs in the trees filtered into city lights. She bypassed them all. Cars honked at her when she crossed the road. She breathed like a hoarse, wild thing as she ran along the roadside. Her boots squelched and she’d stopped feeling the pain in them an hour ago; she didn’t slow to ease her way down the massive hill as she came to it, or as she passed through the blinking traffic lights one after the other after the other into the heart of Orono. Collapsed on her knees at the top of the sloped drive, just a few feet from the front steps, she felt about ready to puke up her heart… and instead she felt her legs creep numb up past her knees as she fell and rolled onto her back. If not in Vale, then at least here, the gods could see her. The sky rolled tumultuous gray, and she gasped and hacked as she stared up at it through thick, clotted lashes. Every synapse in her body felt tight and condensed, and vibrating.  Tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump- her heartbeat hammered in her ears, and she could feel the heave of her chest- the physical pulsation of the organ between her ribs as it hit the ground. It was like the clamor of bells- like the weight behind each brass curve.“Yang…? Yang .”  The desk was cool against her face, and her breath fogged the steel as she blinked- once, first, and then two, three more times. Her heart was racing in her chest… she could feel it- but not to the same degree. The hand on her shoulder was warm and dainty- its grip was steady, its nails long and tipped with white. “Yang? You fell asleep…” It wasn’t an accusation- not any more than it was envious. Emerald’s attention was pointed… but there was a drag in her face too, and even under the pretty makeup, her bags were such a dark color it was impossible not to notice them. Yang raised her head, and tipped it as far back as possible, stretching and groaning. To rub at her eyes was futile- and it would do nothing but make more of a mess than were she just to leave it be. “Sorry.” It wasn’t her favorite wake up in the world… but it was better than horribly depressing, terrifyingly realistic dreams. The taste of her lower lip was irony as she sat herself back upright. “I had a dream…” “One of the creepy prophetic ones?” “No, there was a leprechaun this time.” Her shoulder joints popped as she rolled them back. “...yeah, it was one of those.” The office was soft and hazy with post- sleep fog. The heavy sheen of sweat on her brow dripped from her nose and down, from temple to the curve of her chin. It plinked against the cool metal of the desk and yellowed the paper in tiny pinprick splotches; she pushed the papers away. At least it hadn’t been the blood- Weiss would’ve had a very quiet and very controlled aneurysm. “They’re getting weird.” “I thought they were already weird?” Her voice was far away; it was a common habit with Emerald, she was discovering, that she liked to meander sometimes as she held conversations. The first couple weeks it had driven her batshit… and it was still a little hard not to get frustrated by the seeming lack of interest… but that was just the way Emerald was. She’d been assured Mercury did it all the time too. “They are! Just… not like these. They’re more vivid, and people talk to me in these ones- full conversations.” Yang didn’t voice how cryptic and emotionally dissonant these conversations usually were. There was an itch creeping up her hands, starting at the beds of her fingernails and working its way up into her elbows. It was just a dream… but it was never really. The thought churned her stomach and tactified it into glue. She pushed up at the knees and made herself stand, ignoring the pinpricks in her legs. Emerald’s hand was delicate and urging as it landed on her shoulder and- with no real force at all- guided her back into the chair. “Lean your head back.” She did it; it wouldn’t normally have been her first instinct, but every part of her that wasn’t itching felt like glass. Yang closed and opened her mouth, and was aware of the cottony taste. “I have to call my moms.” The wash cloth was cool and damp under her eyes, and for half a second, Yang’s body tensed from the shoulders up… and promptly melted into the touch. Emerald let the top of Yang’s head rest against her, and her hold on the curve of her jaw was light as she dabbed at the streaks of blood. The wash cloth was cotton, and its drag on her skin was gentle as Emerald sought out the corners of her eyes, between the valleys of her nose and the pinch of her brow. “How’s that? A little cooler now?” It was. Despite herself… Yang leaned into the touch. “Yeah, actually.”“Do you want to talk about it?” “Not particularly.” Not at all, actually. Yang sucked in a ragged, soaking breath and let some of the creeping tinnitus subside before elucidating, “Not in any cohesive way. It’s… it's a lot.” “Start from the beginning.” Her finger’s roved up, trailing her temple, tracing grooves into her scalp and tickling the deepest reaches of her curls. She was going to need to dye those again soon… “I’m listening.” Her scoff was light; that was Emerald for you- unflinchingly and unapologetically disregarding. What was the beginning? She racked her brain for it… skirting around the edges of those awful, rib-cracking images: of mud and blood and Persian rugs. “…I was in the car with my dad. It wasn’t nice, though- not in the way it usually is, you know?” “I don’t.” There was a soft, yielding sincerity velvety in her voice. Her acrylics traced grooves into Yang’s skull, and the sensation was grounding. “I never had a relationship like that with Mr. Black. Not like you and your dad have.” “…right. Sorry.” “It’s fine.” It wasn’t; Yang pushed on. Maybe that wasn’t the right choice- maybe it was. She had no real way of knowing.”We went home.” She said, tasting the words coming- wanting to keep them at an arm's length. “Ruby was mad at me for being away so long… Zwei was at peace. My mom…” She didn’t mean for the breath to hitch in her throat. “My mom was starving herself, just- withering away. Rotting from the inside out. I took care of her- I’ve always taken care of her, I-… I haven’t been there to take care of her.” Suddenly, the position in her chair was unbearable, the hands in her hair like chains. Yang sat upright, sucked the air through her teeth and caught her breath; she tore the washcloth away from her eyes, and the sting of the air on the dampness peppering her skin was too much. She heard Emerald’s shuffling step back as she launched out of the chair. “I need to go. Now . I have to go take care of her.” “Yang, I don’t think that’s-” “You don’t get it, and that’s fine, I just have to go, okay?” It wasn’t harsh- came out a tremble more than a reprimand; Emerald’s stare was flat and dark, flickering at her in the lamplight and catching on the file cabinets. She bent down at the knees… and picked up the cloth. “I get it more than you think.” The plea struck her like a dart to an artery; like a needle through a thumb. Maybe that was why she said it- why it warbled out the way it did, half air and half welling saliva in the back of her throat. She swallowed it back, and leant on the door. “…it’s my fault. I have to make it right. I can’t- I can’t be here for a while.” “You’re going to stay there?” “She’s my mom .” The wood felt rigid beneath her fingers; Yang squeezed the wood tighter. The splinters bit into her, and she deserved each and every one. Emerald’s eyes flicked- cataloging this, too- and she wrung the washcloth in her hands. It drip , drip , dripped onto the carpet. “She’s everything . And I just left her. I… I have to go.” She felt like she was going to be sick. She took a step- another- and suddenly the door was an anchor- the only solid thing between her and the floor. Emerald caught her under the arms, and her perfume was nauseating and floral as Yang tucked the crook of her chin into that tender space between neck and shoulder. Everything was so heavy…“Hey- Hey… woah. I’ve got you.” Her voice was breathy and low; it trembled around the edges. What was that tone? What was…? Emerald’s hands trembled resting against her back as they eased down to the floor together. “…It’s alright. She’s going to be alright. If you want to go we’ll support you, Yang I promise, but… god, don’t forget you’re a person too. You’re your own person… you’re not your mother, and you’re not beholden to her.” Why were words not working? She didn’t realize she was choking back another sob until Emerald was engulfing her full-body now, and she felt the shudder of her own shoulders against the clinking of ceramic beads. She shook her head: no. No, no, no. It wouldn’t come out. She sucked and hissed; it was a wet, awful rattle.Emerald didn’t say another word- just pressed her mouth to the tenderest top of Yang’s head, and it was such a gentle gesture… it slingshot the image into her brain of her mother- of Summer balled up in a heap, sobbing into her arms. Of Summer’s hair