Clean Slates and Classmates [Open; 4/4]

[Citrine Locke]

Airships. Citrine had never liked airships. The only other time she had flown in one had been the ride to the city a few days ago, and she had spent the entire time avoiding windows. She wasn’t afraid of heights, per say, but she wasn’t a big fan of having nothing around for Ex-Machina to stick to. If the ship went down, sticking to it wouldn’t help anything, there were no buildings to land on, not even any cliffsides, just open air, and trees far below. Maybe it was a bit ridiculous, being scared of falling when she could just Glitch to the ground, but she couldn’t help the nerves that ticked through her. Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the seat of Ex-Machina, far from matching the beat of the music that played through her neon green headphones. She began fiddling with Ex-Machina’s dashboard, dusting it as best she could. Numerous joyrides through the sandy streets of Vacuo had left it impossible for the bike to ever be truly clean, there would always be some amount of sand wedged in gaps and under controls, but she tried her hardest to keep her prized possession in the best shape as possible.

The prized possession in question was a large, black and green motorcycle that Citrine was lounging on like a throne. She had been given the option to transport it in the below-deck storage level, but she had declined. She was out to meet as many people as she could, and she was banking on Ex-Machina to attract attention, especially in a place like this. It was her favourite conversation topic, after all, and she was just itching to show it off. Citrine herself wasn’t one to blend in with a crowd either, her shock of bright white hair—pulled up in a hastily assembled pony tail—made her easy to spot. She had a half burned, but currently unlit, cigarette held between her lips, almost as though she had forgotten it was even there.

Citrine took her scroll from her pocket, quickly snapping a picture of the deck. She adjusted her position on Ex-Machina as she focused on her scroll, sending the image to an old contact with the caption Missing you on an airship. Again. She exhaled a soft, shaking breath as she hit send. She continued to stare down at the screen, hoping that maybe, by some miracle, she’d get a response. After a minute she had to accept that ghosts couldn’t use scrolls, and shut hers off, returning it to the pocket of her black trench coat.

Raising her head, Citrine tried to find something else to distract herself. She passed her golden gaze around the deck of the airship, focusing on the people around her. This was her life now, this was her present, she couldn’t do anything if she was still living in the passed. Her fingers resumed drumming against the side of her seat as she tried to take in the other students on board while not spending too much time looking out any windows, which, given the numerous large windows that lined the walls, wasn’t the easiest of feats.

She wanted to change the song playing through her headphones, but doing so would require accessing her scroll, and she had a strict policy against using her scroll for as long as possible after messaging Rosalie’s old number. Otherwise, she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from checking for a response. So instead of changing songs, Citrine resorted to sliding her headphones down around her neck.

She dismounted from her bike to stretch her legs, she couldn’t handle sitting still for any significant period of time. How long was this ride supposed to take? She was certain it had been several hours, but the clock on the wall said it had only been about eight minutes. Time always passed slower when she had nothing to do, time was cruel that way. She was aching to talk with any of the other students, but she didn’t want to leave Ex-Machina unattended, plus she wouldn’t be able to show it off if she went off to find people to talk to. Decisions decisions decisions. She had never been good at making decisions. She remounted her bike with a sigh, leaning against the handle bars and hoping something interesting would happen soon, otherwise she was pretty sure she would drop dead with boredom.

[Bastion Sandstone]

Here he was. It had taken so long, but finally he was on his way to Beacon Academy. The officers at the docks almost didn't accept his paperwork until the last minute. But he had done it. Through the trecks and hitchhikes and asking for directions, he was on the last leg.

He leaned against the glass of the skyship, looking down below at the trees. He still marveled at how many there were, despite the past week or so of travel. The gentle and excited chatter from the other students put a soft smile on his face. And then music began blaring from someone's headphones.

He turned to see the bored looking girl on her oversized motorcycle. Or, was she sad and trying to distract herself but was failing? Her headphones had been taken off, but the song kept playing, and loud. She also seemed quite found of that motorcycle. For one, it wasn't in the cargo hold but on the deck with everyone else. She wanted people to see it, or at the least, she didn't want to let it out of her sight. Either way, it looked impressive and just about everyone was willing to gush about their gear.

Bastion Sandstone, brown toned clothing, cowboy boots with spurs, wide-brimmed hat, larger-than-life magnum on his hip and everything else walked up to the girl. "Ma'am, could you do me a favor?" He asked genuinely, and a little louder than normal in order to be heard over the music but not by much. He wanted it to be a little hard to hear him, especially with those headphones so close to her ears. "Could you tell me about this child between a moped and a military humvee?" He would repeat himself if necessary, of course, hoping that she would turn down the volume.

That was his whole goal, really. To get the volume down. However, telling people to quiet their music, especially those who hugged corners like this one, didn't make good first impressions. The cigarette poking out of her mouth told Bastion that she wasn't one who cared much for rules, conventional or otherwise. But her bike was probably something she would talk about.

[Carmine Crest]

So this was going to be his life for the next four years, huh? Chocolate colored eyes slowly roamed around the crowd, taking in the details of what was going to be his classmates while judging their appearances and how they carried themselves, trying to decipher who was going to become who. The guy with the long black hair in the corner was probably going to be a loner much like himself, the two shared brief eye contact and with a single nod of their heads, a pact was made to leave the other one alone. With his pact made with the other local loner, Carmine's eyes resumed their wandering and so far, nobody was catching his eye too greatly, stereotypical teenagers from all sorts of walks with all different ways to try and catch attention, yet nobody seemed worth knowing better, at least not until he saw them fight.

However the sudden blaring of music caught the teen's attention, the plain white mask now turned to his right, just out of his initial view of the crowd was another girl he had noted when he finished entered the airship. A lone girl sitting atop her motorcycle with her headphone now resting around her neck while her expression seemed to be screaming that she was bored out of her mind. Frankly, he written her off as just another rebellious loner type, she was on the interesting side but Carmine was too tired to try and navigate his way into the girl's barriers that she likely has, the headphones and her previous expression seemed to be that of someone wanting to be alone. Yet the act of taking of her headphones and allowing them to play as loud as they were seemed to have done it's job of attracting attention as Carmine's eyes immediately went toward what appeared to be a cowboy making his way to the rebel girl.

Carmine's eyes took in the new person he must've missed among the sea of people, the man seemed like he could probably take and deliver a hell of a punch and the large revolver resting on his hip suggested he was likely a mid to close range fighter, although the question on his mind was just what type of fighter he was up close? Between talking to the two most interesting people he found so far or doing nothing, it wasn't a hard choice for Carmine. With a soft sigh to himself, Carmine begun to make his way toward the duo while trying to think of something to say, he wasn't certain what the rebel's response would be to what he assumed to be the cowboy's demand to turn down the music. Then again, he was assuming the duo wouldn't get into a fight, that seemed very possible. At the very least he'd have front row seats to Beacon's first fight.

[Fuchsia Iris Ükhel]

Boats, bikes, cars, or airships, none of them were appealing right now. Two feet on the ground would have been nicer. The throng of people was displeasing as well, to say the least. Everything sucked. Why'd she even come here anyway?

