Chapter Text
“Did I not say un-f*ckin’-harmed Sullivan? The f*ck are these bruises? Untie her, now .”
Raven Branwen’s harsh and distinct timbre immediately prick Blake’s ears up from under the hood pulled over her head. She wished she could see something, anything , but only could feel the rough hands of the mobsters reach back to her and cut the ropes around her wrists.
Big mistake.
She thrusts her fist into the mans groin the second her hand goes free. Feeling the dirk he’d used fall into her lap, she grabs it, leaping from the chair she was in, and ripping the hood from her head. Immediately falling into the stance she’d so carefully taught her, she positioned herself into a corner, so she nobody could get behind her.
The blade raised, her fist guarding her face, she took in the situation. Seven mobsters and Raven f*cking Branwen, all in a dimly lit industrial basem*nt conference room, with two chairs and a single, cheap, folding table, adorned with a decanter of whisky and two glasses.
“Oh fer f*ck’s sake,” Raven grumbles, starting towards Blake without a hint of concern. “I told them ta be gentle with ye, though I now see how that might be tricky.”
She approaches without a hint of concern, as if the dirk pointed at her was just a butter knife. “Back off! ” Blake roars, thrusting the blade straight at Raven’s chest.
With the barest flicker of movement, Blake felt the edge catch flesh, but instead of Raven’s heart, it was her hand. Her fist clenched around the blade, blood spilling from the fresh cuts immediately. She grinned before twisting it out of Blake’s hand, tossing it to the floor without a second thought.
“Listen Princess, I didn’t spend a month of plannin’ and half my f*ckin’ treasury to kidnap you fer no reason. I need you for somethin’. And it ain’t ransom. So sit. Drink with me. Let’s talk.”
Blake Belladonna: Princess of Menagerie, Bachelors in Pre-Law and Masters in Political Science from Beacon University, Senior Editor at ‘The Lighthouse’, Vale’s most trusted newspaper.
Blake Belladonna; runs a 5k before work every morning, is always listening at least two news casts at the same time, actively speaks English, French, Ukranian, German, Mandarin, Arabic, and is learning Korean.
Blake Belladonna, who hasn't regularly slept more than five hours a night in nearly two years, always has something playing at her desk, in her house, on her phone, in her ear, because if there's even a minute of silence, he comes back.
Shame that doesn't always work darling.
“Shut the hell up,” she mutters under her breath, diving back into the article before her, a draft Marrow had so graciously revised after she texted him much, much earlier that day ‘ You literally sent this half in Arabic ’.
About ten minutes later, he'd replied, without a smidgen of malice. ‘ its 3 f*cking sleep .’
His revised draft was in her inbox in the morning though, along with a piping hot to-go cup of coffee. The draft was appreciated, but the coffee she’ll have to pass off to someone else. She couldn’t stand the bitter, over-roasted grounds the coffee shop he loves so much used.
At 08:09 Glynda pokes her head out of her office, eyeing Blake, who’s almost always the second person in the office. “Blake,” she says, warning edging her voice.
Her ears twitch with anticipation and fear. No matter what she did, her ears would always give her away to someone who knew her well. Glynda sighed, adjusting her glasses, and came out of the office to Blake’s workspace. “You’re not in trouble,” she assures her, leaning on the edge of her neatly organized desk. “But you have put in sixty eight hours this week, and it is Friday.”
Blake didn’t look away from the draft on the tablet in front of her, making fine adjustments and recommendations with her stylus. She’d gotten into the habit of making edits and marks on drafts with her own handwriting, as typing took two hands, and if she could do weightlifting or strength exercises at the same time, her mind wouldn’t have time for anything else.
“I’ve done about seventy hours every week for a month Glynda. So have you,” she counters, barely sparing a glance from the work. “The investigation is in full swing, and these editorials are the only reliable source of information for the people of Vale.” She finishes her set of lifts with her left, and casually switches arms for both stylus and weights, her handwriting distinctly different but no less precise and legible.
“This is the third pass I’ve seen you do of his article this morning. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” The older woman gives Blake a stern look over the tops of her glasses, not unlike a severely disappointed librarian in one of those high-school coming of age flicks.
Blake slowly sets down her stylus, but continues the reps. “If something is wrong, we need to know before it goes up. Owe it to the reader to get it right .”
Glynda nods in agreement. “Absolutely. But they aren’t going to notice if you miss a non-essential appositive comma ,” she continues, pointing to one of Blake’s most recent notes.
She blinks, finally looking at the slew of minute suggestions she’d written into the latest edit. Nothing about the information, just the presentation. Blake feels the dull headache she’d been experiencing for the past several weeks flare up.
“I think I see your point,” she says, finishing the set with her arm, and moving on to the leg resistance band she has set up under her desk, beginning with her left.
The chief scoffs, and before she can wriggle her foot into it, Blake's suddenly ripped away from her desk. “Glynda, what the hell!” she demands, doing her best not to raise her voice.
“You need a break, Belladonna.” Glynda crosses her arms and glares, the two women at eye level with each other now. “You’re twenty-five, you have exactly two friends, one person you tolerate, and whatever you have to do with that Schnee girl, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sit still for longer than ten seconds. Please, if not for your sake, for mine. Enjoy your youth.”
Blake scowls but knows the chief is right. Other than the Saturday afternoon luncheons with Sun and Ilia (and occasionally Neptune), and the regularly scheduled dinners with the heiress of Schnee Dust International, she didn’t have a social life.
Good. More ‘us’ time .
A hiss erupts from her mouth, and she immediately looks away, walking down a short length between her desk and the next, before coming back. “Sorry. I… bad memories tend to surface when I have time to myself.”
Glynda nods, an understanding grin emerging on her lips. “I am intimately familiar. Some unsolicited advice?”
“Isn’t that what this whole conversation is?”
A silent chuckle between the two of them relieves the tension. “Fair.” Glynda allows the grin to become a sympathetic smile. “The best way to get rid of bad memories is to make new, good ones. I know Ilia invited you out this weekend. To a concert I believe?” She smiles as Blake rolls her eyes.
Somehow Ilia had wriggled her way into Glynda’s contacts after a particularly bad week nearly eight months ago, and would frequently check in with her when Blake failed to respond. It would seem the two of them had built significant enough rapport for Ilia to get Glynda to do her bidding.
“Or what?” Blake asks, doing her best to hide her frustration. “You’ll fire me or something? Dust below, you must be the only boss ever that tells her employees to work less .”
“No, Blake, I’d just call your mother and have her live with you for a week.”
“You wouldn’t dare .”
Clearly pleased with herself, Glynda’s eyes narrow, a challenge. “ Try me. ” She adjusts her glasses, smiling as she turns to go back to her office. “Finish your edit, and then go out , you’ve done enough this week. I’ll see you on Monday. And Blake?”
Rolling her eyes as she went to sit again, Blake looked up at the chief as she leaned back out of her doorway.
“I will know.”
For someone who’s lived in Vale for nearly four years, Blake is honestly a little embarrassed she’s never been to the Glenns before. The docks were the closest she’d ever gotten, back when she just started her job as a reporter at the Lighthouse.
She knew the reputation of the Glenns. That the Cúirt was headquartered there. That the people were harsh and untrustworthy. That crime was rampant, that it wasn’t safe for people alone, that the worst the city had to offer was all contained there.
Blake didn’t believe it even when she hadn’t been there. Sun lived there, both he and Ilia worked there; even Neptune would sing its praises, talking about the warmth and generosity of the people there.
When she told Ilia she’d go to the concert, she was beside herself with excitement, dutifully explaining that she was tech team and backstage support, and that Blake probably wouldn’t see her at all, but once Sun got to the lunch, he assured them he’d make himself available all night.
