Their conversation was about as dry as the bread he left half-eaten on a tiny plate beside his wine glass. He lifted his glass for another swig, then peered across the table at his sister, who had hardly touched her drink. She observed him calmly, saying nothing. No doubt calculating her next move. She was always working some angle.

Her creepy bone-white mask with red markings loomed on the table nearby, a reminder of the loathsome life she chose to embrace. A life that, these days, he experienced only in the form of hazy dreams.

“So,” he started after realizing she wasn’t going to be the one to speak up, “are you really here to see me, or are you here about you-know-who?”

Raven scoffed, leaning back on the aged wooden seating and crossing one leg over the other. “Oh please, Qrow. We can say her name. We’re not scared children.”

Qrow narrowed his eyes, searching her face for any hint of the old her. The woman who he used to be proud to call his sister. Who was this imposter?

“If you’re so brave, why won’t you fight her?” he spat back raspily, downing almost all of what remained in his glass, at least in part to block the scowl thrown his way.

“I have a duty to fulfill,” Raven said, peering down her nose at her brother. She splayed her arms, looking around the rundown tavern packed with customers from various walks of life. None of them reputable, if appearances were any indication. “There’s more to life than this, you know.”

“This is the only thing keeping me from suffering an allergic reaction to your bullshit, Raven.”

She sighed, slapping a hand on the table. “No, I’m not here about Salem.”

Qrow raised an eyebrow when she lifted her hand, revealing a small stack of lien. It was more than enough to cover their tab. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether or not the money was originally hers.

“Then what, Raven? I need to get back. You know, to the family you abandoned?”

“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black,” Raven whispered, shaking her head. She leaned across the table so that they were inches from one another. “Look, Qrow. I didn’t ask you to meet with me just so we could argue. You already know how I feel about all of this, and I know how you feel. That won’t get us anywhere.”

“Finally!” he exclaimed, raising his free hand toward the ceiling, “we can agree on something!”

Ignoring the comment, she went on. “I came because I thought about what you said last time. About Yang.”

“Yeah?” Qrow emptied his glass and cast it aside next to Raven’s mask. “What about her?”

“You thought she deserved to know her father, and her...well, Ruby.” Raven averted her eyes. He nodded and stayed silent, leaving her room to continue. “I’ve decided to tell her.”

“Hmm?” Qrow gasped, looking at his sister in utter disbelief. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Just let me finish!” Raven hissed.

“Alright, alright. Sheesh.”

“Anyway, for once, I’ll concede that I think you’re right. I’ve decided to tell Yang about each of you.” Raven gave Qrow a once-over. “Well, not you. She knows of you, but just hasn’t met you. I’ll tell her about Tai and Ruby, and let her choose what she does with that knowledge.”

Qrow frowned thoughtfully, cupping his chin. This was a big deal. Raven not only admitting she was wrong, but finally letting Yang know about the other half of her family?

A pretty waitress in a floral skirt and burgundy blouse danced by, stopping to top Qrow’s glass off. She was a bright speck in an otherwise dreary hangout spot. All around them he saw earthy, subtle tones. Depressing, to say the least. Not to mention the place was crawling with lowlifes. Odds were that the young lady wouldn’t last long in this dump. Deep down, Qrow knew he should stop her from giving him any more to drink, but he didn’t. Something told him this conversation would warrant another round.

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“That’s your fourth glass now, isn’t it?” Raven teased, smirking at him. She winked at the waitress, who nervously giggled and skipped away. Qrow could tell his sister was grateful to have something to redirect the discussion to, so he allowed her that small mercy.

“Oh, you know me,” he said with a slurred chortle. “I’ll walk it off. Or fly it off.”

Raven rolled her eyes at his ridiculous response, then leaned in again. “Qrow…” This time, she spoke much more seriously, and didn’t look away. “If she wants to see you, I won’t stop her.”

Because he didn’t know what else to do, Qrow nodded and muttered, “Thanks.”

Silence flooded the space between them, creating an unspoken divide even as Raven drew closer, placing a firm hand on top of Qrow’s. He decided not to throw any petty comments her way, since she was rarely this chatty. Or sentimental. Or not a bitch.

“The tribe needs her,” Raven insisted, staring at him with pleading eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Raven,” Qrow said flippantly, shrugging off her hand and standing up as he downed the last glass. “The tribe’s way is single-minded selfishness and murder. I never wanted that for Yang, but you and Tai agreed that she’d stay with you, so it’s not my business. Still, I can’t abide that kind of thing. I never will.”

