Author's Note: Well, alright. First off, I'd like to say hello. I'm as new to this fandom as this year is, i.e. roughly two weeks in. A reviewer of mine got me interested in RWBY a few months back, but I've only just recently broke down and decided to watch it. Then I broke down further and delved deep into the amazing archives of fanfic on this website. I'm probably going to be checking out AO3 soon enough, but for now I'm still working my way through the FFN stuff.

Anyway, as usually happens when I get into a new fandom, my muse automatically began coming up with ideas, the traitorous fucker. I originally planned a Bleach/RWBY crossover, since there aren't too many of those around, but I ended up going OC route. Wait, don't go yet!

This won't just be a team of OFC dicking about in canon. It's actually a single OC, one Orville Doyle, wading through an alternate universe based on several different fanfics I've read so far in which Jaune Arc is actually a super-cool badass Hunter already (for reasons I'll eventually get to).

I'd initially thought about breaking this chapter up into a few smaller ones, starting with a "Trailer" chapter, but it flows fairly well as is. So...enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this work of fiction. Not even the letters it's composed of.

Warnings: Adult languages and situations, controlled substance use/abuse (alcohol, primarily), fair bit of blood and gore, and spoilers up to Season 3, Chapter 8. You have been warned.

Chapter 1: The Wanderer

The group of survivors was done for; Maybelline felt that truth deep in her bones even as her mind tried to distract her from the harsh reality. Her village, Viridian Outpost, had been overrun by that ranging pack of Beowolves the Hunters had supposedly demolished the month prior, and it had only been thanks to the timely arrival of a young Faunus that any of them were still alive, three weeks after the fact.

Well, May said young, but when one's mortal coil stretched past eighty, almost everyone became a youngster. Still, the poor thing couldn't have been out of his teen years yet he had skills that most of the grown adults that remained couldn't hope to. When the villagers had met him, he'd introduced himself as Orville Doyle with a grin, three braces of rabbits, and a sack of wild veggies and fruits.

His long, shaggy hair (mostly black as coal, but there were splashes and streaks of spun gold) looked like it hadn't seen a pair of scissors in years, held up in a low ponytail by a shimmering yellow elastic band, leaving loose bangs to fall into his face. His gear (a hooded black sweater left open over a yellow-and-black plaid flannel shirt, jeans so faded they were gray, and well-worn traveling boots) wasn't what May normally saw on journeyman Hunters, and he really should invest in a needle, some thread, and a sewing class, but the scruffy look oddly suited the young man. His utility belt and the two butterfly swords strapped across his back lent some dignity and professionalism to the outfit, though, and those toasty-brown eyes were ever-alert and watchful, constantly on the look-out for danger that had yet to present itself.

Apparently, Orville had lived outside the Kingdoms sporadically for nearly a decade, moving between Vale and Vacuo all that time, entering Mistral and Atlas once each to "sight-see" in the boy's own words. He didn't say much about his family, and hadn't said much about anything for the first few days before May's youngest granddaughter had decided she wanted to pet those darling little dog ears poking up past his hair and shattered the barrier between them.

Despite being in his late adolescence, though, Orville had impressed all the villagers those first frantic few days when he handled the creatures of Grimm who had pursued them from their ruined homes with moves a fully-fledged Hunter would have been hard-pressed to match. Their respect for him solidified as he showed his usefulness in keeping them all safe and well-supplied as they headed closer and closer to the Kingdom of Vale.

Vale was the closest thing the villagers of Viridian Outpost had to true safety. Certainly, there were other mid-sized towns and cities beyond Vale's walls that were well-defended and had a constant Hunter presence, but none were very close besides Lighthouse, the main Valean colony city. Getting there, however, required them to cross Lenore's Pass and May doubted even Orville could defend them from the murder of giant Nevermore who were said to roost there.

So to Vale they went, with Orville pressing them forward relentlessly every step of the way. Many of them tried complaining about the blistering pace (Maybelline may or may not have been among the first, curse her worn hips) but Orville simply used the power he called a Semblance to haul them along regardless of their protests.

"I never wanted to run into a group of whiny refugees," Orville had grumbled loudly, "but I promised to help you get to Vale and I'm damn well gonna get you to Vale, and on my own schedule. I do have other things to do besides play Rescue Ranger out here."

May thought it was so adorably endearing how he would always snap and bark at them, yet never failed to make sure they were as comfortable as possible. He even had a stash of sweets to pass out to the children when morale was flagging. She learned that he had helped ferry many groups of likewise unfortunate villagers to more secure locations several times before once she'd needled him into conversation, and bemoaned the fact that none of her granddaughters were the right age to snag this obvious keeper (or that she herself wasn't sixty years younger).

However, even all of Orville's skill and experience wasn't going to save them from the death currently circling them. Not many Grimm hunted in packs; Beowolves were the most infamous species, but they were by no means the most dangerous.

Nemeans were leonine by nature, and thus followed the general pride mentality, with the females doing most of the work. Unlike natural lions, however, the leaders were by no means lazy hunters. A fully-grown male Nemean (like the one whose pride was spiraling down upon them) stood as tall as an Ursa with a mane of night, claws that could tear a man to shreds in seconds, and fangs longer than some swords.

"We're so close," Maybelline heard her son Redd mutter in frustration. He was right, too; the monolithic wall that separated Vale from the Grimmlands could be seen on the horizon, poking up over the forest canopy. She could see the gears grinding away behind Orville's intense brown eyes before nodding once decisively.

"Right," he said, turning to the villagers. "I'm going to make a tunnel that goes right into the guard-house, and when I say go, get going. If I die, whatever I make will start to deteriorate instantly, and you don't wanna get stuck in there when I kick the bucket."

"Die?" Vern the electrician croaked hoarsely. "But you'll come with us, won't you?"

"Even if I seal the tunnel, they'll see where we've gone," Orville explained impatiently. The ring-wall he'd pulled up was already starting to crumble from the repeated crushing claw swipes it was no doubt taking from the other side. "They won't do that if I stay behind and make sure they're distracted."

