Colors of Remnant

If it had been any other day, if it had been any other moment, if that fateful field mission had turned out any other way, then Citrine would have had a proper, witty response already on her lips. She wouldn’t have had a care in the world. She would have shrugged the professor off and driven away with a cackle. But it wasn’t any other day, or moment, or timeline, it was this day, and this moment, and that field mission had turned out the way it did. So Citrine didn’t have a proper, witty response already on her lips, she couldn’t fire back snarky comments like she had a machine gun for a tongue, she did have a care in the world. One, single thing to care about. So rather than shrugging the professor off and driving away cackling, all she could do was fix her with a knife sharp glare, her makeup smudged and waterline still wet with unshed tears, as she hissed her response through gritted teeth:

“Fuck. Off.”

She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, she had planned on sitting through the opening ceremony in the back with her hood up and her head down. How could she build any type of reputation if people saw her crying on the first day? Even if she gave off the general vibe that she didn’t care what other people thought of her, she still needed to make a proper impression, she had her pride to protect. She had hoped she could get to a bathroom and clean away all evidence of tears before anyone saw her, but evidently she wasn’t going to have the chance. That only dampened her mood further. Now she had to deal with some stupid uptight professor ruining all her damn plans! And for what? What could she possibly be doing wrong yet? Was she being too “rowdy” again? The teachers back at her primary combat school had always complained that she was too rowdy. Was it Ex-Machina? God forbid she drive a bike outside on what was basically a road.

She jerked her shoulder away from the professor’s grip. “Now is not the time.” Her voice wavered with anger and the tears she was trying to keep from shedding.

She disappeared in a wink of green light, reappearing several feet away. She continued to slowly wheel her bike in with the crowd, hoping that professor had the brains to just leave her alone. She could feel frustration boiling beneath her skin. She couldn’t deal with some up tight professor at the moment, and with everything that had happened on the ride in too, that pompous cowboy had come up to her right after she had messaged Rosalie. Did she have a sign over her head blaring PLEASE ONLY TALK TO ME WHEN I’M SAD or something? Why did everyone have to approach her when she clearly didn’t want to talk to them!

“On second thought, this place is shit, Rose, you probably wouldn’t like it,” she muttered. She knew that wasn’t true, Rosalie wouldn’t have had a problem with that professor scolding, she would have agreed with them, in fact; Rosalie had always hated when Citrine brought her bike to places when she didn’t need it. Citrine could practically hear Rosalie pestering her about it now.

“Well if you didn’t want me bringing it everywhere, why did you make it so awesome?” She filled in her standard reply under her breath. She didn’t particularly care if anyone heard her at the moment, they could judge all they wanted, that wouldn’t stop her from at least pretending her sister was still around.

Honeydew wasn't surprised when the student, the rulebreaker, had given her lip and immediately wandered off again. She sighed where she stood amongst the crowd, almost regretting not wearing her usual uniform, she probably looked something like an indomitable force of willpower that some new student might consider 'uptight'. It wasn't an entirely wrong assessment, though her laces were wound far less tightly than one might expect from her presence. She'd bide her time, as was usually proper, it wasn't hard to locate where Citrine had moved to, and she wormed her way through the crowd, coming up at the student's side again a couple minutes later, hopefully long enough to give her time to simmer down.

Unfortunately, her job mandated her behavior in this case. If it were up to her, she'd leave the broody teen alone and go about her merry way, it wasn't exactly pleasant to have to reprimand new students when they were clearly in a bad mood. But, she knew that without guidance, these things tended to become worse by comparison and furthermore, she had actually read the full report on one Rosalie Locke, evidently sister to Citrine, paperwork regarding student deaths in the line of duty were a nasty business that tended to get as many staff as possible involved. For Honeydew, though, such matters went with the job. It was easy enough to look at a paper and shake one's head over the loss of another, but it was markedly different to see the effects such things had in person. She was lucky, in a sense, that this wasn't her first time. She still remembered how hard it had been back then.

When she finally approached Citrine again, she stood silently like a sentinel for a moment while another professor welcomed the students to Beacon. They were about to go in to the various facilities one might find here and the kinds of classes one could expect. It was important information, but something told her that Citrine wasn't exactly in the mood to listen or care. This would be tricky. She'd have to be stern, but understanding.

"It would be wise to listen, Miss Locke," she said while looking toward the stage of the ballroom, not at Citrine, she didn't want this to seem like something other than what it was. She wasn't here to impose, really.

"But somehow I believe that's not your intention." Here was when she chose to finally look down at the shorter girl, and oddly enough, she smiled. Honeydew's smile had always been a sight, it was warm and kind and she was a beautiful woman, it was her intent to disarm Citrine.

