A/N: So, hello there. First time foraying into this fandom, but I got a muse and when you get the muse you just gotta let it out before you lose it. I should apologize beforehand that I don't know how frequently this will be updated, so this could be a bit. This may also get bumped up to M depending on how things go.
I will say that I'll probably be drawing on character archetypes from the Batman trilogy for this, though obviously they won't fit exactly. Feel free to guess at what they might be, I will neither confirm nor deny. I will also not be officially endorsing any ships, so read into it as much as you like, but your opinion is your own. And yes, AU's ahoy, which is how I justify the fact that I'm sure this is OOC as hell.
RWBY is the property of Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth, or something. Definitely not me.
Vale, a cosmopolitan hub of people and culture in the world of Remnant. Here there were politicians, warriors, merchants in this bustling metropolis, a hive of activity as people worked and went about their days in peace and oblivion to the world around them. Architecture indicated the worldly influences that went into building this city, stores and restaurants offered a wide variety of foods and services. Truly, it was not a bad place to live. With skyscrapers that reached into the heavens and great cathedrals to the gods and man's own greatness, Vale was a city many others aspired to be.
But everywhere had it's dark side, and Vale's was larger than most. Poverty ran rampant beneath the shiny exterior. Gangs and mobs existed in uneasy peace with the city divided amongst them, and crossing them was a losing proposition at best. The politics itself was corrupt, with many officials having or beholden to the mobs. If the city looked good, the truth was far more gritty.
It was late, city skyline already illuminated with a multitude of building lights and barely occupied streets with lamps as people settled down from the work day and the nightlife roared. Into this lull of activity stepped a rare breed of criminal. A black unmarked van waited in the parking lot of one of the branches of the biggest bank in the city, the current target of tonight's heist.
The lobby was sparsely populated, a few people making withdrawals or departures under the cover of nightfall, security guards watching everything with a careful eyes, and tellers just wishing they could go home and sleep, or out on the town with their friends. Their boredom was to be most quickly and effectively interrupted.
Outside camera sparked and went dead, images replaced by loops so as to not see what would happen next. Security guards noticed the commotion outside, but their reaction was too late as a cluster of crystals flew through the front door, multiple colors twinkling in the interior lighting of the decently sized lobby before exploding, a wave of air knocking everyone off their feet and then freezing them in place with ice.
Once the crystals had detonated the robbers swung into action, men in black uniforms and masks running through the doors with guns held aloft, shooting any guard that had managed to hold onto his weapon and decided to play hero, and disarming those who didn't. Everyone was covered, and the way cleared for the mastermind of this heist as he stepped through the bank, cane tapping out a rhythmic beat as it impacted on the marble floor.
Roman Torchwick, thief extraordinaire and in a league of his own in this city. Important for how he ran independent of the major mobs, well known for his success rate, reliability, and his loyalty when on a contract. He was also cocky, a bit grandiose, and had a thing for cigars, but it was easy to overlook his faults when you looked at his results.
He looked about as the smoke from his cigar wafted up to the ceiling, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he made his way to the end of the lobby, near the tellers desks and the back. ""Hello there. If you don't mind, I'd like to make a withdrawal," he said to one of the shaking tellers, frozen in place by his arm rather than his feet. "Don't worry, I can handle it myself Just...don't be a hero. I'd hate to have to kill you." His eyes bored into the teller from under his black hat, who nodded in understanding.
He turned then, looking back at the grunts who had restrained everyone else there, frowning at their inactivity. "Well? Get going! We don't have all day," he yelled, gesturing with his cane angrily. That at last prompted some activity, part of the group splitting off to head in back to the bank vault, himself following to oversee the whole process.
The vault wasn't so complicated, definitely not as much as the one at the main branch or the Vale Reserves. All it took was some Dust to burn through the lock mechanism, door easily swinging aside afterwards. Roman stepped intro the vault first, scanning the haul he was about to make. "Alright, take everything. And be quick about it."
The grunts went to work, stashing lien into brown bags from shelf after shelf, until the bags were full and the vault was empty. They proceeded out, leaving the bare room behind and returning to the lobby to meet up with those left behind to guard, now to make their escape from this successful heist.
As they ran out the door, Roman walked back up to the teller from before, removing his cigar from where it had been so well placed for manipulation, and ground it into the ashtray on the counter, leaving it there with lingering wisps of smoke rising in the air.
"Give my regards to Detective Schnee," he said with a cocky grin. His cane clacked on the floor as he made his way back to the doors from there. He tipped his hat, and he was gone.
