A Deck of Cards
Summary: It had been four years since Roman Torchwick officially retired from his criminal antics. Unbeknownst to him, a mute and broken Ruby Rose would require his assistance once more, ultimately launching them both into a hateful journey of vengeance.
A/N: Someone should really stop letting me make dark!fics because holy hell. I'm a sucker for Ruby and Roman interacting, but this isn't really Rosewick (it's more of a BROTP thing sooo…) Brief hints of Cookies and Cream (if you squint close enough) and mute!Ruby. This story is gonna be hella short, so you know I won't update until a year passes (joke, but I mean-)
lol y'all bout to hate me for this fic
edit; i haven't written in a year. legit, a year. this was sitting in my files for a while now. so um, yeah. i haven't forgotten the main points (i outlined everything), so future chapters are in store.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 00 - baby blue world
The one rule Roman Torchwick always held dearly to his twisted, wicked heart was simple. It was short, to the point, and very straightforward- something Roman often found himself smiling upon.
"Fuck empathy."
Two words.
His life consisted heavily on those two words, for empathy, he had chosen, was a weakness. Empathy was the understanding of how one felt or the sole ability to share emotions with other humans; It was a clear skill that a criminal mastermind could not dare show.
His life wasn't as bland as most thought. He had emotions. He felt boredom upon the same development of plans, pity against the puppets huntresses and huntsmen would become, annoyance at the schoolchildren that just had to get in the way of his plans, and relief when the puzzle pieces formed the desired result.
Showing emotions was different. He was a criminal. A mastermind. A fugitive. God, most simply considered him to just be a very bad person.
The titles came with his job, yet not once did he despair. He had to survive somehow, maybe not on the right terms, but it always counted as survival.
Feeling something that made him human and demonstrating it was...different. Doing something based on emotions rather than logic was an action he could not ever afford to do, for his delicate plans could easily shift and break.
Four years after the fall of Beacon- after he happily retired with a life filled of riches and liberties- Roman still lived true to his one piece of advice that helped him succeed; fuck empathy.
He took the words to heart, even if he had absolute no use for it now. He was retired. He was no longer a criminal- or needed for that matter. Though it was a bit of an angering issue at first, Roman no longer cared at this point.
If the brightest light of all of Remnant could flicker and die, then a thief could settle into a life of riches.
Even as he watched the world burn in Cinder's flames, the man no longer cared. He showed no empathy, never once raising a finger to help a wounded citizen or to fix anything. Why bother? His job was done, he received his reward, he needed nothing else.
Bland, dirty green eyes would observe the world beyond his apartment with little to no interest. It was boring, if not pointless, to stay and keep guard as the world changed.
Beacon had fallen. Vale was in ashes. There was nothing left to it. He could do absolutely nothing about it, except accept the fate of a retired criminal living la dolce vita in a sealed apartment. He would show no emotion, give no interest in how sad and torn Vale had become, or hope to be left out of his cage.
For some reason, life decided it was time for one of his plans to finally fail. Having a certain fugitive in red wander into his prison and strike fear in the guards' hearts had never been part of his plan, or having that same damn girl feel the need to conquer up his courage. Being released by a girl covered in crimson red- blood from her teammates- wasn't part of it either, along with burning the ashes of the past for the sake of vengeance.
Life had a funny way of working.
It was a shame that breaking his one rule on empathy was the direct cause of a spiteful journey.
The fondest memory Roman ever had was of him sitting with Neopolitan in a beat-down park.
In retrospect, the park was horrible. Swing sets that threatened to break with just a tiny bit of physical contact, overgrown grass that had long been forgotten by most lawn mowers, a slide infested with snakes and bugs- it truly was and would always be a horrible park. In fact, it was an operational base for shady, amateur business that Roman found rather pathetic. (Drug dealing at parks? How classic was that?)
While the location was rather...unsettling, Roman found the memory pleasant.
Out of all the mess his life had become, the memory was the only one he could remember. Completely, anyway.
"The world is round."
Neo was only ten.
Her brown and pink eyes lit up, gleaming with curiosity.
"Round?" She repeated, head cocked to the side.
"The world is round." He restated, offering a sincere smile. It was night, the world was bundled up in a blanket of darkness. There were bright stars that twinkle and glowed, offering their tiny planet a small chance of light.