These were the types of things running through the mind of a seemingly agitated Faunus, her large, dark ears twitching in barely-restrained annoyance. It wasn't enough that she'd already made a bit of a scene getting on board when the pissant conductor had made her put out her cigarette. At least he'd backed the hell off before commenting on her knife.

The small balisong she was fiddling with in one hand wasn't anything really in comparison to the Avenger, but the smaller blade did enough to restrain her nerves as she flipped it open, then closed, then rolled it around her hand again to open it, then closed it again. The motions were minute but intricate, and coupled with the menacing glare that graced her piercing golden eyes, she probably looked the least bit approachable out of everybody present.

The airship was a sickening display of luxury as far as she was concerned. Many of the people on board she took to be some kind of upper class blowhards; she knew she was being harsh, but she didn't give a damn at the moment. Her tail lashed back and forth behind her head while she walked toward the back of the passenger cabin, her free hand in the pocket of her thick leather jacket, at least until she took her seat and slumped backward with a grumpy look on her face that could've warded away a wild animal. But while she made a point at first to ignore the outside world and stare out the window when the airship finally took off and they were underway, she eventually started to calm down a little bit, and her face softened, returning to a more relaxed posture of being vaguely pissed off. In her idle state, old habits took root, and it wasn't long before her ancient past time settled in, and she began to turn to the people around her for entertainment.

First up to bat was the creeper in the mask. What the hell was that kid's deal? He looked like some kind of whacky cultist crossed with a shut-in lacking in fashion sense. Far as she knew, this was a boat load of students bound for Beacon, but was he really one of them?

And then there was this cowboy dude. Way out of his element, wasn't he? He looked like something from a bad spaghetti western and the jingling of his spurs when he walked made her ear flick. Her face wound up in some kind of mixture between confusion and disgust. Were these really supposed to be her peers?

At least the girl the cowpoke was inclined to approach seemed something close to normal. Wait, no, she brought a bike on board. With this, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, briefly stopping the constant motion of sheathing and unsheathing her butterfly knife, sinking lower into her seat and returning her eyes to the window. Damn, and here Dargo had told her she'd be with "a selection of peers like her". These clowns were nothing like her... But then again, she didn't even know what she was, herself. Fuchsia could tell she was being overly judgemental. Normally, people-watching was mildly entertaining, but right now it was just bothering her with the mix of strangers in this place. She'd felt isolated even before getting on board, but this frame of mind wasn't exactly helping with that at all...

So for now, she continued to steep in her bad mood, eyes occasionally locking on somebody or another, the miasma of her foul thoughts pervading her face, her ears, and her tail.

[Citrine Locke]

Citrine flinched visibly at the sudden increase of her music’s volume. It looked like the song had finally changed, and it was significantly louder than the one she had been previously listening to. She reached into her pocket and quickly lowered the volume without having to actually look at her scroll, before adjusting her scroll slightly so it wasn’t leaning on the volume button anymore.

She glanced up to see if anyone else had heard her musical mishap, and wasn’t surprised to see someone walking over. A quick glance over his presentation and she could easily tell they shared a hometown. The cowboy getup had Vacuo written all over it. The second thing she realized was he was quite tall. Great. She hated feeling short. She was vaguely aware of someone else approaching as well, most likely drawn by her accidental rock concert as well. And she here had been thinking her bike would attract all the attention, especially given she was parked more or less in the center of the cabin, but evidently it had been her music that had gotten people to notice her. Odd, but she wasn’t about the complain, attention was attention either way.

She lost interest in the second person as soon as she heard the question about her vehicle. So maybe Ex-Machina was attracting attention after all. She perked up instantly. Finally! Something interesting to do!

“This is-” Her half used cigarette dropped from her lips as soon as she started talking. Right, she’d forgotten she even had that. Before the cigarette could hit the ground, it disappeared in a flash of green light, reappearing in Citrine’s hand. She tapped a bit of extra ash away before tucking the cigarette behind her ear for safe keeping. “This is Ex-Machina,” she continued without missing a beat. She dismounted her bike to display it properly. “Built for mounted combat, joyrides, and avoiding traffic, and it’s pretty damn good at street racing too. But mainly she’s my weapon of choice, I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Her eyes landed back on the other guy who had been attracted by her music. She could see now he was wearing a mask of some type. Immediately a thousand and one questions about the mask cascaded through her mind. Why did he have it? Was he hiding something? What did he look like beneath it? Did it have any special properties? Did he wear it all the time? Did he sleep with it on? What would he do if she pulled it off? Could she even pull it off? What if it was permanently glued to his face? That would be super weird wouldn’t it?

Rather than voicing her numerous questions, Citrine grinned and spoke up. “Oi!” She called to the masked boy. “If you want to look then come look, no use lurking around in the background like that!” As she spoke, she jumped up so she was standing on the seat of her bike. Much better, now she didn’t feel so short.

She took her cigarette from behind her ear, before pulling a matte black lighter from her coat pocket and relighting it. She wasn’t supposed to smoke on board, but she didn’t particularly care about that. Rules were meant to be broken after all, why else would they exist? To keep order? Pshh! Like that ever actually worked!

She exhaled a stream of smoke as she looked down at the two boys.

“I’m Citrine,” she introduced herself. “Resident cavalry.”

[Bastion Sandstone]

As he expected, the girl loved her bike. And her smokes, apparently, the way she saved that cigarette from touching the ground. She then called to somebody else, and it was easy to see how much she had perked up from the attention to her bike. Hopping up on the bike she began to... well, light her cigaratte and smoke. He understood her type a lot better now. She loved attention and breaking rules, doing what she wanted. However, she wasn't wholly selfish or she wouldn't be attending Beacon. Good sort, would care more about people than laws. She might make a fine Huntress.

"Citrine." He said, holding out his hand up to her for a shake. "I'm Bastion Sandstone. Pleased to meet you and your noble steed." I would then look at the newcomer and give him a nod. "Pleased to meet you as well, classmate." He held out a hand to the young man. One hidden in a cloak and mask was most likely used to aggression, but Bastion was always polite before anything else.

[Carmine Crest]

As Carmine walked toward the duo, his eyes remained focused on them, curious what they were saying yet the chatter of nearby people drowned out what was being said between the two yet judging by either side's aggressive reactions, he could probably say a fight wasn't about to happen. Which only left the topic of how the hell he was supposed to approach the two conflicting personalities, one of which seemed to be a rebellious loner and the other seemed to be a gentlemen cowboy, those two should be fighting one another or at least not getting along so well. Which means he must've paged one of them wrong or the cowboy was a lot more charming than he gave him credit for.

However the sudden flash of green caught his eye, his head tilting to the right ever so slightly as he watched what appeared to be a falling cigarette reappear in the girl's mouth once more. Now that was an interesting semblance.... He'd need to find out more about it. It seemed his watching wasn't unnoticed however as her almost golden colored eyes met his and she immediately grinned before calling him over. Confusion immediately set in, underneath the mask his eyebrow furrowed and a frown appeared on his face, he was used to attention but what exactly was she planning? Why call him over? A complete stranger with a mask.

Without any reason to remain in the crowd and away from their attention, he continued moving toward the duo, his eyes moving down toward the motorcycle the girl had brought along. Black and gray with accents of green made up the vehicle's colour scheme and the name of the bike written in white across the side "Ex-Machina", a nice name but then again, Carmine wasn't the best when it came to names, his initial draft for his weapons were Mister Right and Mister Left. Or the Punchy twins.

