Homeless Bunny 43 (Patreon)

Homeless Bunny 43

Tianyu Yue

People were so silly. Especially terrorists with delusions of competence. The tiger faunus wasn’t all bad, I could tell, but she had a certain callousness in her eyes that I recognized. I usually saw it in veteran paladins or mage knights, people who got too accustomed to throwing away lives and making “hard decisions.”

Credit where it was due, she and her men stood at the shore, ready to receive us. She knew how futile it was but had the nerve to stand anyway. Whatever else could be said of Sienna Khan, she was no coward. That… admittedly wasn’t worth much, but it was worth something.

While Queso went off to terrorize the local marine life, we were led deeper into Kuo Kuana. A dozen of Menagerie’s finest, made up of both the Guard and Fang, surrounded us. Funnily enough, they were the ones who looked uncomfortable with our compliance.

Sienna remained silent as Blake and Ilia quietly told us about the sights we passed. A bell rang through the air and people began to emerge from what shelters they’d found. They all had that complicated look on their faces, the one people wore when their feelings had yet to settle between wonder or terror.

“You have a signal bell for giant monster attacks?” I asked, curious in spite of myself.

“Kinda. They’re multi-purpose. One pattern is for tropical storms; we get those from June to October-ish. Another pattern is for large-scale grimm attacks,” Ilia filled me in. “The Guard is pretty good about keeping the latter quiet, though.”

“Huh, fair enough.”

Calling this place the “capital city” seemed a bit disingenuous. It was the largest settlement we saw on the southern continent from the air, but it was more like several ramshackle towns stitched together by proximity than anything.

There was a lot of greenery here. The southern continent–most people called the entire thing Menagerie after the nation–was largely a desert. But here, so close to the sea, a humid jungle dominated the landscape. It was both a curse and a blessing.

Though this vivid greenery was what made life possible, clearing out swathes of tropical jungle to settle thousands of faunus refugees was no easy task, not even for aura-enhanced soldiers. Following the war, when the population swelled so suddenly, there was no way the exhausted veterans could do so with any kind of organization.

I looked around with a sympathetic nod. Kuo Kuana was a town that existed amidst nature. Not in harmony, there was no intentionality in the integration. The main thoroughfares were paved in concrete, but I could see where that ended along the side streets and outskirts.

The jungle had crept back in where it saw vulnerabilities. Or perhaps, it had never left. Perhaps the original settlers had simply cleared the bare minimum land they needed to survive.

The houses here varied from structure to structure. One house had a foundation of baked clay. Another was a treehouse built using a large tree for support. A third used corrugated sheet metal, the kind used in shipping containers, in lieu of roof shingles. I suspected that this was because the builders learned through trial and error and worked with what they had.

I didn’t hate it. Kuo Kuana, it had character. It was a town that spoke of rugged hardships and the sheer, stubborn determination to survive, to pass down something to the next generation. I couldn’t help but think it suited the people who called it home.

We headed down a hill and into a ravine. At the center of the ravine was a large home that was built using something reminiscent of Chinese architecture. Or, Mistralian here, I supposed.

There, we found a pair of middle-aged cat faunus who looked remarkably like Blake. They were working diligently to usher civilians back out of an underground bunker.

Ghira Belladonna was a bear of a man with a thick, blue coat draped over his shoulders. He wore no shirt, putting his hairy chest on display. His stomach was covered by a metal plate that reminded me of a pro wrestler’s championship belt, albeit heavier and better armored.

Kali Belladonna, his wife, was more modestly dressed in a white top and black, ankle-length skirt. She wore a half-jacket that covered only her right shoulder, leaving her left arm free.

Much like Ghira and her daughter, she had black hair and golden eyes. Her hair was kept short, which made her comparatively massive ears look even larger. Her eyes were large and expressive, with the glint of genuine kindness and empathy that earned her welcome smiles from all.

We stopped a short distance away. Blake froze, unwilling to move forward but also unwilling to flee now that she’d come this far. She wore a conflicted expression as she tried to find the words to say.