Outside the grunts were busy loading up the bags of lien into the back of the truck, some moving off to other getaway vehicles to take police on wild goose chases across the city while the real van returned to the rendezvous point unmolested. And with a few greased palms in the Police Department, it generally worked, though a few were lost once in a while.
He walked up to the drivers side of the van, rapping on the door with his cane. "We're ready to go," he called up to the driver, who had his mask pulled low and sat stiff in his seat.
"Got it boss," came the reply, and Roman nodded to himself as he walked back to the side door of the van, reaching for a cigar in the while.
Still, there was something off, his instincts flaring in this situation, and he wasn't sure why until the cigar touched his lips and he lit it, the click of the lighter like his mind clicking facts into place. It wasn't the bank itself, but the driver. He was a different height than Torchwick remembered, hair different as well. And how they spoke...
His face nearly drained color as it hit him and at the same time the engine started, and he swiftly moved back up front, smashing through the drivers side window with his cane in a crash of glass that fell on both of them, quickly grabbing for the drivers arm as they sprang back in their seat, foot inches from the acceleration.
"Nice try," he said angrily, ripping open the door and tossing the driver out despite their struggles, though admittedly their movement was limited by the lack of space. "No one steals from Roman Torchwick."
To his credit, the driver landed well, a quick roll bringing him back to his feet, and Roman forced to bring his attention back by the sound of shifting clicking, and interlocking parts, to find himself faced with a giant red...scythe? On the one hand, he was impressed, since that was definitely not something you saw every day. On the other, he didn't appreciate being threatened.
Cane held in one hand and pointed towards that giant scythe thing, he was further taken aback, eyes widening slightly as he saw that not only was his heist about to be stolen by a girl, but one he knew at that. "You... you're that pickpocket from yesterday," he exclaimed.
It was mid day, the streets and sidewalks crowded as people went about their business. It was easy to move unnoticed amongst those, and that was what Roman did, scouting out the location of the next heist he would pull. He was noting locations of guards, cameras, escape routes and roads, traffic lights, everything he would need to pull this heist off.
It was in this process, amidst the crush of people, that the hair on the back of his neck rose, and he noticed someone passing too close for comfort, hand darting out to catch theirs as they tried to withdraw with some good from his pocket in their pass by. He applied pressure then, enough to hurt but not break or sprain it.
"Nice try," he commented casually, the pickpocket issuing a whine of pain before running off and vanishing in the crowd as soon as she was released, though not before he got a glimpse at her face, how haggard it was. Roman dismissed it and moved on. He had better things to do.
And now, she was here. The gas mask was gone, revealing a grimy face with somewhat sunken, yet hard, eyes glaring at him from behind the red blade of the scythe. She wore the clothes of the grunts he had brought with him, yet beneath he could see shades of red, most likely the threadbare hoodie he had seen her wearing that looked like it was about to fall apart.
"Guilty as charged," she replied. "Now step aside. I need that lien and you're in my way."
Roman snorted, letting out a puff of smoke. "Forget it kid," he replied with that calm cockiness he had so much of. "You're in over your head. Besides, how'd it look if I let my heist get stolen?" He was not about to let himself get embarrassed like that.
The sound of the police siren proved a welcome distraction, both directing their gaze towards where it came from. It looked like that teller had hit the panic button after all. Roman was the first to act, Dust crystal flying out to shatter on the ground, though the girl was able to roll away from it. Still, her foot was caught in the explosion, and Roman used the opportunity to return to the van, jumping on the side door, and motioned for the driver to go as the girl used the scythe to shatter the ice.
As the van started to pull away, Roman looked back at the girl, who was staring forlornly at the van, practically swaying on her feet with the scythe limp in her hands. And he felt something stirring. He wouldn't call it his conscience but something else. Perhaps it was respect for the guts she had had to try and steal his heist from out under his nose, the suffering she'd been through that had made her want to risk it, the calling of a kindred spirit. Himself, he'd just say that it was tying up a loose end to make sure she didn't show up again later.
"Hey kid," he called from the side door of the van. "You coming or what? You'll only get this kind of opportunity once."
He grinned as her eyes practically lit up with a life he hadn't seen in them before, scythe folding away as she put on a burst of speed, catching up to the van and hopping in next to him as they drove into town, police not far behind. "Welcome to the show Red," he said, assigning her a name to use though it most assuredly wasn't her real name. "I got a feeling we're going to do great things, you and I."