"You're going to end up in my office one way or another, Miss Locke, but if you feel like leaving this place at this very moment, I'm not against taking you now. But you'll miss out on valuable information for the future, which isn't something I suggest," she said, "You'll have to learn, because in battle, letting Rosalie distract you could be a matter of life and death." Her voice was low, so others wouldn't simply overhear this, but her tone was still very serious when she said it. Honeydew understood this. She knew better than anybody how loss could effect the mind. It also didn't help to ignore it. There was probably only one way, to deal with it face-forward, but it was never easy. And this wasn't exactly the place for that, either.

For a moment, Citrine let herself believe she had lost the professor, that she would get her wish and be left alone. She parked her bike in the back of the auditorium, dismounting and leaning back against it as she flipped her hood up, just as she had planned. Maybe, if that professor stayed out of the way, she could get through this, she could just grit her teeth through the whole presentation then go find someplace to clean up her smudged makeup.

So of course it was just her luck that that professor came to find her again. She noted her movement out of the corner of her eye, but refused to turn and acknowledge her. She rolled her eyes at the professor’s words, but didn’t reply. She could just get the information later like she always had. Citrine crossed her arms over her chest, mostly as a way to indicate she couldn’t care less about whatever the professor was saying, bust also as an attempt to hide the way her hands were still shaking. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, thus missing the professor’s smile. Why couldn’t this professor see she clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk?

Her fingers curled into fists, gripping the fabric of her coat hard enough her knuckles turned white. Rosalie was supposed to be here with her. She was supposed to listen to the stupid presentation for her then tell her everything later. Citrine bit down on her lower lip, trying to calm herself with slow, deep breaths. The longer she was here the more it felt like salt in a wound, reminder after reminder of things she should have been experiencing with her sister, reminder after reminder of why she couldn’t.

Hearing the professor’s next words, Citrine’s demeanor seemed to change in an instant. She pulled both her headphones and her hood down abruptly, turning to glare up at the professor, her eyes burning.

“You keep her name out of your rotten mouth,” she snarled. With that, she stormed out of the auditorium, her bike dissolved in a pixilated flash of green light a moment later—she hadn’t had the space to drive it out properly. The professor had said she could leave, so she would take the liberty of doing so. She didn’t want to hang around for a presentation she cared nothing about, and she certainly didn’t want to deal with the professor anymore.

She picked a random hallway and began to walk, Ex-Machina—being paired with her scroll—followed alongside her. Even she had to admit that sometimes driving a bike wasn’t the best way to go, sometimes it felt a lot better to physically walk away from something, to feel the ground beneath her feet as she moved, letting her know she was leaving the situation behind. Maybe the professor would get the memo now and stop chasing after her; she doubted that would be the case though. Whatever, she would just keep walking until the professor caught up to her.

Her hand reached up subconsciously to trace along her lower lip, she itched for a smoke, needing to dull the still-rising tide within her. But she had already determined earlier that she didn’t have an extra pack on her. Even so, she searched her pockets a second time, once again coming up empty.

“Dammit!” The heel of her boot stomped sharply against the floor. She stopped walking in order to search Ex-Machina; the bike had a whole collection of random, small compartments for storage. Technically they were meant to store extra ammo for Verenium Strýchnos and combustion dust crystals to fuel Ex-Machina, but Citrine had found them handy to store any number of other small things. Like cigarettes, and extra cash, and weird cool rocks.

“Please please please….” She muttered as she searched the various compartments. She had to suppress a cheer as one compartment yielded two random cigarettes, alongside a small pile of jewelry she had discarded in her last combat encounter and, well, interesting rocks.

Satisfied, Citrine continued to walk through the empty hallway as she lit up the cigarette, feeling the tension start to seep from her body at the first breath. Maybe if the presentation lasted long enough, she could spend some time walking around the halls to cool off before returning to the auditorium.

As expected, the fiery student lashed out in anger at her for her even daring to mention her departed sister. Honeydew sighed as soon as this happened, she knew patience was required, but in her mind, it was a bit of a sorry affair that Citrine couldn't get it together on the very first day at Beacon. She sincerely hoped that it wouldn't come down to her to eventually have to break this as a habit, if she showed this kind of emotional instability in the future. It wasn't the kind of thing a Huntsman could have in combat, it could literally get her killed. But, Honeydew wasn't adverse to the idea that young adults, such as Citrine, were often less educated in healthy coping skills and other such ways to mitigate the problem...

And she was unsurprised when Citrine left.