Speaking of names, the rebel introduced herself as Citrine. He felt like that was a name he was going have to keep an ear out for, if not for her talents then for the trouble she'd get herself into. The cowboy introduced himself next, Bastion Sandstone, the name that seemed fitting to the young man before it was Carmine's turn to introduce himself to the two as well. Removing his hands from his pockets and revealing his black cotton gloves and he took the cowboy's hand, giving a firm handshake as he was taught to.

"Carmine Crest. Pleased to meet you two." He would introduce himself with a simple nod spared toward the rebel in lieu of a handshake. "That flash of green.... Was that your semblance?" He would question the girl, his head tilting once more slightly to the side to better convey his curiosity, having grown accustomed to having to try and deliver his emotions with his plain mask.

[Fuchsia Iris Ükhel]

Well, Fuchsia thought, she wasn't about to be anywhere else, so she'd better strap in for the long ride from Vale to Beacon. Wasn't that long, really, but long enough to get comfortable. There wasn't anything else worthwhile on the ship, really, but she leaned forward onto the seat in front of her, resting her chin on one arm while her other hung over it, idly flipping about the knife in her hand again.

She didn't really notice it, but there was somebody sitting in the seat in front of her, a bird girl with a head full of yellow feathers who was staring sidelong at the blade while it whizzed about a couple feet to her right. She seemed to clutch her bag closer to herself and huddle toward the window and away from the moving weapon.

Without much else to look at, Fuchsia's eyes had settled on the pair of her so-called peers playing center-stage to the rest of the airship. Her eyes widened a little bit when she watched Citrine's overly ambitious reaction to a man greeting her. Her ear flicked again, she could barely make out the names being exchanged, something about citrus and rocks. Man, people had some weird names around here.

"This oughta be good," she idly murmured to herself when the masked boy joined them, but it was about that time that the scent of a cigarette flared her nostrils and returned the craving of nicotine to her mind. Damn it, and she had just stopped thinking about it, too.

"Yo, lady! Citrus, was it? Conductor'll be pissed if he catches you smokin' that in here. I'd know, he bitched me out about it a minute ago," she called over to the girl, her prominent golden eyes locked on Citrine's face while her blade hand whipped about steadily, keeping at least one of her hands busy. It was the only thing relieving her nerves right now, anyway. That and this strange cast of characters putting on a meager little show in front of her. She did note, though, that the cowboy seemed polite enough. She had respect for polite people, because stars knew she was anything but herself.

[Citrine Locke]

Citrine accepted the offered handshake from the cowboy; she had a decently firm shake, her fingers were calloused. She cast another glance over the man, what had he said his name was? She hadn’t fully been paying attention. Bas…. Bas…. Bastard…. Basting…. Bass… Sea Bass? Either way, she was quick to determine that this boy was probably the non-confrontational type, goody-two-shoes and all that. Ew. She didn’t have the patience for pleasantries.

She barely caught the masked guy’s name either. She had never been good with names, half the time she just resorted to whatever random nickname had come to her when first meeting the person. Seriously, what was up with his mask? It wasn’t even decorated or anything. Just a blank, white sheet. Like some bloody psychopath.

“No you were just really vividly hallucinating,” Citrine said, sarcasm dripping from her words. She scoffed lightly, her signature lopsided smirk dancing across her narrow features. “‘Course it was my semblance, dunce. What else would it be?” She took another drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. Maybe there was some type of smoke detector she could set off. “I call it Glitch,” she continued. “It’s teleportation, as far as I know.” She didn’t wait to ask if the two guys wanted a demonstration. She reached out and snatched the cowboy’s hat, promptly disappearing in a flash of green light, winking out of existence like an old tv screen shutting off. She reappeared midair by the clock, quickly hanging the hat off the corner of it before Glitching back to standing on Ex-Machina. “It can be so useful in a fight, especially with my baby here,” she tapped the seat of Ex-Machina with her foot. “Most of my opponents don’t really know what to do with a teleporting cavalry fighter.” She laughed nonchalantly as she spoke.

At the sound of a new voice, Citrine zeroed in on its source. The first thing she noticed was the blur of a knife in the girl’s hand, then the leather getup. Now this was a girl who looked more her speed. In response to the girl’s words, Citrine just blew a stream of smoke towards her. “Watch me not give a shit,” she stated, her voice lilting with playful snark. She almost didn’t even notice the fact that the girl called her Citrus. It would have been hypocritical for her to be mad, though, seeing as she was standing here having no idea what anyone’s name was despite the fact that they’d just introduced themselves.

There was a string coming from the hem of her trench coat. Her attention locked onto it briefly, picking at it. That was annoying. Now that she’d noticed it, she couldn’t stop noticing it. It wasn’t at a good angle for her to bite at, unfortunately. Neither Ex-Machina nor Verenium Strýchnos could help her here. She looked around briefly, before her eyes focused back on the cat girl’s knife. She gestured to the blade with a nod of her head.

“Oi, could I see that blade for a second?”

[Bastion Sandstone]

"Now hold on, Miss." Bastion said, putting one hand on his hip. "Carmine Crest himself just came up and was nice as can be, and you insult the good man so?" Bastion had never met or heard of this kid before, but maybe if she thought he was famous or something, maybe even in her own league, that she might show some respect. He doubted it, but it was worth a shot.

And then she took his hat.

Bastion didn't react, but heard the sound of her reappearing and followed it to see her hooking his hat on the clock before 'Glitching' back to her bike. Some outraged people might have drawn their weapons there, some others would have raised their voices or gotten upset. Bastion just sighed. She wasn't going to provoke him, not a squirt like this, and he had a much longer fuse than that. But he was quite baffled at her conduct when nobody had been anything but polite to her.

He calmly went over to retrieve his hat. It wasn't much of a problem given that the deck didn't have that high of a cieling and he was quite tall. Putting it back squarly on his head, he made his way back as another girl called out to Citrine about her smoking on board. He glanced over and assessed her quickly. Leather jacket, butterfly knife, looked bored. Practically the same as Citrine except not begging for attention and then being rude to those who gave it. Nonetheless, Bastion agreed that the cigarette should be put out. Made an awful smell.

If she didn't respond well to cordial behavior from others, perhaps he ought to be a bit rougher. "You might be giving more than one when he tosses you out the back, keeping your wallet as a fine." He had half the mind to add that he should apologize to Carmine and for her language, but he felt that she had a certain disrespect for authority figures, present evidence excluded. If Bastion made himself to be one by requesting that like some school teacher, which he wasn't, she would never accept it. Too prideful.

[Carmine Crest]

A frown once more found itself on his face as he listened to the girl's snarky reply, but he could safely ignore it in favor of listening to the girl's explanation about her semblance, which was something that the cowboy apparently couldn't do as he was quick to defend him against the girl's snark. Turning his head toward the cowboy and tilting it to the right once more, Carmine was confused on who the hell this person was and how he had apparently knew him. He opened his mouth to speak but the girl took this time to reach out and grab the cowboy's hat before teleporting into the air and placing his hat atop a clock before she reappeared on the ground.

