RWBYFanon v5
RPG World of Remnant => The Vale Region => Beacon Academy => Topic started by: Swordslinger on March 04, 2018, 12:36:10 PM
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Tristan looked down at the bottle in front of her, blinking as she did. It was a tall bottle, made out of glass with a scratched out black sticker wrapped around it's sides. There was red liquid sitting in it, filled all the way to the top of the glass. It was sitting on a table in front of her as she sat in a rather forgettable part of Beacon Academy as Tristan herself sat on a chair. The bottle itself was unopened, and there was a couple more bottles just like it resting in a bag next to her feet.
Tristan, rather obviously, looked at the bottle with some confusion, giving it a slight poke. Was it some kind of soda? Or fancy flavored water? Rich people did that kind of thing, right?
Well....One way to find out.
Tristan reached for the bottle.
(Side note: This thread is first come, first serve.)
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Brock was trekking around the Academy, meditating as he did. He had done all his homework, studied all he could, pumped iron enough for three lifetimes and read that one book he hadn't finished at the time. There really wasn't much for him to do.
As he was glancing around, just enjoying what he saw, a bright spot of red attracted his attention. A girl was in the process of sitting down at a far-removed table, a bottle in hand and what seemed to be more in a bag at her feet. Brock altered his course, frowning at the suspicious circumstance. The bottles were obviously alcoholic in some way, he'd seen enough dock workers drinking from them after a job well done.
As he approached, he gently spoke up, his low voice still managing to rumble throughout the vicinity. "Hey, Red. What you got there?"
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"HOLY SWEET GOD WHAT THE F-"
Tristan whipped around, her long red hair trailing behind her as she turned to look at the newcomer in the face. After a moment to calm herself down, she titled her head, "O-oh, hey there, what's up?"
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Heavy footfalls sounded throughout the academy as Ramalia stomped her way through the normally quite halls. Vale was very different from Vacuo and the former scavenger was eager to jot down any differences her tribe might be interested in. A squawk sounded from above as Ramalia's eagle circled from above making sure her master wouldn't get lost in the new environment. The Vacuo student glanced up at the sky and gave the bird a subtle wave to scan the area outside as Ramalia went inside. Well trained eyes scan the room immediately as Ramalia enters, a room clearly out of the way somewhat leaving the wild girl alone with two Beacon students. Although she had left her cannon at the loaned locker Ramalia still had her robotic sleeves, retracted around her shoulders, and picked at the joints as she continued to examine her surroundings; how the walls are constructed? How is the building laid out? What sort of technology do they implement?
An outburst drew Ramalia's attention, a harsh burst of shouting which faded out as quickly as it began. A slightly quieter mechnical clunk followed as the sleeve on her right arm locked into place, humming quietly. 'Is there a problem here?' Ramalia asks still a couple of meters behind the two beacon students. Aware she was still not the most social aware person Ramalia's sense of obligation overwhelmed any semblance of common sense. The wise leader, the smart teach and the strong protect. Ramalia repeats a tribal mantra in her head as she waits for a response. Shifting her significant weight on her forward left leg Ramalia let her augmented arm hang heavy in front of her.
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Brock was mildly startled by Red's scream of, well, probably surprise, he'd guess. Mildly because while he'd had this happen to him several times beforehand, it was always a bit startling and there wasn't really anything he could do about that.
After she calmed down, he repeated his question. "Well, I was wonderin' what -" was all he had the time to say before a blonde girl, apparently as hold as himself and sporting almost as much bulk and height, interjected, asking if 'there was a problem here'. While she didn't seem outright armed, from the looks of it, she wasn't exactly in civilian gear either. Knowing full well how his words would weigh, he simply turned to Red once again, awaiting her reply.
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Tristan, surrounded on both sides by people she did not recognize, did the only thing she could think of.
"You want something to drink?" She asked, holding out the bottle.
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Whatever annoyance Ramalia felt as her question went mostly ignored was quickly mollified by the offering of drinks. Being from a desert people such offerings were considered far more significant than those from the temperate region like Vale. Her gauntlets folding back up her arm as she reached for the offered bottle, examining the red liquid with a sideways glance before opening the bottle, giving it a quick sniff before finally taking a swig. 'So what is this stuff anyway?' Ramalia asked finally coming up for air, gasping loudly as the crimson liquid burns her throat and passing the rest of the bottle to Brock.
'Well I suppose introductions are in order, I'm Ramalia. Shade student but have taken a few weeks to explore the other Kingdoms.' The former scavenger continued pulling out two chairs putting her butt in one and lifting her legs over the other. Ramalia's eyes flashed a steel blue for a few seconds as she sent her hawk back to roost, she was planning on being here for a while.
