Yang liked to believe she was a good sister. There was never a time Ruby needed her and she wasn't there. Right? There was, without a doubt, no point Ruby had been in a dire situation and Yang had not come through for her. Cognitive dissonance is a terrible thing...

"Yang, can you get to the dorm, the princess is crying and Ruby has no idea what's going on and neither do I." -Blake

Yang read the message on her scroll. What had happened? She went out to pick up a book for Blake and ended up giving in to her drinking habits. Naturally, Ruby just had to get herself into another issue she couldn't fix on her own.

Now, Yang pondered not going home and just staying with a friend for the night. Why should she? She didn't have Blake's book, and she wasn't in the mood to deal with a spoiled crybaby and a waspish little girl.

Two good reasons not to head back to Beacon. Was there a third? How about the fact Blakey wouldn't like that she went out for a book and came back drunk. Yes, there it was... the complications of drinking and having a "good girl" girlfriend.

Yang looked around the room. Filthy men and women were everywhere. The bar she sat at was away from everyone else, but close enough the bartender to keep her glass filed. The atmosphere was heavy with cigarette smoke and regurgitated drinks.

Yang figured there just weren't enough classy drinkers in Vale to keep the place at a higher standard.

It didn't matter. As long as she got quality alcohol, she'd put up with the horrible crowd.

She looked down at her glass. It was half empty. Or was it half full? Yang just wished someone would figure out the damn answer so it would stop bugging her.

Might as well make it all empty. She downed the drink. Would she go back? At least she could sleep on her own bed after a thorough talk with Blake.

Yeah, why not. She goes hopped off the bar stool she sat on and made her way through the building and out the door without too much trouble.

Now where did she park Bumblebee? Shouldn't be too hard to find, it's a big yellow motorcycle.

After searching for a good half hour, and ignoring a "where the hell are you?" from Blake, she found it about five meters from the entrance to the bar. How quaint.

Throwing on her helmet and getting on her ride, she wondered if it would be safe to drive home.

It's only a few miles, what harm could it do?

She started the ignition and Bumblebee roared to life, and she was off.

So this story. It's... Very somber. Oh well.