Orville swept the villagers with a grave expression on his face. "You don't have to like it; fact is, I don't like it either. But I gave my word, and I'm sticking to it, so..." He stomped down with a foot, and the earth trembled mightily before a gaping maw opened up next to him with neat, wide steps leading down, "...get your asses in gear."

The villagers began to protest, but before they could, a terrible crack echoed through the confines of their temporary haven, and the face of a Nemean lioness appeared, yowling ravenously, its pale mask gleaming in the moonlight.

A crimson flash punched through its red eye before exploding violently. "GO!" Orville roared over the villagers' cries of terror as he filled his hand with more red throwing needles, and they obeyed, filing as quickly down into the tunnel as they could. Maybelline was the last to descend, and she spared a moment to place a hand on Orville's shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered, tears streaming hot down the crevices of her cheeks.

He gave her a small, confident grin. "Just get outta here, May." With another stomp, the steps moved her into the depths of the tunnel before closing off.

Her son's family was waiting below, but the beams of light beyond and the resounding cacophony caused by dozens of feet hitting the ground rapidly let her know that some of the other villagers had run ahead to notify the Vale Guard. By the time she and her thoroughly sore hips managed to ascend into the guardhouse, a heated conversation was already well under way.

"So there's still someone out there?" a man close to her own age was asking Gem, the solar-panel installer. His no-nonsense demeanor and the chevrons emblazoned upon his armor's right pauldron instantly labeled him as a captain.

"Yes, the Faunus who helped us get here," Gem answered, irate and exhausted. "You need to help him before the Nemeans tear him to shreds!"

"N-Nemeans?" gulped one of the guard with the shiniest armor Maybelline had ever seen; obviously a new recruit. "Captain, Nemeans are Class-B Creatures of Grimm; no one without Hunter training would even be able to damage one of those without some heavy-duty Dust rounds!"

May watched in horror as the captain's brows furrowed in impotent frustration. "He's right," the grizzled man sighed, and she could hear the self-loathing in that puff of breath. "My guard would be slaughtered if we tried to help your friend."

Rage and sorrow warred within Maybelline. That boy hadn't needed to do one lick for her and her village, yet he had helped them cross one of the worst stretches of the Grimmlands with no thought for reward or gain, and now he would die alone.

Well not on her watch!

"Now you listen to here!" she snarled, startling not just the guards, but the villagers assembled as well; she hadn't truly let go of the reigns on her temper since her first child had been allowed to wander outside Viridian's wall and was killed. "I and the rest of these people owe our very existence to Orville, and if you think you can cop out and leave him to those beasts out there, then you've got another thing coming!"

She paused in her tirade to catch her breath, but when she caught a glimmer of recognition and...amusement in the captain's eyes, she nearly lost it again.

"Did you say 'Orville'?" the captain asked cautiously, unwilling to provoke her further. "As in, Orville Doyle? Has dog ears, black-and-blonde hair, uses throwing weapons?"

"Um, yes," she answered, unsure whether the guards knew of their savior. The ensuing gale of laughter from the Valeans confirmed her guess.

"Ma'am," the captain continued, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I mean no disrespect, but we won't need to do a damn thing for that boy. Little brat can handle himself a few Nemeans and would likely use us as a cool-down exercise were we to offer assistance."

"Huh?" Maybelline retorted eloquently, showing every one of her eighty years of experience. She'd heard from Orville's mouth that he'd traveled extensively, but to be so well known by the Vale Guard...

The captain cleared his throat awkwardly, as if unsure how to break the news. "Orville Doyle is a great many things, ma'am, but weak isn't one of them. There have been multiple cases against him for smuggling charges, but no one's ever managed to convict him, despite the fact that virtually everyone knows he did it."

"We were saved...by a smuggler?" Jasper asked. He was Maybelline's oldest grandson, a few years older than Orville by her estimate. "Does that make us criminals, too?" Well, he was older, but he wasn't exactly the brightest Dust crystal on display, bless him.

The captain sighed, running a hand over his graying crew-cut hair. "Doyle's definitely on the wrong side of the law most of the time," he said, "but the kid's got a good heart. He's helped many refugees get into the Kingdoms' protection and don't ask for a cent in return; probably because he doesn't exactly need any money thanks to all his illicit gains."

After that, Maybelline sank into her own thoughts on the rough Faunus boy while the others began the tedious job of filling out the proper paperwork for Grimm-displaced refugees (it was a depressingly common occurrence, after all). It took two days before they were able to settle into temporary housing, but when they began to unpack their meager belongings, they found one last gift from Orville.

Each of them had a similar hunk of a crystalline material, each in a different color of the spectrum, but only Maybelline had a note attached to hers.

Hey, May,

Captain Hue has probably informed you of my less than legal activities. Sorry for not being totally truthful, but being wary is part of my job description. I didn't do any of this for work, though; helping people is its own reward, as dumb and cheesy as that sounds. So, when no one was looking, I slipped some raw Dust crystals into everyone's bag. Each one is worth enough for one person to live comfortably for about three months (four if you're frugal) because that kind of Dust can only be found in one place (and I just so happen to be the only one who knows about it). If you sell it to a place called Dust Til Dawn and mention me, the Old-Timer'll give you a good price. Pass on the message to the others, and good luck!

Orville

She fought the grateful tears that sprang to her eyes as she passed the note to her son. That little rapscallion had just ensured all of the villagers would have enough funds to get back on their feet in next to no time.

She would have to return the favor somehow, but what could a bright young man like that even want? Perhaps dear Peter would know, he was a professor at some big-time Hunter academy here in Vale; the old buffoon would likely have some insight on a teenage boy's mind.

Whistling a merry tune, Orville Doyle walked down the streets of one of Vale's less than reputable neighborhoods feeling pretty good about himself. He'd managed to not only score the Dust ol' Pumpkin Spice needed, but there was also the villagers that were now safe because of his actions.

Making money was all well and good, and thanks to his inside scoop and unique skills pretty darn easy to boot, but making the world a little better was what he truly enjoyed. People as a group sucked, but individuals were often pretty cool and he sort of liked meeting new folks anyway.

