White Whistle Of Remnant (RWBY x Made In Abyss)

Money and Mundanity

Onto the beaches, they rolled, the sun peeling at scalp and skin, the salty froth beneath tranquilly touched the wooden boat as the survivors of Ishmael's vessel poured out, shattering the placid sea and rushing onto the sands.

In the early morning, no one was there to greet them; the huntsmen who did little ran to the trees, to the town, to Patch to scream their winnings and tales of chivalry. Little help did they give to the ship's owner, who was now a mountain of sorrow, eyes perched firmly in her callous hands, whose faint sobs mixed themselves into the salt around them. Nor did these huntsmen help the ship's chef, who remained seated in the boat's ditch, still in his apron and with his forearm attached to his face. They did not help the chivalrous blonde knight either, whose silence spoke louder than herself, her lance held tight.

With that, they left our Sovereign and her partner in their own dried blood. Summer slung Ozen over herself, the Sovereign holding her wounds tightly as their leave jerked the boat, boots filling with water as they seated themselves at the edge. Each step through the light sea clung to them, legs weighed by the mounting dampness, their socks uncomfortably moist, and the sand seeping through, and to Ozen, clinging through her pants and into her leg's burns.

The salty water did little to stop her; the triumph was there's, and there's alone, and all they had to do was make it off the beach: in Summer's mind, they were close, the mantra of 'we're nearly there' repeating over and over, as her movements became more sluggish, weighed down by the heavy weight pressing onto, Ozen herself fumbling her steps with the pair finally collapsing on the sand.

The patter of feet and wading water were the last things the pair heard as they were carried into unconsciousness.

---

"How're rue doing over there, Ozen?"

"I'm alright, thank you." The Sovereign responded calmly to her partner's odd speech, remaining firmly against her bedding. In one half of the room was a severely bandaged Sovereign, arm slung in a thick cast, body and head wrapped in much the same while a blood bag fed into her.

On the other, however, lay the disappointed, verily disappointed even, Summer Rose. She is currently attempting a crossword puzzle without using her arms (pen in mouth). The challenge came to her because her hands had been raised by slings and wrapped accordingly. Oh, and the plethora of other bruising suffered wrapped in gauze and et cetera.

"How is the crossword coming along, Summer?"

Currently, Summer and Ozen sat across from each other in hospital beds. Their voyage had been successful, and Patch, for the moment, ushered in a period of celebration. The small town streets rode high with exhibitions and colourful tapestries, people cheering into the sky, yet the two sat looking over the festivities from a distance, unable to join.

"Uhhrm...shex letter word going duwn, the crue is to burn without a frame."

"Hmm, have you tried braise?"

"Braisesh...Braisesh...Yeah, braisesh fits, thanks, Ozen."

"Mmhmm."

"Plah-" Summer spat the blue "PIC" pen onto the paper, proceeding to deflate back into the bed as she longingly gazed at the window's celebrations, "This sucks."

"Indeed. This does suck. But, if it is any consultation, you will leave before I."

"Nah, c'mon, Ozen, if we're gonna celebrate, you deserve a place there."

"Are you sure?"

"Course I am! It'll just be...a month...or two? Three?"

Summer sighed, deflating back from her momentary expressive self. After a few weeks of recovery, she was stuck in the same room, constantly in pain and unable to do tasks for herself. At least Ozen was there.