against her lips, aromatic and warm with body heat. Of Summer. “I love her… so much. ” Yang’s breathing was hard- the moment she got them out, it was like a balloon had popped inside her. It screamed and flew around her soul like a tortured thing, oozing all the air in the room out of her lungs. Her first audible sob sounded horrific- like the death of joy. Emerald held her closer. “I know.” She promised, and her hands were warm as they rubbed little, wobbly patterns into her. “I know.” “And they don’t-” The hiccup was raw as it squeaked out of her throat; her face was too hot- too warm- she sputtered and coughed a moment, willing it to go away- to temper down. “-they don’t care. Didn’t care, I don’t- I don’t know I don’t know… I have to make sure she’s oh-oh- okay… ” “You can’t make anyone do anything they don’t have the energy to do anymore, Yang… no matter how much it hurts. And you can’t try to fill that space… it’s not healthy.” There was dampness soaking into her hair from the crown, and Emerald squeezed her wholesale, like she was afraid to let go. Yang shuddered out another half-cough-half-pittiful-sob. “She needs help-” “You’re not her keeper. You’re not her arms or her legs. You can’t keep spoon feeding her when she decides not to eat; you can’t keep bathing her when she decides not to wash; you can’t keep holding her while she cries about how everything would have been better if you’d never been born.” Emerald had gone rigid; her arms were like iron bars, locking Yang in. Yang didn’t make any attempts to fight it; her fingers fisted in Emerald’s shirt, and she made herself suck down some of the hysteria and the snot. Emerald eased up the moment she moved. “...you have to live your own life, and let her live hers. You can still love her… but you have to breathe. What’s the point of love if it suffocates you, Yang…?” “There isn’t one.” Sitting upright was a chore… but bit by bit, she put her weight back on her legs, and her arms… and gathered her stringy, disgusting curls in her hands. They smeared against her skin with blood, sweat, and tears as she pushed them back, and her vision was still pink and blurry as she sniffled, disgustingly. “...can I have a tissue?” Emerald’s laugh was snotty too. “...yeah. I can do that for you.” She found one in the medical cabinet, ripping a few out of the box, she was suddenly very glad they had the house to themselves. “...I’m sorry. That was a lot.” Emerald was decent enough to look the other way and pretend to pick through her hair while Yang blew her nose. “Hey, you said it would be.” That was true. She’d forgotten that part of the conversation; her heart had been hammering too wildly in her chest. “I guess so.” Licking her lips, sucking on her teeth, Yang made up her mind, and cleared her throat, balling it up in her fist and playing with the dry end of the paper. “Do you really mean all of that… the thing’s you- well the things you said? About-” “I do. It’s not something I like to talk about, and I’m sure you relate… but yeah. Yeah I… think I am uniquely in a position to understand what you’re going through, Yang.” She picked at her nails for a moment… and then cut a tentative sideways glance her way. It was hot and ruddy and wet around the edges. “Did you mean what you said? About love?”Sitting on the floor of the office, wedged halfway between the door and the file cabinet with the shag chafing at her legs, disgusting and red-faced as it was, Yang felt entirely too put on the spot. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in love.” “That’s not true- you just wept over your mother’s health in my arms. You know what love feels like.” “Not my mother , you creep.” Emerald shot a stockinged foot out to nudge her in the knee. “Don’t be a smartass, Xiao Long. I’m serious.”“So am I.” It tasted wrong in her mouth; she made herself walk through the words anyway as she said them, like some kind of cold marble statue garden planted in her heart. “...I love my mom, but it’s not… it’s not that simple. It doesn’t feel like what I think love should be- familial or otherwise- it’s… all-consuming. I just… sometimes I feel like a black hole.” She made to tuck up her knees, but again, Emerald blocked her, wedging her feet under her legs. “Hey!” When they were sitting facing each other, legs splayed and interlocked like a couple of kindergarteners, Emerald gestured for her to continue. God, what a joke… Despite herself… she carried on. “I don’t know… maybe it’s because Raven never really cared about me that much. Maybe it’s because my dad is in his own world most of the time. I don’t think… I don’t think I ever got a chance to be my own person. From the moment I was born, it was Summer and me… and I was her best friend. I don’t know what’s worse- that the first time she told me that I was eight, or that I didn’t actually understand what that meant until recently. I was her world for so long…” The shrug was little- noncommittal and nonchalant- the only way she could use those descriptors for anything to do with her mother. “Anyway… yeah. That’s… that’s about the extent of my share circle time, I think.” “That’s fine.” Emerald didn’t push; she leaned back a little on her hands instead, and her crop hoodie rode up her ribs. “My mom was pretty similar. For a while I didn’t really know any better… I just kind of kept hoping that one day, she’d stop glaring at everyone outside the apartment window and look my way. I didn’t care how she looked at me- neutrality… anger… regret. I imagined them all. I just wanted her to look at me… and acknowledge the way everything always seemed to fix itself- like magic. Like one day she’d wake up, and see clean sheets and clothes, and groceries in the fridge, and the bills paid, and she’d realize it was all me. That I’d swept up the glass, I’d cleaned up the broken furniture, I’d walked to the store and I’d tucked her into bed.” Her shrug mirrored Yang’s, and for a moment, they just stared at each other… breathing in the same air. “She never did. Now it’s not my problem anymore. Doesn’t mean I don’t still love her when I think about her… doesn’t make loving her hurt any less.” “I’m sorry for the way I treated you in school. You, and Mercury.” Her smile was a lean, glinty thing in the office light, and it dimpled her cheeks as she offered it up for Yang to take- free of charge, no strings attached. “Hey,” She said, “-forgive and forget, remember?” 
*   *   *  
 The engine sputtered and died; she kicked out the stand, and swung her leg over. Emerald had already hopped off, prying the helmet off to rest on the back seat. Yang had been surprised when she’d come jogging out to meet her as dusk settled over the drive. Immediately, she’d been struck by the soft, pock-marked skin on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose- the softer flush of her brows without a crayon. She pointed at the bike, like that was question enough. Yang had tossed her the helmet. “ ...if you want to, I won’t pitch a fit about it. ” “ Good. ” She’d already strode over and straddled the seat in the time it took to get a grip on the situation. Her hands were warm and light against the curve of Yang’s sides. “ You’re gonna need some support. ” “Man, it’s been ages since I’ve been here.” She was more vocal now, taking easy, limber steps around the bike as she stretched her legs. They were bare in her sleep shorts, and Yang could see the little baby hairs standing up in the cold. “When were you ever here?” “That year your family hosted the pumpkin patch, and the corn maze. Most people from school came- Merc and I were no exception.” She stooped down, and picked up a loose chicken feather. Yang restrained her grimace. “Yeah, wash your hands when we get inside, okay?” Her responding over-the-shoulder drawl was entirely unserious. “Aren't you a farmer by trade? Are you really afraid of chickens?” “I’m a carpenter. The farming was circumstantial.” “Right, right.” Never one to listen, Emerald plucked the feather up, and tucked it into her sweatshirt pocket. Yang was so busy trying to keep her hands from digging habitually into her hair that it took entirely too long to realize that as of yet… no one had come out to greet her. That wasn’t exactly promising. A lump stuck inside her throat, and she swallowed it down; up on the second floor, the stained glass window loomed like an all-seeing eye over the lawn… and over her. Whether Raven was here or not… she didn’t like the menacing quality that had overtaken this place since she’d left. It was- she began to note as she took tepid steps around the porch, past the fire pit and around the corner with the coops- entirely too quiet. Unlike in her dream, the trees were preternaturally silent, the chickens themselves hushed as she rounded the wire to check. Even in his old age, with his failing hearing, Zwei would have heard her bike- would have heard her voice, if nothing else. “Yang?” As she circled back around, Emerald leaned on the