The two of them were the only remnants of her past she clung to. Both childhood friends who reconnected the moment they heard about him . She suspected Ghira or Kali had something to do with it, or both, but when push came to shove, and Blake wanted to stay in Vale instead of going home, she suddenly found Ilia had moved there, and Sun finally got an apartment there, instead of vagabonding it up like he normally did.
For two years, the three of them had been routinely inseparable, and pretty much every night she had a scheduled call, or one of them would be over at her penthouse, or would hang out with her driver until she got out of whatever official business she’d be on. It lessened with time, as Blake adapted to her new life, learned how to move through things without him dictating her actions.
She’s playing with her butterfly knife, just to have something to do with her hands as she walks to Signal, which she thinks must be an ironic name, since it was in the basem*nt of a restaurant/office mixed use building, and she notices that her scroll’s signal is already at only two of five bars. Ilia warned her about this, and said it gets bad once she was inside, but not to worry, because the owner and employees are all super protective of their patrons, and depending on who you are, you get access to their private network.
Aww, it’s like they made their own ‘safe space’. Adorable.
Blake shakes her head, partially to silence his noises, partially making sure the little gold bow she’d tied into her hair was still secure. Her outfit is meant to look good without drawing attention, she hopes. Leather knee high boots with a small heel, black jeggings, a tight white turtleneck with shoulder windows and flowy sleeves, complete with a small gold necklace, and chain cinched around her waist.
She made it to the stairwell into Signal, where a singular bouncer is at his post outside the door, wearing an eyepatch and long leather coat over a dirty brown button up. He glanced up, dropping the cigarette he was smoking to the floor, smashing it with his foot. “Hey,” he says, gesturing for her to come down. “Sun and Ilia said to be on the lookout for you. Come on in.”
Blake smiles kindly, trying to keep up the appearance of being happy to be there. “Thought there was a concert tonight, where’s the line?”
The bouncer shrugs. “Invite only. Owner prefers it that way.” He smiles, pointing to himself. “Name’s Scarlet. You need anything, or someone’s giving you a hard time, find any employee. Friend of Ilia, or Sun , friend of ours.”
Friend . Good. At least the two of them have enough discretion to not say she was a princess. It wasn’t general knowledge, even if there were plenty of people aware of it. She does her best to stay out of the public eye, and ever since Vale threw off its monarchs, the republic didn’t seem terribly interested in minor nation’s nobility.
Can’t believe you actually think this is a good idea. With me in your head?
Blake suppresses her growl, and nods. “Thank you,” she says, going through the door he now holds open for her, letting her get a full waft of the overwhelmingly dank scent of alcoholic sweat. Well, no time like the present .
She goes inside, and immediately feels overwhelmed. There’s a band on the stage, doing a hard rock with rhythmic rap style song, and it grated on her. Not that they were terrible , but she couldn’t think of a worse sound to come in on. Sun said the main event was scheduled for about 22:30, so she figured showing up a half hour early would be wise; clearly she was mistaken.
The crowd is smaller than she's expecting. The audience is... eccentric? Anachronistic. Not just individually, as a whole. A company executive of a major distribution magnate is talking to a young faunus woman who looks like she just walked off the factory floor, and they're laughing together, like old friends. A pair of punks in studded leather jackets, adorned with chains and piercings, grab some food from the bar and bring it over to a table of dockworkers, college aged boys in polos and boating shoes, and two young women knitting a scarf, all chatting away, enjoying each others company.
She can't help but literally feel the asymmetry, with all these people, from all walks of life and all professions, being here for the same five bands. How could all of them feel camaraderie? There were executives talking to anarchists , smiles, laughter, shouts of enthusiasm, and all sorts of people dancing along to whatever was playing.
Blake heads for the bar, trying not to stand still for too long, in the hopes she won't be bothered by anyone. Not that anybody seems overly interested in her presence to begin with. She remembered that Scarlet said this was 'Invite only', but who could possibly know this variety people? And who can send invitations? Is there a secret NDA she needs to sign to get out?
The bar looks relatively empty, and that's appealing to her, so she beelines for it, sitting somewhere on the end, her back to the concert stage. It doesn't take long for her to feel more at peace, as people make their way around her, paying no mind.
Maybe this place was somewhere that very specific people can relax, not worry about the outside world, and keep to themselves, no matter their background? Blake decides to stay quiet about it all; there's no reason anyone should have their private events ruined by a nosy editor. She pulls out her scroll, checking the signal, and of course, there's absolutely none. Not even 3G.
“Hel-loo!” a sing-song voice announces in a deep mezzo, accompanied by the arrival of a vibrantly redheaded bartender, her black button up adorned with loads of little brass accents, and is even wearing a length of brass chain as a headdress. For a bartender in the Glenns, she is extremely well put together, and excessively attractive.
“Hi,” Blake says with a smile, politely setting her scroll down so she can focus on the lovely visage before her.
“May I?” the bartender asks, pointing to the scroll. Blake raises an eyebrow, but hands it to her.
"Unlocked? I'm just trying to get you on the network." Blake quickly unlocks it, and opens the network connections, which the woman enters a passkey quickly, before handing it back to her. “Neptune mentioned you’d be here sweetheart,” she says, her long drawl giving her voice a quality of smooth, flowing molasses. “We take care of our own.”
Indeed, Blake is now connected to a private network, and is getting better speeds than she does at her penthouse . But she isn't expecting Neptune's name to make an appearance. "Neptune?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at the woman. "And you're the second person to use the phrase 'our own'. Mind explaining?"
"Just a phrase we use here darling. Don't mean anything you don't want it to." She smiled, giving a small bow. "I'm Pyrrha, and if you want anything, you just give me a shout, okay?"
Blake could swear she’s heard that name somewhere before, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it.
She considers an order as the buzzing in the back of her head starts getting worse. This is not the time for him to rear his damn head. “Maybe a 76?” she asks, just as the lead singer barely gets to the note he was aiming for. She winces. “Maybe a double?”
Pyrrha laughs and it sounds like a clean piano chord. “Don’t worry, there’s a much better set coming. One double 76 coming up.” She glides over to the cabinet, casually popping the cork of a champagne bottle and measuring the vodka at the same time. “Do you enjoy metal?”
Blake shrugged. For almost two years she avoided music entirely, the feeling of listening to the cold, rhythmic string quartets that were his preference permeating nearly everything she listened to for a while. After that, she only listened to podcasts, news reports, anything that would engage her mind. She knows metal should be very different from Bach, or Mendelssohn. So why not? "I don't know yet, but it sounds interesting?"
Branching out isn’t going to make me go away .
“ Coffee is usually punk rock,” Pyrrha explains over her shoulder, before turning around, lemon in one hand, a jar of cherries in the other. Blake, fortunately done scowling at the voice, points to the cherries. "But they've been working on a new EP with a collaborating artist, and she's very metal."
“Who is that?” Blake asks, as Pyrrha presents her a perfectly bubbling double 76. It's not like she knows any of these people, or had listened to their music before.
“Ask away, but I won’t be telling.” The smirk on her face was a little smug, but in good humor. “I do have other customers, so I’m sure you can drill your friend for information.” She points to the stage, where a blonde man with the worst comprehension of how button up shirts work on the planet hopped on with a microphone. Did everyone know she was here with this dumbass?
“All riiiiight, give it up for Cardinaaaaaal! ” Sun shouts, eliciting a surprisingly large cheer from the crowd. Maybe the band sounded better when drunk. “We’ve got some setup to do before Coffee is up, but trust me, it’s gonna be worth the wait!”
