"Speaking"

'Thoughts'

Something Else

Jaune

He wakes some hours later to the sound of somebody pounding at his door, "Jaune? Get out here!" ah scratch that, Brianna pounding at his door. He swings his legs over the side of his bed with a groan 'Why? Just why?'

With one hand on his right leg he goes to stand, only for his left knee to flare with pain and give-out beneath him. His face thudding against the carpet a moment later.

The pounding at his door stops abruptly, "...You forgot about your leg didn't you?" Brianna asks and he can almost see her face-palming at his stupidity. "Whatever, just meet me out back."

It takes him a moment to roll onto his back, spitting carpet fibers as he goes, "Yeah I got it, just give me five minutes." His leg twinges painfully and he fails to fully hold back a groan, only managing to muffle it down to a sharp hiss. "Make that fifteen minutes."

There's a sigh from the other side of the door, "Whatever." Brianna says, and the carpet thumps quietly beneath her feet as she goes back downstairs. When the noises have faded Jaune leans forward grabbing at his leg with a curse, "Damn knee." He grabs it tight and the pain flares hot and new causing his grip to slip, sending him falling back down to bash the back of his head against the floor. "Damn it."

Is this what Blondie meant about "Concussing yourself again?" Oh motherfuck.

'You realize you can't move without me right?' Let the record be known: Jaune: 1 Crocea: 0.

You realize that right now the reverse applies for you too right? It laughs and he kind of wants to punch it, because it's proud of that little comeback. 'Moving on.' He replies, shifting so his back is to his bed 'Still cool with being a crutch right?'

The sword does the mental equivalent of an eye-roll (and wow that feels weird, sort of like he's doing it, while still seeing straight ahead.) before replying 'Yes Jaune it's fine.'

'Good.' He says, before placing his hands flat against the floor by his sides and pushing himself partially off the floor. Slowly easing himself towards the bed with his good leg and keeping his injured one still. When his back hits the frame he lowers himself back down to the floor wiping sweat off his brow, 'Note: work on upper body strength, that shouldn't be hard.'

Noted. the sword replies dryly, Just how are you going to get up here?

Jaune lifts his arms behind him grabbing tight to the bed's wooden frame. 'Easy.' He replies crossing his injured leg over his normal one. 'Just pull myself up.' He pulls against the bed while pushing off from the floor with his good leg slowly but surely getting back on his bed. When his back meets the bunched up comforter on top he lets go falling back onto the bed. 'See?'

Convoluted, but it worked. I give it a B-minus

'Well fuck you too.' He replies, reaching behind his back and grabbing the sword with his left hand. Pitching himself forward once, twice, three times and with a grunt swinging himself up on one leg. With Crocea Mors leaned against the floor as a cane.

He staggers over to his bedroom door yanking it open with his right hand and roughly shoving it closed behind him. Limping over to the staircase he can't help but sigh, 'Oh screw it.' He reaches over to the old wood banister, and with a grunt he hoists himself atop it sitting side-saddle towards the wall opposite him. The sword lets out a combination of a sigh and a long string of curses, I'm both ashamed and slightly proud. What the hell are you doing to me?

He gives the mental equivalent of sticking his tongue out in response, before pushing off with his left hand and sliding towards the bottom. 'My knee is broken, besides fuck stairs.' The discussion is abruptly cut off when his right leg collides with the banister at the bottom a moment later. He hops down on his right leg bouncing around on one foot and painfully jarring his knee until he sets Crocea Mors beneath him.

Jaune hurriedly hobbles his way through the kitchen, the sheath clacking loudly against the hardwood floor, he's thankful that everyone else seems to be off doing their own things elsewhere. The awkward stumbling shuffle isn't exactly something he wants an audience for. He makes his way to the backdoor with little effort, pressing his right arm up against the wall, while he awkwardly fumbles for the door handle with his leftover fingers. 'I hate this so much.'

I can't even feel it, and I hate it too.

'Thanks for the support , I guess.' One more stretch and he finally manages to grab the handle turning it down and pushing it open with his right shoulder. He grabs the handle tightly to avoid throwing himself down the steps and into the grass, the unexpected momentum forces him down the stairs anyway but hey, he tried.

You okay? That looked like it hurt. He doesn't notice Brianna plodding through the grass towards him, instead putting focus into saying "Thnk youph Croea." and then spitting the grass out of his mouth.

"What was that Jaune?" Brianna asks crouching down to his level and he just groans when she starts pulling grass out of his hair, "Hi Bri, what did you want?" "Look over there." She replies, pointing back over her shoulder with her thumb. "I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

He pushes himself up onto his back in the grass. He spots the white table immediately with a single chair positioned facing the forest and honestly how the hell had he missed it before? You were busy finding out what dirt tastes like. 'Keep talking and I will turn you into scrap-metal I swear to god.'