bike, brows knit together. The dusk made her eyes coral colored and peachy, and Yang took a moment to memorize them… just for the hell of it. Her gut had turned to writhing worms. “I don’t know if anyone is here.” It sounded about as surprised as she felt; Emerald tugged down her sleeves against a rush of chilly October breeze. “Usually someone’s always home… Raven’s an agoraphobe, for pete’s sake.” “...and you don’t think she’s here?” “She could be.” Did she want to find out, though?Emerald shrugged a nod toward the house, and knocked her knees together. “...one way to find out?” “You should have worn pants, you know. It’s not summer anymore.” “Hey, dad, how about you leave my wardrobe to me, okay?” “Fine by me- just don’t expect my jacket or anything.” The glower was all play; she stuck her tongue out and jogged for the porch with a shiver and a skip. The creak of wood beneath her feet was so many things besides nostalgic; it played the strings in her ribcage like a guitar as she took them one at a time, and crossed to the front screen door. It was unlocked. Her hand faltered on the knob of the door as she pried the screen door back; the tremble in her fingers rattled the brass so bad she could feel it in her teeth. “What if she’s in here?” “Which one?” That was a good question. Yang didn’t feel much like laughing… but it was a funny situation to be in, admittedly: which of her mothers was she more afraid of seeing? “Either. Both. I don’t know.” “You keep going. Regardless, we did what we set out to do today- you did what you set out to do. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”“I think I can do that.” “Good.” Emerald stretched a hand out to the door, and spread her fingers on the wood. Her nail beds were an angry red mess… but the French tips of her nails glinted perfectly in the light. Her voice was a soft and caressing whisper in Yang’s ear as- still shaking- she turned the knob until it clicked. “You’ve got this, Yang.” She wasn’t sure she did… but the backup was nice. Darkness oozed inside, and immediately the rank smell of moldering wine trickled through her sinuses and down her spine. It was almost colder in the house than it had been outside; Yang watched her breath plume up in the air. “Hello?” Her voice echoed off the woodwork; she strained for the sounds of dog breathing, or typewriter keys upstairs, or even quiet, restrained sobbing in the dark… but there was nothing. “Maybe there isn’t anyone here.” “Then what was my dream about?” Together, they crept farther inside, careful step after careful step. Yang reached out to brush the dead, cracking plants in their hanging pots as they passed through the kitchen, and Emerald’s nails cast eerie, scratching sounds off the counter. “Maybe you missed it- it was a whole day ago. Maybe since you didn’t come over, you didn’t have those interactions- maybe they found her and took her somewhere themselves.” It was the best possible outcome, despite the way it plucked viciously at the guitar strings in her chest again. “Nobody took me anywhere.” It was Emerald who screamed; Yang was the unfortunate casualty as she grabbed the nearest bread bowl off the counter and flung it right for the low, gravely voice. It thunk !ed off the back of Yang’s head instead, and in the second she stumbled, swearing, Summer had closed the gap, reaching out with thin, papery arms to wrap up around her too-tall neck. “Don’t be afraid. It’s just me.” In the dark, her hair was a shroud: frizzy and curtaining her face from view. There was a rank, odorous smell coming from her bathrobe, and when she pressed herself to Yang and hugged her close, the crusty texture and the peach smell told her all she needed to know. She pulled away… and regretted it. Summer’s entire body trembled like an exposed nerve, and through her hair, the flat, lambent storm clouds in her eyes were bloodshot and wide. She swayed a little, standing upright, and Yang tried to steady her by the shoulders. “Hey… hey what happened, Mom? Where’s everyone else?” Summer ignored her- just clung to her tighter, thin brown fingers biting into the meat of her back and crinkling through the leather of her jacket. Her hair was matted and tangled; there was wine on her breath and dirt caked under her chin. “Mom.” “They left.” The nonchalance of it slammed her in the chest full force, and her shrug was a pitiful, defeated thing. She let go, slinking off of her and looking around, fingers trembling as she stepped around the counter- around them both- and found the table. Glass clinked and set Yang’s teeth on edge. “Ruby ran away. They went to go find her.” For a millisecond time froze. It was like that moment with Raven, the morning they’d gone to see Qrow; only now, the peace of it was gone. Over the sink, the window was cracked open and the breeze had followed them inside. Floorboards creaked beneath their feet, and dusk had long since dipped into night, flooding the farm in cool blue darkness. Summer uncorked another bottle, poured in liquidous sloshing noises until she was satisfied, and turned back to look at them again. Or maybe she just wanted to lean against the table. Her eyes were dark and hooded… but she didn’t drink. Just sloshed the contents in the cup and squeezed her sticky red fingers together until glass fractured beneath the points. “She didn’t even leave a note. She just… left.” “Do they have any idea where she went?” “Yang…” Emerald’s hand slid up to the space between her shoulders, and the touch was jolting; it made her realize how deeply she’d started breathing. Summer’s stare was stone. “No. Maybe. I couldn’t tell you… nobody tells me anything anymore. I’m too fragile .” She said it like an insult- like a curse. The glass splintered a little more in her grip, and she cocked her head to the side, looking at them both now. Cataloging them.“I thought you’d come back sooner.”It was so close to the dream- to Ruby’s stare; her disappointment; her words. Oh.. oh she hadn’t missed it at all. She’d been worried about the wrong Rose. “...I don’t think you’re fragile.” Only half a lie. Summer saw right through it. “Yeah, you do darlin’. I guess that’s my fault.” She rubbed at her temple like it was killing her; like she knew it was her fault she was hungover and miserable, too. “I tried everything to be like my mother and I came up short in every way that counted. Every day I thank the gods you’ll never be a mother, Yang… we fucked up too bad. I- I fucked up.”“That’s enough.” Emerald fingers knotted in the leather of her jacket, and in those few suspended animation seconds that Yang processed the knife her mother had buried hilt-deep in her bones, the points of her acrylic nails bit through and into her skin. “You don’t get to speak to her like that-” “Emerald…”Her voice was a hiss on the breeze; vanilla tickled her nose, and the odorous cheapness of her perfume made the wine smell worse; Yang swallowed down a gag. Summer watched them, leaning on the table for support, bitter and alone in the dark. She set the glass down on the wood hard, and the base snapped; the rhythmic drip off the edge shattered some of the tension… and some of Summer’s resolve. Inch by inch, she slunk down to her knees in the damp, and balled her hands into fist so tight they shook. “I’m so sorry…” It was a sucky, air-tight sound, like a bubble caught in a tube. It popped when she looked up, glass-eyed and pinched in that way that- despite the lack of blood between them- Yang had inherited. Her lips trembled- and like she was aware of it, she sucked them in with her teeth. “I don’t know what I’m doing- I don’t… I don’t know what to do .” It wasn’t the heartfelt, pour-it-all-out kind of apology, and it wasn’t the perpetual lean Yang had become accustomed to. Ignoring Emerald’s hold, Yang shrugged her shoulders and tugged off the coat, setting it on the island as she eased herself down to the floor too. The air was cool on her arms, and she breathed it in like it would heal all the hurt. It wouldn’t. That was fine. One finger at a time, Yang helped ease her mother’s grip on her hands, and when they were flat, she ran her thumbs along soft pink palms. Summer stared her- never wavering, never flinching- like it was her punishment or her charge. Yang would take it over the hundreds of times she’d buried her face in Yang’s touch and refused to look her in the eye. “I know… and I forgive you.” It tasted like lead; she said it anyway, one syllable at a time. The wine was sticky, and the color made her violently nauseous with its similarities to her every waking moment of prophet life. She weathered it anyway.