Juniper Bough Chapter 4

Yang liked working with Blake. Oh, she had to be loyal to her sis, being both family and partners from the very beginning, but Blake was quiet and laid back in a way Ruby… wasn’t. And she wasn’t prissy like Weiss was—not just that she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, but she was good for a dirty joke, didn’t mind if Yang had to throw a punch to get results, and wasn’t too good for some good, greasy street food while working. Oh, Yang liked Weiss well enough, they worked well together, but she wasn’t common folk like they were, and you could never really forget it. Oh, unless you were in love, and kitty clearly hadn’t thought out how her infatuation might play out.

Yang could admit to having a small crush on Blake, the mysterious dark-haired beauty having a certain… enchanting way to her where Yang could easily call to mind certain fantasies, but Yang knew not to do more than flirt when it came to accomplices and comrades. Doubly so when it was someone like Weiss, who was… well, Weiss was Weiss. A good leader. A friend, even. But she was not from their world, and Yang never let herself forget it, even as Blake seemed to topple headlong into that mistake. But… they had work to do, the both of them.

From Blake’s description, Ilia was one of her old comrades who’d kept the faith even as the old gang had fallen apart. And that was a dangerous situation, Blake’s gang being a different tack than most toughs, but hell, just being someone who knew Blake meant that they were a dangerous situation. There was a combination of lethal experience and an ideologue’s drive that made even the publisher of a dinky newspaper someone Yang knew could be more dangerous than most of the toughs she dealt with. Entering the ratty tenement house that held the apartment/office of Ms. Amitola, Yang couldn’t help but feel the difference in career trajectories Blake and her friend had taken.

Their work was dangerous stuff, but Weiss paid well. And Blake lived for the more stable, finer things in life, unlike Yang who went payday-to-payday, blowing a good chunk of money on booze and gambling as soon as it came in—but she still lived in a nicer place than this. She could see the burnt-out husk of this houses’s mirror on the other side of the street as they came in, likely the handiwork of that freak, Tyrian. Yang stifled a shudder as she remembered that psycho. Only crossed paths once, and it was Ruby who’d done it, but that was enough to make Yang get jumpy. Nobody disappeared in this life, not truly, and so whatever happened to Tyrian, as much as people said he must have burned himself to death in one of his infernos or finally got got, his body dumped in the harbor… well, until Yang saw a body, she didn’t buy that he was truly dead and truly gone. Grim stuff—but it told her exactly what kind of neighborhood they were in.

Except… as she knocked on the door, Yang definitely noticed how solid it felt. As old and weathered as the peeling wallpaper in the hallway, but that now felt more like a deliberate move. This wasn’t the same door as what probably stood here a year or so ago… and that gave Yang a hint of what to expect as she heard bolts and chains undone as the door carefully opened to reveal...

She didn’t really look Faunus, though her skin had a… sort of texture to it that made Yang think of scales. But Yang’s focus was on her eyes, how wide they got as they saw who was at the other side of the door… and her eyes weren’t on Yang.

“Blake?” she asked, disbelieving the sight of her old comrade, and while this ought to be a touching reunion and all, they had a job to do, and Yang knew that the key part of the doorway greeting was making your way past the door, pushing if necessary. Again, another reason Yang was glad to be working with Blake instead of Weissy. Some people didn’t understand the finer social niceties of how to force your way into someone’s apartment.

It definitely looked like an apartment paid for by fringe newsletter subscriptions. Small, but tidy where it counted, with stacks of papers just about everywhere, and enough empty liquor bottles for Yang to feel at home.

Blake gave an apologetic grunt as she let herself in, the stunned Faunus providing no resistance—probably more to do with Blake than her usual doorway greeting. Yang saw the cudgel near the door, and guessed that Ilia was probably familiar with using it. Probably wasn’t the only concealed weapon in this place, either.

“I’m not… I’m not going to beat around the bush here,” Blake began, not one to wait on sentimentality. “We heard that you’re taking an interest in the Juniper Bough.” Ilia, though, was smart—didn’t feign ignorance, but she kept her face neutral. Not a lot to read into it. “We’re doing an investigation of our own, and, Ilia, I think we can achieve a lot by working together on-”

Ilia cut her off with a dramatic eyeroll, all positivity now gone. Yang wasn’t Weiss, but even she knew that this was one of those situations where you honeyed your words a little as you buttered them up. But Ilia was real unfed on flattery now. “Of course. You’re here because you want something from me… should have known, shouldn’t I?”