Brianna stands shuffling over next to him, before crouching back down and throwing his right arm over her shoulder, "C'mon we don't have all day." She pauses pulling her scroll out of her jeans pocket, the time reads 12:30.

"...Okay we do, but I have a mission tomorrow, so I would like to relax." With that she stands hauling him to his feet, and slowly they make their way over to the table.

He spots it when they're a little more than halfway there, and he should probably be surprised, but he's almost been expecting it. Brianna uses guns, it should be normal.

And on some level that he doesn't like to think about it is.

But that doesn't stop a chill from creeping it's way down his spine at the sight of the hunting rifle laid flat across the tabletop.

They're less than a quarter of the way now, and is something burning? The smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air and he can taste something cool and metallic on his tongue.

'You can smell that too right?' He asks before realizing that no a sword can probably not smell anything. Until a cough rings in his head making his head ache at how loud it is. No I smell it too. Crocea replies nasally and Jaune tries to laugh, until he gags on the air.

But Brianna just keeps dragging him forward, showing no reaction to the smell whatsoever, and Jaune can't stop himself from asking, "Can you not smell that?" It's so strong his head is swimming, so why isn't she saying something?

She gives him a sideways glance just as they finally reach the table. Jaune collapses into the chair immediately laying his head against the tabletop and trying not to vomit. "What are you talking about? I don't smell anything." She asks, looking at him as if he's gone insane.

"Never mind." He replies absently brushing the gun with his right hand, feeling the barrels cool metal against his skin. The wood's smooth and well polished, and if it wasn't for the long winding scratch in the stock he'd swear it's brand-new.

'Must be from her personal armory.'

"Ok then. I'm sure you can figure out what we're training with." She says, twisting a loop on her belt as she talks.

"Guns obviously." Jaune replies before taking a deep breath to try and get rid of the taste in his mouth, it doesn't work.

Dammit.

Brianna makes her way to the opposite side of the table lifting the rifle and placing it in his still unsteady hands. "Do me a favor? Don't jam it or something stupid like that."

He glares at her because she seems to have forgotten something, "Yeah...you do realize I've never shot a gun."

Brianna gives him a look that's somehow pitying and horrified at the same time, "You're kidding right? You have to be, hell I remember teaching you how to use a handgun when you were nine." She says it so casually, like she's absolutely certain about this.

Jaune stills, his grip on the rifle tightening minutely as he tries to think of a way to answer her question that doesn't involve swearing in her face. He remembers too, and if anything he's more surprised that Brianna even got the age right. She had taught somebody how to shoot, only it wasn't him.

"That was Jane. When I asked you to teach me you said you'd teach me tomorrow." He says, and to be fair a week later that had happened and she'd spent the next few months too busy helping pick up the pieces to teach him. Then again Jane keeps a revolver on her nightstand so she must have got more training from somewhere.

"Oh."

To her credit she recovers from her mistake in record time. Clapping him firmly on the shoulder and tilting his head up at hers."Well you're gonna learn now, ok?" She says, grinning bright and wide as if that makes it all okay. He just smiles back, it's an entirely fake gesture, but responding honestly would just be more trouble than it's worth.

On the plus side the smell is gone, although he can still taste metal which kind of sucks. 'Any idea what that was.'

We're having a talk about all of this later. Also, we're buying mouthwash. The sword says, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cower at the confused anger bubbling in the steel..

"Ok. Let's get started." Brianna says, twirling her wrist towards the rifle as she starts to pace. Her choice of weapons is almost painfully ironic since she's almost as fidgety as him.

"From the top: That gun is a modified and I mean modified bolt-action Winchester hunting rifle. I'll try and spare you the incredibly in-depth lecture, because honestly I use guns for a living and they confuse the hell out of me sometimes. But anyway I've fitted it with a scope that magnifies at 4, 8, and 12 times normal vision, with an optional night vision setting," At his questioning look she elaborates. "It's a rifle and I'm not a faunus, do the math." He does and comes up with an image of somebody lying in a pool of their own blood, then promptly kicks that morbid image out of his head. Partly because it's probably closer to reality than he'd like to admit.

"I've also gutted the original barrel and replaced it with a much higher quality steel copy that's about 1.5 inches longer, because believe me with the type of ammo I use with this thing it was necessary. Also the fact that when I used the same ammo with a bigger rifle it kindaaaaa blew apart in my hands."