Turning down a side alley, Orville knocked twice on the metal door at the end, then smiled at the suspicious eyes that greeted him through the sliding grate. "I've got an appointment with your boss," he said shortly; meeting people was nice and everything, but mooks were all pretty bland as a rule of thumb.

"Who're you?" grunted the grunt.

"Your worst nightmare if you keep asking stupid questions," Orville answered with the same chipper grin, fighting to keep his eyes from rolling. "Go tell him someone's got an appointment, and he'll know who it is. That's usually how appointments work, see?"

"Alright," the doorkeeper muttered plaintively. "You don't have to be so condescending, you know."

Thankfully, no more goons barred his way once he was inside the warehouse, and he followed his nose to a small prefab bungalow sitting near one of the other exits. He kicked the door in and grinned at the man sitting behind the desk within.

"Roman Torchwick, you old thieving bastard, how ya been?" he asked, dropping onto the metal chair opposite the criminal mastermind.

"Pretty good, Spot," Roman shot back dryly, but Orville could see the amusement behind the guy-liner and...was that a black eye? "You get the stuff?"

"You get the stuff?" Orville mimicked sarcastically. "C'mon, man you sound like some two-bit criminal in an old cop movie." Orville turned his focus fully onto the part of his mind auto-piloting his Semblance, which had been holding up the blocks of compressed Dust since roughly just before he'd met the Viridian Outpost folks.

Having the ability to move earth and earth-related matter with his will was a fairly handy skill to have for a professional smuggler (to handle raw Dust in the same manner even more so), and he'd exploited it with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. People needed Dust, but the Kingdoms liked to tax the bejezzus out of any and all imports, and even the domestic brands were fairly expensive. It was why there was such a thing as 'Designer Dust', kinds that couldn't be found within any Kingdom's borders that cost an arm and a leg for half a vial's worth.

That was where Orville came in. It was really just luck that he learned to become self-sufficient so early in life, whether good or bad depended on his mood. His parents had been very active White Fang members, but had perished in one of the first truly violent incidents, leaving him orphaned and alone. The Fang tried to recruit him, using their deaths as a bargaining chip and promising him vengeance upon those who had taken them from him.

But he wasn't an idiot, even as a child. Humans hadn't taken his parents from him, hatred had, and that was what the White Fang was inciting: hatred and fear. Orville knew he wanted no part in it, and left the compound he had called home for the underbelly of Vale.

Being ten on the streets was a bit of a challenge at first, compounded by the fact that he was a Faunus child in the aftermath of the worst uprising in centuries. The White Fang's increasingly aggressive actions only created more discrimination against him, and it was all he could do sometimes to keep his rumbling guts and bruised body from waking him up at night.

He caught a lucky break a few months after his sudden lifestyle change when, by sheer chance, he was in the wrong place at the perfectly right time to help a smuggler called Gin give some members of Vale's police force the slip. The patrol officer who had tripped over the poor Faunus gave him a sound thrashing, but the smuggler had found him later and patched him up, offering him a job and a steady supply of food. To the starving stray, Gin had been a gift from the heavens, and he swore that he would help in any way he could.

As luck would have it, Gin had trained as a Hunter before becoming disillusioned with the system and its corruption. According to him, getting Dust to the people who really needed it was just as admirable a calling as taking down Grimm. And it wasn't like they didn't exterminate any Grimm who got in their way after Orville began to really learn the 'tricks of the trade,' so to speak.

Thanks to Gin, Orville learned everything there was to know about smuggling and Grimm extermination. When the revelation of his Semblance came (and everything it implied for their business) they made a killing in the black market. Gin ended up retiring, having had enough of Grimm trying to use him as a mid-morning snack, but Orville couldn't give up the independence of traveling, nor the smug feeling he got knowing that he was 'sticking it to the Man,' as Gin was wont to say.

The Grimmlands were a terrible place, but Orville had loved it from the start. Something instinctive within him howled in pure ecstasy when he first set foot outside of the safety of Vale. To him, the sheer freedom of a smuggler's life made up for all the danger presented by Man, Grimm, and Remnant Herself. He reveled in falling asleep as he counted the universe of stars spread above him, hunting for sustenance, and even starving when his skill wasn't up to the task. He was free to do whatever he wanted, however he wanted to do it, and the only thing stopping him were his own limitations.

He'd met Roman Torchwick when he was twelve and they'd immediately gotten along like a house on fire. 'Thick as thieves,' the saying went, and Orville was technically stealing tax money from the government so it was an apt description of the pair. Roman had been a tentative contact of Gin's, and when the old smuggler retired (handing off his criminal network to Orville) Roman had been the first to accept him as Gin's successor.

Dropping the bag he'd been carrying onto the table with a deceptively loud thud, Orville took out the Dust crystals he'd procured, each about the size and shape of a brick. All of them had been much larger and of a more asymmetrical inclination when he'd found them, but Semblances were wonderful things (at least his was).

"Everything you asked for," Orville smirked, thoroughly pleased with himself. He reached into the left breast pocket of his flannel shirt and tossed Roman three small crystals in shades of the primary colors. "And that's a little something from your old pal, on the house."

Roman caught the offerings with a chuckle. "You really are the best pet a guy could ask for, Spot" he said almost fondly. "Any trouble on the road?"

"Had to play escort for some survivors of a Grimm incursion," Orville answered with a grimace. "They're starting to happen more often, y'know?"

Roman gestured to one of the various maps he had pinned to the cork board behind him, which depicted the outlying villages in the Grimmlands surrounding Vale. There were black pins in many places, Orville noted, and a lot of them were places where towns and outposts had recently been.

"You're preaching to the choir, kid," Roman sighed. "Don't get me wrong; more Grimm attacks means more demand for Dust, and I'm all for a little extra profit, but too many means that there won't be anyone to demand it soon or late." He turned back to Orville with a smirk. "So did they have to beg for you to help them out or did you give another freebie away?"

The dog Faunus shrugged helplessly. "What can I say?" he said. "I'm a sucker for octogenarians."

Roman snorted in disgust. "Your compassion is gonna get you killed one of these days, kid."