Blake gave her a cross look. “Don’t play the victim, Ilia, it doesn’t suit you. Our last meeting didn’t give me the impression that you still considered me a friend, so don’t think I’m here out of friendship. You have information and we-”

“And you want me to hand it over? Maybe you thought you could kick me a couple lien and it’d be fine? I’m a journalist now, Blake, I don’t play those games.”

“Hey,” Yang cut in, seeing that this approach was going nowhere, “I don’t think you fully realize what you’re dealing with here. This cult’s dangerous, and if you work with us, we can-”

“Let me guess… you’re the newer model?” Ilia asked her icily.

Yang raised an eyebrow, but Blake was quick to snap back at Ilia. “This isn’t what this is about, Ilia, and you know it. There was never anything between us and-”

Ilia cut her off, looking straight at Yang. “Let me give you a word of warning… you can’t trust this one. She promises a lot, but-”

“Adam was out of control!” Blake spat at her, “If I hadn’t left, he’d have gotten all of us killed. And besides, he certainly put enough effort into hunting me down, so I think we can consider that debt square, if you don’t mind!”

The mood in the room shifted. Ilia’s anger hadn’t dissipated, but it had become the quieter, icier fury that Yang knew was a whole lot worse than a screaming match. “You think this is about the Fang?” she asked, dropping the room a few degrees, “Blake, did all that time we spent together, everything I told you, everything I felt for you, did it all mean nothing?”

“We were never. Together. Ilia.” Blake seemed more fed up than anything, but Yang could see where this was going. She glanced to the door, even though she knew she couldn’t leave. Awkwardness wasn’t… wasn’t something Yang knew how to handle. “And if you think I was leading you on, you’re just refusing to take responsibility for what you weren’t willing to see right in front of you.”

Yang had to cut in at this point. “Okay, this isn’t going anywhere, we can-”

“I killed Adam, Blake!” Ilia cried, “I’m the one who killed him! Because he was going to kill you. But you… you didn’t care to hear about that, did you? When I came to you, you didn’t even want to talk, you accused me of trying to trap you, but Blake...” tears were running down her eyes and Yang was really getting the feeling that this conversation was not one she wanted to be a part of, “Blake, I did it for you!”

Oooooookay, this was well out of Yang’s ability to handle, but there was no way they were salvaging this one. But knowing that this had already gone right to hell wasn’t getting her any closer to the door, so Yang was stuck in this unbearable silence as Blake mustered her words for her incredibly awkward set of accusations and jilted feelings.

“What?” she asked, practically quaking in rage, “Did you think I’d just fall over myself to thank you for it? Wrap you in my arms and kiss you for killing him? You had your chance to leave the Fang with me, Ilia, but you stayed with Adam. I risked so much letting you know I was leaving, because I thought you were my friend. And when you made your choice there, when you turned your back on me, I knew that you weren’t someone I could trust. Ever.”

The room was quiet. Yang felt like her heart was going to burst.

“Get the fuck out,” Ilia spat as Yang grabbed Blake and dragged her out. Her sigh was cloaked by the door slamming shut behind them—time for Plan B.

LINE BREAK RUBY

It was too cold.

Sometimes, Ruby wondered what it was about sniping that appealed to her. Because it sure wasn’t the waiting. And that was most of what sniping was. Oh, sure, it was fun to figure out a good vantage point after observing her target and calculating where she should be waiting, but then she’d sit and… wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. Because it wasn’t her deadeye aim, her heavily customized rifle, or her keen huntress’s instincts that made her the best sniper in the city. No, it was that Ruby would sit in her nest for as many days as it took before she’d take her shot.

And this time, she wasn’t even going to get to take a shot! This was just… whatever was going on with this Ilia girl and Blake. Keeping an eye on her place, recording her movements, seeing what was going on… a whooooooole lot of notes for Weiss and Blake to look at later and be all smart-type about it. And maybe they’d figure something out, but for now, Ruby was just in her little nest, being cold.

She’d only just settled in. Well, a couple hours into “only just settled in,” but when she was making a long observation, that was what “only just settled in” meant. This was the worst part, before she entered the zone and time would just passed her by. Because right now, she was very aware that it was too cold. Stupid cold rooftops with stupid surveillance work.

Ruby rubbed her hands together, trying to keep circulation up. Experience had taught her that thinking about problems she couldn’t change was bad, so she had to get off this track and think about something else. Like… pancakes! No, that wasn’t going to be a good thing, that’d just make her hungry for some of those good Mistralian pancakes… and why couldn’t she just camp out in the cafe, eating pancakes, picking up rumors, like she got to do with Weiss? Ugh, Weiss and Blake’s intel work never involved sitting up on a cold roof with binoculars and a rifle.