“Ruby will come back, too,” She said, and although nothing was ever really set in stone, she was realizing… “She’ll take her time, and when she’s ready she’ll come back. But you have to accept that in order for it to happen. And you have to let me make my own schedule too. You have so many amazing talents, Mom… you’ve got to find a new thing to devote yourself to. Not Ruby, and not me.” “I don’t know how…” She squeezed back, her fingers discoloring with the force behind the grip. “It’s all been for you… for 22 years , I did everything for you. ” “-and that is amazing , Mom. Really.” She breathed it out like it was light- like it was so genuinely admirable- and it was… but the weight of her words still rattled around in her body like a shot put. “You spent two decades building us a home- a life- a family… and no one asked you to. You did it all on your own, you left your entire family behind, and no one asked you to … and you did it anyway. You deserve happiness… but you have to let it happen… however it happens.” “You sound just like your mother.” It must have shown on her face, because what stubborn, snotty little laugh had started in the back of her throat trailed off, and she let go of Yang’s hands to reach out and brush away the soft peachy hairs dangling in her face so damp with sweat. Her fingers were warm, and the alcohol smell was nauseating. “I mean it. You sound like Raven… and I think that’s a good thing, in small, Yang-sized doses. Raven knows how to be selfish- maybe too selfish, but… that’s not my point. Neither of us are good mothers and that’s fine- we were children-” “Mom-” “-but we love you, in our awful ways.” She sniffled again, still red-eyed, horribly disheveled and trembling, but there was a focus there now… just the seedling of something beginning. “You sound like her. I think she was right… moving in with those girls was a good thing. I just didn’t want to see it… can I have a tissue?” Emerald’s presence slipped back, and Yang didn’t watch her leave, fumbling around in the dark for a piece of paper towel or tissue paper. When she came back, she stooped down herself and offered up the role; Summer took it, pursing her lips to nod in quiet, embarrassed thanks. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” Emerald’s voice was a soft and tremulous husk- not quite present, but not quite out of her depth, either. “I’m Emerald. I live with Yang.” Her mother put her hand out to shake, and thought better of it, pulling back as the wine dripped down her elbow into her sleeve. Emerald didn’t look particularly put out. “It’s nice to meet you,” She offered instead.“Likewise. Do you need some help cleaning up?” Yang could have shaken her; what was she thinking? Summer’s face widened into some kind of mortification- it was hard to tell in the dark- but the whites of her eyes were big, and she waved the idea off outright, like she could physically clear it from the air. “No- no, I… I can’t let you do that. This is my mess, um… I- I’m so sorry.” She was on her feet quicker than Yang had expected; Emerald craned her neck up at her from the floor, blinking in a kind of quiet stupefaction- like she hadn’t expected things to turn out this way. “Right- sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her mother pushed her hair back at the root, feathery dark bangs plastered to her skin. She catalogued the wine on her hands… the floor… the table. Yang watched her do the calculus of cleaner to mop bucket ration as she seemed to find herself a little in the dark. “I should- I need to-” “Start with a shower.” “A shower…?” The suggestion came easy; Yang ran her fingers over her hands and cracked each of her knuckles compulsively. “You take a shower. I’ll turn some lights on… and Em and I will go.” It seemed to work as appeasement enough. Summer’s exposed, tepid smile was so sweet and so sad… she nodded once, and then twice again. When she rolled up her robe sleeves, Yang saw the spark come back in her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s for the best. I’ll um… I’ll call you? When I finish cleaning up?” “Sure. I might be sleeping, though.” “And you’ll come over for dinner sometime this week?” “I will-” “-with Emerald... and the others.” Getting Blake to come to a family dinner was hard enough in the place she lived ; getting her to the farm would be a nightmare. “We’ll see about-” “Absolutely, Mrs. Xiao Long.” Emerald was quicker- and far more opportunistic. She smiled that pointed little smile of hers, like she was winning at something; Summer didn’t miss it- her mouth pursed and she raised her brows as if to say, ‘ This is the woman who gave you so much trouble? I believe it. ’ “Oh- I’m not a Xiao Long by marriage.” It was a gentle correction, but it was still a correction. She rubbed at her face where some of her skin had started to tack up with the wine. “Summer is fine. I think I’m going to go shower now… but it was lovely to meet you.” “It was nice to… meet you as well…?” She’d already turned and made a beeline for her room- and for their adjoining bathroom, no doubt. Emerald’s breathing evened out a little bit once the door had slammed closed behind her. Yang caught her breath… fell back into a squat, and sat on her knees in the wine again, letting the breeze tickle her arms and her back and her spine. She didn’t feel any lighter. One by one, they went through the house and flicked switches, closing open doors… and lingering on some. Yang didn’t dare open the attic door, and outright barred Emerald from trying to weasel into hers. They were done before Summer ever finished her shower. That was fine by Yang; her hands still felt the phantoms of mud and tree root- or mushroom picking off her own mother. “Thank you for coming out here with me. I know I never asked, but… I appreciate it anyway.” The gravel crunched and stuck between the treads of her boots, and Emerald snatched up the helmet off the bike once they got back outside. She turned around in her hands like a dodgeball, and for half a heartbeat Yang was sure she was going to chuck it at her. But she didn’t. She found the strap, and turned it around the right way, stare still puzzlingly concentrated and searching. “I know how you can make it up to me.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. You can hang out with Blake more.” Yang’s hand connected with the handle, and stopped just shy of a firm grip; the rubber slipped out from her fingers and she smacked herself in the thigh on accident. “Come again?” “Oh, I’d love to, thank you for ask- ow! Hey!” “Cut it out. Elaborate. What do you mean hang out with Blake more? That would imply we hang out at all. ” Her patience was characteristically thin- she blew a stray braid out of her face and glowered at her, pointedly, tipping the helmet up onto her head. The chin strap bit into her jaw, and her throat trembled as Yang measured her own stair right back. “Weiss’ mandated dinners and field trips don’t count. She feels ostracized- she’s even starting to pull away from me . I can’t seem to reach her- sleepovers and movies and makeovers aren’t working anymore. She’s curt… distant. I’m worried… and I know you don’t give a rat's ass, because you two got off on the wrong foot- that’s my fault and I’ll admit it, okay?- but I could really use your help.” “...are you about done?” “Depends- are you off your high horse?” The key was heavy in her jean pockets, and the wind blew right through her bare shoulders.“...I’ll make an effort. For you- for this -” Emerald followed her quick gesture toward the house. “-but I can’t promise anything. I’m not as persistent as you- if she wants nothing to do with me, I’m not going to push it. Is that fair?” It was more than fair. She knew it, and she could see in her eyes that Emerald knew it too. Her nod was honest, and freckled with relief. “Yeah. That’ll do.” “Good…” Yang didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it left her, filtering out into the cold. Leaves crunched under her heels as she spun, swung up onto the bike, and offered up her hand. “Now get on the bike- it’s freezing out.”  
*   *   *  