At his wide eyed stare of "Are you fucking kidding me?" she lifts her left hand palm open towards him, revealing the long jagged scar running from the tip of her index finger to the base of her thumb. I change my mind, she's the crazy one. Crocea Mors says and he really really can't argue with that.

She coughs into her palm, her cheeks flushed bright red in embarrassment as she paces, "Moving on, it fires your standard .308 caliber rounds, which hey it doesn't work on people but it'll kill Grimm just fine. It also fires a specially modified .308 round that has Energy type Dust infused into the bullet making it travel much farther and faster, while virtually eliminating any and all drop-off."

"And you don't only use the dust rounds because?"

Brianna stops pacing and turns to face him holding up three fingers before continuing on, "There are three reasons why I don't always use the dust rounds. One: They are loud as fuck. I mean Aura basically makes tinnitus impossible, which I'll admit is pretty nice, but that isn't exactly a huge advantage when everything in a quarter-mile radius knows where you are." She says looking towards him to make sure he's following along.

"Two: The recoil is an absolute bitch. It can't break bones or anything since I have an unlocked Aura, but having my shoulder be one giant bruise isn't really good for my aim either." At that Brianna rolls up the left sleeve of her t-shirt revealing a large purple welt underneath. "See what I mean?" she says before rolling her sleeve back into place.

"Three: And this one is kind of a two-fold issue, the cost. The ammo itself is expensive because you either have to special-order it from the Schnee Dust Company, or find a specialist who can make it without blowing up their store. Also because as I explained a minute ago, you have to fit your weapons to be able to handle it. And the required metals are expensive too.." But you have to buy it, because if the forces the ammo exerts are too strong you end up with a bunch of scrap metal instead of a gun. Hell there are some guns that will shatter no matter what you do to them."

It takes him a moment to process but he understands for the most part, it doesn't take any knowledge about guns to follow simple physics. He can't help but nervously glance down at the rifle in his hands, "Just for the record, you loaded this with normal ammo right?" He asks because if it can bruise her shoulder in one shot it would probably shatter his.

Brianna almost looks insulted at the mere suggestion that she might forget something like that, "Yes Jaune I did load it with the right ammo." She grabs the underside of the barrel moving it down until it's standing flat on the table, then slowly lifting it until the stock is fit snugly against his shoulder, poking and prodding at his arms until he's shifted into a position she deems acceptable.

With a hum of satisfaction she points out towards the forest before walking to his side of the table, "Now moving away from unfounded paranoia. Look that way through the scope, just tell me when you spot something."

Jaune does as she says, tilting his head until he can see through the scope comfortably, shutting his left eye almost immediately after because the double vision is unbearably awful.

He scans the treeline searching for the slightest glint against the afternoon sun, he glances higher up going from left to right as he works 'No, no, nothing, nothing come on where is it?' Stop. Crocea Mors says and he goes stone still.

'Did you see something?'

Maybe. Go back to the second tree on the left.

He turns back going over the branches once more, checking to see if he's missed something. Stop. One branch up on the right, see it?

He does as it says, and staring up at the tree he still doesn't see anything, until a cloud passes overhead and the light disappears allowing him to catch a hint of grey in the mish-mash of greens and reds and browns.

"Got one." He says aloud, Brianna's only response is a small hum in the back of her throat, "Not bad." She says absently tapping a beat against the table: one, two, three, one, two, three.

"Just fire when ready, we're too close for drop off to be a factor, and anyone you could hit is inside."

"Ok." He says slowly squeezing the trigger with his pointer finger, holding his breath so as to not shift at the last second and miss. He barely has it halfway compressed when it fires with a sharp crack! The stock slams back hard against his shoulder, and he almost drops the gun out of surprise. "Shit!"

Less than a second later something shatters up in the treeline, the debris falling onto the forest below in a hail of small grey chunks. Recognition hits a moment later when he sees a particularly large chunk shaped like an L. 'That just destroyed a cinder block. Holy shit.'

Nice shot. I mean I helped, but nice shot. Also for fuck's sake I still taste metal.

The adrenaline rush gives out a moment later, and the rifle barrel drops to the table with a thump when he has to push down against the top with one hand to keep from slumping in his seat.

There's a sharp ache in his shoulder where the stock made contact and he's almost certain he'll find a bruise there tomorrow. His injured leg is throbbing painfully too, probably because Brianna in her infinite wisdom neglected to mention that you feel the recoil throughout your entire body.

But there's also a grin slowly spreading it's way across her face, and even now he can't completely stifle the warm feeling in his chest at the sight.

