RWBY Fan Fiction
Once Upon a Time
By Kraven Ergeist
What compelled her to speak up, she did not know. Her parents, her teachers, everyone she ever spoke to always told her to stay quiet, to be polite, to be a good little girl. But at the moment, none of that seemed to matter. The playground was otherwise empty, and being a good little girl wouldn't do anything to keep those two older boys from bullying that funny little girl with bunny ears.
"You leave her alone!" she shouted with all the gusto her seven-year-old lungs could muster.
The two older boys turned and looked over at her, seemingly confused by the contradiction that met their eyes. Before them was a cute little girl in a little red dress, her dark hair and pale skin in stark contrast with the look of determination on her face and her two little fists planted firmly against her hips.
They stood and stared at the girl in red, as if sizing her up. They were eight and nine, not much older from the girl before them, but still easily a match for the clearly smaller contender.
It was just like in her storybooks, she thought. The hero would stand up against far greater odds, protecting the weak and fighting for what was right. She knew she probably didn't stand a chance against the two older boys, but she couldn't just stand by while they hurt that poor little girl.
Still…something in her eyes made them hesitate.
Something behind that fierce expression made them think again.
Maybe this fight wasn't worth it.
"Let's get out of here," one boy said to the other, letting the poor bunny-eared girl go stumbling onto the grass.
And just like that, they were gone.
It was just like her uncle had said, the girl in red smiled. Bullies would always back down when they were afraid. It was the heroes who faced their fears, those who stared down the dragon and stood their ground.
The girl in the red dress came up to the bunny-eared girl and offered her hand.
"Are you okay?" she asked, tenderly.
The bunny-eared girl looked up, tears in her eyes, before nodding slowly.
"Uh-huh…"
The girl in red smiled back.
"Good!"
~"What's an adorable girl such as yourself doing in a school designed to train warriors?"~
~"I wanted to be just like those heroes in the books. Someone who fought for what was right, and who protected people who couldn't protect themselves."~
"Again!"
The girl in white suppressed a whimper. Day in and day out, it was just the same. Drills, drills, drills! With the sword, with dust, with her aura…and that was just in the combat arts! After that, it was onto her studies! Then singing lessons in the afternoon, and then at dinner, she was expected to demonstrate what she knew of etiquette, table manners, and how low to properly curtsy when entering a room! And if she slipped up even a little, she could expect that much less on her plate for supper that evening.
It hadn't been so bad at first. She had talent, and a lot of the drills came naturally to her. But then when her training intensified, her instructor began to pit her against armored golems. And these golems were not averse to hitting back.
Hard.
The first day she had faced a golem on the sparring ground, she had come home crying to her parents about how it had nearly taken her head off. And her parents seemed surprised by her reaction.
'Of course you had to fight the golem," her father had said. 'We're the ones that bumped you up to the next tier.'
'We were honestly surprised it had taken you so long to get to this level,' her mother had added. 'We know you're capable of better.'
Some days, she just felt like crying. But she knew that that too she would be penalized for. So she bit her tongue, and plowed ahead, throwing herself into her training with all the effort she could muster.
"Head up!" her instructor commanded, as her drills began that day, as they always had. "Shoulders back! Right foot forward!"
The girl in white hurriedly obeyed.
"Not that forward!" the instructor barked, and she felt her hand stinging from a the ruler that came down upon her.
It seemed nothing she did could ever satisfy her instructor. Or her parents.
But then, when the girl in white sat down to dinner that evening, there was a surprise waiting for her on the dining room table. It was a pure white porcelain doll, one that she had been secretly looking at in the window of the corner store every time their chauffeur would drive her to her classes each morning. She hadn't so much as said a word to her parents or to anyone about it. She didn't think voicing her desires would have gotten her anything.
Yet here it was, in its pure satin dress, looking just as beautiful as she had seen every day when she had passed it by.
When they saw her bewildered expression, her parents just smiled at her.