The frown on Carmine's face only deepened as the cowboy set off to retrieve his hat, the taller man having no problem taking it back but the fact the girl wasn't uncomfortable in taking somebody's attire was the more concerning prospect for himself. "As interesting as your semblance is, I'd appreciate it if you refrain from using it on me." Carmine would inform the rebel, unsure if his words would have his desired effect since this girl was rather confusing, his initial guess was rebellious loner then it seemed she was some sort of friendly rebel and now she was just another rebel? What exactly was she?

A new voice calling out had brought his attention as he turned to face whoever decided they were interested in this display. A cat faunus he must've glossed over had called out a warning to the rebel who promptly replied in something that was more fitting for someone of her appearance and his general read of the girl. This new girl however? His eyes stared at her for a bit as he wondered why she would give a warning in the first place, she seemed almost gothic in her appearance and judging by how she was already warned against smoking, it was possible she was another rebel as well. Was it comradery that made her speak up? Regardless of the faunus' reasoning, he merely turned his attention back to the rebel. Who was currently picking at what appeared to be a stray piece of thread having gone loose from her jacket.

Uncertain how to progress with the mystery girl for now, he turned his attention to a more interesting topic, the cowboy's apparent knowledge on him. "Bastion... You know of me?" Carmine would question the cowboy as his head once more tilted. "I must apologize but I'm afraid I do not remember meeting you before." He would add after a second's thought, deciding to play into the man's more polite side of handling things.

[Fuchsia Iris Ükhel]

Fuchsia more or less welcomed the distraction that this little crowd in front of her brought. Why not? There was nothing better to do. So she watched, as she often did with people, a more or less blank expression on her face pending the unsettling anxiety underneath it. It wasn't their fault she wasn't in a good mood... But even in her current state, she wasn't quite as rambunctious as Citrus appeared to be.

Her clear and present disregard for the rules was somewhat admirable, though her execution sucked in Fu's humble opinion. And what's more, she proceeded to do the one thing that even Fu herself didn't have the gall for when it came to cowboys, plucking his hat right off his head and hanging it up on a lamp. Now that took guts. But, not the impressive kind. More like the get-yourself-killed-because-Grimm-don't-care-about-pranks kind. She wasn't so judgemental to form a real opinion there and then, but if she had to cast a die and wager on it, she'd peg Citrine for a bit of an idiot, and at least half a cup of rude thrown in. Though more aligned with stereotype, the cowboy acted measured and gentleman-like, retrieving his hat without so much as raising his voice, though the way he snapped back at her in his refined way made her eyes open wider and a grin cross her features. His attitude was pretty admirable given their mutual destination.

Well, this was definitely more interesting than a window.

The creepy mask kid didn't seem very phased. She was still wary of him. The last time she'd met a man in a mask it had turned ugly right quick and she wasn't about to open her mouth more on his account. Seemed like Citrus didn't care much about tempting fate, though.

But when the girl turned toward her, apparently annoyed (short attention span?) with a stray thread on her clothing, she asked for her knife, and sensing a witty turn of events, her grin became a more devilish one, combining with her eyes to give her an altogether predatory appearance while she flicked her knife to the side and then back again, closing the handle with the blade open and locking it in place with the small latch, before tossing it up and catching it by the flat of the blade. When she held it out toward Citrine, a slow, creeping color appeared and radiated outward from her fingertips, coating the metal in a dark purple sheen like an omen of what was about to happen. Her Aura sunk in to the knife, small wisps of smoky energy rising from her hand for a second, though at the distance they were to one another, it might not have been entirely obvious what she'd just done.

"Sure, kid... Take it," she egged Citrine on, holding the handle of the blade out toward her and smiling like the sly fox she was. So, she liked pranks, did she? Well, she thought, how about this one for size? A little poetic justice never hurt nobody as far as she was concerned...

[Citrine Locke]

Citrine couldn’t help but scoff. “And I’m supposed to know who that is?” She questioned. “I’m calling your bluff, buckaroo, Mask is just as confused as I am that you know him. And if you can’t handle a bit of sarcasm that’s on you. You look the Vacuo type, didn’t expect you to be so...prudish.” He probably wasn’t from Vacuo, she was deciding, even if he had a Vacuo-esc sense of style. For some reason, the calm manner in which he went to retrieve his hat ticked at her nerves. He just really had to rub it in how Calm and Unaffected and Responsible he was, didn’t he? And what did that say about how he felt towards her? Clearly he thought less of her.

“Don’t go around pretending you’re some righteous saint.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. There was her lack of filter, escalating everything so much more than it needed to be. Again. But she couldn’t help it. She had a particular distaste of people thinking they were better than they were. She could practically hear Rosalie telling her to take things down a notch. She tried to heed her sister’s advice, taking a long drag of her cigarette to try and calm her irritated nerves, and to try and shake the thoughts of Rosalie. She didn’t need to be dealing with ghosts at the moment, not while she was trying to make a proper impression on her peers.

“What, you didn’t like my little demonstration?” She asked Carmine at his request for her to keep her semblance away from him. Her tone was perfectly playful and teasing from her point of view, but there was a high possibility it would come across wildly different to someone who didn’t share her sense of humor, much like her previous joke towards Carmine had had with Bastion.

Citrine had been too busy picking at the thread on her coat to notice the infusion of aura into the blade. So, none the wiser, she hopped down off her bike to collect the weapon. She couldn’t Glitch it into her hand, not while the other girl was holding it. As she returned to her spot on her bike, she flicked the knife open. Unfortunately for her, and probably to the amusement of anyone who was getting tired of her shenanigans, the knife didn’t feel like staying open, and swung back closed across her knuckles.

“Ah- rude,” she stuck her tongue out at the misbehaving knife, then reopened it two-handed. Thankfully—seeing as her aura hadn’t been activated—the knife hadn’t had enough moment to cause any real damage, just a faint red line across the back of her hand. But it was still annoying to deal with. As soon as the errant thread had been properly cut from her jacket, Citrine closed the knife and tossed it back towards the girl, unaware of what the punk cat had done. She blamed it on her own inexperience with butterfly knives. “Thanks, mate. I’m Citrine, by the way, in case you didn’t hear before.” She flashed a crooked grin towards the girl.

[Bastion Sandstone]

"Oh come on, the white mask is a dead giveaway to the rumors I've heard!" Bastion turned to Carmine, raising a hand to the brim of his hat to shield his eyes from Citrine's gaze, and he gave the man a small wink. He let the hand glide towards the front of the brim, as if he was giving some sort of Cowboy salute. He turned back to Citrine. "I am from Vacuo. Born and raised, and our tribe got by with trade and commerce. We had to be polite and show manners to our peers. I'm guessing you got by with that sharp tongue and whoever made this gorgeous bike for you. No way you made it yourself." He remarked while reaching out a hand and feeling the cool exterior. It was a fair enough guess. No one this unruly had the patience or discipline to craft a bike that looked as impressive as that, and she had to know that he knew it.

"And Ms. Citrine, I am no saint. I've my fair share of problems and with them, I've killed more men than I'd like to admit." He laid his hand on Diplomacy at his hip. Really, he had only killed a handful, maybe three or more. Definently one, the previous owner of his gun, was his kill. But for Bastion, three or four lives was more than he wanted to have ended. He would have gone with none if he could.