 “Absolutely not.” “Oh come on, Weiss, don’t be a stick in the mud.” The kitchen lights were turned down low, the radio propped between the windowsill and a vase of delicate looking flowers Summer had brought over the week before. Weiss had made an exact science of keeping them alive, and it was her pleasure to walk by them and smile every morning at breakfast. Pyrrha ripped another few pieces of tape and handed one up to her on the ladder. “I think it would be fun. And Nora’s going to explode if we all miss out on the opportunity.” “I will not dress the whore for All Hallows-” “You’re not a whore unless you put out,” Nora’s sing-song tone didn’t lighten it any; Weiss whipped around to glower at her from the ladder, and it wobbled. Pyrrha’s face was blanched as she made a grab for it. “Be careful! Ladder safety-”“Who let you into my home?”“Who let you on a ladder? Isn’t that unsafe, Frau Depth-Perception?” Yang in no way envied Pyrrha’s position as Weiss’ current maturity meter, content to sit with her ass planted on the dining table cutting shitty little pumpkins out of orange construction paper. Em nudged her with an elbow to show off her equally shit-tastic ghosts. “I like the idea.” It was a quiet, thoughtful response; the tenor of it dazzled the room for exactly half a second, before Nora was right back on her crusade. “See! The goth one’s on board.” Yang didn’t bother to mask her careful consideration as Blake leaned on the chairback, sitting the wrong direction on the cushion, sweater-black and brown-slacked, again. There was a kind of exhausted melancholy in her face… and it laid there like a dead thing in flat ferryman eyes that winked in the buttery kitchen lights. “What is wrong with the costume I already decided on?” “Can you make Joan of Arc sexy?” “Hypothetically, it could be-” “That was a trick question- unless Pyrrha’s going as your horse, pick something else.” “ Nora! ”This time, when the ladder wobbled it was because Pyrrha had let go, red in the face and half-hidden in the folds of her turtleneck. The burnt orange color had melded with her tan at times- the flush of warmth was a nice contrast. Em snickered and popped a piece of tinsel popcorn into her mouth; her breath was buttery on top of the heady floral scent of her perfume as she leaned over. “ Oh, here we go… ”“I could make Jehanne d’Arc sexy if I wanted to.”“There is nothing sexy about going as a catholic woman for Halloween- especially one they burnt at the stake.”It was impossible to resist; Weiss’ face too had started to pigment. Yang snipped another triangular eye out of an accordion of paper circles. “I don’t know- she’s got that mid-century French peasant look. And say what you want about Catholics but they’re a freaky bunch.” If she could have gotten away with it, she was sure Weiss would have struck her with lightning. Instead, she simmered from her seat atop the ladder and frowned at them all- sans Pyrrha, who had begun to rub at her temples like she was getting a headache. “Not you, too…” “She’s got a point.” Em put her scissors down, and unfolded her wonky, deformed ghosts, scowling a little with distaste. “Unless you’re going as a sexy nun- that’s doable sexy catholic woman territory.” “If anyone here is a freaky bunch, it’s all of you.” Pyrrha grabbed a handful of popcorn and tossed them into her mouth one at a time, red-faced and embarrassed still; Yang made a mental note to tease her for it later. “Can’t you pick less sacrilegious slut costumes?”“Hey, she picked a saint, not me.” Nora swept her pointed finger around the room, ripping the plastic off a pack of black paper plates. “Everyone else is normal about this.” “Nora, slutty murder clown is not normal- nothing is remotely normal about that.” “Oh yeah, what are you going as?” Pyrrha opened her mouth to fire back, but Nora was quicker. “And if you say you’re going to reuse that Roman emperor costume I will get you and I will not be merciful.” “ No one takes Halloween as seriously as Nora. ” It was a soft, tickling whisper against her cheek; Yang hadn’t even realized she was doing it until she’d leant down in Em’s space to murmur the words. She snickered, and the sound was light and rolling like tidal waves. Blake’s chair scraped the floor as she stood, pushing herself up with a detached kind of ease. Her movements were stiff; her eyes flickered around the room- darting briefly from person to person- but never at her. There was no excuse- no tepid, uninterested dismissal. She got up, grabbed her chair by the hand and turned it the right way around, and breezed out of the room; her footsteps trembled and cast thudding noises through the Practical Magic kitchen as their banter filtered into quiet. It stayed that way for about a half a minute… and then Nora was tearing through a plastic bag of solo cups, breaking the spell on the room. She watched as the conversation flooded back to where it had been, as though nothing had happened at all. Beside her, Em’s elbow had shifted to tuck up behind hers. She nudged it now, and the intent was clear; Yang met her eyes and waded through the dark ruddy color of them to get to the truth of what she wanted. “-just saying that you have it, you should flaunt it.” “Yes, well, if I have it, then anything I wear would be sexy by default, Nora.”“Logic has no place in this- it’s a party, for god sakes- wear something that shows off a little skin I am begging you-”Without another word, as quietly as she could manage, Yang put down her scissors and slipped out the door after her. The wood was chilly on her bare feet, and she took the steps one at a time, careful to maintain some kind of subtlety. As much as she didn’t like this… she’d made a promise, and that was that. As long as Blake didn’t tell her to fuck off, they’d be fine.“Fuck off.” Yang’s foot caught on the top step as she started, stumbling; the shag carpet on the top lip bit into her hands, and she groaned. Blake was leaning against the bannister railing, face a steel mask. Her foot reached out to nudge her in the shoulder. Her socks had little beavers on them. “Get up.” One arm at a time, Yang planked herself into an upright position, and stood. The height difference was stark, as usual. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” “I know.” She concurred, a purr in the throat as she slinked past. “Go back downstairs. I know why you followed me, and you’re not slick. Neither of you are…” “I don’t like this either-” “Then don’t do it.” “-but I promised Em. She’s worried about you… not that I get it.” Her jaw rolled- intentionally or otherwise- and the sound crackled in the stretch of hall between them. Blake took another winding step… two more; Yang followed, singular and determined. When they hit the door to her bedroom, out of the stairwell and far enough Yang could no longer hear the chattering of the others, she struck. Sturdy dark hands knotted in her shirt, and pressed her up against the rigid frame of the door. In the shadow-dark corridor, she was only eyes in the dark- just the curved suggestion of a jaw- the glint of dark, supine amber framed in black. “I thought I made it clear I wanted you to leave me alone. I thought you were sensitive to people's boundaries.”  She said it like an insult- spit it like a piercing truth. Yang leaned into her face, and met the petrifying pointed stare head on. Their noses brushed, and immediately she was taken in by the smell of her; by teakwood and pine. Something in her bones screamed at her; her spine rolled and shivered; Yang ignored them both. She’d never gotten this close to Blake before, and it was a dangerous kind of intoxication she did not like. Blake felt it too. In the dark, her tongue flicked out to wet dry, cracking lips, and her breathing was sharp and quick. “I’ll spend more time with Em- fine-… just leave me alone.” “No.” The fingers tightened in her shirt. Yang made no moves to grab them or tear them away. Gingerly- with Blake watching her in the dark like a cat, eyes darting and flickering- she slid her hands out to wrap one at the waist, and the other up the back of her head. She looped her thumbs in the belt loops of Blake’s slacks, and tangled her fingers in swathes of deep black curl. “What are you doing?” A hiss in the dark. Her voice cracked and rumbled low; Yang prayed to anyone that would listen, and knew Blake could feel her heart thudding up against her chest, pulsing beneath her hands. She gripped her curls and tugged- just a little- and Blake’s stutter told her everything. “Confirming a theory.” The gasp was hot, sharp and audible; letting go of the belt loops was a necessity- she cupped a hand over Blake’s mouth, and waited for her grip on her shirt to ease. “You tried to kill me. Why?” A gust of hot air into the palm of her hand; she didn’t dare remove it. “New plan: yes or no. I say something, you shake yes or no, or I pull again.”  I dare you, she seemed to say, her eyes liquidus and melty gold, and she struggled against the hold, slapping her hands in dull, thudding punches against the sturdiness of Yang’s chest. It hurt like a bitch… but she’d felt infinitely worse at this point.