He hypes the crowd up a little, and hops off the stage, expertly weaving through the throng to the bar, where he almost literally jumps onto it, right next to Blake.
“Ayyy, you made it!” he exclaims, holding up a hand for a high-five. Blake rolls her eyes, but obliges, their hands making a satisfying ‘ crack ’. “So, like it so far?”
“No,” she answers honestly. “Fortunately your bartender is a sweetheart.”
Sun twists his face into an apology. “Yeah, Pyrrha’s the best,” he says, blowing a kiss as she passes by, as she pretends to catch it and pats her cheek. It's honestly sickeningly cute how friendly she is with everyone. “I mean, everyone at this bar really is. It’s a great time and you should come more often!”
Blake glances from her drink and sees his completely honest expression painted across his face. The man couldn’t tell a lie if he tried. He really believes that. There's no way everyone could be great, she thinks, but the casual confidence he always kept told her maybe the ones who weren’t, just avoided being dicks in his presence.
“Right, let’s go from hermit to alcoholic,” Blake muses, tapping her glass. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the best decision for my health.”
“Aw come on! You haven’t even tried their grub yet!” He reaches over the bar and grabs a basket of fries, covered in tin foil, waving one in her face for effect. Did he just keep that there, or did he know it was there already?
Blake makes a face. “I’m sure it’s the same salt-caked pub fare anywhere serves,” she moans, taking another huge swig of her drink.
“Pshaw, it’s quality stuff.” He smiles, eating one, before glancing over the bar again, reaching for some ketchup. Which immediately elicits a slap from another bartender whose appearance was surprising, to say the least.
“Ay, do you own this bar?”
Whatever expectations she had coming in, nothing could prepare Blake for the image of Neptune, wearing an apron over his bright pink shirt, a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder. He's sweating slightly, possibly working in the back for a while. What she can't figure is why he's there, doing that. He's the heir to an international shipping conglomerate, and has multiple business enterprises throughout the city.
" What? " Blake says, completely at a loss for words.
“Hi, Blake!” he says, throwing a singular ketchup packet at the blond. “Punk.”
“Why? Like, you don't have to work?"
“Eh. I like this better than my 'real' job,” he explains, picking up some glasses from around the bar and placing them in a cleaning tray. “Less 'expectations'.”
Sun chuckles at Blake, as she shakes her head and finishes her drink. Somehow, another appears the second she set her glass down, complete with a flirty wink from Pyrrha. “Next you’ll tell me that she’s rich and powerful too, right?” she asks, pointing at the indomitably cheerful redhead.
Neptune smiles. “Who, Grammy award winning, superstar philanthropist Pyrrha Nikos? Yeah, I guess she's rich, compared to like, Sun.”
It takes her a moment, but the name finally sticks in her brain with that new information. “I’m sorry. What. How?”
What is going on with this bar?
Neptune drifts off, checking on some other patrons, as Blake takes in all the new information she's gotten. "You're all, what, friends? How has nobody heard about this?"
Sun shrugs, taking a sip of a beer he's procured from behind the bar, yet again. "We value our privacy. And we all work here a bit, so we prefer it that way."
"And what, Neptune pays you?"
"Duh," he says, rolling his eyes. "What kinda owner would he be if he didn't? We tell him what we want, and he makes it happen."
Blake shakes her head and takes a sip. This was certainly a unique and well hidden community. The fact she's not once heard a sliver of information about this place is beyond impressive. She can almost admire how this little secret society operated, with everyone as equals once they're through the door. She wonders if they had to vote on her coming here or something, since everyone seems to be familiar with each other. Maybe they were all vampires?
“Hey!” Sun laughs before checking on the stage. “They’re almost ready,” he says, looking at the group setting up. "Oh Belladonna, you are not ready for this."
Blake sees the five people on stage, all in different punk rock outfits, complete with studded leather, chains, and very harsh makeup, except for one. A woman in white and blue, carrying the most meticulously detailed and clean bass Blake has ever seen, wearing a cloak that hides her frame quite effectively. Very different from the rest of them. Must be their collab partner...
“Perfect! Ayo, Yang! Come here!”
Blake nearly jumps at Sun’s outburst. “Yang?” she asks while taking a sip of her drink, almost immediately getting an answer as her eyes drifted over to the approaching woman.
Scratch that. Approaching goddess. Whatever possessed her to come here that night, it was all worth it. Blake figures she must be hallucinating, or way more drunk than she thought, because Aphrodite was walking straight for her, and she’s sure there’s ghostly flames flickering off her body, as though they were part of her.
Yang is downright amazonian ; tall and broad shouldered, muscular, fully aware she looks like she splits wood for a living, and leans into it. She’s wearing a cropped hoodie without sleeves and cargo shorts , with what looks like extremely worn work boots, and a purple bandanna tied around her right wrist. The whole look utterly mismatched, completely unfashionable, and for whatever reason, it works . As if Blake couldn’t get more dumbstruck tonight.
Don’t worry, you’ll f*ck this one up too .
Blake turns around with a growl, shaking her head, and polishes off her drink, garnering a raised eyebrow from Neptune who seems to have returned from his other patrons. She sighs, and points to her drink. “Maybe just a cranberry this time.”
Neptune nods and heads over to the cabinet, grabbing the same vodka as before, while she listens to the approach of the “Hey Sun, what’s up?” Her voice is higher than Blake had expected, but reminds her of a bell tone, full of depth and clarity.
“Mind hanging out with Blake here? I’ve gotta do my thing, and then I was gonna mosh, and she’s not a big ‘crowds’ kinda gal.”
Blake glances over her shoulder, and watches as these two pseudo-models do the most ‘bro’ hug she’s ever seen, and the flames move around her and Sun as though they’re real . Blake is definitely wondering if she drank something other than vodka and gin tonight. Yang slaps his shoulder and nods. “Get going then.”
She’s sitting next to Blake. Dust below the heat is tangible , and she’s not even close to this blonde bombshell. She looks as the flames lazily flick from her, creating a gorgeous golden aura, and Blake decides, rather rashly, she has to know.
Gently, gingerly, but none too subtle, Blake reaches up and lightly touches Yang’s arm, tracing her fingertips along the many tattoos and muscle lines, watching as the flames lick around her hands, completely harmless. Blake is so enthralled by this that she fails to notice another hand slowly reach up, and take hers, its calloused digits guiding her own back to the bar, with the same gentleness she was giving. Yang.
“So, you do that to all the pretty girls with muscles, or just me?” she says cheerfully, seemingly unfazed by Blake’s very unorthodox greeting, making her realize just how rude she’s being. “I’m Yang. I’m guessing you’re Blake?”
Her mouth dry, Blake simply nods, trying to think of something, anything to say. She can’t just ask ‘why are you on fire’, after all. “I uh, really like your tattoos,” she stutters, pointing at the three bands wrapped around her arm, before at last, relief arrives in the form of a sparkling vodka cranberry, which she hastily takes a sip of.
“Hey, thanks! I like ‘em too.” Yang gives her a wink and double finger guns, before turning her attention to the bar. Blake doesn’t have time to roll her eyes before Pyrrha is halfway over the bar-top, grabbing Yang into a hug.
“You made it! Gods it’s been a while!” Pyrrha looks absolutely elated, and the flames burn a bit brighter than before, encompassing the both of them. “I see you’ve met Blake!” she says, pulling back and beaming at her. “It’s her first time.”
“Ooh, isn’t that a treat?” Yang asks, wagging her eyebrows at Blake.
It’ll be a real treat when you ruin all of this .
Instead of letting her face react, Blake just takes another large gulp of the vodka cranberry, trying to cover up any growing blush. “Sorry, I’m just a nervous person.”