I heard Ilia sigh in disappointment, though perhaps she should have expected this. Still, I motioned for us to wait. This was Blake’s “tribulation,” in a manner of speaking. Though if the silly kitty ran for it now, I’d shove her in Queso’s mouth until she behaved.

We remained there, caught in Blake’s indecision, until Ghira turned from his men. His gaze first went to Sienna, his counterpart, and then to the shock of white hair that made Weiss and I stand out like sore thumbs.

Then, finally, he seemed to register the impossible sight before him: His daughter, the flakiest girl on Remnant, had returned.

“B-Blake?” he whispered, taking a half-step as if he didn’t believe it himself.

“What is it, dear?” Kali said as she turned to join her husband. Her eyes widened comically. “Blake? Blake!”

For her part, Blake looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Ah… I’m home…?”

I rolled my eyes. I’d wanted her to choose to step forward, to confront her own anxiety. It was supposed to be the start of a growing moment for her.

Alas, she simply stood rooted to the ground until someone else took the choice from her hands. I supposed this too, was very typical of Blake Belladonna. 

Really, what did Ilia see in this girl?

Her butt. Obviously, her butt. It was nice, but hardly worth the hassle. The chameleon-girl could do better.

Still, I let them have their moment. After that, we were led inside, where we were shown the hospitality of Menagerie. The inside of the Belladonna home was also decorated in that not-quite-Chinese style, with hanging scrolls and sliding doors.

We sat at a low table where they brought out tea. Ginger and turmeric, a fragrant, earthy combination. It had an almost medicinal aroma to it that I could tell Weiss and Sienna didn’t appreciate. Blake and Ilia, however, took it in with a fondness born of nostalgia. I found it grounding, a simple drink made well.

“Now, pardon me, but are you really Weiss Schnee?” Ghira began.

“I am. I am the CEO of the Beacon Dust Company and a teammate of your daughter’s on Team RWBY,” she said.

“Well, you’re welcome here, young lady. We don’t have much, but you can all stay with us in the guest rooms. Please, make yourselves at home.”

I held up a finger in question. “That’s lovely. Do you mean it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“‘Make yourselves at home,’ you said. Do you mean it?”

“Of course. Blake’s friends are always welcome here.”

“Nice. Now, please show me to my kitchen,” I said as I stood.

“Is… Is there something wrong with the tea?” Kali asked in confusion.

“Oh, no. The tea is great. It’s steeped at just the right temperature to bring out the flavor of the ginger and turmeric without being too overpowering. But I want to see my kitchen.”

“W-Well, our kitchen–”

“My. My kitchen. You said I can make myself at home. Ergo, it’s my kitchen now,” I nodded. That made perfect sense. I was the Divine Chef. Where else would I be?

“Oh, for the love of–Can you be normal for five minutes, brother?” Weiss groaned, her face falling into her hands.

Blake stood with a put-upon sigh. “Come on, you crazy bunny. I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”

“That’s really not necessary. A guest shouldn’t–” Ghira began.

“Trust me, dad. These talks will go a lot smoother if we keep Tianyu busy. This is the best way to keep him happy and distracted.”

“She’s got a point,” Ilia added. “And, he really knows what he’s doing. Everything he makes is the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

I nodded with a self-satisfied smile. They were treating me like a natural disaster to be managed. So long as I got to have the kitchen, I was fine with that.

Obviously, there was no better way to lube up the negotiation wheels than with good food. “See? They get it. Now, I’m going to go make a ton of seafood. Since I need to feed so many people, I’m thinking… paella? Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Um… We don’t all like fish just because we’re feline faunus,” Ghira pointed out with a sheepish smile. “I understand how Blake might have given you that idea, but if you’d wait, Kali would be happy to cook something for you.”

“Oh, I know. Blake is a hilarious bundle of stereotypes. She hates vacuum cleaners, loves fish, chases laser pointers, takes catnaps, and does that snooty ‘I’m better than you,’ butt-wiggle that all cats do. But that’s not why I’m cooking seafood.”