"Don't look so surprised," her mother said. "Your parents aren't completely oblivious, you know."
"You've been working so hard," her father said with a warm smile, "Your mother and I thought you deserved something special."
The girl in white held the porcelain doll in her hands, looking up at her mother and father with a euphoric smile on her face.
"Mama…" she breathed, a tear on her cheek. "Papa…"
She rushed to her parents and threw her arms around them both as they knelt down to embrace her warmly.
"We love you, child…" her mother said. "You make us so proud."
"Keep up the good work, young lady," her father said. "And you can ask for anything you want."
The girl in white felt something suddenly crumble inside her. But she quickly buried her face in her parents embrace as she wept.
They were not tears of joy.
~"I see a girl before me who has spent her entire life getting exactly what she wanted."~
~"That's not even remotely true."~
Tears that burned like fire ran down her face as she watched the scene play out in front of her like a horror show, unable to affect its outcome. It was as if every despicable aspect of mankind had chosen to emerge all at once in this one small but still sizable crowd of otherwise average, ordinary people. The impression of banality did little to disguise the unmasked hatred and bigotry on their faces as they raised their signs, shouted their curses, and burned crude manikins in effigy.
The girl in black clenched her teeth. It was monsters like this who had haunted her dreams all her life. She could still taste the bitterness from that day.
The day her childhood ended.
"Now stay here," her mother had said to her. "Promise you won't make a sound."
Her mother had been just about to read her favorite bedtime story when the knocking came at the door. The girl in black hadn't understood why her mother looked so frightened until the shouts followed soon after.
"Open up!" an angry voice shouted on the other side. "We have a warrant!"
The girl in black was still holding her storybook in her arms. She didn't quite understand all of what was said, but what she could understand sounded scarier than anything she'd ever heard.
In spite of this, her mother had a smile on her face.
"Don't be afraid, kitten," her mother said, using her familiar pet name. "Just stay out of sight. Just like when we play hide and seek. Don't let anyone find you, and everything will be alright."
The girl in black had tears in her eyes as she clutched the heavy book to her chest, but she nodded her head as her mother closed the closet door on her and made her way to the angry voices at the door.
Her mother had told her not to make sound. To stay out of sight.
And so she did. Even as they beat her mother and carried her off, the girl in black had kept silent. And she had remained silent ever since.
But no longer.
"Stop it…" she whispered as the angry voices in the streets waved around signs like torches and pitchforks. Here they were, a monument to fear, ignorance and the unwillingness to understand, all giving voice to their most negative emotions, not even considering those their actions might hurt.
She reached for the closest weapon she could find; a rusty pipe. She knew how strong she was. She knew she was outnumbered. She could still probably take down one or two before they overwhelmed her.
"Stop it!"
She took a step forward and raised her makeshift weapon to strike the nearest human.
And a hand came up to catch the pipe in her hand.
"You don't want to do that," a heavy voiced warned.
The girl in black turned to see the older boy, all but a man, with brazen red hair and a strange white mask.
She yanked her weapon free.
"Leave me alone!" she demanded, turning away.
The older boy crossed his arms - he looked to be about sixteen or seventeen.
"Strike one of these people down, and ten more will rise to replenish their ranks," he said simply. "Attacking them gains you nothing."
The girl in black clenched her fist tighter around the pipe. She knew this, of course, but the truth still filled her with anger.
"You've got heart, kid."
The older boy reached into a pocket to produce an armband with a familiar looking symbol of an animal's face with three claw marks behind it. She had seen similar marks graffitied all over town along with the phrase 'We'll Rise' inscribed underneath.
"How would you like to help me take down the real enemy?"
~"History is important…if you can't learn from it, you're destined to repeat it."~
~"Unfortunately, the real world isn't the same as a fairy tale."~
She had been so happy to hear the news when her parents told she would have a new baby sister. She had planned it all out - they'd go to school together, take all the same classes, she'd help her with her homework, have slumber parties and generally run and play together from dawn till dusk.