And just with dismissing Carmine, she went to picking the strands on her coat. If Bastion had worser upbringing, he would have some unsavory words to throw at her pretty face. Make her want to curl up in a ball in the corner and cry. But Bastion wasn't like that. He wasn't past suppressing a chuckle when the knife hit her hand, however.

He got a better look at this alley-cat looking girl as she stepped up and took the knife back. There was something on her face. Pleasure? Satisfaction? Was the knife hitting Citrine's hand intentional? The new girl hadn't defended the biker girl, so maybe she wasnted to the girl taken down a peg too. "My name is Bastion Sandstone, pleased to meet you." He held out a hand to the cat-faunus. "You have other knives like that to show off?" He asked. "And Carmine, you have anything you want to show off? A weapon or something?" He was genuienly curious. And he knew that the best way to deal with those who are rude and want attention is to not give it to them at all.

[Carmine Crest]

The frown on his face only deepened in response to Bastion's reply, of course he should've expected his classmates from Pharos to make mention of him, if not him than at least his mask. The stupid thing always did brought rumors of what he was underneath and why he wore it, some of which were frankly insane. His personal favorite was that his mask was part of his apparent grimm heritage although how a soulless creature of destruction mixing with a human was supposed work was something he didn't want to think about.

Although he had to admit, he was curious just what exactly his classmates were telling others about him, perhaps he could play into their perceptions of him some time in the future. For now however, the cowboy came through with another surprise, making a brief mention of the fact that he already taken a life. So the gentlemen cowboy had some bite to him after all, eh? Now the question is, what exactly pushed him that far? Carmine's stared at Bastion for a bit, trying to read into his emotion and figure out how he felt about talking about it, assuming he felt anything. What he found was a man that seemed to have some form of regret over killing but interesting enough, his hand had found itself resting atop his weapon, almost implying that he'd kill again if it came down to it. Interesting... Very interesting.

He was brought back to reality once the rebel asked her question in an almost teasing tone if he was displeased with her demonstration, her reply came with a simple shake of his head. "Not quite, it showcased your ability fine, it's taking something of mine that I'm more concerned about." Carmine chose to take the more serious approach rather than risk joking alongside her, she was too much of a mystery to work out right now. Last thing he needed was someone to decide to find out what's underneath his mask once more, he had more than enough of that back in Pharos.

As the faunus handed over her knife to the rebel, Carmine's attention was instead focused on the passing clouds, he wondered how often he'd find himself travelling back to Vale now that he was in Beacon and more importantly, how often the airship would be filled during the trips down to Vale. His attention only being brought back once he heard the rebel call someone or something rude, a glance toward her revealed her fiddling with the knife the faunus had given her. On the topic of the faunus, she stepped forth to retrieve her weapon back from the rebel, something akin to amusement on her face as she did so. It was during that time the two others introduced themselves, meaning it was probably his turn to introduce himself as well.

"Carmine Crest." The teen stated his name with a single nod toward the faunus. He wasn't sure what to make of her either, it seemed the rebellious looking girls were his weak spot which was annoying him more than he'd care to admit. At least with the cowboy mentioning weapons, it would give him some form of insight on the others, they say a weapon says a lot about the person after all. "Right." Carmine would answer as his opened his jacket a bit and let his left hand dig into a right interior pocket for a few seconds as his hand grasped Maria, bringing the large metal brass knuckles out, Carmine holding the beefy thing by it's handle.

"This is Maria. Part of my pair of brass knuckles. It can transform into a submachine gun with a flick of this switch." Carmine would begin to explain his weapon to the trio, his eyes focused on the weapon resting comfortably in his hand, his right hand moving toward the switch on the back that was currently near the top of the weapon. Flicking the switch downward with his left hand's thumb, the whirling of machinery could be heard, slightly indented spaces among the top would move and in their place would be the iron sights of the weapon popping out. In the front toward the knuckles, a nuzzle would extend outward as well alongside two small buttons would appear, one right by his index finger and the other on the opposite end near the pinkie finger. "All I'd need to do now to make it function now is to load the clip on to the bottom.." Carmine would continue his explanation by raising his hand with the bottom of Maria facing toward the others, a single slot being opened at the grip of the weapon. "And then pull the trigger.... Although in this case, pushing the trigger would be more appropriate." Carmine would finish his explanation on his weapon as he brought it back down, his hand palm up to allow them to see the button more clearly but in doing so would reveal his personal emblem on the weapon's handle.

[Fuchsia Iris Ükhel]

What a bunch of bananas this fruit-pack was, she thought to herself, but Fuchsia watched with a glimmer in her eye when Citrine took the hexed knife and tried to handle it, immediately closing the blade on her knuckles and cutting herself. She stifled a laugh. She'd been trying to enjoy her own little personal prank in retaliation to the girl's attitude, but suddenly, the cowboy seemed to have taken a blow to his ego, enough that he bit back at Citrine in a not-so-subtle attempt to threaten her. Her face wound up in something akin to disgust, though, when he so casually mentioned offing people out of nowhere. What the hell? Who does that?

A couple seconds later, she was being approach both by a tossed, cursed knife and the cowboy, and she shuffled closer to the window where she still sat in her seat, the motion serving a dual purpose. For one, she knew better than to try to catch a knife under effect of her Semblance. It plopped harmlessly against the back of the seat and fell onto the floor next to her. She didn't go for it right away. Instead, her intense stare focused on Bastion when he came up to introduce himself, and her mind flipped through the slides of what exactly had just happened.

"Woah, okay, no. Hold the fuck up, kid. Where do you get off threatening murder and then suddenly deciding you're my friend? Why don't you take your little pea shooter and step off before I do show you my other blade? Here's a hint: You won't actually see it coming," she threatened to Bastion with a decisively sharp pointing of her finger toward him, the look of bewildered disapproval written all over her expressive golden eyes. Technically, it wasn't his fault he didn't realize that she'd just left her twin sister's body behind in the frozen North, where she lay in a grave after being shot to death, but she didn't give a damn what he knew or not. She looked him up and down, then scoffed and bent down to pick up her butterfly knife. In a display of practiced skill, she flipped it into position resting across the back of her hand, and then snapped it shut with a loud, audible click. Crossing her arms again, and coupling it with a rolling of her eyes toward Carmine when he went to show off his own weapon, she turned herself away from them and leaned up against the window again, her tail flicking in agitation. Yeah, let's just talk about shooting people and then be friends, ten out of ten, works every time, she thought to herself, suddenly regretting having gotten involved at all. She knew she was being pissy, judgmental, whatever they wanted to think. They could have their little gun-waving contest for all she cared, she had nothing to prove to the circus around her.

[Citrine Locke]

Citrine had finally gotten tired of standing. It didn’t help that the seat of Ex-Machina wasn’t built to be stood on, the curve of the seat forced her ankles to be bent ever-so-slightly in a way that’s wasn’t the most comfortable to sustain for long periods of time. Conveniently for her, she was reaching the end of her cigarette too. With a final drag, she dropped the cigarette to the floor, then leapt down off the seat of her bike, consequently landing on the cigarette butt and effectively putting it out. Instead of returning to standing on her bike, Citrine sat down on it, lounging back on the handle bars. She had mastered the art of lying on top of her bike not long after she had first got it.