And the one person I can talk to is a sap. Great. He quietly files that little nugget of information away for their conversation later. 'Love you too.'

"Good job! You got one." Brianna says surprising him out of their conversation, "But there are still more targets, so chop chop."

At that she pulls something out of her pocket, "And here's the rest of the bullets." She says opening her palm to reveal four pointed rounds, at his offended stare she blushes, "Hey I needed to teach you how to reload anyways, besides I wanted to make sure you didn't have a bunch of shots in case you got...frustrated."

If anything that offends him even more, "Just out of curiosity." He snarks, reaching out and grabbing the bullets from her hand, loading them into the magazine as he speaks, "How did you make the jump from: Doesn't handle failure well, to: Is a complete psychopath?"

Brianna's response comes as painted nails at his chin, with a twist of her wrist she tilts his gaze away from the rifle and up towards her. "How do you know how to do that?" She asks, eyes wide and confusion showing plain on her face.

Realization hits, and all Jaune can do is stare down at the freshly loaded rifle in his hands, he licks his lips, his mouth dry and tasting like metal. "I-I don't know," he says quietly his brow scrunching up in confusion. It hadn't been a guess he'd just...done it, his hands moving like it was an old practiced habit, fingers dancing across the metal in smooth unfaltering movements.

The knowledge is still there too, waiting in the back of his head like a silent intruder, and he knows that he could do it again if Brianna asked. Which is disturbing in so many ways.

He and Crocea Mors are partners now, only three days in and that's a decision that he wouldn't mind being permanent. But this isn't Crocea Mors and he wants it out, because it shouldn't be there.

This is the first time he's used a rifle in his life but he can look at the Winchester in his arms and know everything about it. .308 caliber, titanium barrel, custom action to cycle the rounds at half the original time, a hair-trigger that fires at .3 inches of compression, magazine size of five rounds.

He should know none of this, but he does.

Calm down, You're fine. Crocea says softly nudging at his cheek. It's only then that he notices the tremor in his hands, and his breath coming out in short desperate pants. 'What's going on?' He asks unable to keep the slightly hysterical tone out of his thoughts.

There's a phantom hand against his cheek, it's cool to the touch, but there's comfort in its fingertips and Jaune can't stop himself from leaning into it. Calm down. I promise you're fine, just please calm down, I'll explain later. Crocea says, and it takes a while (no doubt Brianna's noticed by now) but his hands stop shaking.

His breath is still coming too fast, barely spending a second in his lungs before being pushed out and replaced, but it's an improvement. '...Thank you Crocea.' He replies.

It (she? the voice definitely sounds like a girl?) nudges at his cheek once more before retreating back into his head. You're welcome.

Brianna breaks his thoughts with a three-fingered tap against his cheek, "Hey, you okay?" She asks.

From her position crouched next to him he can clearly make out the concerned look in her eye, "Had a bit of a freakout there." She says laying a hand on his shoulder, "It's fine. Happened to me my first-time too."

Her face flushes in embarrassment and she focuses on a point over his shoulder, "Didn't touch a gun for a month actually."

It's the little things like that that make Jaune feel closer with and at the same time even more distant from his family. The little clues and casual admissions that tell of so many things, things that even after living with them for 13 years he doesn't know. It's a strange feeling, both a warmth in his chest and a slightly bitter taste in the back of his throat, but he's kind of used to it by now.

His enthusiasm fades at that thought, and he sets the rifle down with semi-steady hands. Reaching down and grabbing Crocea Mors off of his belt, shifting it over to his left hand, and heaving himself out of the chair with a grunt, the ground rushes up to meet him almost immediately. At least until he jams Crocea Mors into the ground, gritting his teeth and pushing hard against the hilt until he's fully righted himself.

Brianna's at his side in an instant, her left arm hooked under his right while she slowly starts edging him towards the back-door, "Ya know you can just ask for help," She says teasingly, and there's a small part of him that wants to shove her off, to insist that he can walk fine on his own thank you very much.

But he doesn't, relenting to her help with a sigh, and a minute later they're back inside the house, with him sat at the kitchen table holding an ice-pack to his knee. Apparently haphazardly limping around with a broken knee isn't good for said knee, who knew?

Brianna's leaned up against the counter, a handgun clutched between her fingers, (god knows where she got it from, probably the cabinets or some shit)periodically clearing it and releasing the mag to count the bullets.

Before sliding it back in with a click and starting the whole process all over again.

It's obvious she wants to ask him something, but doesn't know how to approach the subject, and if he's being honest he doesn't feel like putting the effort into make it easier for her.