Orville shook his head before deciding to move on; it was an old argument between them. "So, what's this I hear from Junior about you shackin' up with some new boss? I thought Roman Torchwick was nobody's bitch?" He'd been joking, but something dark and foreboding passed across Roman's face that made him frown.

"Yeah, well times change," the thief bit out around his cigar. "Cinder's...different." Orville pretended not to notice the shudder that shook Roman's shoulders minutely. "You know those people with enough power and motivation to change the world?" Orville nodded, curious. "She eats people like that for breakfast."

Leaning back, Orville's eyebrows rose. Roman was about as self-centered as it was possible to be, and he loathed anyone who was undeniably better than him. But here he was, working for a woman who he would compliment (however grudgingly) without a second thought. It seemed he'd been gone for a little too long.

"Anyway," Roman muttered, opening a drawer in his desk and withdrawing a bottle and a pair of tumblers. "Enough with this bullshit, let's celebrate another victorious homecoming for my favorite little stray!"

Orville grinned; at least that aspect of Roman had remained constant.

Orville groaned as he awoke, wondering just what the hell he had been thinking the previous night. Celebrating a job well done was one thing, but overindulging and rising with a splitting headache and a mouth full of shit was something he could definitely live without.

"Curse my weak self-control," he mumbled, shielding his eyes before opening them cautiously. Hangovers and sudden light never mixed well, as he'd learned the hard way (on several different occasions).

Looking around, he found himself surrounded by people of a similar age, most of them sitting around in the room they were in. Some, though, were standing and looking out the windows that ringed the walls. Curiously, he turned his head and caught sight of Vale City passing below.

...that didn't sound right.

He pulled out his scroll (noting thankfully that he still had his butterfly swords strapped to his back) and dialed the contact labeled 'Jack', audio-only. "Hey, Jack," he said in a falsely cheerful voice as he tried to focus on something other than the tiny little miner in his head setting off a dynamite charge. "What's, ah, what's going on?"

Roman had the gall to chuckle merrily at him. "Oh, Spot," he sighed dramatically. "You never learn, do you? Never play poker with your ol' pal Romy, especially not for favors, and especially not when you're trashed."

"Guh, I don't even remember agreeing to a favor," Orville grunted, knowing that excuse wouldn't mean jack to Jack. "What's the occasion this time? Am I to break up with your latest paramour? Where's this airship taking me?"

"Yeah, about that..." Roman trailed off for a moment, sounding oddly apologetic; Roman Torchwick was many things, but apologetic was not one of them. "Okay, 'member how I was telling you about my new employer?"

Orville cast his mind back to last night's conversation and vaguely recalled something to that effect; scary woman, hot as hell but psycho. "Yeah?"

"Well, see, I owed her a favor, and now you're the one paying the debt," Roman continued, trying for nonchalance. "So you're officially enrolled at Beacon Academy as a first-year, and you'll be gathering intel for the first semester or so until the rest of her operatives enter stage left."

Trying to keep his voice down, Orville hissed, "What the fuck, Roman! You know me, you know how I feel about the Kingdoms, and Hunters in particular! How the hell could you even think about doing this to me?"

"Look," Roman snapped, and behind the bluster Orville was stunned to pick out remorse of all things in the thief's voice. "I already feel like a piece of shit for this, you don't have to rub it in; this woman, she's dangerous. You're a good kid, and I know I don't say it, but I consider you the closest thing to a friend I have. It's better for you to be on her side than die screaming."

Orville didn't say anything after Torchwick's proclamation; really, what could he say after an announcement like that?

"Just...just fit in, try not to make any waves, and get the job done," Roman concluded. "I'm not going to apologize, since I'm doing this to save your miserable life. Good luck."

And with that, the line went dead, leaving Orville with muddled thoughts and a killer hangover.

Roman Torchwick was one of the most fearless people he knew; he laughed in the face of danger and toasted his own inevitably grisly death each night. So when he spoke like that, with an undercurrent of terror in his words, Orville payed attention. He would do as he was asked, but he wasn't going to take it lying down.

The bitch Pumpkin Spice was scared of likely had some abominable Semblance or an insane amount of Aura (or perhaps both; as horrible as that prospect seemed), but it didn't matter to him. He remembered little and less about his parents, but he did remember a saying his father oft repeated: "It ain't the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog."

He would fight to the last in order to maintain his freedom, and the freedom of his companions. Roman's comment about being the closest thing to a friend he had really struck a chord in Orville; traveling the world as a smuggler didn't offer many chances at friendship, and he felt likewise for the thief. If someone was pressuring him, threatening him, then Orville would do everything in his power to stop it.

His grand thoughts of revenge and liberation were interrupted by his stomach making a sudden bid for its own freedom through his mouth, and he only had a moment to push open the nearest window to hork up the contents of his guts.

"Sorry," he mumbled weakly to whoever was unlucky enough to get hit by his flying vomit. He really needed to stop drinking.

He kept his head hanging out of the window, the cool air doing wonders for his nausea while clearing his head of the tumultuous thoughts circling in his head. A quick, almost tentative poke to his back brought his attention back to the airship's interior, where a pair of girls were standing close by.

His gaze was instinctively drawn to the taller one, an absolutely gorgeous blonde with pale purple eyes and a generous figure shown off very pleasantly by that outfit she had on. But his focus snapped instead to the smaller one, the one whose finger was still outstretched from where it had jabbed him. While not as obviously attractive as her companion, it was hard to find fault in the devastatingly cute features framed by red hair so dark it was almost black or those big silver eyes that seemed to shine in the sunlight.

Realizing he hadn't said anything, he cleared his throat, spitting the resultant wad of phlegm out the still-open window, then turned to them and asked, "Can I help you?"

"We just wanted to see if you were alright," the smaller one said, worrying the hem of her red cloak between her fingers. Orville bit back the sarcastic comment that sprang immediately to his lips; don't make waves, Roman had said. Starting fights with the other students before getting to the actual school would likely create ripples.