She let her go, and didn't immediately give chase this time. If she needed a bit of time to collect herself, then fine. But, eventually, she did follow, doing what she did best and keeping out of sight while she tailed along after the student.

She refrained from directly observing her, understanding that it wouldn't matter if she did or not, but also that it was better to give her some semblance of privacy at the very moment, and so instead, she circled around using a short-cut she knew of in the campus halls, and decided it best to cut her off later. Then, she waited.

Eventually, Citrine did approach her, the empty halls allowing for the telltale noise of footsteps to be heard easily by the Professor, whom was standing behind a pillar near a doorway. The door was familiar to her, of course... It was her office. And when Citrine finally reached her, she stepped out, grabbing her wrist, and yanking her suddenly and seriously through the door and into the office.

No sooner than they had stepped inside, did she let go of the girl's hand and give her a gentle shove backward, where her knees would meet a chair, so she could have a seat. Honeydew shut the door behind them, and stayed there, standing in front of the doorway and crossing her arms. She wore a serious expression, though it wasn't a menacing one, and she leaned up against the filing cabinet next to the door in the windowless room, and finally let out another sigh.

"For the record, I don't want to be doing this, Miss Locke, but your unwillingness to listen is going to dictate my behavior. So if you'd please put out that cigarette and listen for a moment, you might find that I can be a bit more reasonable than you might assume," she said, quirking an eyebrow from behind her red-rimmed glasses, waiting.

The flood of grief and frustration slowly drained from Citrine as she continued to wander down hallways. The logical side of her knew she would need to get her act together if she wanted to stay here, but she figured she was allotted a day of grieving and adjusting before she swallowed everything and masked it with her usual upbeat attitude. Surely her mourning could be justified, at least for today. She was surrounded by reminders of a future she had planned with Rosalie, a future she couldn’t have now. But she was aware her performance would suffer should she continue as she was, so, blowing soft trails of smoke from her parted lips, she scattered her grief like ashes, letting it spill from her with every step, seep into the linoleum, until she felt composed enough to return to the auditorium.

Only, she never got a chance to return. As she turned down another hallway, a hand closed around her arm. She didn’t have a chance to glitch away before she was pulled roughly into a room. She stumbled back a few steps to collapse into the chair she had been pushed in. Immediately, she was in the process of pushing herself to her feet, one hand flying up to grab Verenium Strýchnos, before her gaze landed on the person who grabbed her. Oh, this bitch. Registering who it was—i.e., not some random person wanting to jump her—Citrine relaxed back into the chair, her hand lowering from her weapon. A quick glance around the room told her she couldn’t Glitch out of here, and the stupid professor was blocking the damn door. Great.

Citrine slouched in the chair, a scowl creasing her countenance. “Th’fuck you want?” She sneered, her brow furrowed in a glare. She scoffed at the professor’s words, averting her gaze to her right as she blew a loose strand of hair from her face. She took her time inhaling an extra long drag from her cigarette, facing the professor once more just as she exhaled, sending the thick cloud of smoke towards the professor’s face. A satisfied, lopsided smirk crept across her features as she put her cigarette out on the desk behind her, leaving a faint scorch mark on the wood, it was nothing a bit of furniture cleaner and steel wool couldn’t get out.

“Happy?” She spat, her glower returning to her face. She tucked the remains of her cigarette behind her ear before crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze flickered briefly to the door once again. Ex-Machina was still out there, unattended. Citrine quickly slid her scroll from her pocket, locking her bike remotely. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone taking it while she was stuck in here with Professor Uptight. She returned her scroll to her pocket, taking a moment to pick at her nailpolish a bit before bothering to tune back in to her surroundings; if the professor had been saying anything at that time, she hadn’t been listening.

The Professor wasn't quite sure what to make of this girl, yet. Sure, she'd read her file, knew about her ambitions, her personal attachments, surface-level things given to her by the results of her entrance examination and psych evaluation, but it was difficult at best to remind herself that she, too, had been a moody teenager once upon a time. Still, she could put herself in this kid's shoes, that wasn't hard. Loss was fairly universal. But the rest of it, the way she was acting, that was the confusing measure. Was she answering anguish with rebellion? Lashing out? She stayed where she was, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed for a moment while the girl put her cigarette out on the desk and blew smoke at her face. She stared at Citrine, unphased. A little smoke wasn't about to harm her.

"What I want is to do my job," she answered, "And that includes reprimanding people who smoke and drive their motorcycles within, or in this case on campus walls." For a moment, she continued looking at the girl rather intensely, until she finally sighed and pushed with her shoulder so she was standing a few inches in front of the door. Her hand pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I'm not stupid, I know this isn't going to be easy for either of us, but it's well within my power to offer you a compromise. I don't want to punish you, any more than you want to be sitting here, but as far as I can tell, you're a smart girl, you know why you're sitting here, now. Are you even listening to me?" she questioned, a hint of frustration in her voice when Citrine finally looked at her.

