[B]Gratia Mindaro - Major Tom to Ground Control[/B] An entire week passed. Their first week at a new institution of learning, a continent away from Mistral, away from the familiar church spires surrounding Haven, away from the salty black winds of the seaside factories, away from wild, uncontrollable weather. Beacon would be their home now, the men and women they once called foreigners their new brothers and sisters. A new life in a different country ... that was what awaited each and every member of Team VGNB. In the eyes of Gratia Mindaro, little, if anything, had changed. She still woke at the crack of dawn each morning to Venetia's quiet breathing. She still dressed herself in the jet-black uniform of Haven Academy, tunic well-pressed and fully-buttoned, skirt neat and tidy. She still brushed her teeth with the same generic brand mint toothpaste. She still ate a bowl of oats in the morning. She still manoeuvred her way through the coursework, solemnly and silently attacking questions upon questions with the same ease as she would disembowel a Grimm. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, but the unwashed masses of fools were the same, the work was the same, the rhythm of her life had been unchanged, and most importantly, her team was the same. Fiordilatte was still a fucktard and Venetia still could not assemble a wardrobe worth shit. No. That was incorrect. Their original fourth member had discarded the chance of studying at the prestigious Academy, returning almost immediately to the motherland with little-to-no warning. It had been with simple goodbyes that they had seen Bianca Nuit off, seen her fly back to Mistral to assist in managing the familial estates. In her stead, they had received Beryl Harken; just and mischievous, slotting into the group with surprising ease. But the team had changed. She no longer had to drag the nocturnal Huntress back to bed. She no longer had to experience the flirtatious banter between her aristocratic teammates. She no longer had assistance in dealing with her leader's infrequent fashion disasters. The team had changed. It had changed irreparably. But she had been managing, rearranging her world in response to the dramatic changes. So when Gratia Mindaro entered the shared dormitory of her team to find a note from her former Faunus teammate, she had not been expecting anything. Probably a sappy note about how Bianca had missed them, she'd thought. A status report on how life was like back in the homeland. An emotional outpouring after the traumatic events that had afflicted the Nuit family. What she found instead was an utterly unintelligible mess of words written in Bianca's uniquely ridiculous way. [i][/i] It had made no sense. No fucking sense. A cell? Danger? Keeping Fiordilatte's fucking mouth shut? The letter was a mishmash of bullshit that could have, should have, been thrown immediately in the trash like it was. It was irritating, ridiculous, and an utter waste of her time. Except ... [i]H e l p i h A V e B e e n K i d N A p p e D my s a F e p l c E[/i] [i][color=66cd00]Nuit doesn't normally make such a fucking stupid spelling error.[/color][/i] It was her former teammate's handwriting. Gratia Mindaro's aura [color=66cd00]spiked[/color].