"It's just," the girl rambled on nervously, "we saw when your...er...friends brought you in and dumped you in that seat, then when you woke up you started throwing up so...um, I just..."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Orville favored her with an easy grin. "Nothing to worry about, Little Red. Just got too party-hearty last night."

"The day before you're supposed to go to Beacon?" Blondie replied, raising an amused eyebrow. "Aren't you a little rebel?"

"A little nauseous, actually," Orville mumbled, massaging his temples to try and soothe the throbbing pain. "But it was pretty stupid, I'll give you that." Even if I hadn't known I'd be going to Beacon until some ass-hat just told me a few minutes ago, he thought bitterly. "So, Goldilocks, you and Red here got names?"

Blondie put a finger to her chin in thought. "Goldilocks, huh? I kinda like it, actually."

"I'm Ruby," Red jumped in, "and this is my big sister Yang."

She gave him an expectant smile. "Oh, right...My name's Orville. Nice to meetcha. So where are you from, then?"

"A little island called Patch, just off the coast of Vale," Ruby replied, looking happy that he actually decided to open a dialogue with her. "There's lots of forests and plenty of Grimm to practice on. It's really great. What about you?"

Orville paused, wondering whether or not he should lie, but Ruby's earnest eyes were just too much to handle. "Well, I've spent most of my life traveling so I suppose you could say I'm from everywhere and nowhere."

"Wow, vague and difficult," Yang smirked. "You must get all the ladies."

"Only when they ask extra-nicely," Orville answered without missing a beat. "So what's it like living on a piece of rock in the middle of the ocean?"

Ruby pouted, and Orville briefly thought that should be illegal. "It sounds lame when you say it like that," she groused. "Patch is a great place, and there's all sorts of cool stuff to do there. There's even this cave where a half-Man, half-Grimm, half-Faunus is supposed to live, but I've never gone in there. Whenever I work up the courage, there's always some ungodly groaning and moaning coming from inside."

"Um," Orville began, but Yang gave him the 'cut it out' gesture frantically behind her sister's back and he coughed to hide his snickers. "That, ah, actually does sound pretty interesting."

"What about walking Remnant?" Yang asked, a subject change if Orville ever heard one. "That seems pretty wild." Her lilac eyes widened, pleading.

He thought about letting her sweat for a while, but wasn't feeling quite up to the task in his condition. "It's the best thing in the world," he instead supplied, closing his eyes as he recalled the feeling of standing in the middle of the Great Plain with a thunderstorm howling toward him and a horde of Grimm at his back. "I think it would be hard to explain to an islander how liberating it is."

"No," Yang said, looking out the windows at the horizon. "I'm pretty sure I can understand well enough. I wanna become a Huntress so I can travel and have fun, and it's really hard to do that on a little Patch of land."

Ignoring the terrible wordplay, Orville raised an eyebrow. "So your idea of fun involves killing soulless murder-beasts? I wanna party with you."

"You wish, Corndog," Yang returned playfully.

"Hey!" Ruby piped up, pointing to one of the holo-screens nearby. It was currently showing a very flattering mug-shot of good ol' Romy (seriously, it was hard to take a bad picture of the bastard) while the reporter blathered on about how terrible kingdom security was becoming. "That's the guy I fought!"

Orville nearly choked on his own laughter as he tried desperately to stifle it. This little girl was who Roman had gotten that shiner from? Oh, man, Pumpkin Spice was never going to live this one down.

"You took on a wanted criminal like that and lived to tell the tale?" Orville asked, impressed. He knew Roman was no pushover; hell, he and the orange-haired man were about evenly matched when it came to combat skill. The only reason Orville consistently won their infrequent spars was the raw instinct that came with roaming the Grimmlands.

"That's my li'l sis for ya," Yang bragged as she looped an arm around the younger girl's shoulders. "It's the reason she's even going to Beacon in the first place! Skipped her two whole years, if you can believe it."

"Wait, you're fifteen?" Oh, Roman, your comeuppance will be as sweet and cold as ice cream. "Nicely done, Little Red."

"Shut your stupid face," Ruby mumbled, a charming flush creeping up her face as she flapped away his praise; apparently she didn't take compliments well.

The picture on the holo changed so that instead of his old buddy's face, it showed a photo of a strapping young man with messy blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He was staring off to the side with a grim look on his face, and the anchorwoman began to gush about all this person's recent accomplishments.

"...has just returned from a long-term recon mission in the middle of the Mantle Grimmlands," she was practically squeeing. Orville rolled his eyes in disgust, jabbing his thumb at the picture as he turned to the sisters.

"Who's that dude?" he asked.

They both pinned him with a look of incredulous surprise. "Are you kidding me?" Yang snorted in disbelief. "That's Jaune Arc, man. He's only, like, the most famous Huntsman in Remnant."

"Yeah," Ruby took over enthusiastically, "He's the youngest licensed Hunter in the past fifty years, and his family tree's full of legendary heroes. Even the weapon he uses, Crocea Mors, has an amazing history behind it. This last mission he went on was to guard an archaeological expedition to some ruins in the Grimmlands outside of Atlas; they were out there for a whole month!"

"Sounds like an over-hyped douche bag to me," Orville grunted dubiously, with only a twinge of envy. It wasn't like he'd ever spent an extended amount of time in the Grimmlands guarding civvies and non-combatants. This Jaune guy does it and it gets him inter-kingdom press coverage; Orville does it and he gets a bench warrant. Go figure.

"Sounds like someone's jealous," Yang snickered, elbowing him in the ribs teasingly.

"Whatever," Orville brushed it off with a shrug; it wasn't like he could do anything about undeserved celebrity anyway. "Looks like Beacon's coming up," he observed, jerking his chin toward the swiftly-growing towers ahead.

Ruby and Yang both grinned in anticipation as the airship docked, and they shuffled him off down the ramp before he could even check to see if Roman had left him with any luggage. He stepped to the side of the ramp and stared up at the vaunted spires of Beacon Academy; while he wasn't exactly happy to be here under such circumstances, Orville would give credit where it was due. The school was an incredible sight, and he burned it into his memory to sit with the other monumental places he'd visited.

