AN: Hey guys, this is gonna be my first uploaded fic. I have written for a considerable amount of time but have only recently joined the FanFiction community. While I hope this story is of the highest quality I can manage, I hope that stories I upload later will be better through the experience I gain. Of course, drop a review; it would help tremendously in my journey to become the best author I can be and, in turn, will allow me to upload better content for readers.
Obviously I don't own RWBY nor any of the canon characters. They go to Monty Oum and the RoosterTeeth team. I do, however, make the wishes that my OC's remain mine and if they are to be used (not that I think they will), that I'm given some notice and credit (or if you're thinking of using them, just message me, I'll probably be fine with it).
Chapter One: New faces, new masks.
Beacon was an old school, well refined and well respected. It had produced excellent hunters and promised many more. It trained the perfect demographic, young adults, to fight Grimm. These students are known as hunters and huntresses. They protect the kingdoms of man from its enemies, whether it be beast or man himself.
Most students had heard of Ruby Rose, a fifteen year old girl, who was accepted to Beacon early, under special conditions. Moss, however, had not heard of any such thing, until now.
He overheard two students talking about Ruby; he was concerned, to say the least. "Why would they let someone so young into Beacon?" He thought to himself.
Moss was confident, yet cynical. Quite the arrogant personality, he had never formed a close relationship with either of his parents; if anything, the death of his mother had been a good thing.
As he drifted off in his thoughts, wondering what Beacon would look like, he felt his scroll buzz. Usually, someone from his hometown wouldn't own a scroll but his dad had specifically acquired one to stay in contact to speak with Moss. It read, "Good luck, make some friends! :)" The first thing his dad had ever said to him in three years, he wasn't going to justify it with a response. He stood at the window, looking over the landscape of Vale. It was still foreign to him but he enjoyed the fresh view of towering buildings and bustling streets.
Moss wore a green formal shirt, wrapping around his lean figure; where the buttons met, the green shifted from murky to light. Accompanying, was a pair of black suit pants, surrounded by a white belt, at the waist. Connected to the belt, was a flintlock pistol. He had another belt running around one shoulder, like a sash. This sash held a musket and a halberd. The halberd had a sponge at the other end, acting as a sort of pommel.
Looking to his face, he had black, messy hair. His emerald eyes were hidden behind a pair of black tinted, gold framed, aviators. His facial features were round, with a touch of sharpness to them.
The airship began a locking procedure to engage with the docks, on Beacon's cliffside. As the ship's doors opened, they hissed, letting off small pumps of steam. They slowly revealed the academy: a set of, rather large, buildings, with one towering above the rest.
Moss shifted his glasses, took them off, fogged them up and wiped them on his shirt; all the while, keeping his eyes closed. He let the large crowd of stampeding teenagers exit the ship, before following with the stragglers, avoiding the troubled of being trampled.
As he stepped off, he felt something behind him, not a physical thing but a tingling. He looked back, noticing there was somebody there. Scanning the mysterious person, Moss figured they were around the same height, on the six foot mark. They were unmoving, like a statue, stood in a dull, red hooded robe; with an odd pattern streaked across it. It looked like the robe had been slowly painted black, diagonally from the feet, making it look like it was acidly eating at the red. The most notable feature was the white mask, with a red line streaked down from the forehead to the point of the nose; there were also red streams streaming from the eyes and the mouth line was painted in a black line. The mask was styled like an Okami, a snout stretched out like a wolf and from a distance it looked like just that, a wolf. Upon a more detailed inspection, he noted that it was stylistically resemblant of a fox.
Moss moved back to get a better look.
As he circled the figure, the mask followed him, eyes drilling through him. He studied the robe, realizing that there were metal wires clutching onto the material, holding the robes tightly against the body. The wiring was painted in the colour that corresponded with the robe; making it hard to notice until the viewer was directly next to the wearer. The exoskeleton seemed to have openings in the wiring and the robes. What the purpose was, was unknown to Moss.
Moss returned to the front, the eyes still seemed to peer out at his. Even when both of their eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses and a mask, respectively, they both felt like the other could see their eyes.
Moss hesitantly extended his hand, curiously testing if they would return the gesture. As he outstretched his arm, the mask looked down, following its movement; turning its head, it almost looked like an inquisitive fox, studying the motion. Moss stopped his arm, giving time for the fox to observe and judge the gesture. It started to, almost slower than Moss, return the shake. Every creak of the ship would force his arm to flinch, every time Moss' arm trembled from the tension, its arm would stop, before hesitantly starting again. As their hands met and oddly interlocked, it became apparent that neither had shaken hands before. Moss had only seen other people do it and the other person only assumed what the correct response was.
The ship's intercom buzzed a little before a message was played, "The ship will be departing in one minute, all new students should make their way off the ship and make sure they are not returning with us. Thank you and enjoy your time at Beacon." The speaker buzzed again before dying down.
"The name's Moss. You are one interesting piece of machinery my friend." He said, in a respectful and admiring fashion.
They disengaged the handshake and made their way on to the pathway leading to the school.
They stopped, as it seemed a reply was imminent. "The name's Persi. You are one interesting piece of human." He echoed, imitating the tone. Moss figured this guy wasn't much of a talker but respected him nonetheless.
"Friends?" Moss asked, he seemed as good as any to be friends with; his mystery intrigued Moss. Mystery always meant something surprising and, from what Moss had observed, this surprise would be good.
Persi seemed to think for a second, the mask showing no emotion. "Friends." He replied firmly, dropping the imitating tone.
AN: Woah, it feels good to get that on to here. Tell me what you guys think and I'll get around to making chapter two when I can! Feedback is always good, just keep it constructive.
Until next time, this is Mossman, have a good day! :)