“It’s not?”

“Nah, I promised Queso a seafood buffet. He should be showing up in an hour or so with whatever he feels like eating.”

“Queso…?” 

“The rainbow serpent, dad,” Blake chimed in, looking a little cross at the cat comparisons. Then again, if she didn’t like being racially profiled, maybe she should have tried not being such a goddamn stereotype.

“A-Ah… Right, Queso…” he muttered, tan complexion taking on a distinct pallor.

“Yup. So, again, my kitchen,” I repeated with a happy nod.

“Your kitchen,” he agreed. Truly, Blake’s dad was a reasonable man, so very unlike his daughter. Where did he go wrong with her?

X

I sat atop Queso, listening to the rapturous moans as they enjoyed my paella. They scarfed it down with no concern for table manners. Even Weiss, who usually tried to uphold the veneer of a high-class princess, gave up when she saw Sienna eyeing her portion like the hungry tigress she was.

The humble paella. At its core, it was just a rice dish cooked in a shallow pan to maximize contact with the heating surface. It created a lot of that delicious, savory, crusty bit at the bottom of the pan that the Spaniards called “socarrat.” I couldn’t think of another such “humble” dish that had given me this much trouble to get exactly right.

Well, that was perhaps because there was no “right” paella. Or rather, the only “right” paella was the one so-and-so’s grandmother made. It was one of those dishes, the kind that everyone seemed to have an opinion about. I remembered, a few decades back, a British chef once tried to innovate by making a “seafood paella burrito.” The poor bastard almost started a riot.

What I found funniest about this was that the paella wasn’t strictly a seafood dish. It originated from the Valencia region of Spain, and the “original recipe” didn’t contain any seafood. It was made of chicken, rabbit, beans, and similar, rustic fare. The dish wasn’t supposed to win any awards, just feed a lot of people with good, hearty food that the whole family could gather around.

In my not-so-humble opinion, the whole bitchfest around what exactly went into a paella was nonsense. The most important part of a paella was not the mix-ins, but the rice. It was a little like sushi in that regard; the rice was the little-appreciated foundation upon which culinary perfection was built. 

For tonight, I went with a classic seafood medley. Or, as close as I could get with local ingredients and whatever Queso scooped up from the sea.

That turned out to be several enormous swordfish, bluefin tuna, and even giant grouper. He also dug up what seemed like half a coral reef’s worth of mussels, shrimp, and a whole-ass giant squid that most definitely didn’t live near the surface. 

I didn’t put everything into the paella. That would have been a bit excessive, even for me. I roasted swordfish steaks, quick-seared tuna tataki, and made the biggest calamari rings short of that one time I mugged Davy Jones for his kraken.

I leaned back on Queso’s head with a happy sigh. The big snake had gone to sleep, too lazy to move his scaly ass back to the Astral Plane. In the end, even a god-snake was still a snake and Menagerie’s hot, humid weather was perfect for him. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he decided to stick around.

Sienna approached on cautious steps, and only when she was sure Queso had gone to sleep. It was adorable, like a kitten trying to sneak past her mother. She didn’t understand; the very air she breathed and the blood that rushed through her veins told him exactly where she was.

“You’re not really a Schnee, are you?” Sienna said from atop a nearby brick wall.

“Me? I’m a Yue,” I replied with a contented smile. “My name is as far above the Schnee as the moon is above Remnant.”

“You’re not related to her, not really.”

“Not by blood, no.”

“Then why do all this? Why back her?”

“That’s not the question you want to ask,” I pointed out without a care in the world. “What you really mean is, ‘Why not me? Why not faunus?’”

Her golden eyes narrowed into a judging glare. “Well, you seem to know everything. Fine, then. Why not faunus? Why not your own kin?”

I chuckled. She was hardly the first to make that mistake. I patted the spot beside me and she hopped on after a moment of hesitation. “Kin? Sienna, my dear kitten, I am the Seventh Campione. I have less in common with you than you do with an actual tiger.”