"Look, I get it. You're not feeling good inside. You're probably hurt, and what better to deal with it than a bit of comforting fun, cigarettes, a joy ride? But you know where you are. You know this place isn't right for foolish choices. So I'll tell you now that you're not in any serious trouble, but you can consider this your warning. Now that that's out of the way..." She leaned over and dragged the second chair next to Citrine over and sat in it, still blocking the door. She wasn't taking a chance letting her run again, for now she was stuck here, and that was how it was going to be until they could reach some kind of understanding.

Honeydew crossed her leg and placed her hands on her knee, leaning a bit forward to address Citrine more directly.

"You don't need to admit fault, because as far as I'm concerned, you're not necessarily doing anything wrong. Rules are there for a reason, but they're only effective as a tool if the person they apply to stands to gain anything by having them enforced. In this case, I have a feeling it'd just piss you off, not help at all. So then, that begs the question. What would?" Her deep blue gaze was locked on Citrine's face. She paused, as if expecting Citrine to answer the abstract question.

Citrine couldn’t help the exasperated groan that escaped her lips. “Oh my god,” she scoffed, “it wasn’t like I was drivin’ it in hallways or whatever, that fuckin’ courtyard shit is basically a road! It’s the most logical place to drive a bike here anyways!” She personally couldn’t see how driving a bike around the boulevard was doing any harm. It wasn’t like she’d hit anyone, she’d known what she was doing.

A harsh scowl crossed her face as the professor sat down across from her. She took a moment to respond, fixing the professor with a narrow eyed glare as she internally battled herself. On the one hand, she had a reputation to make and uphold: she needed to be carefree, wild, rebellious, a force of chaos with nothing else beneath it, pure and genuine and powerful. But on the other hand, she had never been one to explicitly hide her feelings or avoid talking about them. Maybe she owed it to Rosalie to at least explain her behaviour to this professor. She didn’t want to admit it, but the professor was right, she knew she had to be more careful with her actions, couldn’t risk getting expelled just because she was feeling petty. Of course, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be expelled right away—she’d gotten good at judging the limits of discipline over the years—but she still owed it to Rosalie to at least try and do better. Right?

Then again, the professor had just ended her little speech with the most obscure question ever. How the hell was she supposed to answer that? The professor was probably trying to be vague on purpose, make her look like an idiot by trying to answer such an open ended question. Citrine felt defiance curl in her stomach. She really, really hated being looked down on, and no one excelled at doing that more than some goddamn, nosey-ass teachers who just wanted to hold their dumb, stupid power over her! Feeling cornered, Citrine did what she did best: she got snappy.

Citrine launched to her feet, her jaw clenched in a quiet growl.

“What would do what?” She questioned. “What would make me feel better? What would help me?” She paced across the small office as she spoke, rolling eyes in an exaggerated manner. Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Uh, gee, I don’t know, maybe not getting all up in my ass within ten fucking seconds of being on campus? Maybe allowing me one goddamn day to grieve for a future that I’m being constantly reminded that I can’t have? Or hey, maybe actually waiting to see how I handle shit before accusing me of being distracted by Rosalie. Newsflash, she’s not a distraction! She’s a drive, she’s the reason I didn’t revoke my application, her memory does more good than harm.”

With a huff, Citrine stopped pacing, sitting down on the edge of the desk to signal the end of her tirade. She suppressed a cringe as she recognized the potential consequences of her outburst. Of course, she knew her actions were completely justified, she had to make sure that damn professor knew she wouldn’t put up with her condescending spiel, and she had her reputation to uphold, but she also knew it was possible the professor wouldn’t see it that way. Great.

What would Rosalie do?

Apologize, probably.

No, in reality she would never snap at a professor like that in the first place. But if she ever did, she would apologize.

God, Citrine sucked at apologies.

She sighed quietly, not daring to look up. Her gaze wandered over the desk, picking up and toying with random items. Her voice was low and noticeably reluctant as she spoke. “Just…. You know Rosalie was supposed to come here with me. So seeing everything for the first time… it’s hard to be excited when she was supposed to be excited with me. It’s just a reminder of what I can’t have anymore.” There. Good enough. Maybe now this stupid professor would let her go.