The reality wasn't quite as rose-tinted, as the girl in yellow found herself looking after a shy, self-conscious little girl with black hair and silver eyes. She was nothing like what the girl in yellow had expected. When her parents had taken her home the first day, she had hidden behind her mother's skirts and wouldn't even so much as speak a word to her new older sister.
Still, the girl in yellow tried her best to be accommodating, and made every effort to be as friendly as possible. She always greeted her with a smile, let her pick first whenever their mom made cookies, she even shared her favorite stuffed bunny rabbit with her.
Still, the little five year old hardly said a word to the girl in yellow.
The only time she ever seemed to open up was when their mom would read them their bedtime stories each night. Every time their mom would open a new book, the girl in yellow would watch her sister's eyes lit up with delight as their bedtime stories came to life in her eyes. Stories of heroes and villains, of dragons and princesses and castles and knights.
The girl in yellow didn't know how to read yet. But she was learning her ABC's in school, and she decided that she would study as hard as she could so that one day, she could read to her sister before bedtime.
If she had known how much these stories had affected her sister, however, the girl in yellow may taken the time to give her sister the proper caution. Because one day, in the school yard, she heard a commotion, and found her sister yelling at two boys who were burning ants with a magnifying glass.
One of the boys started pulling her hair, making her cry out in alarm. He then shoved her towards the other boy, who shoved her in the other direction, knocking her down.
That was far as either of them got before the girl in yellow had punched them both in the face.
It had happened so fast, she hadn't even realized she had done it. The last thing she remembered was seeing the two bullies harassing her sister, and then the next moment, they were both crying on the ground with bloody noses.
The four of them were sent to the principle's office, and their parents eventually came to drive them both home. The girl in yellow knew she was in a lot of trouble - the two boys had been much younger and smaller than her - but as they rode home, her sister, who had been teary-eyed and forlorn for the duration of the proceedings, had fallen asleep on her shoulder, her tiny little fingers clinging to the older girl's yellow clothes.
The older sister could only smile. It was not the first time she had gotten in trouble, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. But if it meant keeping her sister safe, well...the girl in yellow didn't really mind getting into trouble now and then.
~"Why would I need friends when I have you?"~
~"If you want to grow up, you're going to have to learn to meet new people and learn to work together."~
He had been a laughing stock all his life. The boy with the golden hair was the one who always got picked last when deciding teams, and usually was the one who got picked on the most by the school bullies. He had learned how to duck and cover at a young age, and by the second grade, he had all but mastered the skill of covering his inadequacies with humor.
For all that, his parents had been nothing but supportive. His father had graduated at the top of his class, and had assured him that the boy simply had yet to blossom. And his mother, well…
"Oh, my baby boy," she said, embracing him tightly. "I'm so sorry!"
He had come home with a bruise on his cheek. His initial story had been that he'd fallen at recess, but his mother had actually called the school and found out that a game of dodge-ball had gotten out of hand and that her son had been one of the targets. After giving the principle a piece of her mind for allowing such a dangerous situation to escalate, she had hung up and made the boy a cup of hot chocolate and sat down by the fireplace to warm up.
On the mantel above the hearth was his great-great-grandfather's sword. Not for the first time, the boy with golden hair looked up at the family heirloom, and wondering if one day, he'd ever be able to wield it. After today, he wasn't quite sure.
As if reading his mind, his mother pulled her arms around him.
"Don't worry, dear," she said sweetly. "Things may look pretty down right now. When something like this happens, the whole world looks pretty awful for a while."
She tapped his chin, drawing his eyes back to her.
"But don't you fret," she smiled. "Things will start to look better again. Tomorrow's another day, and before you know it, all this will blow over."
The boy wasn't so sure. But then his mother kissed him on the forehead, before getting up and heading off to the kitchen to get started on dinner. He knew that soon, his father would be home, and probably sit down and lecture him on the virtues of courage and perseverance and standing up for himself. But it was hard to keep standing up when everyone you meet just kept knocking you down. And his legs were getting more wobbly each each passing day.