She scoffed, hard enough that it was practically a snort, at Bastion’s description of his home life. Her eyebrows arched up enough to hide completely beneath her bangs. “Polite manners?” She snickered. “I don’t know what dream desert you were living in, but Vacuo is a lawless land. You fight, ya get dirty, ya get back up. You hold your own. You can dress like a cowboy all you want, doesn’t mean you are one.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “Poser.” The word was spoken under her breath, but she didn’t care whether Bastion heard or not.

As soon as Bastion reached out to touch her bike, both Citrine and Ex-Machina would disappear in a flash of green, reappearing a mere foot away, just enough to be out of reach. “Don’t touch.” She could have just kicked his hand away, but she wasn’t in the mood to get into a brawl, especially in such an enclosed space where her bike wouldn’t be very helpful.

“Yeah, my dad and my sister made her for me,” she said, an audible note of pride in her voice. She never failed to respect Asher’s craftsmanship when it came to the vehicles he made. A brief look of disgusted surprise flickered across her face as the cowboy’s offhand statement. “Just because I didn’t build her doesn’t mean I don’t know how. I fix up Ex-Machina all the time.” It was true, she had learned quite a lot from Asher about auto mechanics, as soon as he had started fostering her he had set her to work helping him in his shop, and after Ex-Machina was made she’d been even more invested in learning, she wanted to be able to fix her baby up anytime, anywhere.

Bastion’s next comment rolled through Citrine like a dust storm. What was he doing? Was he trying to threaten her? She almost had to stop herself from laughing at the idea. Who did he think he was, standing there with his hand on his little revolver like he was some action hero in a bad movie? Did he think he was intimidating in the slightest? She could run him over with her bike! Or turn him into swiss cheese with Verenium Strýchnos! She had faced down Creatures of Grimm ten times his size, more; they were all here to learn how to fight monsters for a living, and he thought he was more intimidating than that?

But as hilarious as that aspect of the situation was, Citrine couldn’t laugh. Not when the idea of murder was crashing around through her head. The only thing she could picture was a sand-covered gravestone, purely symbolic for a body that had never been found. How long had it been? A few months. It felt like an eternity. And yet, at the same time, less than an instant. Time had a tendency to freeze when a seemingly inevitable future was taken away. Was this a joke to him? How many bodies had he put in the ground? Had he buried them himself? She doubted it. No one as smug, and pretentious, and imperious as him would care about honoring the lives he took.

“Forgive me for being blunt, but how are you here? Last I checked Beacon didn’t feel too fondly about serial killers.” Her tone made it perfectly clear she wasn’t really sorry. She tried to take note as the cowboy reintroduced himself to the cat girl, but all she could think of was Bastard. Bastion, Bastard, same difference.

“Tch- grow up,” she muttered in response to the masked boy’s request for her to not Glitch any of his belongings. It was a stupid request, she existed to cause mayhem and he had no reason to be exempt.

Citrine couldn’t hide her smirk at the way the cat girl was ripping into Bastion. She couldn’t have said it better herself. This girl was definitely much more her style than that poser, wannabe-cowboy. While she had brought Ex-Machina to the deck with the intention of making friends, she figured making enemies was just as well. So far she was leaning towards the whole set, friends, acquaintances, and enemies.

She looked up as Carmine started describing his weapon. Her gaze flickered between Bastion and Fu, and Carmine. The tension in the air was palpable by now, and she doubted Carmine’s little show was going to get much attention from the other duo. Citrine leapt off her bike and walked over to Carmine, leaning over to speak in a stage whisper. “Ya know, now might not be the time.”

As the cat girl, whose name Citrine still didn’t know, returned to staring out the window, Citrine took that as a sign that the whole shebang was coming to a close. She certainly didn’t want to be around Bastard anymore, what with him being such a fake Vacuan, and an alleged murderer. Citrine returned to her bike, resuming her position of laying down atop it. She wanted to light up another cigarette, but a quick search through her coat’s numerous pockets showed she hadn’t brought another pack with her. Great. She huffed indignantly, cursing her own lack of forethought. Now what was she supposed to do to pass the time?

[Bastion Sandstone]

That comment and hand movement was one of the dumbest things Bastion had ever done, and he realized it now. He quickly took his hand off of his large gun as if it was electrified. His almost stoic demeaner would crack here as he panicked. The black cat girl was getting it all wrong, and so did Citrine.

"W-wait, that's not what I meant by that! I swear!" He quickly looked between the two. "I wasn't trying to threaten you, I wouldn't do that over someone's attitude, I was just..." He trailed off as they both retreated to their spots. He continued to look between the two. Citrine seemed just unimpressed, the other girls seemed... hurt. Bastion knew that leaving it here would make him two enemies at this school. Pressing mmore could make two enemies who hated him, but he could also try to rectify the situation. Bastion unholstered the gigantic revolver and pushed it to Carmine's chest, muttering, "Hold this." Before he delicatly sat a seat apart from the cat girl.

[OOC: Just wanted to mention that the gun in the profile pic does not resemble Diplomacy. It was drawn before I had a better sense for the weapon and what it could do]

"I'm sorry. I didn't grow up in a dream desert, and I didn't murder anybody. People would try to take advantage of us from time to time, sometimes outright attacking us while on the move. We had to fight, get dirty, and get back up. Sometimes really, really dirty. But we always tried to remain cordial to folks." He said that looking towards Citrine on her cycle, but for the faunus' benefit as well. "I'm sorry for my behavior." He said towards the cat girl.

He wanted to explain everything in more detail, that he was trying to just show with his hand what he might have done to other people without insinuating that he'd do the same to Citrine. But that wouldn't work well, not at all. Not to women, anyway. He also wanted to apologize for scaring the girl, for he obviously did. But saying that she was scared of him would hurt her pride, which wouldn't be good. He had to take the fall here for anything to get better.

[Carmine Crest]

Carmine bit back a sigh as it seemed the two rebels weren't quite used to hearing about some of the things people did for survival, the faunus immediately putting an end to the discussion to voice her concern or disgust at the cowboy's actions followed shortly by the other rebel who ironically pointed out the reasons why Carmine wasn't so concerned about the cowboy's actions. On the plus side as everyone was freaking out over the fact that cowboy took a life or two, said cowboy also handed Carmine his own weapon, the masked teen only holding onto it with his right hand and examining it, noting the weight of the large revolver and the way it felt in his hands. Too heavy for his liking, he needed to be bouncy, not weighted down by this massive thing and not to mention the kickback on this would probably throw him off a fair bit. Still, the fact the cowboy was using this type of weapon told him a bit, his assumption was partially correct since the large weapon would undeniably be most effective at mid range, any closer and reloading the thing was a hazard while any further and his aim would have to get a whole lot better.

Clicking the switch on Maria, Carmine would place his weapon back into his own pocket while his right hand lowered to his side and allowed the cowboy's weapon to be aimed toward the ground, his finger away from the trigger as well. With the weapons taken care of, he would then turn his attention to the others, mainly the cowboy making a haste apology to the others for what they perceived to be a threat, giving a brief rundown on his life in Vacuo, which again, the rebel had made sure to point out a little earlier that the desert isn't exactly a land known for it's order and peace. Just the way the man looked while he held onto his gun, it wasn't the type of look somebody would give if they wanted to deliver a threat, it was the look of a man who didn't like what he had done but knew he would do it again if he needed. The look of a man who was determined to survive.

