Team BAIG
Chapter 1: Grey Trailer
RWBY is a Rooster Teeth original production created by the late, great Monty Oum, I own none of it, and do not claim to.
A slow piano riff plays as the camera fades into a view of Remnant's moon. It takes a sudden turn with a violent set of guitar shredding as the camera pans down to… a
retail insurance shop?
A deep, rather gruff voice echoes in the shop.
"Look Tai, I understand, I really do, but we simply can't cover Atlas prosthetics, there just aren't enough of them on the market for us to offer coverage. Maybe check in with Ironwood, I'm sure he'll help after all that went on… okay, thank you for calling… no, it's no problem staying open a little late for an old friend, besides, I'm supposed to have a meeting soon anyway. Good night."
A very large man with black hair showing its first signs of greying and a full, but closely trimmed beard, hangs up the phone he was talking on.
He is in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with a grey vest and a grey tie. With his black dress shoes resting on the desk in front of him and wearing a pair of black slacks, his overall appearance could best be described as business casual.
"Who woulda thought this whole 'largest terrorist attack in history' thing would need so much paperwork?" He said to himself, leaning back a little further in his chair, before taking his feet off the desk and settling into work at a modified looking typewriter. It appeared to have a handle mounted to both sides, and leaned away from the keys, so it wouldn't get in the way. It also had a lever on the right side, as some typewriters do, but this one was much larger, resembling a stick shift.
A knock at the door got his attention. He looked at a grey-white featureless humanoid, sort of like a faceless mannequin. It was currently organizing a shelf to his left.
"You gonna get that?"
The strange figure walked to the door and opened it, revealing a tall, well dressed woman, in glasses and a cape.
"Glynda, come on in, let's make this quick, I've got somewhere to be."
Glynda Goodwitch walked into the room and sat in a wooden chair in front of the desk.
"So, what brings you by? I'm sure you wouldn't stop by for a social call with what all's goin' on right now. And I'm sure you know that even the most comprehensive of insurance plans couldn't cover what happened to Beacon."
"Right to the chase then Grant. I need you to assist me with the school. We need everyone we can get to keep the Grimm at bay. And since Port and Oobleck decided to take some time off in Patch, I need some people with experience out there."
"And then my team will reunite with absolutely no problems and single handedly take back the school from the creatures of Grimm. Pass. We flunked out third year remember?"
"Making it to third year means you're more experienced than most of the people standing watch. We have mostly student volunteers out there, and since you're in one of Vale's safe zones, you're closer than most of the help we can call in."
"Why'd you come to me anyway? I wasn't even team leader."
"No, but given what you went through, I expected you would be the most inclined to go out and gather the rest."
"Don't. Don't bring up what happened. I don't want to think about it. Just go."
"Fine. I'm planning to stay in the kingdom for a foreseeable future, so call me on a scroll if you change your mind."
And with that, Glynda left Grant Grey sitting alone with his odd "co-workers."
"Alright, none of you are currently carrying anything, right?"
The three faceless figures made no response, other than holding out their empty hands.
"Alright, looks like it's closing time."
And with that, the three figures dissipated.
Grant then untied his tie and walked to the piano bar down the road.
"Good evening Mr. Grey, playing again tonight?"
"No, this is the first Friday in 3 years I'm not playing the piano in front of a bunch of drunks. Just give me a shot and an introduction, and I'm ready.
He walked in, sat down at his piano, cracked his knuckles, and went to work. A few songs and a few shots later, the rest of the night kind of blurred together.
A few hours before last call was his time to stop, so he began stumbling home.
As he approached the door to his home/business, he saw a lone Beowolf wandering down the street.
Probably just a stray wandering into the safe zone, since they all seem to be targeting the school instead of the area around it.
Considering the unlikeliness of it being the first of a full-on Grimm attack, combined with the likelihood of it being found and killed before morning, along with Grant's tired, drunken state, he should just head inside, walk up the stairs, and go right to bed.
Instead, he walked inside, grabbed his typewriter by the handle, and walked out the door, right towards the Grimm.
"Hey, tall, dark, and murderous! Come here often?" He drunkenly yelled at the creature. Causing it to turn in his direction.
"Yeah, you. Considering it's a bit early in the year to dress up and knock on doors, I'd say you're up to no good. So why don't you come over here, so I can have a word with you?"
The Beowolf immediately began a charge at the man, who used his massive arms and imposing stature, to smack the Grimm across the face with his typewriter, instantly dissolving it into shadow.
"Young one were ya? Not really my type, sorry."
As he said this, two more Beowolves and an Ursa emerged from an alleyway.
"Would ya look at that? She brought friends."
He gripped the handle and lever of his typewriter, as its body piece, aside from the ink ribbon cartridge, reformed itself into a cannon.
"Well I hate to cut the party short but…" he pulled the ink ribbon out of its holder, replacing it with an earth dust cartridge, "It's really getting late, you understand."
He pulled the lever four times, putting two cannonballs into each Beowolf, before slapping the cartridge back over to the left side of the cannon.
"And you," he said, looking at the Ursa, "No offence, but you are a touch heavy for my taste."
As he finished this sentence, he started running towards the Ursa, and summoned his three faceless companions in front of the large Grimm.
They stood in a line with about a foot between each of them, and a few feet from the Ursa.
The closest one to the Grimm faced away from it, and clasped its' hands in front of itself, the middle one kneeled and put it hands palm up on its' shoulders, while the one closest to Grant got on its' hands and knees.
Grant sprinted forwards, his cannon barely slowing down his massive form, as he used his "Interns" as he liked to call them, to run up and catapult himself though the air.
He fired four cannonballs into the Grimm's head, before adjusting his grip and slamming the full weight of the cannon onto the Ursa's head, collapsing the skull and killing the creature.
Grant walked back to his house, with one of the interns carrying his typewriter.
He had them walk up the stairs past his desk, and sit it on the table next to his bed, promptly dismissing the interns afterwards.
With the last bit of adrenaline from the fight keeping him awake, he grabbed a picture sitting next to his typewriter, and sat on his bed.
The picture was of a large man in grey, him, standing next to a colorfully dressed woman who looked quite short, but was probably about average next to his 6' 9" height.
In the woman's arms was a little girl, probably about two years old at the time of the picture, smiling the widest smile someone with such a tiny face could achieve.
With a sigh, he pulled out his scroll, and left a voicemail for Glynda, since it was about 3 am.
"I've reconsidered. I'll get the team back."
And with that, he fell onto his bed, alone, with the picture back on his nightstand.
Alright, so a few things. I'm sorry I haven't written in a while, if you were one of the readers of my other works, "The Lord of Oblivion" is on long hiatus at best, discontinued in all likelihood. I am still considering ideas in Fallout, so if the person asking me about that finds their way here, it's still something I'm working on. I just really enjoy the RWBY franchise, and the idea for this story was born from a joke among my friends at the end of season 3 about how frustrated an insurance rep would be after all that property damage. So, this has been in the works for a while, and I am glad to get it out. You might have noticed I started with the last letter in BAIG (pronounced beige for those who didn't read the description), that because Grant was the first one I came up with, the most fleshed out idea, and because of that I'm going in reverse order with Grey, Green, Violet, and Orange.
Thanks for reading!