No, that wasn’t going to help. She had to think of something else, like… well, Ruby suddenly grinned as she knew one topic she wouldn’t mind thinking about...

She’d spent the previous night with a Faunus girl. Yang was always getting on her case about trying new things while they were in the city, and well, she’d never done it with a Faunus girl before. Or should she say she never did it with a cat Faunus girl before? Maybe she’d have to try out more of them… or was that racist? She didn’t know, but she figured Glynda wouldn’t object if Ruby dropped a fat purse that said she wanted to see what different Faunus girls were like in bed.

But anyways, the night before, Ruby had tried out Faunus girls and, other than having a tail, there wasn’t all that much different about it. Not even like, she used the tail in any way. Well, she did kind of… shimmy with it? When she was undressing? It wasn’t really anything remarkable, but, then again, Ruby never remembered all that much of that part of going to the doxies.

Really, the reason Ruby went to Glynda’s was, more often than not, just so that she didn’t have to go to sleep in her own bed, alone. She paid extra for the privilege, but it’s not like the girls ever complained that a client just wanted to be held for a few hours while she slept, especially compared to what else she could ask for at Glynda’s. Ruby figured enough people wanted that because nobody really had any questions when she asked for it. Or, at least, Glynda knew Ruby well enough to set things up in advance.

She didn’t really know that much about Glynda, especially considering how much time Ruby had spent in her bed. But what’d she know about any of the girls she’d hired for an evening? She didn’t even know the name of the girl she’d been with the night before. All she really remembered was how soft her skin was against Ruby’s, feeling her breasts press into her back as she enfolded Ruby in her arms, or her scent, inhaling the faint whisper of ilac as she drifted off to untroubled sleep.

Boy, it was cold out here.

Shifting uncomfortably, Ruby realized the faint scent of roasted nuts rising from the little stall beneath her nest. Mmmm… what she wouldn’t give for a small bag of roasted cashews, warming her hands, with little crystals of sugar on them… Nnnnnnahh! Why was observation always such a pain?

But it was her job, and so she did it. Binoculars in hand, she tried to let herself slip into the mindless-yet-astute rhythms of observation. It was… weird, but Ruby was kind of weird. Not just as a person, but… her role in the Masque.

A gunslinger like her was always a "last resort" thing. Gunshots were loud, dead men weren't forgotten easily. And were forgiven even less. But the potential was always there. That was why her name was alluded to in all their business. The Ruby Masque. Weiss owned 400 shares of the company to Ruby's 200 and Blake and Yang definitely presented the face of the organization, but Ruby--and the rifle that was right now sitting beside her--was never far from Masque business.

But that meant that her actual job was, like, sitting here with binoculars.

Oh, when a gun was needed, she was the best. But it wasn’t often needed, and she couldn’t just sit on her hands and let her reputation do all the work for her. So she sat, keeping an eye on the building, and trying to see what she could about Ilia Amitola.

What her deal was, especially with Blake, Ruby didn’t know. She’d learned a lot about her from surveillance, yeah, but nothing really pointing out why Weiss wanted her to stake out her place and make sure nobody tried anything against her. If anything, she seemed like someone who was paranoid enough to stay safe. And she was friends with Blake from her old gang, so why did they need Ruby to stake the place out? Yang had just said that “diplomacy wasn’t going to work here,” but Ruby was really wondering if they’d even-

There was an arrival. Plenty of people came in and out of the building, but Ruby could tell that these three were different. They walked without trudging, their heads higher than the ordinary workers who made their homes here. They meant business. Business for her, too. Finally peering down her scope rather than binoculars, Ruby readied herself—this might be a much shorter observation than she had expected.

LINE BREAK ILIA

A stiff drink was an increasingly vital part of Ilia’s nighttime routine. Nothing with gin, though. Even though it was cheap as hell now, the cult was pushing it as some kind of alcohol evangelism to win over those who didn’t care for salvation, but damn well needed a drink, Ilia knew too much about the Juniper Bough to want anything to do with them. Even the plant was suspect now.

Whiskey did it for her. She poured a glass and downed it, feeling the burn in her nostrils and throat as it made its way down to her gut. Seeing Blake again, telling her the things she’d kept locked up for too long… it was for the best, but she needed a drink to not have to think about how painful that meeting had been. She wasn’t even so mad at Blake as she was at herself, stupidly believing there might be a chance between them when all Blake had ever shown her said no. Everything she’d done to change that had been futile and-

BAM!

Her eyes shot up to where the door had taken a serious kick, the reinforced wood splintering at the bolt, but her security measures had worked for what they needed to do. She dropped her glass and raced to grab her pistol as the second kick smashed the door, sending it flying open as a group of men poured into her apartment.