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Brock stood by, arms crossed, as he watched with mild horror the tall, built girl drink half a bottle in one shot.He took the bottle when it was offered and took a small whiff of its odors. Apart from the complex, rich and somewhat smoky aroma, he was immediately assaulted by the alcohol vapors. Damn, thanks goodness it was only the smallest amount. Worry still colored his face a bit.
Putting the bottle back on the table, he answered Ramalia's question. "It's, uh, whiskey. The real stuff, not the cheap half-alcohol knockoff. You... may want to brace for it." As his voice - even somewhat hushed - was still in the process of joyfully making the nearby windows vibrate, he continued with "I'm Brock, Beacon first year. Was passing by and noticed...", he trailed off, extending his arm towards Red in a 'your turn' manner.
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"I'm Tristan." She replied, pulling out another bottle from a nearby bag and placing it on the table, "Tristan Pyrails."
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'Whiskey huh?' Ramalia began picking up the new bottle and giving it a closer look through the glass. 'Is that the one made from grains or fruit or was it potatoes? You city dwellers have so many names for fire water, surely there only needs to be strong and week.' Ramalia continued with the clear confidence of someone who had had this conversation multiple times before. After running her fingers over the scratched out label Ramalia placed the bottle back on the table unopened, even someone of her size needed to pace herself and although Ramalia had a relatively full stomach it was still going to fit her pretty hard.
Squinting at the two other students as she noticed she was the only who had drank the offered beverage. 'It's considered poor form for a host not to partake in an offering and to refuse it.' Ramalia explained as she picked up the opened bottle and once again passed it to Brock. Lounging back in her chairs Ramalia made sure she got herself comfortable and stable for when the alcohol hit.
Sighing loudly Ramalia relaxed her gaze and continued. 'I assume you are a student as well.' the former scavenger begins, looking over at Tristan 'Is this a common past time for students then? Drinking fir... whisky in a secluded room? Might have to consider a transfer... although I'd also have to know the animal policy I guess.' Ramalia laughed loudly, the rich sound bouncing down the hallway.
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Brock nodded a hello to Tristan before turning back to Ramalia. She seemed to be having a bit of a hard time understanding the way alcohols and liquors worked. "It's... not that simple. Your description would only work if all there was was ethanol at various concentrations. There're hundreds, if not bloody thousands of different alcoholic beverages, all with their own unique tastes and profiles. There's a reason that bars offer more than one kind of beer, whiskey, vodka and so on." He'd also had to put a stop to a few drunken brawls his coworkers had started over which brand of gin is superior, so that helped to know this.
...And she handed him the open bottle again. Gods dammit. She even tried to force him into drinking. Probably not with bad intentions, but still. "I ain't a a host, I'm a guest. The drinks were here when I arrived." Now, to hope to everything that Tristan wasn't the one who'd brought the bag of bottles here...
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Tristan blinked as the birds chirped over head, true, they were in an outside area on a porch, but....she really wouldn't call this secluded....Well, tomato....to ma to? Was that how it went?
"I just found these..." She admitted sheepishly, "It's like soda, right?"
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'So you drink this for the taste?' Ramalia continued to laugh loudly gesturing at the bottle in Brock's hands. 'I've lived for weeks off raw meat and even that was better tasting than ...most...'alcoholic beverages.' The former scavenger continued pausing slightly as she caught herself about to insult a hosts offering. Leaning back up slowly Ramalia finally adds. 'These are good though, and yours by scavenger's rights... but I guess you people might do things differently here.' Finishing in a bit of a huff: Ramalia took the new unopened bottle in hand, opened it and gave it a quick swig before putting it back on the table.
'So is there reason why I'm the only one drinking?' Ramalia asks she gets to her feet and starts stretching out her long limbs out the desert born girl turns back around and faces the worst drinking buddies in all of Remnant. 'Is it a Valeisan thing or do you both have classes soon?' Ramalia continued visibly confused, the world of Vacuo often seemed foreign to her growing up in an isolated tribe but Vale seemed a hundred times more confounding. Guess that's why I'm here. Ramalia thought to herself resignedly.
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At Tristan's question, Brock slowly turned his head to face her, eyes widened. What. "...No, it ain't. It's... hold on, do you not know what alcohol is?"
While waiting for her to answer, he shrugged at Ramalia's doubt over the importance of taste. "Some do, some don't. And yeah, ownership isn't really finders keepers in Vale. Or anywhere that's close to a settlement, for that matter.", he added regarding her... lack of understanding? of ownership rights.
As for the drinking? "I just don't really drink. I can assure you that it's just me, not a cultural thing or anything."
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"Well, my mother died before she could explain it to me, and my father probably burnt down my house for no good reason," Tristan replied flatly, "So, no, I do not know what alcohol is."