"How do you know?" Her once wide eyes narrowed.
For a moment, he blinks. How did he know? Well, it went back to basic history. While Remnant's own knowledge of its sole existence was expanding with each passing year, the theory that the world was indeed round was proven centuries ago by travelers and explorers. Of course, rather than having physical evidence, the word was just passed down through legends.
"Because that is how it is, or at least, how we have decided it is."
It was odd that Neo's question triggered so many inquiries inside of him. The world was round, he knew..it was common logic...yet…
"So the world is round?"
"Yes, my little sweet tooth." He ruffled her hair in affection. The action caused the young preteen to smile. "The world is round, but that isn't my main point."
"Then what is it?"
He eyed her for a second. Neo was watching patiently, hands settled on her lap and a grin on her pale face.
"The world is round for a reason."
"Which is?"
"Ah, you're ruining the great storyteller I am. Neopolitan, dear, patience is key." He hid the grin that threatened to appear on his face upon the sight of her glare. "The world is round, so there will be no corners to fall off."
Neo blinked.
"Think about it like this." Roman gestured towards the sky. "You see those stars? They will go on and on, and so will our world. The world is round, perhaps not literal as you suggested, but our lives will always go on. We grow and grow and change, something that makes us humans magnificent. No matter how wonderful or how hideous we become, we will always change somehow. Our life is a vicious cycle, really."
"I get it!" She jumped from the grass to her feet, dusting off her multi-colored dress. The girl turned back to the older man, nodding. "Our world is round. I get it. But!" She put up a finger. "Doesn't our cycle end at some point? How is our world round because of that?"
"We all plant something in this world- big or small. We reproduce, build families and connections, maybe even businesses. So really, our life is never forgotten. Maybe we won't be remembered, but our actions and influence will never change. And besides, things do move. We leave something behind either way."
"I...kinda get it. Our world is round...and meanwhile, we have options for our lives. Right?"
Roman couldn't hide his smile anymore.
"Exactly."
The fondest memory Roman ever had was back when his world was round, back before he even bothered to build his infamous 'fuck empathy' rule. Back when he had the liberty of contemplating about whether the world of Remnant was truly round or not, but now, his world was so small, so limited, it became quite useless to think about such.
Roman's world was small.
Roman's world consisted of a lone apartment in the outskirts of the city of Vale.
There was no crime, no running, no worries for what there was to eat, no Neo...for a world that was supposed to be round, it was awfully small and despairingly lonely.
The buzzing of his alarm clock reminded him that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad.
A hand was slammed against the button, silencing the damned thing. Turning, the man let out a groan as he took a deep breath. Green orbs slid open, adjusting to the sunlight that crept inside the tiny room.
'Welcome to the sweet life...my own little, fucked up world.'
He slid off his bed with ease, stretching his muscles. Eyes wandered to the closet, pondering on his outfit choice for the day. There was fresh clothes in his closet, though Roman had gotten into the habit of wearing pajamas all day. It made him feel old, yet it wasn't like he would have any visitors to impress soon. Or at least, ones he could score a conversation with.
Instead, he headed towards the kitchen.
His apartment was small. It wasn't luxurious like his old home and it desperately needed new decorations.
The walls, once golden and amber in its glory, were chipped and had stains of dirt and what he hoped was not blood. A new paint job could work wonders, Roman had decided. It would be hard to request paint...he had been asking for a new box of cigarettes for a while now.
The rest of his new home needed remodeling. Bland, basic furnitures...colors that bore him...Roman needed something new. There were frames hung on the wall, which needed actual photographs inside. It was absolutely pointless to him.
Who would waste their time to hang up frames with no pictures inside?
A hand reached for the silver refrigerator's handle. It swung open, making a satisfying click as the light turned on. Rows of water bottles were aligned neatly, fruit and refrigerated snacks stacked upon each other. The fridge, although he never messed with it, was constantly restacked.
Roman fetched out a water bottle, twisting the top off and sipping the contents. He savoured its taste- water was refreshing, after all.
There was an abrupt knock on the door. The man sighed, setting the bottle on the table down. Newspapers and magazines covered it, with the headlines of "Schnee Dust Company set to fall!" and"Beacon Headmaster, where is he now?".