He looked up again at his great-great-grandfather's sword. For all his lecturing, the boy looked up to his father tremendously. He was stronger than any man he'd ever seen, smarter and more clever than any of his teachers, and always seemed to know how to make his mother smile that way she did when they thought their son wasn't looking.
There was no one else the boy with the golden hair wanted to be like more than his father. Except for maybe his grandfather, who even as an old man was limber enough to hoist the boy up by his haunches and carry him on his shoulders and would tell him stories of all the different battles he'd been in when he was younger.
Long was the shadow cast by his father and his father's father, and his father before him. And this shadow grew ever darker as the days went on, and his father would come home with another story to tell of heroism and bravery that the boy with the golden hair could never hope to match.
He stood up on his tiptoes to place his hands on the ancient sword. How many monsters had it slain? How many battles had been won by its edge? How many heroes' hands had held it pommel and planted themselves firmly before the oncoming storm?
He tried lifting the blade from the stand upon which is lay, but the folded steel was far too heavy for him.
And something told him that it wouldn't get any lighter.
~"You know if you ever need help, you can just ask."~
~"This is what I've always wanted to be! If I can't do this on my own, then what good am I?"~
Her first memories were of her father. A boisterous, bearded giant of a man with a huge belly laugh and a smile that went on for miles. Whenever she was near him, she felt safe and secure. The girl in pink knew that he could handle anything the world threw at him, and that he would keep her safe no matter what happened. And so she grew up without fear, a curious mind, exploring the world with an eye for fun, adventure, and quite often, mischief.
To which her father only seemed to encourage.
"You ought to teach that girl some manners," her mother would often say whenever she came home with mud on her pink dress, with a strange new pet in hand, or completely drenched in water from head to toe.
Her father would always laugh at that, kiss her on the cheek and say "You worry too much, darling!"
"I swear, you are as much a child as she is," her mother complained raggedly, though the resigned smile on her face never suggested anything was ever wrong.
Her father would often take her with him when he went logging through the woods. His massive battle axe could fell a tree in a single chop, and his aim was keen enough to fend off any beowolves that dared cross their path.
One time, an ursa came lopping through the woods, roaring and knocking down shrubberies in its path.
Her father held up his axe to fend it off, swinging as it approached, missing by a hair.
But as the ursa charged through the clearing, it had a passenger that it hadn't had before.
"Wooo!" the girl in pink hollered on the back of the ursa as it rampaged onward, twisting and flailing in rage as it drove through the underbrush.
Her father just stared on in astonishment as his daughter rode the ursa through the woods, using her grip to force it to circle around back towards him. Sensing her intention, he raised his axe again and prepared to swing. Just as the ursa came into range, she jumped off its back and leapt into the trees. The sudden kick caused the ursa to teeter off balance, making it an easy target for her father's axe, which he swung down with such ferocity that he nearly split the beast into two.
The girl in pink hung upside-down by her knees, smiling at her dad without a care in the world.
Her dad just let out a belly laugh.
"That was spectacular!" he cried, reaching to catch her as she dropped down, giggling all the while. "Wait till your mother hears about this!"
Half an hour later, when the two of them had made it back home, they were both effectively sitting in time out.
"I expect this kind of behavior from our daughter!" her mom lectured sternly as both father and daughter sat before her with shamed looks on their faces. "But you know better, dear! What if she'd been hurt?"
"I won't get hurt, Mommy!" the girl in pink declared. "I'm as strong as Daddy is!"
Her mother just gave her a sour expression. "No, you aren't, child! You may think you're indestructible, but you simply aren't!"
"Dear," her father said cautiously, getting into her feet. "She has the heart of a warrior inside her. You can't change who she is."
"She's just following in your footsteps!"
"If that's what she wants, then let her do so!"
"You're putting her in danger!"
"I'm letting her be herself!"
The argument continued, and the girl in pink got sent to bed without any supper. But that wasn't why her tummy hurt that night as she went to bed.