Yang waves that off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here because Sun wanted me to keep you company. Are you two on a date or something?”
Blake held back her laughter, only letting a broad smile split across her face. “Dust no. I don’t date anymore,” she says, before biting her tongue, and looking back to her drink. sh*t, too much .
“Ugh, that’s a shame. You’re cute.” Yang turns to Pyrrha and makes a gesture, mouthing a word to her, before turning her attention back to Blake, now very red in the face.
“What, do you just say whatever’s on your mind or something?” Blake tries to keep her eyes on Pyrrha, pours a little whisky into two shot glasses, placing both in front of Yang.
Yang shrugs and shoots back one of the glasses in front of her. “Not always. Some people aren’t the type to appreciate bluntness.” She takes the second and mouths something silently, before knocking it back without flinching.
Blake watches with curiosity, before thinking to speak. “Who are you drinking for?”
Yang raised an eyebrow, looking rather pleased with her. “My sister and I. She doesn’t drink, but whenever we have a chance to get together, it’s kind of an event. So, I’ll take a shot for the two of us.” She adjusts her jaw before turning her whole self towards Blake, giving the princess a very good view of the woman now with her. “What made you think it was for someone?”
“Nobody shoots whisky, usually,” Blake said, slowly, being careful with her words. She was quite aware of how much she’d drunk already. “And you mumbled something before the second. Deliberately.”
“Could have been ‘sh*t, she’s cute’, or something.”
“Only two words,” Blake counters, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips, before adding things up in her head. “sh*t, is she your sister?”
Yang follows the finger to Pyrrha, dancing between customers, mixing drinks and handing out food from the kitchen, and for whatever reason looking thrilled about it. Must be something in the water.
“Ha! No, she’s just a friend, so you’ve got nothing to worry about goldie. Flirt as much as you want.” Yang’s smile is infectious, but the flirt is a little too effective and Blake feels her cheeks turn a new shade of red she didn’t know was possible.
Blake goes to correct her, wanting to say something along the lines of ‘if anyone would deserve the nickname goldie,’ but an opening piano chord tells them both the band is ready, and Blake hears the clear voice of Sun come over the speakers. “Are you ready for Coffee?! ” The crowd cheers and the energy is booming . “I don’t think you are! But here we go!”
The piano entry to the song is a little odd to Blake, but Sun had promised something hard, so she still braces herself, and it’s probably for the best. Because less than ten seconds, the drums, guitarist and bassist all slam down the most energetic melodic line she thinks she’s ever heard, before returning to a calmer piano line, as the rabbit eared girl opens with a sultry, sweet voice.
“Okay, can’t say I was expecting that,” Blake admits, turning so her knees are just barely not touching Yang’s.
“You think that’s it? Oh you’re a virgin .” Yang winks at her, shaking her head.
“What? No, I -”
‘ SILENT SCREAMS INSIDE MY HEAD LIKE A RADIO -’
Blake feels herself physically pushed back by the sound, and she realizes that, one, the gutteral, demonic scream is coming from the woman in white, and the woman in question is Weiss f*cking Schnee . She’d seen her performances on the CCT Stage for operas, even singing a duet with Pyrrha once for a charity event, but this…
She looks so happy to be there; she usually looks neutral when singing, but here she was thrilled . Weiss duets the melodic line for the second verse, and even nails a descant pitch wedged between the roaring sections, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The crowd is wild , and for good reason. This is possibly the most ‘hype’ thing Blake’s ever heard, and the song ends with them calmly opening their next song, Weiss opening with a speaking growl.
'I wanna skin you alive'
“f*cking hell,” Blake murmurs, clearly loud enough for Yang to hear, since the woman laughs again and pats her shoulder. “Weiss f*cking Schnee? And here I thought I’d seen it all with Neptune in an apron.”
“Oh I’m so glad I was here to see your face, gods,” Yang says, wiping at her eyes. Apparently the sight of Blake being awestruck was more than enough for a good laugh. “Yeah, well, sirens, y’know.”
“What? Sirens?”
Yang blinks, her face falling into curiosity, before rolling her eyes. “Siren tones? Like, the really high stuff she does.”
“Descant?” Blake corrects, not sure what her drinking partner was getting at. "Yeah, not what I was impressed by."
“Sure. She’s developed her voice so much that her range of sound is like, literally unbelievable.” Yang shakes her head, crossing an ankle over her knee. “That’s what Ruby told me at least. Coco just says she's a screamer.”
"Can't imagine," blurts from Blake's mouth before her mind can catch up, continuing the nearing permanent state of redness in her cheeks.
"Ooh." Yang leans in, the heat radiating off her, filling Blake with a comfortable warmth. "Am I privy to your little kinks too, now that you’ve drank a bit?"
That's new, wish I knew that before.
"Shut up!" she barks, eyes widening as she looks back to Yang. sh*t!
Blake's mind is already flying through the situation, creating scenarios left and right. Yang yells back at her. Maybe she'd hit her, or just leave, never turning back. Maybe she'd tell Sun to ditch her. Maybe -
"Hey, hey. You’re all right." Yang's voice is calm, level, gentle. Her lilac eyes are welcoming, kind. She's not angry; if anything, she's concerned.
Blake feels mortified.
"I didn't think you meant anything by it. Figure there's something causing that reaction." She feels Yang's hand find itself on her shoulder, her worn fingers rubbing gentle circles into her shoulder-blade.
Well isn't she perceptive.
"It's just... bad memories, that's all."
Just tell her you're crazy, you hear voices. She'll totally still be into you.
She winces, and the pressure from Yang's hand increases. "Anything I can do?"
Blake shakes her head, sighing. "Not really. I'm just not occupying my mind enough." She lets her eyes dart over, checking Yang's expression, which is sympathetic, laden with a smile.
Yang nods, still smiling, but furrowing her brows a bit. "Well, let's get you another drink, and then we'll dance!"
There's something exciting about Yang's presence, her energy. It's not something she's felt before. Then again, it could just be the music, the drinking, the environment. Weiss's belting roars overwhelming her ears, the alcohol impairing her senses, and Yang's warmth messing with her head. The hand on her shoulder isn't helping; she can feel her rough fingers, calloused palm through her thin turtleneck. She would call it comfort, if it didn't make her heart race.
“I don’t really dance, but… I could make an exception.”
“Talk then,” Blake growls, sitting completely upright in the soft chair provided, as Raven casually wraps her hand in a bandage. Nerve wracking as this is, she chooses to present anger, as opposed to fear. It might give her a desperately needed edge.
“Impatient, even after ye cut me,” Raven grumbles, rolling her eyes as she tightens the bandage with her teeth, and picks up one of the glasses of whisky provided on the table. “Drink. To yer health.”
Blake kept completely still, her glare set directly on Raven’s unamused red eyes. She wasn’t about to entertain this woman for kidnapping her, no matter what she wanted to talk about. Focus the rage, point it at her. She’s the problem, after all. She always has been. Completely amoral about her actions, about how she used them all, about how she used Yang .
Blake does her best to contain the slew of insults she so dearly wishes to hurl in Raven’s face, knowing it won’t get her through this any easier. “f*cking talk Raven.”
“You know, in our homeland, it’s impolite not to drink at a toast,” she said, taking a sip from her glass, before raising an eyebrow, and setting it in front of Blake. “Take mine, clearly not poison.”
Blake immediately shoves it off the table, sending the glass shattering across the cold floor of whatever basem*nt they were in. “Dust f*cking below, what the hell do you want ? ” she demands, her voice on the edge of control.