"About time, my dear!" He headed towards the door, opening the slot. The door wasn't..well, it wasn't meant to be opened. A plate was slid, breakfast being given promptly at nine.
"You know, I felt as if you had forgotten about me." The ex-criminal took the plate, smirking slightly. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, coffee... all a decent meal. "Will Cinder ever pay me a visit?"
The bot never replied. She wasn't programmed to, because somehow, a combat robot was stripped off its capacities and turned into a slave.
The bot didn't feel, but it could cook a hell of a five-star dinner.
"When am I getting my cigarettes, by the way?" At that, something else was tossed into the slot.
"Finally!" The tall man gave a genuine smile, fetching his lighter. It was a small gift from Neo at some point (for father's day, although both weren't even related) and would later turn into the only object he had from her. In some ways, it was the only way he remembered of her existence.
The lighter was silver and engraved with his initials, a quote faintly visible underneath them. He would read it and read it again, before ultimately giving up and lighting up a cigarette.
"Six minutes!" She tapped his shoulder, a faint smile on her pale face.
Roman looked over, turning slightly to eye the girl. A cigarette in his hand, he raised an eyebrow.
"What, my dear?"
"Six minutes." She sat down on the crates, swinging her legs eagerly. "Six minutes you get to live less and ya know, be with me."
He ate in silence. There was no television with images flashing, no hectic Neo who babbled about cereal flavors and world domination, no radio blaring with a morning talk show. Back in his old life, he never thought about appreciating a simple morning, yet now he longed for one ever since.
There was no television, because under all this chaos, who produced shows anymore? And although reruns were normal, alongside news bulletins that irked more than informed, he didn't even have a tv. And radios? He had one, but it mostly was used for emergencies. That and no one played music from the good old days.
And Neo? God, who knew where she was.
He finished with his breakfast, drinking coffee and reading a magazine. As routine called for, he placed his plate in the same slot. Sighing softly, the old man shook his head and focused his gaze solely on the magazine.
In all honesty, Roman Torchwick had absolutely nothing to do. His routine was blank, empty of the freedom he once found.
Sometimes, he would stand aside the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world. The windows were shut off, wood planks covering glass. Small gaps were left, an obvious sign of a poor and rushed job.
It became his hobby. He didn't eye birds, but military jets and planes. He couldn't see towering buildings, but their remnants. He wouldn't gaze at the baby blue world, but at a dirty and corrupted world.
Yet even following his so-called routine, trouble's grasp couldn't quite leave him. The morning was normal, sure, but the ending...was something completely unexpected.
There was a thud!
There was a slam.
There was a scream.
Then something knocked the unopenable, wooden door down.
Now, Roman was scared, cautious, and confused. What exactly was going on? How come the door was knocked down? What about the bots? Where were they at?
Finally, for what seemed in ages, green eyes met silver ones. And as quickly as the conman could, he evaluated her, a smirking working its way to his face.
She stood alone, left leg limping slightly. Her arms and legs were bruised; her skin a canvas for purple and red and pink and blue to splatter against each other. There were cuts, a bit like how delicate stars danced across a night sky, only these cuts Roman found were nasty and deep and long.
Her clothes was ripped, black pants torn everywhere and a red, thin hoodie. He chuckled because even then she wore her signature colors.
Her hair was chopped off unevenly, the red tips now gone. It was a mess, leaves and branches sticking out of her raven strands.
But most horrifying was her face. Gone was the happy teenager, cradled in angelic dreams and fighting with a passion for justice. The child was gone, a dream and smile now gone.
Her pale face, now rid of all her baby fat, showed a mixture of hatred, fury, and fear. Those three, Roman Torchwick knew from first hand experience, was a dangerous combination.
Silver eyes had long lost their spark, a worn, cold, tired gaze replacing them. He couldn't picture her smiling with all the bruises in her skin, along with a scar that ran over her lips.
He wondered, how did she get that one? What did her voice sound like?
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
There's a sound he just noticed, and he can't find the source. At least, not at first.
It hit the floor, red splashing against tiles. He flickered his eyes back at the girl, ignoring the hypnotizing view of crimson against white.
"Red, please don't get the floor dirty. Has no one taught you basic manners?"
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She had a glare on her face. Sure, she was awfully still young, but it seemed like she had aged ten more years.
"What? Cat's got your tongue?"