When Mommy and Daddy started talking like this…that was the only time in her life that the girl in pink was ever afraid.
~"Did that girl just ride in an on ursa?"~
~"Boop!"~
The other kids never understood why she never came out to play. She had received top marks in all her classes, excelled at every sport she tackled, and was already a top rated markswoman, even at her young age. There were rumors that she would even be trying out for the regional tournament next year, the youngest ever to do so.
Some of her classmates wondered if maybe her parents were so stringent that she was never allowed outside to play. Whenever they asked her about it, she always said that she had something more important to do. How else could she be such a straight-A student?
The truth, however, was quite different.
The girl with the flame colored hair had always believed that she had somehow inadvertently stolen her brother's luck. She had been born strong and healthy. She had strength, speed, talent and vigor. As for her brother…
"Really, Sis, you don't have to keep coming here," the boy said weakly from his bed. Around them were hospital supplies, monitors, pills and supplements to boost his immune system and nurture his failing body.
The girl with the flame colored hair just frowned. While her hair was a vibrant crimson, her brother barely went outside anymore, so the sun could not color his ruddy brown hair, his pallor reflecting naught but the barest hint of fire.
She crossed her arms; he had made this argument every day she had come to see him, and she had never listened once.
"What kind of sister would I be if I didn't take care of my favorite little brother?" she asked as she set her book-bag down by the table and withdrew her schoolbooks.
"Right," he tried laughing, though it came out as more of a wheeze. "I'm your only little brother."
"All the more reason for me to be here," she said simply. "Besides, I wanted to show you something."
She reached into her bag and delicately withdrew an origami crane, placing it in his hands.
"We learned how to make this today," she said with a smile. "Why don't I teach you so you can have something to do while I'm at school all day?"
Her brother stared at the paper bird in his hands. So delicate, so fragile. But so beautiful. She could see the wonder in his eyes - that maybe, if this small work of art could hold such beauty in spite of its frailty, then perhaps he too might be able to contribute something, even a little, to make up for how much everyone had to work to accommodate him.
And so she taught him. It took him over an hour to memorize the steps, but he eventually got the basic idea down. His first attempt was crooked and awkward, and couldn't even stand up on its own, and he angrily crushed it into a ball.
"Don't worry," she told him as he cried in frustration. "We'll try again tomorrow. You'll get it eventually."
His eyes were red as he looked at her, and he slowly nodded his head.
"Okay…" he said sadly.
So they tried again the next day. And the next. And the next.
But no matter how many times he tried, he could never seem to make one that looked quite as good as the one his sister had made.
She had it all. Skill, talent, luck, beauty…the girl with the flame colored hair seemed like she could do no wrong. Anything she set her mind to, she accomplished with apparent ease. Anything that got in her path seemed to fall away without effort. And all her brother could do was watch as she continued to excel at whatever she did while he struggled to so much as make an origami crane.
Until one day she came to visit him as she usually did, only to find the room filled with doctors and orderlies. Her parents were both there. And they were crying.
She was confused at first, but she was smart enough to figure out what was going on. Smart enough to put the pieces together in her head. Smart enough to know that what she had could never last.
All the talent in the world, all the strength speed and fortitude she could ever need, the brilliance of a tactical genius, and the most outstanding good fortune anyone had ever seen.
None of it had mattered.
She hugged her parents and buried her tears in their loving arms. She knew better than to blame herself, but she couldn't help it. She knew better than to look to see her brother one last time, but she looked anyway. And as the orderlies draped a sheet over his still form, her eyes fell upon the origami crane he had left on the bedside table.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
~"I don't want help! I don't want to be the damsel in distress, I want to be the hero! Don't you understand?"~
~"I'm sorry…"~
Brush up, left, down, down, across, up and down again.
The boy in green held his sleeve as he dipped the calligraphy brush into the inkwell, held his sleeve to keep it dry, and started on the next symbol.