He got so caught up in mentally recording the image that he failed to notice that his new blonde acquaintance had vanished until he heard Ruby whine loudly.

"Where'd your sister go?" he asked, looking around but failing to see a strand of gold hair anywhere.

"She totally ditched me," Ruby pouted morosely.

"She ditched us," corrected Orville, and the redhead perked up hopefully. "You looked out for me on the airbus, I'll do the same for you down here, alright?"

"Great!" Ruby exclaimed, her earlier melancholy already forgotten as she bounced around gleefully. "I knew talking with you would be a good idea!" Orville tried to stop her from getting too excited, but before he was able to come up with a decent plan of attack Ruby had spun directly into a luggage cart full of pristine white suitcases pushed by a couple guys whose resigned expressions labeled them as professional servants instantly.

"What are you doing?" snapped a snotty voice. The girl who it belonged to was quite short; even with those heels on, the top of her snowy side-saddle ponytail would only just graze Orville's chin. She was definitely a beauty, and the pale scar lancing down her left eye would have proven that she wasn't just a pretty face if the wickedly-sharp rapier and the white battle-skirt didn't already.

"Sorry," mumbled Ruby as Orville reached down and helped her to her feet. She picked up one of the cases helpfully only for Whitey to snatch it from her grasp immediately.

"Sorry?" the girl parroted, condescending. "Do you have any idea how much damage you could have caused?" She opened up the luggage, revealing vials of powdered Dust in a variety of colors (though none in Orville's signature shades, he noted smugly).

"This is top-grade Dust, mined and refined by the Schnee Dust Company," Whitey boasted proudly, faltering when Ruby made a confused noise in the back of her throat. "What are you, brain-dead?" the princess ground out through clenched teeth as she pulled out a vial and shook it menacingly at Ruby.

Orville noticed immediately that the vial hadn't properly been capped off and cut off whatever else Whitey was going to say by pulling Ruby away from the leaked powder that was floating gently to the ground, putting an arm over his nose. One of his Semblance's main limitations was that he couldn't handle refined Dust at all; something about the process played havoc on his control.

"You're gonna wanna check the seal on that one, Edelweiss," he said sharply, waving the Dust away from him so he didn't take out half the road if he sneezed. "Somebody in the Schnee Dust Company doesn't know how to package their product."

"And just what would you know about the proper handling of Dust?" the girl began, only for her to pull a double-take on the faulty seal. Her porcelain complexion gained an enchanting shade of pink as she realized he was right.

"More than you'd think, Princess," Orville replied smoothly. He peered at her for longer than was strictly polite as he noted the abashed tint to her regal features.

"It's heiress, actually," a new voice corrected calmly from Orville's blind spot. He sniffed once before leaping away and spinning to face this newcomer who smelled of feline. His eyes narrowed as he took in the girl's lithe form, wrapped appealingly as it was in body-hugging black and white, but as his gaze jumped up past her lovely face to the mane of jet-black hair Orville focused on the big black bow tied neatly atop her head with a frown.

"Um, what?" Ruby asked, heedless of the bewilderment rushing through his head as he studied the girl.

"Weiss Schnee, heir to the Schnee Dust Company, one of the largest suppliers of energy propellant in the world," Black Beauty said after gazing unnervingly right back at Orville for a moment as though trying to convey some meaning through her amber eyes. There was an almost nervous look in them, something Orville was incredibly curious about, but the fact that she was hiding obvious Faunus animal ears under that bow made his Aura thrum uncomfortably.

Her words registering belatedly in his mind, Orville turned back to the newly-dubbed Weiss (and he couldn't believe how close he'd come to actually guessing her name). "You're the Schnee heir?" he asked incredulously. "What about Winter, I thought she was the firstborn?"

"You know my sister?" Weiss wondered aloud, astonishment overriding her indignation.

"In a manner of speaking," Orville answered evasively, fighting the urge to snort. Truth was, Winter Schnee was one of the main reasons he'd only been to Mantle once in his life with no plans to return. The Schnee family's Semblance was a terror on the battlefield, and he had first-hand experience (and a frost-bite scar) to prove it.

Weiss seemed to get a hold of her emotions as she sneered. "Schnee politics are none of your concern," she grumbled, turning to Black Beauty before adding, "Although it's nice to get some recognition in this place."

Beauty gave Weiss a flat stare as she continued in an impressive deadpan, "The same company infamous for its controversial labor forces and questionable business partners."

"Not to mention how much they overcharge for trash Dust," Orville felt the need to put his own two Lien into the conversation (for intellectual purposes, of course). He smirked when Ruby let out a tiny, likely unintentional giggle.

"Wha-?" Weiss was momentarily speechless with rage as her icy eyes bounced between the three of them. "How dare you!? Schnee Dust is some of, if not the best in Remnant, and our business acumen is above reproach! The nerve..." She sputtered incoherently before finally just walking away, leaving her...assistants (butlers?) to pick up the luggage and hurry after her.

"I'm sorry," Ruby called once more after the Schnee girl's retreating form. "I'll make it up to you, I promise!" She sighed heavily, muttering, "I guess I'm not the only one having a rough first day."

Orville kept one ear tuned into Ruby's ramblings, but most of his attention was centered upon the Black Beauty, who was definitely a Faunus. She stared right back at him, neither twitching a muscle as they sized the other up. His nostrils were flared, though, and as he took in her scent from so close he had to consciously stop his lip from curling.

Most Faunus are born with superior senses, and he was no exception. However, where the majority simply gain heightened perception and excellent low-light vision, Orville's ancestry presented him with olfactory and aural senses far above average, even for a Faunus. It wasn't as though Beauty's scent was 'bad', but something instinctive within him recoiled at the signals coming from his nose, like a recovering nicotine addict catching a whiff of cigarette smoke. She was a freaking cat.

"So, what's your name?" Ruby asked, either unaware or uncaring of the tension pulled taut between them.

"Blake Belladonna," the cat answered without taking her eyes off Orville. Trepidation swam in the amber there, frolicking with hints of panic and defiance in equal measure.