Raven sighs, her nose scrunching in frustration. “Fine. Blunt it is.” Whatever remained of her casual smile disappears and she leans back into her chair, just within the edge of the light.
“I need ye, Marigold, to make sure that Yang isn’t lost forever. That enough of a reason for ye?”
From what she could remember of the night, it can't have gone that bad. She remembered having a lot of fun, and the trio of Weiss, Ruby, and Yang was a refreshing change of pace from her penthouse. She distinctly remembered laughing until she was crying, Yang making drinks for everyone, and… oh god, did she try to sing for them? Dust below, that’s embarrassing.
Looking up, Blake realized instantly that she was not, in fact, in her penthouse. The drywall ceiling was distinctly not the moody, dark hardwood she was familiar with, nor was there a fan directly out of an Ikea warehouse lazily spinning directly above the bed. She glanced to her side, the action straining her neck unexpectedly, eliciting a groan from her as the hangover immediately reminded her of just what she’d consumed last night.
Bleary eyed, she lifted her head and spotted a note leaning against a glass of water on the generic nightstand next to her. She squinted to read it.
Drink this, gobsh*t. Painkillers, right there. Washroom’s the first door on the left as you exit the bedroom.
Blake shot up, looking around for another person, but no one was to be found in the little room, littered with pictures, memorabilia, spare tools, and clothes strewn about. She took note that her turtleneck was among them, but her jeggings were still on one leg at her knee. Clearly she attempted to take them off, and had failed before falling asleep. The headache immediately told her that movement hurts and she decided the best action was to take those painkillers.
Hoping they weren’t poison, she chugged them down with half the glass of water, heaving for air as her head swam from the pain of last night. She hoped she’d left a good enough impression on Ruby, Weiss, and -
sh*t ! Weiss Schnee, and I was f*cking trashed!
Blake looks around for her scroll, and finds it plugged in, with a ton of missed messages, mostly from Ilia, trying to make sure she was all right. The scroll buzzed, revealing Ilia calling her for the fourth time that morning.
She picked up the call, turning down the volume. “Ilia?”
“ Holy sh*t Blake, you’ve been scaring me to death . I’m at your penthouse, where the f*ck are you ? Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay Blake, please. ”
“Shhhhh,” Blake pleaded, the pounding headache still present as the medicine was only now probably reaching her stomach. “Gentle, please. I’m okay.”
“Dust, Blake, are you drugged or hungover?”
She wanted to laugh, but knew it would just result in more pain. “Yeah, I drank too much,” she admitted, embarrassed. Another buzz on the scroll, and it was Sun asking to join the call. Apparently Ilia had accepted, because the absolute maniac started speaking and sounded perfectly fine, the bastard.
“Hey, Blake, feeling better yet?”
“Shhhhhh, please, voices down,” she begged, unable to lower the volume more without muting them.
“Oh boy, drank too much, haha.” Sun sounded like he was already up and at it, leaving some loud area. “I’m at work. Yang texted me saying she took you to her apartment last night, since you refused to tell her your address, and apparently your scroll has like, three layers of security or something?”
“She couldn’t have asked you Sun?” Ilia asked, accusatorily.
Blake could see Sun’s sheepish expression as the pause extended. “I didn’t get her texts! I was, uh, busy… buttering up our second favorite nepo-baby.”
“Oh my god were you f*cking Neptune again ?”
“Shhh,” Blake repeated, their voices rising to unbearable levels again. As amusing as this interaction would be, the ever present hangover was truly a menace.
“Not when Yang called me,” he admitted, probably too proud of himself in the moment.
“Ugh you’re the worst. Why didn’t you text me back?”
“You know I’m a heavy sleeper.”
Blake glanced around, and sure enough, now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see pictures of Yang, Ruby, Weiss, Sun, and other people scattered about the room, mostly in group photos, and one black and white one of Ruby next to her on the nightstand. Except this one looked older. No, that couldn’t be Ruby. Her mother? Why did she look nothing like Yang?
“So I’m in Yang’s room then,” Blake surmised, aloud, leading to a small silence in the conversation.
“I can kill her. Do I need to kill her?” Ilia immediately spurted, and she could envision the shade of red she’d probably become just then.
“No! No, I think she put me here and slept somewhere else.” Blake looked around at the room, and it was readily apparent that the bed was far too small for her not to notice someone there all night. That, and she saw the deadbolt was locked from the inside.
“Yeah, Yang told me she’d make sure you were okay before coming in to work.”
“Lead with that next time dumbass ,” Ilia scolded, before sighing. “You’re really okay Blake?”
“Hungover, but I’m fine,” she answered, smiling. “Don’t wait up. I'll just sleep when I get home. No work today.”
The relief was tangible from both of them; more obviously from Ilia, but Sun definitely was as well, even if he was a huge fan of Yang. "Let me know if you want a ride home, I'll take an hour off or something," he said, heading back into the loud space. "Gotta get back to work, see ya!"
Ilia sighed, and Blake could envision the girl sitting down on her bed, shaking her head. "Blake, I was so scared something happened. I mean, you just up and disappeared. One minute you're dancing and the next - f*ck." Blake could hear her friend holding back her tears. "I get it, you were drunk, and we asked you to go out, even if we weren't going to hang out. It was a night for you, I shouldn't judge or anything."
She was tired, and hungover, but couldn't help but be sympathetic to Ilia. "Nothing happened," she assured her, knowing that wasn't really the issue.
"Okay. Text me when you get home, okay? I gotta get to work."
"You've got to barista today? sh*t." Blake suddenly felt worse about keeping her up all night. "I'm sorry."
"My own fault. I knew I'd be out until 3 or 4." She breathed in strongly, and laughed. "Get rested up. I wanna hear about your night later."
"Of course," Blake replied, smiling.
"Aight, bye bitch."
Blake chuckled, feeling slightly better now that she didn't have to stress about her two friends. And the painkillers were starting to work. She grunted, swinging her legs out from the bed and starting to pull on her pants, before noticing a small pile of clothes on a chair just within arms reach, with another note.
These are Ruby's - they're way too big for her. Might fit you, if you want to change.
A small grin found the corners of her mouth, finally taking a moment to admire the messy writing, each letter pressed with deliberation, as though the author were trying to make it neater. A moment's deliberation, and a quick sniff of her turtleneck told her more than enough, and she quickly slipped into the cozy, massively oversized sweater, and sweatpants that, while cinched at the waist with elastic, were so baggy she might be able to hide a whole circus in them.
Whatever the case, they were very comfy, concealing, and safe. She tucked her hair into the hood, and pulled it over her ears gently, before standing cautiously to see if she still had her sea legs. As always, instincts took over, and whatever sense of nausea or imbalance was jutted aside, allowing her to walk with confidence and ease. Taking a moment, she checked her messages again, this time noticing her scroll was fully charged. Yang must have charged it for her.
5 new messages from Red-Riding hood
2 new messages from Actual Princess
3 new messages from YX gorgeous
Her eyes widened as she opened each one, realizing who these people were. Ruby, Weiss, and Yang. Truly she hoped that these names were ones they picked themselves, and not what a drunken, flippant Blake had written in ‘good fun’.
Hey, this is Ruby!
I can’t wait to talk to you all the time!
Yang will take care of you don’t worry!
I dunno if you like guitars, but I was wondering what your opinion was of this one? *click to see link*
Checking in! You doing okay today?!
How in the world did this girl have normal interactions when she ended every single text with an exclamation point, Blake would never guess. And judging from the timestamps of each message, the girl was either nocturnal or didn’t believe in sleeping.
But clearly Blake had made a good impression on Ruby, even if she couldn’t necessarily remember it. She shook her head, almost regretting the action, and moved to the next text message.