“You snuck into my room.” No nod, no shake. Yang tugged again, knucklebones scraping her scalp. The sound she made was tinglingly, cheek-warmingly erotic, and Yang hated her for it- hated that she clearly knew it. Her eyes swam in lazy circles, and Yang didn’t spare her the sympathy; her fingers loosened on the front of her shirt, and she felt the middle finger gesture before she could see it, rocketing up to flicker her in the nose. It was embarrassingly effective; in the dark she was quick, slinking out of Yang’s grasp, ducking out of her arms, rotating them so the door knob was within reach. They wrestled into the room; she tried to shut the door- scrambled to close it- but it wasn’t very strong, and Yang was stronger. She shoved it aside like it was nothing, and Blake wasted no time. Abandoning the door she made a mad dash into the room, vaulting over furniture and clothes.They were not going to play this game- no fucking way.She lunged, diving, and they hit the floor, a tangle of limbs; a solid brown fist connected with her nose- climbed on top of her straddled her hips and fought the searching desperation of Yang’s fingers, shooting out to latch on and grab her again. Not this time. Blake hit her again, and something in her nose cracked; she saw stars. The gush was hot and wet down her face, and she switched tactics. Hands… hands. The next fist that came down smacked her in the palm, and she grappled for it. It had been years since she’d wrestled, and it hadn’t been anything like this. This was bloody- raw- locking her legs and lifting with her hips, the flip was the easy part. The hard part was pinning her down into the carpet, grabbing her wrists, pressing her down until the rug rubbed them both raw. Blake's face was as wide and open as she’d ever seen it, big-eyed and panting- red in the jaw. She jolted- fought- and when she realized she couldn’t move an inch- she screamed through her teeth, tossing her head back to beat against the floor. Her feet kicked out beneath her in little, futile jabs. “Let go of me!” “Are you going to punch me again?” “Are you stupid enough to find out?” “What is your problem ?” The blood dripped down her face, plinking off her chin onto the smooth dark plane of Blake’s face. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, and her sinus cavity screamed at her. “You tried to kill me… you ran when I started asking questions- you broke my nose . What is your deal, you psycho?”“I never tried to kill you-” “You broke into my room and slammed me into a wall- ” “You don’t have any proof!” “ That’s your defense? Are you trying to look guilty? What the fuck is wrong with you, I’m trying to give you an out here-”“ Why? ” She jolted again against the hold, writhing. Her nostrils flared; a bead of sweat dripped down her temple to mingle with the blood still splattering down onto her cheek. They ran together off her chin, pooling in a coagulant of pink salty something into the carpet. “Why? Why give me a chance at all? Because you’re kind? Because you’re so forgiving? I don’t need you to forgive my sins, Yang- I don’t want you to touch them with a five foot pole.” “You kissed me.” It wasn’t relevant- not really. She said it anyway, and then she said it again. The blood was starting to pool in her mouth. “You kissed me.” Blake was notably silent. Her jaw ground together, and for a minute her eyes seemed wetter in the dim red light of her room. “I did. You weren’t exactly chaste either.” “I’ve gotten mad at people for less.” “About the same, actually, if my memory serves. If this is you calm then I’d hate to see you mad.” Her tone was reserved- measured- deepthroated and thick with building saliva; Yang didn’t relish the thought she might start spitting. “You’re no exception. I didn’t ask you to kiss me.” “That’s not the way I remember it.” “And how do you remember it, exactly?” “People who don’t want to be kissed don’t breathe you in, hold you close and push their thigh between your legs-” It was the bleeding that was making her light-headed, flushing her cheeks, flexing the meat of her jaw. Her throat bobbed, and Blake’s half-lidded stare became cruel. She leaned her head up and craned her neck to get as close as possible; Yang’s nose throbbed. “-or tear at your clothes, or kiss you back, or pop a boner. Grow up. I didn’t want to kiss you either… and it still happened. Now look where we are. Does that answer your question? Am I free to go now, detective?” Yang let her go, and pushed herself up to stand. No. No, she had little else to say. “I don’t care about the room, or the kiss-” “Good. It was a mistake.” “-I just want one good reason I shouldn’t go rat you out to Weiss.” It was a heavy ultimatum; Yang could see it weigh in her eyes as she pushed herself up to sit on the carpet, rubbing at her wrists. Her stare was gritty and yellow. “Like you're not going to go do it anyway.” “I’m not… on one condition.” She laughed, horse and deep and warbly around the edges. Slinging an arm over her knee, she gestured an amused, please continue. Yang obliged, curls lank and tumbling in unkept strands into her face; she didn’t bother to push them back. “I don’t care what your deal is, I don’t care what you feel- but you don’t get to cut Em out because you’re feeling emo and unstable. I don’t care if you have to come take it out on me- leave Emerald out of it. She misses you.” “... that’s what this is about? Emerald?” “Yes-” “It really boils down to the Stockholm syndrome you developed over the last two months for a girl who was obsessively stalking you all summer? That’s your line in the sand- your great white knight purpose?” “She’s your friend-” “Yeah! She is!” Her hands came up, waggling at her like it was obvious. “And maybe that wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, but it’s happened and now we’re here! And I will be the first one to call her out- and have , by the way- about her shitty behavior! How do you think I feel, having to listen to it day in and day out: ‘Oh Yang is so gorgeous, oh Yang is so caring, oh Yang is so hunky-dory, why don’t we just get on a rocket-ship and fly up to the goddamn moon!’ ” It came out in a rush, and she was spitting by the end of it, shoulders heaving. She breathed in a tremulous, measured breath and shook her head, like she was talking more to herself now than to Yang. “No… no I’m done. I fucked up, and that’s fine… I understand lines better than either of you, and I shouldn’t have crossed it but I did - now tell me again how you want me to go back down there, pick out a slutty costume for Halloween, and watch you whisper in each other's ears like no one else can hear you. Go ahead, Yang.” “....I don’t-” “Leave me alone… get out of my room. I don’t care what you do- tell Weiss for all I care.” The way she said it was a dramatic shift from her momentary, panicked righteous indignation. Affectless- flat. The smooth, savory curls of her Pennsylvanian-esq accent were notably dead. Yang swallowed the whiplash down with a throatful of blood. “It doesn’t matter anymore. This was always coming.” “If you’re trying to get me to pity you-” “I don’t need your pity. Get out.” Again, she was back to that darting, flickering avoidance; she refused to look at Yang in the eye. That was fine- there was nothing left to push. Yang had done what she’d said she would… and then some. Blake’s fingers twitched and trailed to cling to her knees, and Yang made a point not to stare; the vulnerability wasn’t being given- not to her. It was just slipping out a little, and Yang wasn’t that low. A little quieter, her whisper rumbling soft: “...get out.”Yang closed the door behind her, and trudged with her chin in her hands to the bathroom, dripping dripping dripping.  
*   *   *  
 They’d put up the majority of the streamers by the time she’d come back, shuffling back to her spot at the table and plucking a chip from one of the multicolored bowls. Weiss slapped it out of her hand- appearing out of nowhere- and her heart lurched into her throat; she jumped and the clench in her jaw radiated through her aching nose. “ Fuck! Don’t do that!” “Where’d you slip off to?” “I had to get something upstairs.” Pyrrha sidled up beside her; she didn’t miss the warmth of her- or the ghastly orange fuzz pearling off her shoulders. Dense, long-fingered hands turned her about- physically took her by the shoulders- and turned her fully. “What happened to your nose? Weiss, look at this-” “I tripped going up- it’s fine.” She wriggled loose; Pyrrha spun around to block her. “No, it’s not. It’s broken.” “How would you know?” “Because I know. God, you sound like Snuffaluffagus… Weiss?” “Yes, I’m looking, Maus.” She had to stand on her tiptoes, and true to form, she didn’t wait for Yang’s permission; her fingers were icy against the bridge of her nose, and Yang hissed through her teeth. That certainly didn’t help any. “Did you hit the wood? Or the carpet?” “Wood.” “Hm.” It was better to let them fuss in the long run… but she’d never been very good at sitting around and letting people fuss over her. Yang brushed her hand away- not unkindly- and fished another chip out of the bowl. “I’m fine.” She promised, with palpable certainty. Neither of them seemed highly convinced… but Weiss dropped it first, along with her hand. Straightening the frighteningly relaxed cut of her button-down, she made a gesture Pyrrha’s way, and strode her way out of dodge- probably to go strangle Nora somewhere. Yang spotted her peeling stickers in the corner for Emerald, who’s acrylics kept clacking against the window panes. “You’re sure you’re okay? That looks bad… it’ll heel crooked if you just leave it like that.” “One less resemblance to my mother-” “ Yang .” “Pyr, seriously,” Even laughing hurt; regardless, it had nothing on routinely jabbing needles into her cornea. This was weatherable… she supposed if nothing else she had Raven to thank for that. “I’m okay.” “Will you at least let me fix you up?” “Do you know how to reset a broken