Down, left, down, left, right, right, down again.
His father sat across from him, watching his every move. Like the sword, one could not take back a move once it was made. Every stroke of the brush must be perfect, or he will have failed, and would be made to start it all over again.
The boy in green did not fail.
Left, left, down, down, right, left, right, down.
He set his brush down and bowed his head.
His father stared pointedly at the calligraphy even as it dried. Now his father would judge his work, and the boy would find out whether it had all been for naught. His father's expression never changed from it's hard lines and grim edge. His bushy eyebrows and long beard did not stir in the slightest, as if not a breath were passing them by in the still room that opened out to the gardens on one side, the fountain by the koi pond the only source of sound.
Finally, his father inclined his head.
"Very good, my son."
The boy's heart lightened, but he did not let his joy get the better of him.
"Thank you, Father," he said in a tone that betrayed none of the relief that he felt.
Nothing more was said as his father left him there to prepare for school.
Not a hair was out of place as the boy in green briskly but not hurriedly donned his school uniform, made sure his textbooks, notes, and assignments were all in order in his book-bag, before making his way to the school building.
He had always been a creature of punctuality. He had to in a family such as his. There was no room in his life for distractions or pleasantries, and tradition was always upheld. He had timed it so that he would have a full half an hour before the first bell rang, so he was quite surprised when a loud, boisterous and rather chaotic ginger ran into him headlong as he rounded a corner.
"- I'm late, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late, I'm - AHHHHHH!"
The boy's reflexes were fast, but not quite fast enough to avoid colliding with the girl, as they both tumbled awkwardly onto the sidewalk, arms and legs in a tangled heap.
He let out a groan of irritation as he rubbed his elbow where he had landed. A sour expression crept onto his face as he looked over to where the girl lay.
He could swear he could see spirals where her eyes should be.
"Hey," he said, impatiently. "Are you hurt?"
The girl took another moment before shaking her head to clear her senses, before immediately hopping to her feet.
"No Sir!" she said, saluting in a mocking military fashion. "No injuries to report!"
The boy looked confused for a moment. This girl was wearing the uniform of his school, and his school was a facility that only accepted the most capable youngsters. Something about that did not jive with the image he saw before him.
"That uniform…" he said. "You don't happen to go to Lodestar Academy, do you?"
The redhead grinned playfully. "Yep! Just transferred today!"
The boy in green could only stare in bewildered silence. How exactly had this clumsy, disorganized creature made it into his school? It made no sense! He had needed to constrict his life into such stringent rigidity to get to where he was today. How could such a free spirit be on the same level?
The girl did not seem to notice his plight as she quickly gathered up their fallen book-bags, and held his out to him.
"Here you go!" she said sweetly.
The boy in green just stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation. Finally, he took the proffered book-bag, and tried to make a friendly smile in return.
"Thanks," he said. "By the way, classes don't start for another half hour."
The girl blinked in surprised, before letting out a heartfelt guffaw.
"Ohhhhh!" she exclaimed. "I wondered why no one else was running! Well, good! That means we can walk together!"
The boy laughed the kind of laugh one made when he didn't understand what was happening, but was going along with it out of sheer morbid curiosity.
"Alright…" he said, simply.
As they walked, an odd silence fell over them, until the girl suddenly beamed at him.
"I like your hair!" she said.
The boy blinked. "Um…thanks?"
She nodded. "Could do with a bit of pink though!"
Another blink. "Pink?"
"Yep!" she nodded vehemently and pointed at his temple. "Right about…here."
The boy in green reached up and took hold of the black lock of hair she had been pointing at, staring questioningly at it.
Everything in his life had always been the same routine, day in and day out, one thing after another. Since as far back as he could remember, his father had enforced the strictest discipline on him throughout every waking moment of his life.
Maybe a little bit of chaos wouldn't hurt.
"I'll think about it."
~"Poor boy. I can't possibly imagine those two getting along."~
~"I still don't think that's what a sloth sounds like."~
~fin