"Well, I'm Ruby Rose," the youngest of the trio continued on with a friendly smile. "And this guy here is Orville...uh...?" She glanced at him questioningly, as if only just then realizing she hadn't learned his last name.

"Doyle," he said after a moment's pause. "Nice to meet such a cat-ivating woman."

She stiffened at his words, frowning harshly as her gaze flickered to Ruby, then presented them with a smile so forced it was painful to him. "Thank you for saying so," she replied politely. "I've never met a dog Faunus before, do you think I might ask you a few personal questions?"

And before either he or Ruby could protest, she'd grabbed his arm and pulled him off the main brick walkway and behind some trees before slamming him into the trunk of a large elder, a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

"Who are you? How do you know me?" she hissed, pressing something rather sharp against his neck.

He snarled low in his throat, a warning to let her know that he wouldn't take this lying down. The green-and-brown daggers that he'd pressed against her ribs were just in case she didn't get the memo. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you aren't important enough for me to even care."

Disbelief warred with caution on her face, and after a moment, she stepped out of his personal space, sheathing what looked like a katana behind her back.

Popping his flannel's collar back into place after the rough treatment, Orville fixed her with a glare that would have sent a lesser person fleeing for their lives as he allowed the daggers to meld back into the Dust cube he'd bent them from on his belt. "So what's got your ribbon in a bow?" he demanded. "Or did you just not want me to spill the beans about your cat ears?" He spat on the ground between them to try and relieve the sour taste in his mouth. "Have you so little pride in what you are that you'd choose to hide them?"

"I am more than proud to be a Faunus," Blake growled with such vehemence that Orville was taken aback by the force of her words. "I'm not hiding what I am."

It took only a moment to realize what she was implying, and another few seconds to connect the rest of the dots. His frown deepened until it was a full scowl. "You're White Fang," he managed to say in a strangled voice as he fought to control his breathing.

"No," Blake denied, a curiously agonized expression passing across her features. "Not anymore."

"What, did you get tired of all the fear mongering and blatant murder?" he sneered, and was more than a little surprised when she gave a jerky, hesitant nod. "Oh," he intoned, for lack of anything better to do.

While he processed that, Blake gave a gusty sigh. "Look, I know that the White Fang hasn't made life for Faunus any easier," she said, glancing away in shame and Orville bit down on his sarcastic reply. "I don't expect you to feel any sympathy for me, but please don't let anyone know about my...former affiliations. I came here to try and atone for what I've done, and I can't do that if I'm expelled or imprisoned."

Orville grimaced, studying the cat for any signs of deception. When he was unable to find even a trace, he pushed his bangs out of his face with a groan; it wasn't like he didn't have a healthy fear of the slammer himself, and there were plenty of things he'd done that he wished he could fix. "Fine," he grunted after some thought. "My parents are probably rolling in their graves right now, but I agree to keep your secret. If I get even a bad feeling about you, though," he pinned her with a scathing glare, "I won't hesitate to take you down myself."

Blake seemed like she didn't quite believe the situation, but gave him a grateful smile that transformed her apathetic face into something beautiful. "Thank you," she whispered earnestly. "I wouldn't expect anything less. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about your parents. I...lost mine as well."

Closing his eyes at the latest revelation, he caught the slowly-approaching floral scent of Ruby Rose as she tried to creep up on them. "Well, now we're both sorry. Ruby's coming."

"Orville, are you alright?" Ruby called out warily from the other side of the tree as she inched closer. "You've been talking for a few minutes now."

A devious thought floated to the top of his consciousness, and he felt a smirk pull his lips up. With not a moment to spare, he rumpled his clothes up and adopted a shell-shocked expression then stumbled away from the tree in a punch-drunk fashion.

"Wow, Blake, I didn't know that 'personal questions' meant 'make-out session behind a tree'," he slurred deliriously.

Ruby, who had just gotten to a position where she could see their little hiding spot, shot Blake a scandalized look. The Faunus in question gaped comically at Orville, who stuck out his tongue from behind Ruby's back.

"Blake, I wouldn't have taken you for one of those girls," Ruby mumbled as her face grew as red as her namesake.

"I-but...wha?" stammered Blake, whose face was heating up to give Ruby a run for her money.

"It was very nice and everything," Orville continued happily, "I just wish you would have given me a bit of a warning."

"Really now," Ruby scolded, still flushed but looking indignant on Orville's behalf, which was oddly touching. "Just because he's a boy doesn't mean you don't need proper consent before you force yourself on him."

"Huh?" Blake practically whimpered, bewilderment plain on her face as she tried to comprehend the situation she'd found herself in before finally collecting herself and giving a less-than-apologetic shrug and a smirk. "Sorry, I just wanted to see if it was true that all canine Faunus possess no inhibitions; it is."

"Oh, ho-ho," chuckled Orville. Kitty's got claws after all. "The truth of the matter is that no one can resist the raw animal magnetism of the dog Faunus, even themselves. It's a blessing and a curse," he flung a hand across his eyes dramatically, and Ruby seemed to understand that he was just having a laugh.

"Wait, so you weren't playing tonsil hockey?" Ruby asked, looking almost relieved before she rounded on Orville. "Lying is a bad habit; you shouldn't do stuff like that, even if it's just a joke."

"Lying's got me this far," Orville responded, tweaking the girl's nose with a grin as he cringed internally. "I'd probably be dead, or worse, without the magic of fallacy."

He really did feel bad about his lack of honesty toward the redhead. She'd been nothing but nice to him, which was part of the reason he was so wary of her; in his not so insignificant experience, people like that almost always wanted something in return. Ruby seemed very different for some reason, though. It might have been her sheer cuteness playing havoc with his instincts, or her optimistic attitude clashing with his jaded world-view, but he felt like trusting the girl was the most natural thing in Remnant.

"Anyways," he continued, steering the conversation away from that minefield. "We should probably get to the auditorium for orientation or whatever, right?"

Ruby nodded in agreement, but when they turned to get Blake's opinion she was already a good distance away. Apparently, she didn't enjoy their brief faux-mantic tryst.