Weiss Schnee. This is my personal number, so try to keep this to non-state related things. I prefer keeping business and pleasure separate. I’ve attached my professional contact info, and hours if you need to contact me for anything in the work sector.
I truly enjoyed our time last night. I hope we can get to know each other much better; on terms that are agreeable to you, of course, but perhaps when neither of us are inebriated.
:)
Blake rolled her eyes; of course Weiss would have separate contact information, and hours. But the message felt like her, except the little smiley face at the end of it; that was probably prompted by Ruby or…
She opened the last message.
hey goldie sry abt the mess room hope u sleep okay and found evrythg 4 u
free 2 use w/e in shower there might be food 4 u if u see this late enuf
oh & sry if I wake u up doin sh*t arnd the flat
Blake giggled at the terrible text etiquette and shortening Yang must have adopted from years of sending quick replies. Imagining her trying to write it out and deleting it and writing it all again before defeatedly sending these broken messages, Blake couldn’t stop but feel it was perfect.
Perfect . Her whole body tensed with the thought, her heart suddenly pounding. When did that happen? No, no, no , she couldn’t do that again. No, Yang was a woman she’d just met. She didn’t even flirt with her! Well, that wasn’t true, Blake did flirt, but Yang just took it in stride.
The pressure in her veins throbbed, and she started to breathe deep, trying to control her panic. Nothing happened. Yang’s just hot. You’re just horny. Nothing will happen. Nothing can happen.
Finally getting herself into a state of calm, she decided the best thing to do would be freshen up. And that meant leaving the bedroom. Gently, she twisted the door knob, opening the door as silently as she could, peeking around it to see the rest of the apartment.
The bedroom clearly was right off of the living area, making this apartment significantly smaller than she'd guessed. The living room had an old, well used couch in it, with a scuffed coffee table, and was likely the main space of the apartment. Also possibly the entrance, considering the door had two deadbolts and a chain at the top. She wondered how much of that was for show, and how much was because the owner had been broken in on.
She silently stepped out of the room, and walked a couple feet down to the bathroom door, but was curious what the delectable smell coming from around the corner could be. Which is the moment she ran face-first into Yang Xiao Long’s collarbone.
“sh*te, sorry!”
Blake felt Yang grab her before she fell, her strong arms wrapping around her back before she could even go that far. Blake froze , her eyes wide, scared, as she stared directly into Yang’s.
The look clearly was immediately recognized, as Yang let go gently, concern painting her face with zero attempt to conceal it. She didn’t move away, but did glance ever so briefly to her arms, which drew Blake’s own gaze to them.
To her horror, she had dug her nails like claws right into Yang’s arms, ripping the skin open enough to bleed. She let go immediately backed up toward the bathroom. “Oh god, I’m so sorry! I… do you have bandages or something, god-f*cking-damnit!”
Yang chuckled, shrugging. “You’re fine. Just some scratches, it’s okay!” She smiled, but didn’t approach, her body language telling Blake she knew . Knew she needed space. Knew surprise contact was frightening. Somehow this blonde bombshell was capable of picking up on every need she had in an instant, and it was thoroughly frustrating.
Blake started slowing her breathing, before running into the bathroom, running the sink to wash her hands. “I’m so sorry, I just panicked!” she said, scrubbing her hands furiously, before opening the mirror to see if there were any bandages. To her surprise, there were loads of them.
She grabbed a few and some peroxide and rounded the corner again, where Yang was slowly approaching, far enough from the wall so she could be seen from the bathroom door. “Sit,” Blake instructed, pointing to the couch.
Yang raised her arms and walked over to the couch casually, sitting down on the edge of the cushions, while Blake set up on the coffee table, swabbing some cotton balls in peroxide. “Seriously, it’s all right Blake. I’m fine, this is hardly the worst I’ll probably get today.”
“Shut up, I will not have you bleeding because of my stupid decisions,” Blake growled unthinkingly, before grabbing Yang’s arm and pulling it closer to herself, so she could clean each line with peroxide.
The powerful woman did not resist, allowing Blake to tend to each scratch without complaint, without wincing, or hissing; just quiet acceptance, and a damnably cute smirk on her lips. The action was enough to calm Blake’s nerves on the first arm she bandaged, and allowed her to think before moving to the next one. She decided on firm, unquestionable instruction.
“Next,” she ordered, grabbing Yang’s other arm, pulling it in front of her, and once again, the amazon acquiesced. She worked diligently, as she had on the previous arm, but now that she had calmed, she could admire the woman in front of her.
Yang was built , she found. Muscular shoulders, biceps, forearms, even hands, despite not being that much larger than Blake herself. Wearing only a sports bra and sweatpants, Blake could get a good look at her… and felt herself getting warmer as she looked. The tattoos were as extensive as her muscles, and each clearly had some meaning, considering they were all very complex, even if most were small.
Unsure whether to be embarrassed or not, she was able to better see the rose on her neck that had struck her as so beautiful the night before, and see that the falling petals went as far down as the stem, just above her breast.
She made sure to breath deeply, and that of course got her a hit of Yang’s scent, a sweet combination of soaps mixed with what had to be motor oil, smoke, all wrapped in a warm linen blanket. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasing smell, but it was hers .
“Take in enough, or should I start posing for you?” Yang asked, suddenly, tearing Blake’s attention back to the bandage she’d been pressing to her bicep for at least a minute.
“No thank you,” she said with determination, wrapping the bandage around the arm, before looking down at her hands. “Sorry again. I’m… a bit of a hazard.”
“Pfft, if anyone has rights to that, it’d be me.” Yang leaned back onto the couch, stretching toward the ceiling. “I don’t know how much you want to continue smelling like fermented potatoes, but the shower is open to you. When you’re done, come have some breakfast, you’ll need it.”
Blake watched as she stood, heading over to the kitchen again, grabbing a percolator and setting it onto the stove, turning it on. She decided that, quite possibly, the best thing to do at that moment was to, in fact, shower. Though that did mean leaving the view of Yang’s perfectly sculpted body.
You don’t deserve her .
“No,” she whispered as his voice bubbled to the surface yet again. It crawled back into her thoughts, unwarranted, unwanted, unwelcome, with a desire for vengeance. Everything Blake had done ‘wrong’ came rushing back into her mind, every look, every selfish desire, every action taken for herself.
Running again? You won’t escape, Blake.
She ran to the washroom and turned on the shower, doing her best to drown out whatever thoughts she still had of him. It had been over almost a year and a half. He should have no hold over her anymore. He did not deserve her. He was the one to create the problems. He was the villain, the source, the filth infecting her brain and body.
As if she’d want someone as broken as you .
Blake screamed, pulling at her hair, her back against the wall, slowly sinking to the floor. Why couldn’t he leave her alone ?!
“Blake, you okay?!”
Yang’s voice was full of concern, right outside the bathroom door, pounding on it as if Blake couldn’t hear her over the shower.
Go ahead.
“Blake?”
Let her in .
“Blake are you hurt?”
Watch you break.
“I’m okay!” she yelled, doing her best to keep all the panic and fear out of her voice. “Just… having a moment.”
Words came up in her mind, the ones a gentle voice had given her when she started her recovery. They’re not brave like you. They’re too scared to do anything that’s different, anything that’s new. Blake could always repeat them to herself,
The silence went on for ages, before her voice behind the door wafted through again. “Fightin’s always harder than running. Sometimes it’s worth it though.”
Blake stared at the door, unmoving, waiting for it to open, waiting for Yang to step inside, maybe sit across from her, maybe wrap her in a blanket. But the door remained closed.
“Remember you’ve got friends who’ll fight with ya too.”