It comes to him that the source of the dripping is the cut on her leg, but then he figures it's the slash above her thigh, and soon concludes it's from the ugly cut on her neck. Then he realizes, much to his unspeakable shock, that her whole body is the source of the liquid.
Blood dripped off her hair, and the few droplets that weren't falling on the floor were soaking her clothes.
"Red, why don't you speak?"
A sharp weapon was poised against his neck in a flash. It was a single knife, threatening to slash his neck open.
He cocked his head to the side, never once showing fear.
If he did, it would be a sign of weakness. He was unarmed, but he doubted Red was strong enough to engage in hand to hand combat.
"Red? Is this really how you greet old friends?"
She opens her mouth, almost as if she tried speaking. There was no sound, no annoying, female teenage voice. Instead, there was a harsh cry that escaped her scarred lips.
"So, Cat's really got your tongue?" Roman inquired, giving an exaggerated sigh. "Or is it Cinder?"
It occurs to him that Red hadn't turned into a broody, silent assassin. No, the girl just couldn't talk.
At that remark, the tip of the knife pressed even more against his neck. Beads of blood formed, green eyes remaining unfazed.
"How threatening, Red."
Red pointed towards the door, frowning. With the knife still against his neck, she grabbed his hand roughly and pulled him. The girl walked towards the door, keeping Roman in her view.
"Oh, Red. Where are we going?"
She didn't speak. Her hand pointed once more outside.
"Why outside, Red? Lost your teddy bear?"
He thought he saw a brief flash of pain across her face, before turning into irritation.
She put the knife away and dug into her pocket, pulling out a photograph. A finger dug into her blood, tracing words across the back of the photo.
"Help Find."
It was a photo of four girls- one being Red. The four were smiling (and he noticed that Red had the biggest grin), linking arms with each other.
Team RWBY / Second Year was scrabbled beneath the photo of the beaming schoolgirls.
"Red, I have no idea where your friends are."
She nodded, writing something down again.
"Help find = Freedom/Neo"
The last word got him. Neo? Was Neo alive? Wait, how did Red know of Neo's existence? His heart gave a flutter of excitement, but he fought hard to not show it.
'Fuck empathy.'
"You know, I should get you a pen." He responded dryly, rolling his eyes. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tapped his finger against his chin.
Red shook her head, gesturing at the words again.
In some ways, Roman almost felt bad. Red was a young girl, almost around the age of Neo, who was stripped from all her family and friends. With her body's condition, he figured she had gone through hell and back.
Except pity wasn't in his vocabulary, so almost was an accurate word.
Yet Neo...Neo was his weakness. He hadn't seen her in four years. He wondered if she was okay, though in his heart he knew she wasn't.
What had become of the girl he raised? The one he took under his wing? The same girl that had grown to see him as a father?
He was interested, maybe not in helping Red, but in finding Neo.
"The world is round, right?"
He thought of the engraved gift, the memories in his mind and the worry in his heart. Could she really know where Neo is? Well, even if she didn't...he had freedom. He could leave and look on his own. Besides, what was he supposed to do now? His cage had been opened, who was he to stay in and wait?
Red directed her hand towards the door again, almost growing impatient.
"Red, one can't venture out to this magnificent world alone without supplies, now can they?"
For a moment, he thought Red grinned, but it wasn't true. Instead the cold girl nodded, eyeing the refrigerator.
"Now, I'm not stupid, Red. We have max five minutes to leave whatever the hell this place is." He had questions, ranging from how the girl knew where Roman was, along with where exactly he even was. "So hurry up and take as much shit as we need."
He knew he had a backpack stored somewhere, though he doubted its uses. He could hand it to Red and pack a waters and fruits and snacks. He didn't have money, but he figured this would help for a couple of days.
In the span of five minutes, everything was ready. He had even helped the girl change into clothes, giving her a one of his white button up shirts and black pants. He made a mental note to either rob cash and clothing from a store or head to his old home as soon as possible. The clothes he had changed into just didn't seem to fit the style he was going for nowadays.
Plans were already being formed in his mind, his one little rule being pushed back for the sake of Neo. cigarettes in his pocket with a lighter, and his senses ready to bring in everything the once baby blue world had to offer.
"C'mon Red." He flashed a toothy grin. "I think it's time we both have a family reunion."