“You grew up in a village in Mistral.”

“Ah, you saw that video, huh? Sorry, that’s my fault, then. It’s a lie, all of it. I’m not a faunus, no matter that I look like one from your perspective.”

“Then what are you?”

“Most of the time? A chef. When idiots force my hand? A Campione.”

She leaned back, resting herself on her palms behind her. “Heh, you’re a hell of a chef, I’ll give you that. And a traitor. You seriously feel nothing for your fellow faunus?”

“You know, Annie once gave me a talking rock from the fae wilds. I named him Dwayne. He died when he soaked in water and then jumped into a fire to prove how unbothered he was. Sure, he was as dumb as… well, a rock… but he was as much of a person as you are.”

“What? What are you talking about?” she demanded. Apparently, being compared to a literal rock was offensive to her, even if she didn’t quite understand why the comparison was being made.

“Sentience. Sapience. You know, all that good stuff,” I said. “Look, the point is, neither faunus nor humans are special.”

“If no one’s special, why Weiss? You clearly think she’s worth something. Why do you support her?”

“At first? Boredom. Believe it or not, this whole thing started as a prank. I saw that she had white hair and decided it’d be hilarious if I pretended to be her long-lost brother.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope. Then, I got to know her and realized she wanted to make something of herself beyond her family name. In doing so, I think she’ll also make the world a better place.”

“Make the world a better place? You’re going about it all wrong. You’re naive if you think a Schnee will share her wealth,” she scoffed. “Wealth doesn’t trickle down. If it did, we’d have world peace by now.”

“And that’s your problem,” I sighed. It wasn’t often that I permitted some random brat to question me, but well, it was a nice night. “I’ve heard a lot about you, you know. Even Ilia says you only see the world in terms of power. And yes, wealth is certainly one expression of that.”

“You don’t get to judge me. If half of what you’ve said is true, you don’t know what the faunus have been through.”

“No more than any other marginalized group in history. Truthfully, Sienna, if coexistence between humans and faunus is something worth achieving, then there is something more important than the equal distribution of wealth. In the first place, you’re right: Wealth will never be distributed equally no matter who’s on top.”

“And what’s that? What matters to you more than dust and lien?” she demanded. “You think we haven’t tried to change people’s minds the ‘nice’ way? I only had the influence to take over because Ghira’s little protests didn’t work.”

“They didn’t,” I agreed. Dr. Oobleck’s history class was one of the few I attended with semi-regularity. The man had a way with words, if one could keep up. “But that doesn’t mean his approach is wrong. He simply lacked the right leverage.”

“Enlighten me, oh great god-bunny.”

“Norms. Customs. Codes of conduct. They make up the constructivist’s understanding of international relations. These things are difficult to establish, but they are more important than wealth or force if you seek coexistence.”

“They’re worthless without power,” she laughed humorlessly. “Your precious norms are set by those with the strength to enforce them.”

“Correct. Ghira’s White Fang lacked leverage. And so, they lacked the ability to present a success story, proof that this change can work. Weiss and Blake are in the right position to offer Remnant that success story.”

“You think people like Jacques will sit still? Are you going to kill them the moment they act out?”

I laughed, a pure, hearty sound that rang throughout the night. “Heh, you almost sound hopeful there. But, alas, I have no interest in ‘solving’ racism. Direct action by me would just make me a tyrant and invite dissent. No, that’s why the Moonlit Famiglia exists. Institutionalized power, rather than my personal strength.”

“You killed Adam Taurus. You sure as shit didn’t seem to mind taking direct action then.”

“Who?” I asked with a puzzled frown. That name sounded vaguely familiar. Not from history class, so it must have been a briefing from the twins or one of my rabbits.

“Who–You’re joking.”

“Um… Taurus… Taurus… I don’t think I’ve met anyone by that name.”

“He was the leader of Vale’s branch of the White Fang,” she said, accusation turning into mounting disbelief. “My men said a giant bunny crushed his skull.”