Honeydew had enough tact to know where this was going. In a sense, it needed to happen, the emotional tension that radiated from this girl was palpable enough that all she had to do was reach out and touch it and it'd snap. In fact, that's pretty much exactly what happened, though it came out with enough force that it still surprised her, and she straightened up a bit in her chair, a momentary look of shock crossing her porcelain face, though it very quickly died away and she simply watched Citrine with a calm demeanor, letting her vent. Well, she'd answered the question, even if she didn't know it. She needed a bit of time to get it out, it seemed, and though this was certainly a thing Citrine could've done without her intervention, she knew the value of having somebody next to you who could witness it, see it. Validate.

She let her burn it off for a moment longer, then she finally sat on her desk and started fiddling with her things. Well, good to know personal boundaries weren't really this one's strong suit... She didn't mind, though. The trinkets on her desk weren't that important. There was a small accolade, reduced now to a paper weight, a shiny gold statuette depicting Atlas' coat of arms, the inscription read: "Colonel Henna, 4th Division, Meritous Unit Commendation for valor in the line of duty." A name she scarcely remembered except in passing. There was also her name-plate, "Professor Honeydew Rainbow Monarch", it read, that was more for the students than anything. They could be bad with names.

Honeydew leaned forward again and rested her cheek on her hand, elbow on her knee, and oddly enough, she smiled. It wasn't a sly sort, either, in fact it was something more revealing, a tender sort of face that a mother might give a child who'd accidentally scraped their knee. This poor girl... She did feel bad about this, but it was her job to have a talk with people who broke the rules, especially before they were even fully inducted in to the fold. But when Citrine finally opened up a bit, and told her what was wrong, confirming her suspicions, though it didn't make her feel any better herself. This part of the job was the hardest, save delivering messages to parents who's children hadn't made it through training. It reminded her, though. Reminders of a time long gone, her own time as a student in these very halls, and she stood up, taking a few steps toward Citrine, stopping short in the middle of the room.

"Seems you've answered my question. I know you're not in the mood for sympathy, but... I want to show you something." She turned her head to the side, inclining it slightly so Citrine would follow her gaze. There, on the wall, above her small book shelf, was a shield, atop which rested a long, curved sword. She stepped a few more times to close the gap to it, then gently touched the end of the blade, still sharp after all these years.

"This sword belonged to someone I once knew. Never since has there been as stalwart a warrior as the man who carried this blade in to battle. Terin... I still miss him. But you know what? I think you're right. She is your drive, just as he was mine. After he... passed away, well... Let's just say I changed. So much so that now, I'm here, standing before you and dragging on your bootheels, making your life a little more troublesome for a few minutes today. But this sword represents why I wanted to bring you here. For one, I hope you can learn to recognize that I'm on your side, that I understand how you feel. But for two, I'm a teacher, and the experience and wisdom I've come across, that hard-won knowledge, is mine to pass on. And I will, if you'll let me. You remind me of somebody from long ago. The same untempered passion, or maybe I'm wrong, after all I've only read your folder maybe twice, but you're confirming most of the assessment." She paused to chuckle slightly, a warm sort of laugh, perhaps Citrine would find it strange that she could be jovial when discussing such serious topics, but that was par for the course when it came to her way of doing things.

"You'll come to learn, as most students do, that I'm obsessed with prevention. I want to tell you these things because without them, you could just as easily trip over your own drive as I did at your age, and as fate would see it, that's when disaster strikes. It's one thing to use your experiences, your past as a tool, but what many might not realize is that these sorts of things, loss, I mean, they aren't the hammer. They're only the anvil. They're the base on which you can forge your weapons, but you, you're the hammer. And without the anvil, well... You would just be banging on wood. Sorry to be cryptic, but my point is... I think you'd benefit a lot from training with me. You'll have to endure my usual classes, sure, but every so often I have time to tutor students, one on one. And I'd give you the opportunity, if you want it. I can tell you're passionate, and that can serve you well. Nobody is perfect, and everyone makes mistakes, but if you use them right, well... It'll be the steel with which you forge your sword. Of course, you wouldn't have a choice, if it were left to the rules the school sets for first-year infractions, but... I'm not above bending the rules, either, if it serves the students. So. Are you willing to waive punishment for a little hands-on learning?" Honeydew crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, looking fairly inquisitive there with the glimmering shield of her former partner just beyond her shoulder.

He'd have liked this girl. Of course he would have, he'd always found it amusing when somebody stood up to Honeydew's authority. Back then, it would've pissed her rightly off, but after all that had happened... Well, it was much easier to shrug off the slights of others who didn't quite respect her, because she knew that she wouldn't have to prove it to them in the long run. Her reputation existed for a reason, after all. She might get a little flak from the faculty later on for dropping punishment in this case, but it would be worth it for the chance to train somebody similar to herself.