They froze as she cocked the hammer. They hadn’t expected to be caught like this, but they were armed, and three-to-one was a losing option. And these were cultists—she knew death didn’t mean as much to them as it did her. She had an advantage, but… but it wasn’t enough.

Forcing confidence into her voice, she narrowed her eyes and spoke. “Alright, then, you’ve made your point. You’ve got your toughs and I should be afraid of you, but you and I both know you can’t kill me—I’ve got fallbacks in place and if you try-”

“I know you took precautions,” the big, dark-haired man, evidently their leader, drawled, sounding more annoyed than anything, “we’re not idiots and you know that. That’s why we stole this box from Tukson’s Books before we came here.”

Ilia’s blood ran cold. The man tossed it at her without ceremony, the lock busted and the strongbox opened. It was one thing to know her security stash was no longer an asset she could count on, it was another thing that they knew about her connection with Tukson. He and her didn’t see eye to eye, and their public animosity wasn’t an act, but he had agreed to hold on to her strongbox in case of the worst because, if nothing else, he was a loyal man. And when was the last time she’d visited Tukson? They’d either done their homework very well… or they’d been keeping an eye on her for a lot longer than she had thought.

Adrenaline and ice water ran through her veins. She was at a disadvantage, and survival would rely on a lot of very careful bluffs here.

“Then you’d know I’ve got more than Tukson at my back. You’d have seen my associates who visited-”

“Your ex-confederate, Blake Belladonna?” he asked, a smug smile coming to his lips, “Yeah, we know she came to talk. And we know you didn’t tell her anything. It’s why we’re here—didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind. So… how about you show us where you’re keeping your notes here, and maybe you’ll get a chance to live that much longer. Maybe if you cooperate, we’ll go easy on you.”

So. They had… everything. There were no angles here. No options, no cards to pull.

But the thing that was bringing tears to her eyes was… the last day she’d ever lived, she’d seen Blake again. And that was… that was everything to her, and she’d spent it, squandered it on stupid, trivial bullshit instead of just… just saying she had been wrong, admitting that she’d rather have Blake’s friendship so much more than be right, but she had been too proud. This was the end of her life and she would never-

A bullet, shattering the night air, shattering the glass, but not shattering her skull, a sudden shot ringing out as it broke time itself.

Ilia had been in crisis situations before. She’d done raids on the SDC, she’d seen gunfire, but in this moment, where she hadn’t expected to be alive long enough to be in a shooting situation, it wasn’t like anything she’d been in before. Time slowed down as reflexes kicked in, but by the time she realized what had happened, time was making up for it at double speed. Shouting, a few quick gunshots—when had she gotten behind the table? Was she bleeding, or—another earth-shattering bang from whatever gun outside was keeping her alive as her assailants booked it double time, and… and…

Was she alive?

Ilia exhaled carefully, as though she was afraid her soul might come out if she wasn’t careful. But she knew that her assailants were gone—they hadn’t been expecting hardened resistance (hell, Ilia hadn’t expected it) and weren’t going to stick around when they had a sniper on them. A good sniper—whoever he was, he’d rousted them and…

Blake.

It had to be Blake, there was literally no other option than Blake. She wasn’t the sniper—Blake wasn’t that good of a shot—but she surely had put a guard on her to keep her, or, more accurately, her research, safe. Creeping out from behind the cover of her toppled table, Ilia saw the strongbox, its contents spilling out. Grabbing a particular sheaf of papers, she knew there was only a matter of time before her savior was here.

LINE BREAK JAUNE

Jaune was a Valean, through and through. Even in the Temple, amongst the many Mistralian refugees and expatriates who made up the core of the Faithful, he never lost some of his core, Valean character.

So as he slugged back a shot of absinthe, he knew this was something that set him apart twice over.

There was no formal strictures against drinking, but most vices—wine, women, or song—were seen as an attachment to the present world. Unbecoming of a clergyman, but Jaune wasn’t really a clergyman, even if he had the frock. It was hard to believe there was a time he wanted the title, for no other reason than the honor it bestowed upon him. Because he thought it might be a testament to his work, his character, his worthiness in the sight of his Faith. And now… he was the Key of Virtue. The last man of all humanity, the best

Maybe it was true. The embers of his faith still glimmered and flickered, occasionally flaring into life in unexpected moments, telling him that he would bring about a better world, and he would do it with Pyrrha. He would… he would…

But what better world would it be for either of them? Jaune knew the Scriptures. The next world would be better than this one, but what was “better” about what had been foretold by the Elders? A world without strife, without desire, without physical matter… a sterile world that was free of all evil, and free of the one thing Jaune truly desired.