Blake nodded, even if Yang couldn’t see it. “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” she said, shakily, doing her best to keep herself steady. “Hot shower should help.”
“Okay. I’ll have some coffee ready for ye.”
The shower was steaming hot, nearly scalding. Just the way she liked it. The scent of alcohol drifted away, being replaced by Yang’s soaps and suds, slowly filling her senses with the pleasant feeling of cleanliness. Something that couldn’t be taken from her.
She dried off and stepped back into the warm, cozy clothes left for her that morning, and emerged from the bathroom, her long hair braided back to dry while keeping it out of the way. And there was Yang, her hair pulled up, a shirt donned, and a pancake mid flip above a pan.
It was downright domestic, and Blake could eat her up right then. But she sat at the makeshift island instead, perusing the covered food one by one, to see what she had made.
“Eggs and bacon are under that one,” Yang explained, pointing at one of the bowls covering a plate nearest her. “Toast is there. And I figured pancakes might be good for ye, since you were having a moment, you know.”
Blake forced a chuckle, trying to forget the breakdown she experienced not a half hour ago. “Wasn’t a big deal. I just… had a rough time of it for maybe seven years.”
“Hazard a guess it was unpleasant. I empathize with ye.”
Blake nodded, watching as Yang stacked two pancakes, gently drizzling syrup on them before setting them in front of her guest. “Interesting choice. Never had a bad breakup?”
Yang shook her head. “Don’t date. Never have time. And my jobs suck.”
“What do you do again?”
She paused, focusing on the pancake batter in the pan, before responding, sans her usual aplomb. “I fix things. Loads of things.”
“Like cars? Sun said you work with him at a garage.” Blake wasn’t sure if she was actually going to discuss it. Still, she had to do something to deflect from her own troubles.
“Cars. Bikes. Electrical, plumbing, you know. Problems.” She flipped the pancake and patted it twice, turning down the heat on the stove, as . “So, if you have something you’d like fixed, I guess call me?”
“You just met me,” Blake said, coming to the realization as she did that they did just meet last night. It felt like an eternity ago, and the hours spent with Yang, Weiss, and Ruby was the best she’d felt in ages . They just clicked , and she felt she’d belonged with them.
Yang gave the facial equivalent of a shrug, nodding as she placed the batter bowl in her sink. “Sure. Doesn’t feel that way, but I get it. Makes you feel better, I spent six hours under Sun’s sink trying to solder his pipes the day I met him, so.” She smiled, sitting at the corner of the island with her own plate, slapping some of the eggs and bacon onto it next to the pancakes.
“Do you eat like this every morning?” Blake asked, looking at the small feast of delicious breakfast food in front of her. “Like, this is a lot.”
Yang nodded. “Weiss did a work up one time. I eat like, six thousand calories a day.” She stuffed her face with a few huge bites and chewed slowly, before glancing up to Blake, eyes widening a bit. “Sorry, I eat alone most of the time.”
It had been a full two weeks since Blake's escapade at the inappropriately named "Signal" bar in Vale's Mountain Glenn district. The irony was there was barely any reception in there, due to it being underground. Apparently only regulars got access to the wifi, and that was the reason they could text freely.
She really, really couldn't keep her mind off of it. The whole thing was embarrassing as hell, but Ilia and Sun assured her that Neptune was fully okay with her accompanying them this weekend out to Beacon, a club which one of Neptune's partners owned up in hightown. And Ruby hadn't stopped texting her daily, asking how she was, seeing if there were fun or exciting things that day, wanting her to come to their practices and watch, maybe even sing. Even Weiss was replying to her, occasionally giving insight into some business decisions her father was making so Blake could tell her parents, but mostly just giving into small talk, making plans, and letting her know when the next showing was.
The one person she actually wanted to hear from though, was almost entirely unresponsive, only giving a couple words every two or three days, and always after Blake had texted her beforehand. There was only one time she texted unprompted. Nine days after Blake had woken in Yangs bed, at 23:38, Blake got the text that changed everything.
Don't be in MG tonite
It was such a simple text. Unprompted, with no punctuation, full of urgency and lack of explanation. Blake couldn’t keep it out of her mind. She texted the Editor in Chief of Lighthouse, the paper she was working for, at 01:29, asking for the Mountain Glenn news tomorrow. She had a hunch something was up, and wanted to know what could have prompted such a text.
The answer terrified her.
There was a huge incident between Vale's native mafia, the Spring Court and an Atlesian organized crime group. No reports giving definitive numbers, but there were dozens of hospitalizations and several deaths for the Atlesians, but nobody could find wounded or bodies of any of the Cúirt’s people. The hospital dealing with the issue was now under Huntsman protection, and the Atlesian Army group sent a team of their specialists, supposedly part of the Organized Crime unit of their Criminal Investigations division.
It occurred to her at that moment that Yang wasn't lying. She was part of Cúirt an Earraigh ( Spring Court), and undoubtedly knew their boss . Reports varied wildly, from accounts of a single attacker, wearing all black and an impenetrable black motorcycle helmet taking on the whole crew on their own, to a full gang war with the court fielding at least twenty attackers.
Of course, the reports from the surviving gang wasn't the only bizarre part of the story; she was seeing the damage report her field workers came up with. City workers said members of the Cúirt maintained a perimeter, keeping civilians away from the scene with surprising concern, and assisted members of fire response when the warehouse was set ablaze. And they worked at keeping the damage limited to that specific warehouse, preventing the fires from reaching other properties even before fire response arrived.
Every report she read also mentioned the figure in a black bodysuit, with a black motorcycle helmet, walking out of the warehouse while on fire, getting on a bike, and speeding off into the night, still ablaze. Blake turned to social media, looking for any local reports of a motorcycle on fire, and she was immediately greeted by dozens of videos and pictures of the rider in black, on fire, driving through the streets of Vale before disappearing by the river.
The videos were mystifying, and extremely popular. She looked through the posts, and spotted an account she wasn't expecting - Velvet Scarlatina, posting a gorgeous high-resolution video and stills of the rider going right by her, as though she knew the rider was coming by.
She watched without audio, since she didn't have her headphones on, but she could practically hear the violent engine roar from the passing rider, probably with a whoop or a holler from Velvet. The stills were even more impressive, and Blake found herself wishing Velvet was interested in a career of photography for the paper. She could really use some quality pictures, especially of this. Maybe she should call her, Sun or Neptune were bound to have her number.
The caption is what really caught her attention though. " The Court’s Dullahan is riding tonight!" Blake truly didn’t know what that meant, but she didn't have time to go look it up. Comments were still rolling in, from locals, city officials, Vale PD, or people from out of the city. The people seemed on the Cúirt's side, even if they were the mafia. Vale PD was looking for people to say where this was, or where they could find these people, officials were categorically demonizing the actions of the criminal elements in the city, calling for more funding and more policing of Mountain Glenn.
"Belladonna!" called the chief editor from her office, snapping Blake violently out of her reverie. "Come here when you get a second!"
Glynda Goodwitch was, as her name suggested, a good person, genuinely concerned for the life of the city. The Lighthouse was her creation, a true, unbiased, carrying it’s unblemished reputation with pride. She didn’t have time to personally review everyone’s work anymore (hence Blake’s job), but she did take a personal stake in each and every reporter, editor, photographer; she even knew all of the intern's names, and thanked every employee by name when they did something for her.
How she wasn't insane was beyond Blake's comprehension. She finished proofreading the article sent to her about the economic impact of the burning docks, sent it back to the reporter, and stood, heading into Glynda's office.