“Ah, yeah, that sounds about right. Capo Cuddles told me about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know anything about it until after the fact?”

“They acted without your orders?”

“Yes, but that makes it sound as if they’d potentially act against my interests. Sienna, I don’t remember who he is in the same way you don’t remember the White Fang grunt who takes out the trash each week.”

“Kale. Kale took out the trash this week,” she said flatly.

“Oh, well, you’re a more considerate leader than I expected, then. Still, my point stands. I’ve never met Adam. I think Miltia mentioned him at some point in her brief about faction leaders in Vale, but I honestly barely paid attention to her briefings.”

“If you want a success story, why not Menagerie? Give us dust, the same as you did for Beacon.”

“Why not? How about because I don’t trust you or your organization not to do something stupid?”

“They wouldn’t.”

“They wouldn’t while I’m around,” I said the quiet part out loud. “There are factions within the White Fang that will take the dust and use it to bomb a city or something equally idiotic as soon as I stop paying attention.”

“I’m high leader–”

“And I’m sure there are other factions besides yours in the Fang. After all, you became high leader after Ghira by promising exactly this: immediate results through greater violence.”

“Then give us enough to support ourselves,” she tried a different approach. “We can’t wage war if we can’t afford to.”

“You’d find a way. You’ll justify making your children go hungry if it means making your supposed oppressors bleed. Radical hardliners always do. But even if you were entirely sincere, and you did have perfect control over the White Fang, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because having just enough to see to your people would just promote a culture of isolation. Didn’t you hear me? Weiss and Blake want coexistence. An isolationist Menagerie runs directly counter to that goal.”

“You… You’re holding Menagerie’s prosperity hostage,” she accused. “We accept the Schnee’s offer or we get nothing.”

I nodded with a genial smile. “Funny, Blake said the exact same thing before we came here. I had to blackmail her into meeting her parents again.”

“You say force would make you a tyrant, but how is this any different?”

“Sienna, dear, I’m a Campione. Being a tyrant comes with the title. As for how this is different, simple: This method gives me more time to cook.”

Beside me, Sienna looked at me uncomprehendingly, as if I’d peeled off my skin and become an eldritch horror. Unfortunately for her, my calculus really was that simple: A Campione was a tyrant by definition. The primary motivation for my involvement was whether or not it’d affect my cooking.

I gazed up at the moon. It looked noticeably more whole than it was a few months ago. I scared a nation silly. Blake got to reunite with her family. Most of all, I cooked great food. Today was a good day.

Author’s Note

I know it’s not canon, but I imagine Menagerie to be a hodgepodge of different cultures, largely from Mistral. Its climate is probably something similar to the Philippines, with humid jungles and seasonal storms.

The British chef thing is based on a true story. There’s a Youtube channel called Sorted Food, which is a bunch of buddies (a few “normies” and a few chefs) cooking different foods in timed challenges. This is one of their earlier videos, but a “normie” tried to make a paella burrito and actually had Spanish articles written about him calling him out. It was fucking hilarious.

So far, Tianyu has made habu sake out of Yamata no Orochi, burgers out of Inana’s Bull of Heaven, and calamari out of Davy Jones’ kraken. Somewhere in the Astral Plane, there is an inter-pantheon support group for legendary animals the Divine Chef murders on a regular basis.

Animal Fact: Animals are creatures of habit. They seek out pathways of least resistance/most convenience. This results in deer tracks and similar trails in the forest used by lumberjacks and hunters.

This is also true of penguins. Penguins travel from the sea to a little ways inland, where they can safely nest away from ocean predators. This path is called a "penguin highway" and can sometimes be seen as distinctive trails of dirt carved into snow.

What's more interesting is that penguins have traffic etiquette. When two penguins meet on a penguin highway, the one that is going downhill always steps aside for the one going uphill. Presumably, this is because the penguin going downhill can slide on its stomach when it gets tired while the penguin going uphill is always waddling.