Jaune's more focused on looking anywhere in the room than at the handgun, because he's almost certain that if he even catches a glance that he'll be hit by another flood of information. Unfortunately for him the table-top is semi reflective under the kitchen light, and he catches sight of it when Brianna pulls the slide back for what feels like the millionth time. .45 Acp, 9 round maga- he slumps his head against the table to silence it, 'Dammit!'

Did you never think to maybe just close your eyes? Crocea snarks.

'I have something in my head shouting at me about bullet calibers. Cut me some slack'

One: I can hear it too. Two: Just for the record, this weirdness is all your doing.

He's out of his chair and limping his way up the stairs when he hears that, only pausing to shout "We'll talk later!" back over his shoulder before continuing his ascent. He makes it to his room opening the door and quickly closing it behind him turning the lock, just in case. Flopping on to his bed he lifts Crocea Mors until they're at "eye level."

'Start explaining. You know something. I don't, and it's driving me crazy."

...One condition. You ask a question, I ask a question, keep going until you're satisfied. Deal?

He jumps at the offer, 'Deal.'

The sword pushes on his chest forcing him down into his pillows, Then make yourself comfortable, this could take a while.

'First question then: How many owners have you actually had? The stories never really gave a number, just some vague mentions of "Been in our family for generations. Passed down from parent to child."'

Wind chimes ring quiet and somber in his head, Going for the tough questions already huh? Jaune can feel his brow scrunch in confusion at that response, 'Why is that a hard question, just a number isn't it?'

This coming from the person who asked how many have died at my hand, The sword replies dryly. It interrupts his stuttered protests with a rap against his forehead, But to answer your question, I've had fifteen partners, sixteen counting you. There's a nostalgic lilt in its reply, and Jaune doesn't really know what to say to that.

Thankfully Crocea speaks before he can make any fumbled attempts at condolences, My turn then: Why are you so distant from your family?

Jaune flinches at the question, it's the last thing he'd been expecting, harsh and needlessly blunt and he has to think for a long time about his answer. 'It's...complicated.' He finally decides, and he can feel the sword's frustration at his intentionally vague response.

It is complicated, just not in the way that Crocea is probably thinking, it's complexity ironically comes in how simple the reason is, there just isn't much to say. 'I'm the only son in a house full of daughters. I'm also literally the last to start my training, everyone else except for Jane started and ended theirs long time ago, and even then Jane isn't far off.'

There's a part of him that knows how he stands in his family, a little thing he's been hearing in the back of his head since he was old enough to understand the concept. Always whispering and poking at his weakest moments "Weak, pathetic, why haven't they taught you yet? Don't lie, you hate it."

And if he's honest with himself, it's right. 'If you want to be realistic you could say I'm the disappointment of the family.' There's stunned silence on Crocea's end and Jaune can't help but laugh at that, a slightly bitter thing that fades as quickly as it came, plunging the room back into silence.

He barrels on through the silence, he's not in the mood for false saccharine sympathy 'My turn. How the hell are you a conscious...being I guess? The point is swords don't talk, hell I've never heard of a weapon in general that could talk.'

That's...complicated Crocea replies, and there's a hesitance in it's words that to Jaune who's only heard it be boisterous and outspoken is incredibly unnerving. Everyone has an aura right? Whether locked or unlocked everyone has one.

'Considering that the only living thing that doesn't are Grimm I'm going to say yes.' Jaune replies, wondering exactly where this is going.

Then take a weapon, which are unusually good "conductors" of aura. And have a person use it for a number of years, constantly bathing it in aura every solitary second spent holding it.

Aura is usually described as the essence of the soul, isn't it? Well if a weapon absorbs enough of it over an extended period of time, can't it eventually reach a point where it creates something?

The phantom touches always real and visceral, but never visible. Heat flickering at the edge of his consciousness, bright and gentle. But the pain suppression is the biggest hint, coming in rushes of heat or cold bubbling up in his chest before exploding outwards, was it really suppressing pain? Or would he have felt the scratch of his ribs knitting back together if he'd paid a little bit more attention?

Realization hits, and Jaune is floored. 'It forms a soul of it's own doesn't it?'

He can feel Crocea smile in response, Yes.

Yay chapter four done, and I actually managed to start moving the story faster than a fucking snail, YAY.

Thank you for reading, review and all that stuff.

VAGUE REFERENCES TO FUTURE CHAPTERS BELOW. (NO PLOT THOUGH.)

(Also the story will answer a lot of questions in later chapters. It's called pacing, and I will be fucked if I don't build up Jaune's physical and emotional strength over time. He's not a badass, and if he kills a Grimm or something I want to emphasize his resourcefulness. Not an all-out beatdown.)