"I'm sure Bastion didn't mean anything, he has been nothing but polite and friendly." Carmine finally decided to speak up, his eyes focused on the cowboy to measure his reaction, between the two rebels who were surprisingly soft or the cowboy who knew what it meant to survive, he knew who he was going to throw in his lot with. "As you said yourself, Vacuo is a lawless land, you fight and you get dirty. Even if that means getting your hands dirty in unpleasant business." Carmine turned his attention toward the motorist rebel, his voice remaining unchanging until the final sentence, just the slightest hint of sorrow seeped into his voice. "What matters is that Beacon saw him fit to be here and I somehow doubt someone would go through the trouble of lying on that thing only to let it slip to the first person who even slightly annoyed him." Without so much of another breath, his voice returned to normal with any traces of sorrow gone as he continued speaking and defending the cowboy from the two rebels.

[Fuchsia Iris Ükhel]

Fuchsia felt annoyed in general simply because the sun had risen, but this whole... Situation was a barrel of unwanted feelings that were quickly becoming hard to ignore. She'd backed off, told him to back off, but of course, men and their honor or something of the sort, she should've seen it coming. The way her lip raised on one side made her look like she was about to growl at Bastion, and her eyes shot to meet his as soon as he continued to speak. She couldn't decide if it was pathetic or admirable. Her mood won out though, and she ended up with a buzzing of the brain that was entirely a step in the wrong direction.

The way he spoke about survival, though he didn't actually use the word, brought back her own memories, probably more similar to what he had in mind than she'd care to admit. A young girl that looked just like her, very distant now, a tiny little thing with a knife in her hand and the sheer shock on the face of yet another victim, robbed of their wallet and whatever else, the absolute truth of the streets she'd grown up on.

A more measured version of herself would've taken things at face value, and she already knew that her irrationality was getting to her well in advance, and that this man's intentions were erring on the side of frivolous things like politeness and being apologetic, qualities that she could have admired in a different moment or if things had gone differently perhaps. But all she felt right now was in opposition to those rational things, and furthermore, she was starting to feel cornered by his can-do attitude, and it wasn't sitting well anywhere in her body. She was tense, and anxious, and had hoped her warning would've been enough, but evidently it wasn't. Still, words held power over her even in the worst of times, and it was something somebody had said to her long ago that came to her mind now, that allowed her to take a deep breath and to contemplate her surroundings before she made a big, stupid, egregious error.

"Fine! Whatever! Apology accepted! Now... Step. Off." Her words were uttered through clenched teeth. Her eyes were the searing barrel of a recently-fired gun. She didn't know how much clearer she could make it than that. While he wasn't exactly standing right in front of her, he was showing her entirely too much attention right now, and it was making her grip the insides of her elbows tightly enough that the leather of her jacket sunk inward and her rigid fingers stood out among the black like they were carved from stone.

She hoped this didn't have to become one of those days when somebody didn't listen to her when she asked them to do something for her own benefit, because this close to Beacon's campus was no place for a full on fight-or-flight freak out. She'd have liked it much better if they'd continued to converse amongst themselves, that her prank would've been played on Citrine, that her laugh would've been had, and that she could've continued being in the background. Fu knew better though; expectations were a set of loaded dice.

[Citrine Locke]

“A common tale, but if you actually cared about the lives you took you wouldn’t toss that shit around like your name.” Citrine mused. She knew what dangers the Vacuo desert could hold, even if she had spent her life in the city she had still heard tales from nomads passing through. It was less that she doubted Bastion’s explanation, and more that she questioned how he felt about it all. If death meant anything to him he wouldn’t just bring that type of stuff up for a few intimidation points.

Just as Citrine was moving to put her headphones back on, a hologram flickered to life on one of the walls. Probably the headmaster, she reckoned, a welcome speech and all that. In other words, someone she didn’t need to care about. She put her headphones on, music was still playing from earlier. She turned the volume up, wanting to block out the annoy hologram speech.

As the speech finished, the airship began its descent. Citrine readjusted herself on her bike so she was properly seated, ready to drive it off the ship.

The ship touched down, the doors opening. She glanced back at the group she had been talking to, a wide, lopsided smirk on her lips. “Maybe I’ll see you around some time,” she called with a laugh. She revved her engine and wove through the crowd, speeding down the front boulevard. Arriving in the circular courtyard, Citrine angled Ex-Machina at one of the columns that lined the area. She swerved around a group of people, aiming for the column like she planned to make a head on collision. The gravity dust in her wheels adhered to the surface, and drove up the side of the structure, parking at the top to get a better view of the whole area. For a split second, she could convince herself that all she felt was glee, but her laughter soon died on her lips.

She pulled her large hood up to try and shield her face some as she took her scroll from her pocket. With shaking hands, she took a picture of the building, sending it to the same number she had messages before. Missing you at Beacon, she typed out. She stared down at the message for a while before erasing it and retyping. We made it ♡.

“We made it, Rosalie, we’re here,” she whispered, hugging her scroll to her chest. “You’re gonna love it.” After a moment, she returned her scroll to her pocket, reaching up to wipe the tears that had formed in her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry, she told herself, not while there were other people around. She took a deep, trembling breath that rattled in her chest as she exhaled slowly. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not yet. Wiping her eyes once more, Citrine and her bike Glitched back to the ground; she followed the crowd inside.

[Professor Honeydew Monarch]

Ah, the new year, new students, it was days like these that Honeydew Rainbow Monarch lived for. She eagerly awaited the arrival of an airship full of students, a broad smile on her attractive features, clipboard in hand; a list of names sat typed in print letters onto a piece of paper, and she'd brought along her red-rimmed reading glasses for this occasion. She poured over the names again and again, she'd already been through each and every student's dossier prior to this moment.

The airship was coming in. It landed. The ramp descended, and she prepared her organic welcome, rehearsed in advance of course, though it wasn't the first time she'd done this. When the ramp touched down, she took in a deep breath, and was about to bellow a greeting to the new students, when all of a sudden a bike flew past her so fast she barely had time to raise her finger.

It only got a few feet away, though, before it quickly began to slow down, grinding to a halt when her Semblance activated out of reflex, and she grimaced at the frozen scene in front of her, taking two steps to her right to examine the girl on the bike. She looked at herself from outside her own body. She was looking good today, it was a good choice to go with a dress skirt and her best dark blue blouse, and her hair always looked nice when it was tied back like it was today. That aside, she referred to the list of names, carefully working out who it could be. Ah, yes, of course... Citrine Locke. She'd had her suspicions that something like this might happen.

The girl was known for her skills with a bike. Seemed she'd brought it along, much to her chagrin. It wasn't something she'd abide by in her classes, that was for sure, and the sheer disruption it caused her just now was a bit more than a bother. She could see by the surprised look on her own face and the swiftly-approaching dust cloud that it wasn't going to be fun when time resumed for her. She paced in a circle around the bike, looking it over, then spared a glance at the other staff that were there. They could handle the students. Seemed she had a date with a rulebreaker. Speeding around with a bike on campus? Not only was that not allowed, it was outright against the rules!