He’d seen what Pyrrha had become. He’d seen the Church—he’d seen his own labors—slowly drain the soul out of her. Even if it was all for the sake of a new world, how was this obliteration of her self any different than killing her? And if all they were doing was killing the Vessel, then the next world would be…

“Pour me a drink?”

Jaune looked up in surprise. Half because no one should be here other than him, half because he knew the voice… and knew Ren didn’t drink.

His raised eyebrow communicated enough. “I figured, perhaps I ought to indulge in a vice… if it serves the greater good of helping a friend.”

Jaune couldn’t help but feel his lips curl into a smile. Ren was… he was a good man. A good friend. Pouring two more glasses of absinthe, he passed one to the Mistralian, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. Absinthe was not a drink to get started on, but as Jaune raised his glass in a toast, Ren dutifully clinked glasses before both men downed their drinks.

To Ren’s credit, he handled his liquor well. Didn’t cough, didn’t even flinch as the potent drink passed his lips. He was a disciplined man, who’d wait hours without moving to be in the exact position Jaune needed him to be in, who’d risk his life without question to further the goals of the Temple and bring about the new world… and he’d drink absinthe for Jaune’s sake. The mingling of guilt for his loss of faith and the deep love he felt for his fellow believer didn’t sit well in his stomach—which already was unsettled by absinthe—but this moment of communion was worth any discomfort.

“I suppose...” Ren quietly mused, “I ought to have toasted you for your selection, O Key of Virtue.”

Jaune stilled. “It’s fine.”

Ren’s eyes sluggishly raised to meet Jaune’s, his eyebrow raised a hair’s breadth. “No it’s not,” he finally said. “It’s not fine. You’re not fine.”

Jaune stilled. Ren was a perceptive man, a skill Jaune relied on extensively in their planning. He noticed things no one else did, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he could notice the things Jaune was trying to hide.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?”

Jaune shook his head. “It’s nothing it’s-”

“Jaune.”

Like a cornered rat, Jaune knew he’d been caught, that there was no running from this, and yet, his mind refused to give up, wild desperation fueling any number of options for him to get away from the truth that was looming over him. But Ren’s eyes softened, the lines of concern on his face got through to Jaune as his shoulders slumped.

“It’s that obvious?” he asked.

Ren nodded. “Nora noticed it before me, but…”

He sighed. “So I should consider it open information, then?”

Ren put a hand on Jaune’s arm, his touch… reassuring, in spite of everything. When Jaune had first met Ren, he was a half-starved orphan, only narrowly saved from an unthinkable fate, but even at that point, at the lowest he would ever be… Jaune could see… well, he saw the clear intelligence in his eyes, the reason he approached him to become a Sacristan. But even more than that, he saw the compassion that welled beneath those magenta orbs. He cared so much, putting Nora’s safety far in front of his own. And now, now that Jaune had raised him up to the heights of the Temple’s authority, he saw that compassion extended to him as well.

“You… care for her,” Ren said, gingerly avoiding the word Jaune would have used, “And it makes it difficult to-”

“To kill her?” Jaune replied. He meant it dryly, a wry remark, but he underestimated his own feelings… and the way absinthe unlocked his inhibitions. It came out as a half-snarl, a sudden spike of remorse and pain and guilt and anger that caught Ren between the ribs.

But he remained, as always, unfazed. Nodding, he said, “There’s no room for the old world in the new one, but that’s… small comfort for those of us in this world, isn’t it?”

Jaune sighed. He didn’t want a lecture, even though he knew Ren would spare him. It made it worse, in some ways, knowing that Ren genuinely was trying to help the way Ren knew how to help himself: through faith. Whereas Jaune…

Raising the bottle Jaune poured himself another glass and glanced at his companion with a raised eyebrow. Ren nodded, asking, “Is this what you think will help you?”

“Drink’ll help me,” he grunted, “I don’t think it’ll-”

“If having someone to drink with,” Ren cut in sternly, “To reminisce with, to tell dirty jokes at, and, yes, to drown your sorrows at the bottom of a glass alongside...” his countenance softened as he gave Jaune’s arm a squeeze, “Then I’ll be there, alongside you, Brother. If this is what will help you where talk will not... then I’ll be right there with you.”

There was no space in Jaune’s world for tears. But even as he bit his lip and poured his brother—in every sense of the word—a drink, he could feel the lacrimonious sting of his deep and welling gratitude overtake even his discipline.

“Let faith guide us, Brother,” Ren said, taking another sip of his drink, “Let faith guide us.”