"C'mon, let's follow her," Ruby suggested, pulling on the sleeve of his hoodie. "She seems to know where we're supposed to be going."

Orville couldn't see fault in that logic and agreed, trailing after the curtain of black hair ahead of them in silence. Which was good for Orville, since he still needed to truly process that he'd somehow managed to get roped into some massively powerful (or cunning, or some sinister combination of the two) criminal mastermind's scheme. What kind of intelligence did he even need to gather on Beacon Academy? He doubted anyone would tell him the plan so he'd know what to look for, and that only made his job harder.

He stifled a sigh; smuggling was so much easier than this. He really kind of hated Roman.

"So," Ruby spoke up, the sound of a mecha-shifting weapon interrupting his thoughts. He turned to find the petite girl handling a humongous scythe with a red-and-black color scheme and a gleaming silver blade. Oddly enough, it suited Ruby perfectly in Orville's mind. "I've got this."

Orville scanned the weapon with great interest. The jigsaw of components was artful and functional at once, and he noticed a trigger just under the blade's curve. The top of the haft bore a circular opening as well, so it must also be a firearm of some sort, likely high-caliber.

"It's awesome," he finally said, and Ruby glowed at his words. "A scythe with, what is that, a sniper rifle built in?"

"Y-yeah," Ruby confirmed, brushing her hair out of her face bashfully. "She's called Crescent Rose; I made her myself." She pointed awkwardly to the hilts of his butterfly swords, poking out from behind him near his lowest ribs on either side. "What about you?"

Orville unsheathed them, holding them out for Ruby's inspection. They were only about as long as his forearm, barely more than glorified daggers with a single cutting edge while the back of each blade was composed of twin barrels. The only difference between them was the coloration; one was black and reflected the light sharply while the other was pale with a pearly sheen to it.

"These are the Dynamic Duo," he proclaimed proudly. "Sawed-Off Butterfly Shotswords. They're not much for long-range, but they can handle just about anything short-to-mid." He held up the black one, "This is Obsidian, and this is Selenite. I didn't make 'em, they used to belong to my mentor, but I made lots of alterations when they were given to me."

Ruby's eyes were wide as she absorbed the information. She reached out toward Selenite, but hesitated before she actually touched the blade. Orville flipped it, presenting the hilt to her, and she snatched it from his grasp instantly, turning it this way and that as she muttered to herself.

"I get most of it," she said at last, handing the weapon back to Orville reverently before pointing to a crystalline tube which nestled in the groove between the gun barrels before disappearing a scant centimeter before the muzzle, "but what's that thing?"

"Dust chamber," Orville explained, sheathing Obsidian and idly pulling a small strand of Fire Opal Dust from its designated pouch on his utility belt and bending it into a small rod shape. He showed it to her before sliding it into the opening of the crystal tube near the breach. "I can change what my shells do with different Dust. This kind gives it an explosive kick and sometimes sets stuff on fire."

"You have more kinds?" Ruby wondered. "I've only got my special Dust rounds," she patted a cross-shaped magazine on her own belt. "They produce more impact, but nothing like yours."

Orville hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of playing show-and-tell with Ruby, but again he just had a feeling that he could trust this girl. So he removed the utility belt with its seven pouches and pulled out the block of solid Dust from each of them while explaining.

"I told you about Fire Opal, so I'll skip it," he said, pointing instead to the orange one. "This is Sunstone, and it works a little like a flash-bang. The yellow-gold one, Pyrite, generates electricity. Tiger's Eye is the greenish brown one and acts like a tranquilizer. Then there's Moonstone, the pale blue one; it's one of my favorites 'cause it screws around with gravity, lots of fun stuff to work with there. Amethyst can work either as a venom or antivenin, depending on how much Aura you put into it. Last is Alexandrite, it promotes Aura regeneration; I mostly use it to recharge when I'm tapped out."

Ruby was transfixed by the Dust crystals. "These are amazing. I've never even seen heard about Dust that can do things like that. Where'd you buy them?"

"I actually found 'em," Orville answered, buckling his belt back around his waist. "Lots of perks to being a world-traveler." He turned, looking for a black bow and found that they were quite alone. "Um, Ruby? Where'd Blake go?"

"Oh," Ruby said shortly after she had swept the area with her own gaze. "I knew I'd forgotten something." She offered him a weak smile. "You wouldn't happen to know where we're supposed to go, do you?"

Orville just groaned.

After-Action Report: Alright, so that was that. The OC's name is compliant with the Color Rule: Orville means Gold Village while Doyle is the Anglicized version of Dubhgall, meaning Black Stranger. Black and yellow, interestingly enough, feature prominently in his character design for some odd reason.

Orville's personality is based on the idea of a stray dog personified. Most of the dogs I've ever owned were at some point strays, so I understand how difficult it is to earn one's trust. When it's gained, however, they're more loyal than an army of fanatics. He's a bit stand-offish at the moment, except when it comes to Ruby. The reason for this is because like dogs, Orville can somewhat sense her intentions and unconsciously feeds off of that and reciprocates (like dogs do).

He and Blake will have more interaction soon. Part of the reasoning behind Orville's creation was because I wanted to see how Blake would react to a Faunus with canine traits after seeing her with Zwei (my favorite RWBY character, btw). They're both Faunuses (Fauni? Fauns?), but Blake was a prominent member of the White Fang while Orville wants absolutely nothing to do with them. I hope it will make for a nice dynamic.

Jaune's position as a fully-licensed Hunter before the first semester of Beacon even begins will be explained, but for now, I'll just say that his Semblance plays a prominent role. He'll be making an appearance soon enough, and key points will be revealed.

Orville's friendship with Roman is something I hadn't planned on, but I'm going to roll with it anyway. Everyone needs a friend, even if they're criminals.

Also, if you're anything like me and subconsciously read dialogue in the character's voices, I picture Orville with Vic Mignogna's dulcet tones. And if you don't know who that is, he's the VA for Edward Elric of Fullmetal Alchemist fame.

I think that's it. If there's something I failed to address here, please feel free to review or PM me with questions, comments, hateful words, etc. Thanks for reading, and have a great day!