Professor Arc

Chapter 33

Jaune knew that Bullheads and him didn't mix. He'd also known at the time that mixing himself, Bullheads and Bran's alcohol probably wasn't going to make it any better. It had seemed impolite to refuse though, so he'd gone along with it. Now it seemed impolite to spew chunks all over his new friend's chest, but that was looking like an increasingly likely prospect.

"Hold it in," Bran said, not at all looking calm with how he was stood atop his seat, back pressed against the metal wall of the aircraft. That was likely due to shallow pool of vomit that coated the floor, the smell of which permeated through the cramped Bullhead with the unique, acid scent of pure, unabashed evil.

It probably hadn't helped that Pyrrha, still a little out of things and recovering from her own ordeal, had promptly smelt it and thrown up herself. That had done wonders for Jaune's stomach and caused a chain reaction which had the pilot locking his door and dooming them all to deal with it alone. Jaune and Pyrrha had only come to a stop after unloading more vomit then two people had any real right to fit within them.

"We're nearly there," Ren choked. One hand pinched his nose as the other furiously wafted the air before him. "Don't open the window Nora! That'll cause all sorts of problems."

"We already have all sorts of problems," the ginger girl cried, working on the latch. There was a brief scuffle as Ren dragged her back, Velvet hissing as she tried to clean some lingering sick off her partner's chin without actually touching it. Bran pushed himself further into the wall, as though trying to merge and become one with the Bullhead.

A fist banged on the metal door, "Don't make me turn this ship around!" the pilot shouted. "If you kids don't shut up then so help me, I'll do it!"

"I don't wanna go back to Miserywood," Jaune slurred, not from the alcohol but the nausea itself. His shoulders hunched as he discharged his stomach into a paper bag. A part of him wondered if he should be proud that his cover was so strong that even a scene like this could not shake his reputation, ill-deserved as it was. But for the most part he just felt like crap.

"Um," Velvet caught their attention as she pointed towards one of the windows. "Is there any reason we're being escorted by military aircraft?"

That brought the ranting to a stop. Almost as one, everyone but Jaune and Pyrrha rushed over to a window to look outside, but even from where he was hunched, Jaune could see the two Bullheads on either side of them. It didn't take a genius to see they were being escorted, since the other craft kept beside them at all times.

"Maybe they think we're bringing a chemical weapon to Beacon," Bran jabbed a thumb towards Jaune, who gave him a specific finger in return. "They're Atlas military. Maybe if the ice-bitch finally had enough of me."

"You know Weiss?" Nora instantly asked. Bran mumbled something about apples not falling very far.

"We are landing," the rather piqued voice of the pilot came through the PA system. Jaune sighed, pretending not to hear everyone else do the same. The Bullhead lurched a little to the side, its jets switching to point downwards so that it could hover and turn on the spot. Jaune tried to force down what little he had left, squaring his shoulders as he tried to make himself look presentable. The craft touched down with a bump, the engine dying.

"Anyone want to explain why there's military outside?" Bran asked, directing their attention to the eight or so men in unfamiliar uniforms. It took Jaune a second to recognise them, mainly because the last time he'd seen them up close was when he had first met Ironwood. They were Atlas soldiers, and Jaune had no idea why they were in Beacon.

It didn't matter. Stand up straight, keep his eyes ahead and make a good impression. That was all he needed to do. Jaune's thoughts were interrupted as a loud slam sounded, followed by the pitter-patter of running feet.