nose?” Someone- probably Nora- cranked the radio up on high. The Monster Mash rang through the room, and it was a direct contrast to the roiling, deep-seated discomfort still clinging to her bones in the aftermath of the tussle. Pyrrha’s shoulders eased, and from her mammoth height, and leant down to get a better look. “I can try… I’ve only done it once.” “I’ve felt worse things.” She was not easily amused; the lines around the soft angular curve of her mouth where her smile usually perched were stretched down in an uncomfortable-looking frown. She straightened up, and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t use that for everything. I’m allowed to be concerned when you get hurt Yang… and I don’t really want to see any more of it than I have to.” In the months since she’d come home from school, having Pyrrha back in her life had been a boon she’d never expected to have back in full. “Sure,” She said, a little heavier than she meant to; honesty had always been her default, when it came to Pyrrha. “You can take a look.” This was how she ended up in Weiss’ bathroom, sitting on the toilet cover and running her eyes over the familiar bathtub as Pyrrha shrugged off her sweater and tossed it somewhere indiscriminate in Weiss’ bedroom. She raised an eyebrow, and Pyrrha pointedly ignored her. “Yours too- can you get it off without touching the-” She’d already peeled it off. There’d be no mercy for her if she tossed her bloodied t-shirt somewhere on Weiss’ bedroom floor; she tucked it into a somewhat dry square, and dropped it onto the tile. Pyrrha didn’t look all that surprised… despite the creeping note of impatience leaking into her mossy stare. But true to form, she batted her smoky auburn lashes and pushed her frustrations down, and there was nothing but tender gentleness in her hands as she searched the bathroom cabinet for the right disinfectants and materials; it was harder than it looked- everything was herbal, jarred, and labeled like some kind of medieval apothecary.She’d gained weight. It wasn’t something Yang had intended to focus on- she’d barely cut a glance- but it was true enough… and it warmed something deep in the center of her chest to see the strong, lean muscle of her arms padded out- the tan, flat trim of her hips and stomach healthy and filled. “Did your boobs get bigger?” Pyrrha blushed- she’d always blushed, it was just her nature about these things- and she shrugged, nonchalantly, pulling out a jar of something chunky looking and putting it back with a grimace. “Yeah… I mean, I think so.” “Do you want some of my old shirts? Em made me go shopping, and they don’t fit me that well anyway.” “I’ll pick out what I like, if I see something. What do you mean she made you go shopping? I’m still not clear on how this friendship… happened.” That was fair- give and take and all that. If she was going to ask uncomfortable questions she’d certainly get them back. “Nora’s still a little shaken up too… but I told her you probably know what you’re doing.” “It’s not like I meant for it to. I didn’t know that she’d be one of the other researchers- Weiss didn’t know we knew each other either.” “She mentioned that to me, yeah. Do you know what half this stuff is? I failed chemistry twice-” She pulled out a couple random jars and flashed them for inspection. The herbs and powders tinkled against the glass as she shook them. “-and the half I can’t guesstimate is in German.” Begrudgingly… she pushed up from her seat and stepped closer. Some jars were denser than others as she took them, but the process was about the same; she shook for consistency, examined the color, and then- faltering as her nose throbbed in misery, made Pyrrha take a hefty whiff of each one. It took ten minutes of deliberation to weed out the ones that wouldn't kill her. Pyrrha organized them on the countertop while she grabbed a dry towel and soaked a rag or two in the bath faucet. “How do you know these are the right ones?” “20 years with Summer. Greenwitch or not, it’s a practical skill to have.” The drip started up again as she eased back down onto the toilet seat, pressing the cool damp one to the crook of her poor, abused bridge. It stung with a cool deliverance that put a little chunk of that riled-up feeling in her to rest. “You said Weiss told you about me and Em? When did you guys talk that over?” Pyrrha tiptoed around the topic, literally trailing the tips of her fingers along the counter space in avoidance of the jars and their contents. Even still, despite the hesitance… Pyrrha was still Pyrrha, and her answer was sincere. She sucked in a nervous kind of breath and turned to lean her tailbone against the marble, clutching at it like that would keep her hands busy for more than a minute or two. “I came over to talk a while back… we ordered takeout- it was nice. She filled me in on how you were doing- some of the adjustments in the house… I was worried when you didn’t really text any of us for a few weeks.” “You lunched… with Weiss?”“It was in the evening-”“You had dinner with Weiss?”“Don’t say it like that… don’t- Yang come on.” She wouldn’t say it- but she was looking at her like that, actually, and she couldn’t help it- any movement itched and throbbed, but she did it anyway, just for the chance to raise an eyebrow at her scoff. “I expect this from Nora but not from you.”“That’s your mistake- Nora’s right for once.” The hand towel slipped off the rack and she flinched as it hit her in the shoulder. “Hey!” “Can it, Snuffalufagus. This isn’t about me. We were talking about you and Emerald and you’re not dodging the conversation that easily.” She blew the hair out of her face- curling auburn strands that tickled her nose, and Yang accepted defeat. Hands raised in surrender, she made no more jabs or complaints, lips pursed shut as Pyrrha grabbed a glass from the top shelf of the cabinet, spooned out equal portions of powder from each of the jars, and watered it all down, clinking the little mixing spoon against the glass. She offered it out with no hint of sympathy. That was deserved, certainly. Yang knocked it back; the gritty, horrible texture battled her gag reflex. “Talk about a pre-game cocktail…” “Shut up.” It was a raw, awful croak in her throat- she held the throw towel to her mouth and rode out the awful swallow down. “Ask me about Emerald before I change my mind.”  “What’s going on with you and Emerald?”Her mouth tasted like bark-flavored ass. “Nothing. There- satisfied?” No, clearly not- not Pyrrha. “Alright, fine… nothing you should be concerned about. We’re friends- she gave me another chance-” “ She gave you another chance? Yang, I don’t know that I like where this is going.” There was a thin-lipped, hard-pressed grimace beginning to twist on her mouth, and it was so very out of place of her sweetly chiseled face. “Didn’t she tell anyone in town who would listen that you were sleeping together- when you weren’t ?”“We talked it out… she made some really shitty mistakes, yeah… but so did we. We were assholes to them in school, Pyr. I don’t know, I just… I don’t want to live in the past, and I don’t want to be-” To be her mother? To be an asshole? To spend every waking moment agonizing about what she’d done wrong- what others had done to her? Gods, it even sounded miserable in her head. “...I don’t want to be so wrapped up in brooding pessimism, I guess. It’s exhausting.” There was a brief moment when Pyrrha seemed to consider this- to really hold onto it and think about it- and in true Pyrrha fashion this seemed to clear whatever gunk had polluted the path between them. She uncrossed her arms, and nodded once- a second time. There was a softness in her stare that warmed Yang from her belly through her bones, and the return of her soft and dimpled smile was contagious. “...I can understand that, yeah. Sorry for the Inquisition.” “No harm no foul. Still planning on fixing my nose?” The answer was a smooth slide back to standing upright, casting long shadows over the bathroom tile as she bent down to examine it better. Her fingers were light- ghosting- and warmer than Weiss’ had been; it still hurt like a bitch when she prodded the throbbing, swollen tissue with the tips of her fingers. “This isn’t going to be pleasant. Bite down on that hand towel if you need to… I’ll try to stopper the blood with this.”The damp washcloth was cool as it tickled the underside of her nostrils. “Ready?” She did not under any circumstances feel ready, but given her options… “Ready.” It was quicker than Yang had given Pyrrha credit for. Her hand cradled Yang’s head, arm folded and bicep flexing as she held her in place, and the searching shift of her fingers was quick- violent- as something shifted back into place. She heard the grind of bone as Pyrrha let go, prepping to catch any of the blood flow with the cloth. They were both surprised to find very little. “A side-effect of your magic.” Weiss’ accent cut into the room, catching them both by the bra straps and turning their heads. She’d put on her shoes, and one of her nicer coats, white cotton and button-down, with split tails and a high, flat collar. Her hands were pocketed, her stand military disciplined as always. “Blood witches bleed less, ironically.” Oh, a wonderful boon to have when one is cursed with perpetually bleeding eyeballs, surely. She didn’t even have to say it- Weiss wasn’t done. “I suspect it will be a minor help to you, in your unbaptized state… but its presence at all does tell us where boundaries lie in your capabilities. How are you doing?” “Better, now that my nose isn’t crooked.” That husky blue stare was menacing in and of itself- unyielding and undaunted. “How are you doing about the party?” She elaborated, patient and curious. Pyrrha shifted too, standing back upright now, and dwarfing them both. Yang didn’t miss the dart of that icy cloudless eye- the millisecond breach of propriety that raked Pyrrha in and set her mouth that much more apucker with tacit indignation- like she was trying not to give herself away. Too late, Yang balled up the rag and it ran wet between her fingers onto the floor, you obvious motherfucker.  “I was meaning to ask that too.” Pyrrha set a warm, deft hand to the crease between Yang’s shoulder and neck; for the first time in an hour, she realized just how tense and sore she was. She rolled into Pyrrha’s touch like it was god-sent, and in that way they had always had, without asking Pyrrha’s fingers pressed back against the building pressure under the surface, searching out her knots. Her skin sang at the contact. “Are you sure you’re alright to do this… after what happened at Nu Delta Delta?” “I hope you know participation is not mandatory. I agreed to this on a whim, as a peace offering- but nothing is set in stone.” Weiss’ throat was a little raspy around the edges; Yang didn’t dare cut her a glance. She didn’t want to see whatever was trying so hard not to poke through her dainty little features. The concern- that was nice though. A kind of consideration that Weiss had never been above… but rarely the kind to offer first of all of them. “I don’t think Nora bullying you into throwing a Halloween party counts as a peace offering.” “She has a point.” Pyrrha’s dimples shadowed in the overhead lighting when she smiled, and there was a sheepish quality to it. “You really don’t have to give into Nora, you know… she can be pretty impulsive, though she means well.” “I am fully capable of putting my foot down, Pyrrha. I’m thinking of it as a chance to observe and notate. I will reiterate: if you feel uncertain about attending, there is no need to do so, Yang.” It was very nice and very Weiss of her, to make the distinction. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, she wasn’t saying, but I won’t forfeit a chance at research either. Yang pushed up from the toilet seat and ran her hands through her hair; it was still tacky with gore and sweat. Wonderful.“Do I have time to shower?” “I will not be opening the doors until 11pm. I was actually coming to ask if you’d both be joining us. Nora is ready to go shopping.” She stepped aside for Yang to push out of the bathroom, shirt in hand. There was a similar, slightly interesting linger there as she passed a hair’s breadth away… but it wasn’t nearly as tangible a feeling. So she winked, for good measure. Weiss stuck out a polished immaculate shoe, and she stumbled over it on her way out.Pyrrha followed, winding around them to take the lead as she pulled the murky orange sweater back on. “I think I’m going to stay.” She said, winding around the island and snatching an Oreo off a pyramid-stacked platter. The kitchen had been transformed into the epitome of a tacky 90’s eclectic Halloween Party, and for a moment, she stopped to admire it from the entryway hall. “Pyrrha can pick me out something- I trust her judgement.”Just the idea of it blanched poor Pyrrha’s face. “What? No- you can’t volunteer me to go-” “If we leave Nora with Weiss we’re never going to see her again. Go be the middleman- I need to de-grime, and shave, and all that stupid party shit.” “I never agreed to sexy costumes.” Weiss grabbed her keys off the hook, and scowled very briefly at the corner werewolf sticker Nora and Emerald had slapped over the pretty stained glass in the door. “And I cannot promise Nora Valkyrie’s safety left un-chaperoned.” Pyrrha didn’t even pretend for a second that the choice was hers- she looked at Yang’s face, looked at the door, and trudged back the way they’d come. “...I’ll get my coat.” The cup was sweaty against the small of her back- hard plastic ribbed and damp and cold - “ Fuck ! Nora!”Playing dodge with Nora was always futile- she was sturdy as a tree trunk, and surprisingly lithe, bobbing and weaving out of arm's reach as the cup sloshed in her hands. Every lunge missed her- every quick-step wasn’t quick enough; she caught Yang around the back again as they stumbled back into the parlor, and clasped her around the collarbone with one statuesque arm. Nora pressed the cup to the midpoint of her spine again, and it was just as viciously cold. “You’re a monster! Cut that out!” “Why don’t you make me?” “Oh I’m going to, you little ingrate-” “First to the floor- loser wears a sheet to the party.” Her bicep flexed against the curve of Yang’s throat, and so close she could feel the pulsating rhythm of Nora’s heart- feel it beating against her back. She strained to get a grip on her arm. “You’re just addicted to toga parties.” She choked out, and Nora rotated the cup and pressed it to her spine again; fuck that . “I’m happy to help.” It was only a moment in time- long enough to shift her foot into a better position- but Nora noticed. Despite the alcohol, despite the cockiness, Nora noticed the shift as she grabbed up her raised arm. Just a moment, and Yang dropped a knee; wind knocked out of her sails, the cup went tumbling to the ground, and Nora’s back slammed into the hardwood. She gasped and floundered like a fish in the time it took Yang to right herself and shake some of the vodka from her shoulders. “Ugh… gross…” “Jerk.” The groan was rattling and wet as she rolled over onto her arms and coughed. Her hair was a myriad of browns and reds and soft copper tones in the hooded lamplight streaming through the kitchen. It was choppy in the back- like she’d scissored it off herself. Yang watched her for another half a minute… and gave in. Her hand was tacky with vodka as she took the offered help. “Up you get. Come on- Pyrrha and Weiss are probably waiting up.” She had the decency to look back at the cup on the floor, a little red-cheeked as she scratched at the bruise forming somewhere along her shoulder blade. “...Weiss is gonna kill you for that.” “Shouldn’t have grabbed me. I’ll work it out with her, just try not to poke the bear while you’re out, okay? My poor body can only take so much suffering.” The salute was mocking… but appreciated. Nora ambled her way out, grumbling as Yang bent down and picked up the cup. One spilled, clear drink was the least of their problems. If She really went through with this, Weiss was going to have more than one rug to worry about. It was clear she’d done some damage control- the vases and historical busts and tapestries had all come down, shoved somewhere under lock and key, she was sure… and the study had already been locked for the holiday. Now they’d just have to escape any other inanely stupid party vandalisms- which was almost worse. Wukong and Neptune liked a challenge- it brought out the creativity in them. She heard the door shut as they left, shuffling out into the cold to go pick out last minute slutty costumes. That had started as a Nora thing- the last minute scrounging- but it had evolved over time into a kind of tradition. There was something more fun about choosing from the shitty leftovers- of making something work; it didn’t matter in the end- never did. It was always more about the party- about the fun, and feeling ridiculous together. She could understand why Nora loved it so much- it was admittedly so much more freeing of a feeling than settled, day-to-day life. She’d never seen Nora more in her own skin than at a party, purple under the lights and beaming, one in a crowd of hundreds and never more free to let loose. There was a wild thing in Nora, and she held it back day after day- let it eat at her under her skin until she couldn’t stand the feeling of touch anymore. Parties helped; it had taken them all a while to understand just how much.The cool of the bannister bit against her fingers as she lingered on the stairs, letting the weight of her lungs in her chest catch up with the rest of her. Her arms trembled a little; her nose still throbbed- less so, now. Somewhere in the parlor the grandfather clock was chiming: six, seven, eight, and she sucked in all the air she could tolerate, crisp and harsh.It was just a party. Lightning doesn’t always strike twice.