When her Semblance ended, Citrine might've caught the sudden shimmering of light green in the air right in front of her before she flew through the patch of Aura left by her ability. The violent snap she experienced in her own consciousness as her perceptions rocketed back into her body did nothing to stop her from quickly lifting the clipboard when the dust barreled into her, shielding her face from the cloud.

She was off in a split second, seemed that the modest clothes she wore didn't slow her down any. Bolting after Citrine, she shouted after her:

"Miss Locke! Put that cursed machine away or you'll earn yourself detention right off the airship!" she cried, but it was in vain, the bike was far faster than she was on her feet, mostly because she didn't feel like breaking a sweat, but the girl drove up a pillar, and she stood peering at her with narrowed eyes, trying to see what she was doing against the glare of the sun. Taking a... Picture? She sighed. Students would be students, she guessed.

Soon enough, the girl returned to the ground, and Honeydew was waiting, pen tapping against her clipboard, a look of strict disappointment on her face. She waited for Citrine to start heading inside before she walked up behind her and clasped a hand over her shoulder.

"Welcome to Beacon, Miss Locke..."

[Bastion Sandstone]

At least the masked guy had his back. Bastion just nodded to the cat girl. "Thank you." He said softly, getting up from his seat and heading back for his gun. He held out his hand, requesting for it. "Thanks for holding that Carmine." Bastion glanced at Citrine, putting headphones over her ears and dismissing them. "And for having my back." He would holster Diplomacy once he had it back. "I shouldn't say that again around the other students, huh?" He asked, folding his arms. "It was kind of a normal thing when we traded with unsavery folks back west. Told them we aren't to be messed with. Worked quite a lot. Guess I got used to it."

I noticed that I hadn't aknowledged his weapons before. "I'm sorry I missed out on your weapons because of all that right after I asked you to show them off. Knuckles to sub machines? I like the style." Bastion was cut off from speaking as a hologram appeared and someone began a speech. Glancing out the window, they were very close to the school. Bastion listened intently before the ship landed and Citrine drove off with an adequate goodbye. "Maybe?" He said to no one in particular. "She does know that we'll have a lot of the same classes, right?"

And then a teacher who was going to greet them went to chase her down. Bastion supressed a chuckle as he imagined what trouble this girl was going to get herself into. But still, he remembered what his first impression of her was. Though a child she may be, along with himself, she could grow to be a major player out there. She would just need to let herself learn.

He looked to the cat faunus. "You wanna step out while the teacher is distracted?" Bastion smiled before starting his own desent. "Now's your chance."

[Carmine Crest]

Of all the people Carmine thought he would wind up befriending, the cowboy wasn't among the list for the simple reason that he appeared too plain, too predictable and boring. Carmine's initial impression of the man was either of a rough and tough cowboy or a gentleman and upon speaking to him, he quickly figured he was going to be the gentleman, a pleasant but ultimately dull person. Nice for a chat and if he could befriend him, he was certain the man would be loyal although that would prove fruitless if the cowboy proved to be yet another naïve goody two shoes. So it was a pleasant surprise to learn the cowboy wasn't as naïve as he first appeared, he was willing to stand up and go as far as take a life to ensure survival, it was that instinct that he could respect. Although he would be lying if the other two didn't play a factor into why Carmine found himself enjoying the company of the cowboy.

Two soft rebels, one of which kept switching up her act and made her hard to pin down beyond a trouble maker for fun. She would provide plenty of headaches, he could just feel it. The faunus on the other hand at least remained consistent, she was just another loner lashing out at the world, although the reasons behind the girl lashing out were beyond him and if he was going to figure her out, he'd need to find out what it was. Ultimately though, it was a question he didn't really care to ponder on, any shot of befriending either of the rebels were as dead as the people the cowboy had killed.

Although speaking of the people the cowboy killed, the man questioned rather or not he should casually admit to killing people, something that made Carmine want to roll his eyes at. "It would be a wise idea, some people had the luxury of not having to make such choices. Even those who have been forced to make those choices sometimes wish to not think of it." Carmine answered the cowboy, his hands retreating once more into his pockets now that they were free. Listening to the cowboy comment on Maria, he opened his mouth to reply but a hologram would cut him to the chase and begin a welcoming speech of some sort, something Carmine openly rolled his eyes at. He doubted this would be the only welcoming speech he'd hear today.

Finally landing at Beacon and with the rebel driving off and making a big scene already, Carmine took advantage of this to disappear into the crowd and away from the cowboy and faunus. He was already growing tired of speaking, the.... He was almost certain the biker was seeking attention but that given how many times he was wrong on his judgement of the girl, he couldn't be certain of what she was exactly. Not just yet anyways, he'd figured it out with time but for now she had drained him of his energy and the idea of speaking with anybody further lost it's appeal. Especially now that he could explore Beacon and familiarize himself with the layout of the academy.

[Fuchsia Iris Ükhel]

Fuchsia eased up a bit when Bastion finally left her alone. Jeez, that guy was a piece of work... Maybe, in a different circumstance, she'd have found his weirdly polite attitude endearing. She made a mental note to possibly apologize in the future for her terse demeanor. It wasn't really his fault that she was in such a difficult mood right now, although she still didn't agree with his liberal throwing around of supposed deeds he'd done in the past.

It wasn't like she hadn't killed before, too. But those were different times. She had much more respect for the dead than that, now. Those were mistakes. Part of why she was here was to absolve herself of the sins of her past, and that was exactly what she intended to do, whether or not it meant stepping on people's toes along the way. She had a creed now, and although she wasn't going to get everyone in Beacon on board with her idea of what it meant to become something, she was fully committed to following these ideas herself. Part of that was of course to make amends when her behavior was out of line. Her own politeness could use some work.

When the airship finally landed, she breathed a ready sigh of relief. Standing up and walking down the ramp, she shook her head when she watched Citrine take off, and stifled a laugh when one of the staff chased after her. Well now, that was certainly one way to make an entrance here, but she couldn't tell if Citrine was simply brave, or stupid. Maybe it was neither? Maybe she was just in a mood of her own? The girl was certainly interesting... She also felt like she should potentially speak with her in the future, too.

Even that weird mask kid had something that piqued her curiosity. His mannerisms were... Different. He seemed like some kind of outcast, and maybe that in and of itself was a reason to attempt getting to know who he was?

A thought crossed her mind. How horrible would it be if those three had been assigned as her Teammates? Ha! No way she'd be okay with that, that sounded like a nightmare. Still, her first encounter with the other students had been... An experience. She was the type to learn from everything, and her head filled with the examination of what lesson she could pull out of this while she blended into the crowd to attend the opening ceremonies...

[Bastion Sandstone]

Touching the ground, it seemed that Carmine, the cat girl, and himself just took in the site and the experience of stepping off of the airship. And, watching after the teacher that chased down Citrine. He noticed the leather-jacketed girl stifle a laugh, and thought of asking her name. However, he didn't feel it to appropriate now. He'd get her name another way, maybe talk to her later.

He shook his head while looking after the departed biker. "That girl... May be a handful, but she's going far. She'll be a great asset against the Grimm." He said with such assurity that you'd think he was talking about the results of yesterday's ball game.