The woman didn't wait for the door to shut before speaking. "You requested Mountain Glenn's reporters, at an ungodly hour of the morning, before anything had happened yet." Blake could feel the accusation in her voice, but it was softened by the look of clear concern across her eyes. "Who do you know, and are you in danger? Because even my informants knew nothing of this."
Blake felt the pressure in her chest rise. Yang was on the inside. Yang was dangerous. Yang was a threat . It felt wrong to think that. It felt like a betrayal of the woman who’d so kindly taken care of her less than a fortnight ago.
But she knew something was going down, and possibly the most well connected woman in Vale didn’t know anything about it.
"I know someone who might be part of the Spring Court," she admitted, not attempting to pronounce the already difficult to read Irish. "I'm pretty sure she's a nobody. She texted me to stay out of MG last night, which it seems I was correct to assume meant Mountain Glenn."
"May I see the text, Ms. Belladonna?"
Blake hesitated a moment. "I think I deleted it."
"Don't lie to me Blake," Glynda snapped, holding out her hand while filing some papers.
Sighing, she handed over her scroll, opened to the text. Glynda glanced at it, and Blake noticed her eyebrow twitch, before handing it back to her. "Thank you." She sighed, finishing her filing and gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. "Sit."
Dutifully, Blake obeyed. Glynda leaned onto the desk, clasping her hands together in front of herself, before leaning her forehead on them. "Yang Xiao Long is not a nobody , Blake." She opened her mouth to continue, but stopped herself, looking directly into Blake's golden eyes. "How much do you want to know?"
She wasn't positive, but she could swear she saw pity in Glynda's eyes. "I... uh..." Blake mumbled, eyes darting to the floor before meeting her boss's again. "How dangerous is she?" she asked, carefully controlling her voice, trying not to sound panicked. God, if she was just like him ...
Glynda paused, probably searching for the right words to answer that. "Intrinsically? Messing with her is deadly. However, it’s only if you’ve caused a problem for the Court," she decided to say. "But it seems she likes you. Yang is one of their chief mechanics, and related to some high ranking individuals. That's all I can say for certain." She finally relaxed, leaning back into her chair. "She's rather important to their operation, and works a legitimate business. According to the city, that is."
"So she knows everyone," Blake concluded, nodding slowly.
"Indeed," Glynda agreed, nodding with her. "Be very careful with her. I don't want the Cúirt thinking you’re plugging her for info. They won’t come for her, they’ll come for you.”
Blake headed down to Signal that night of her own volition. Neither Sun or Ilia were going to be there; hell she didn’t know if Neptune was going to be there. He had lots of other places to be, being the owner of multiple venues around the city.
As per usual, Yang didn’t respond to a single text. Blake had tried to get her to respond, almost resorting to pleading, but still nothing.
Unexpectedly, Neptune was there, behind the bar, cleaning some glasses, the apron and towel over his shoulder in classic bartender fashion. “Hey,” he said, eyeing her oddly. “We’re meeting later this week, and I don’t have anything going on tonight. Soooo… what’s up princess?”
Blake didn’t know why she’d thought he’d know anything. But he was there, in his little known dive bar, where he liked to hide in when he’d rather not be around the ritz and glitz of famous people. And it was in the middle of Mountain Glenn, the poorest section of the city.
“Is everyone okay?” she asked, not wanting to bring up Yang by name.
Vasilias shrugged, and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He put down the glass, pouring a gin and tonic for her. “Here. If anyone’s coming tonight, it’ll be the regular crowd.”
“Thank you Neptune.” Blake headed up to the bar, before taking a glance around the room. It was fairly empty. “Does anyone know what happened?”
“Is this a personal inquiry, or professional?” Neptune asked instead of answering, not looking at her while he continued preparing glasses.
“Personal. I wouldn’t betray trust like that.” Blake knew she shouldn’t be offended by the question. The people of the Glenn were naturally suspicious of news sources, even Lighthouse, and Neptune seemed like he’d adopted the area as his home. In the past two weeks of working with him, Sun, and Ilia, she’d only seen him at ease when he was in the area of Signal.
He sighed, and shook his head. “Sorry. Just used to reporters being pushy when they get to know me.” Neptune set down the glass and rubbed his eyes, leaning in to her over the bar. She realized how tired he looked once she could see him better; it was like he hadn’t slept all night. “I think I know where she is,” he said, his mouth quirking into a smile as Blake blushed.
“I was worried about the girls. Mostly Velvet. I saw her post, she was really close to that… uh.”
“The Dullahan. I know.” Neptune chuckled low. “She worries me too, but that rider doesn’t mess with locals. And Velvet always knows about where it’s gonna be when it’s on the hunt.”
“What is the Dullahan?” Blake asked, not wanting to admit she had no idea how to pronounce that word. “Is it related to the Court?”
“You could say that. In Irish mythology, it’s unseelie fae that heralds death. You heard of the Headless Horseman? Same thing.”
Blake scoffed. “So that rider has no head?”
“I doubt that," Neptune admitted. "But they're definitely not... normal. I've seen the thing in action. They're, like, impervious to pain or something. And I've never seen an inch of skin on it. Wears these gauntlets that spew fire."
Blake blinked. "So the fire..."
"Definitely the Court. Specifically the Dullahan, but Vernal's always repeated that the Dullahan is a rogue element of the Court." He shook his head again, and glanced at the door opening, where Sun was coming in. "Hang on, I have an actual rogue to bother."
She rolled her eyes as he hopped over the bar and heard the telltale sign of the two men making fun of each other a moment, before coming back over, Neptune unceremoniously sliding over the bar. Nobody seemed to mind, except Ren (as she'd learned the other bartender's name) who scolded him and handed him a spray bottle. Sun took up his typical spot next to Blake.
"Well, yesterday huh? Here to plug for info?" Sun teased, smiling.
"C'mon, you know me better than that."
"Yeah yeah," he said, waving her off, grabbing the very fruity drink Neptune just slid him.
"So how did you two meet?" the blue haired man asked, apparently tired of Sun's non-answers.
Blake shrugged. "Ilia was trying to kill him like, ten years ago. I stopped her."
Neptune laughed, then looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Wait really?"
"I mean, pretty much." Blake sipped her own drink again, her ears swiveling back to the door as she heard more people enter.
Sun and Neptune went into the discussion again, the bartender clearly curious that his friend was, in fact, telling the truth. Meanwhile, Blake's attention went to the hyperactive young woman entering the bar, accompanied by just a tree of a man in green.
"Blake!" she shouted, charging across the bar, almost slamming Blake into it when she hugged her. "Wild time for the newspaper, huh? Lookin' for some deep cuts?"
"God, Ruby, no, I'm not here for the paper," Blake explained again, rolling her eyes. "I'm here to see you guys. Since, you know, this is my entire social circle now."
"What, no friends at work?" Ruby asked, finally releasing her grip.
"Not really. Nobody our age," she admitted, glancing upward to the very tall man now at the bar. "And you are?"
"Yatsu," he replied, his voice very deep. "I'm the normal bassist for Coffee. I understand this is the new girl?"
"New girl?" Blake repeated, glancing to Ruby, who was blushing and playing with her own fingers nervously. "Woah, woah, hold on, I didn't agree to sing for you guys yet."
"But you're good! "
Yatsu nodded. “Ruby did take a convincing recording of you. Probably some of the best sloshed singing I’ve ever heard.”
Blake shrieked, grabbing for Ruby’s scroll as she pulled up a video of her from that night. “Oh my god, delete that!” she demanded, as Ruby danced away, over the bar and giggled. “Please don’t post that!”
“I wouldn’t do that, I’m just using it as blackmail!” Ruby teased, running away as Blake vaulted over the bar after her. Ren immediately got out of the way, while Neptune shouted after them.