“There was a time when you did,” she said darkly, eyeing him from beneath her jet-black bangs. He didn’t return her gaze. Just like that, Raven had taken this conversation where he didn’t want it to go.

“Let me know if Yang wants to see us,” Qrow said with finality. He put his hands in his pockets and shuffled away, pausing only to spin around and call out a quick, “Thanks for the drinks.”

* * *

Yang’s heart thumped madly in her chest. She looked at her mother with just enough of a grip on herself not to cause a scene.

“So, let me get this straight. I have a father and a half sister?”

“Yes,” Raven said, her eyes directed at the floor.

Attempting, and failing, to form her response multiple times, Yang gave up and paced back and forth. Nothing seemed quite right as a proper follow up to the bomb her mother dropped. She opened the rusted locket once more and stared at the faces hidden inside, committing them to memory.

Raven stepped forward, but stopped when Yang squared her shoulders. The princess’s eyes moistened. She sniffled to stave off her tears, and a quiet intensity took their place.

“Yang, listen to me-” Raven said.

Yang dug her feet in, feeling the wood beneath the flimsy floor mat of the tent splinter and almost give way. She didn’t care. Heat surrounded her tightly clenched fists, and a surge built, soon to overtake her.

Before either woman could get another word out, someone ducked under the flap at the entrance to the tent and stepped inside. Yang was startled out of the imminent activation of her semblance by the sight of Vernal.

“Ma’am, I’ve returned from-”

Vernal paused at the sight of Raven in her gown, and Yang standing a couple of feet away, her eyes crimson red.

“My apologies, Raven, Princess. I’ll be outside.”

“No!” Yang blurted out, using the lifeline this situation offered. “I was just leaving, Miss Vernal. Please come in.” She turned to Raven, bowed, and exited the tent, not allowing an opportunity to correct her statement.

Yang stashed the locket in a compartment on her utility belt, frantically removing it along with the rest of her combat gear.

“Something the matter, Princess?” a female voice asked. The princess turned to her fellow tribe member and smiled.

“Nothing to worry about here,” she lied, slipping away into one of the lesser-used tents to collect her thoughts.

A stack of crates was lined up inside the musty tent. Boxes filled to the brim with supplies and weapons, no doubt procured through force and intimidation, a practice Yang long since steeled herself against the potential immorality of to ensure the safety of the tribe. After all, if they didn’t do it, sooner or later someone else would do it to them, so why not strike first? Decisive action could mean the difference between life and death. Her mother always emphasized this, and many more rationales for the tribe’s actions. The strong live, and the weak die. The Branwen Tribe was only picking a side before the world picked for them. Was that so wrong?

Yang slammed her fist against one of the supply crates. The resulting echo immediately made her regret the action, as she realized it would draw undue attention. She picked up another crate that had not yet been added to the stacks, pretending to drop it in case anyone came to inspect the random loud noise. Then she put it with the others and turned away, trying to catch her breath. Her utility belt, the one thing she never took off until bedtime, still held ‘that’ object. The locket her mother kept a secret for so long. What should she do? Keep it? Throw it away? Show it to the tribe?

This was such a mess.

All of her life, the tribe had been her only family. Raven, her sole parental figure. This life wasn’t glamorous, but it was a life. She was fed, clothed, taken care of, and knew how to survive. That was all that mattered. Or so she thought.

Yang glanced back toward her mother’s tent. Miss Vernal still had yet to emerge, and that was all the better for Yang. She couldn’t face her mother right now. Not until she’d had some time to think.

Time. Yes, that was what she needed!

Yang stood up tall, her mind made up in an instant. She made sure to act casual, returning to the makeshift armory to get her utility belt. No one gave her so much as a second look while she strolled back the way she came. Once she was clear of prying eyes, Yang snuck around to the back of the encampment, where it was least guarded, and slipped through the barrier. She kept low to the ground, making only the slightest sound as she dropped to the ground and rolled toward a line of shrubs and trees. Someone looked her way, muttering that they thought they heard something. Other guards drew near, but by the time they did, it was too late.

The princess jogged at a healthy pace, continuing down the dirt path leading away from her home. Tears streamed steadily down her cheeks, drying quickly due to the wind in her face. She didn’t know where she was headed, and right now, she didn’t care. Aura pumped into her legs in wild, uncontrolled spurts.

Yang ran.

Ran until she couldn’t hear the crackling flames of the Branwen Tribe’s standing torches. Ran until the camp at her rear was a distant memory. Ran until she forgot why she was running in the first place. She just ran. Like her former reality, all else faded away.