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'Well some people are idiots but that doesn't mean that you should design your language around it.' Ramalia shook her head still clearly not understanding the situation any more than at the beginning. 'So then how do you decide who owns things if it isn't based off possession? You can't label everything or tell everyone, that just seems wasteful and what about transactions do you carry one of those labeling machines around with you? Who ever was the before-owner of these clearly didn't want them that badly anyway, otherwise they wouldn't leave them around. Really we are doing the school a favour by cleaning up the place.' Ramalia argued taking another swig before collapsing back down, sharing her considerable weight over both chairs which groaned in protest.
'See Tristan that's why you drink right up to the point of doing something stupid then stop. And make sure your house isn't flammable , or inflammable because they are the same because your language is stupid. Then everyone would be on the same page and I still wouldn't be the only one having fun.' Ramalia continued ignorant of any offense she may cause
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...Okay.
How do you explain alcohol to somebody, again? "Well, uuuhhh, alcohol is that thing people drink that make them irresponsible, uncoordinated and makes their head hurt the following morning."
He then turned to Ramalia as she spoke up, his eyelids dropping noticeably at her words in an utterly nonplussed fashion. "We don't necessarily label things; stuff that gets lost is still owned, like if somebody's handkerchief or something falls out of their pocket, but things that're abandoned are ownerless, like some kid's candy wrapper."
Brock's only further reaction at her passive-aggressive words about how she was the only one drinking was to close his eyes and rub his left temple.
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Tristan took a very long, hard look at Ramailia and smiled thinly, then, in a spilt second, a large dragon wing appeared and bapped the annoying girl on the head. It wouldn't hurt at all, but it would certainly annoy.
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'I think Tristan knows what alcohol is it was clearly a jo--' Ramalia began before being swatted by Tristan's wing. Matching the older girls smile with a much larger one of her own Ramalia continued, taking the strike as much in her stride as Tristan did the joke. 'Well how do you know if something is abandoned or if something is lost? If someone is like you and doesn't drink then they might abandon bottles of alcohol but a child might find value in a lolly wrapper for arts and crafts. Surely it would be simpler to have the same rule for everything?'
'And I'm perfectly responsible and coordinated.' Ramlia added rather indignantly, although she did clearly leave of the head hurting thing. 'Anyway are you all from Vale? I haven't been here long is there anything you would recommend checking out?' Ramlia finished leaning back into her chairs.
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Brock was getting ready to retort something to Ramalia when large, scarlet, leathery wings seemingly appeared out of nowhere behind Tritan, one of them promptly whapping the former girl on the head. After taking a moment to process what just happened, he turned back to Ramalia. After she'd spoken, he countered with "Sure, from a legislative point of view but then fights would break out everywhere."
And she certainly looked... well, coordinated for the moment, although responsible could be put up for debate. Answering her question, he said "Originally from Vacuo, moved to Vale a few years back."
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"I'm from the countryside, one of the outlying villages." Tristan replied, "It kinda got burnt down though."
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'If the laws are so clearly flawed then fights are going to break out anyway, they will just be between the individual and the state. A less fair fight.' Ramalia retorted taking another drink. 'Vacuo the city I suppose? I haven't spent much time there to be honest, born much further afield. Still the city I nice enough if a bit too cramped. Honestly I don't know how you guys stand it. So much in the way between you and where you need to go annoys me to no end.' Ramalia responded with a clear wistful overlay.
'Do you ever miss it Tristan? The open fields of sand, or grass I suppose in your case, where you could find yourself alone, at peace with not a soul within miles. Not that we are ever truly alone of course. But sometimes the sand lets us have such fancies.' Ramalia continued clearly homesick as her eyes flash the same steel blue again.
'So why did you leave Vacuo Brock? They have a good enough school, weather is better here I guess or was it more the sense of adventure. No hard feelings about the treachery of course.' Ramalia responded smiling at the last sentence. Holding her arm out wide to give the swooping eagle somewhere to land, the creature squawked happily as Ramalia started to scratch it's head. The scavenger's expression did momentarily sour as she realised she could take another drink without disturbing her pet but reasoned it was a small price to pay considering how happy it looked.
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Brock's face visibly took upon a saddened countenance upon hearing Tristan's words, although as Ramalia furthered her point of view on laws - or more precisely, how laws were bad - it progressively turned into an utterly nonplussed state. Arguing would only prolong the debate and they were the only ones participating so far. Not only that, the upbringings were so different that actually bridging the cultural gap would take most of the time.
The right corner of his mouth contorted into a grin at Ramalia's friendly poke before his voice bellowed (at a normal volume) onwards from his mouth. "Well, my pa's originally from Vale and when he got a call that his own senior was thinking of retiring and passing the shop's key down a generation, we packed up and moved. Owning a store here - and one with history at that - sure beats having a relatively young one in downtown Vac'."