Thank you for joining me at the start of this tale. There are two things I need to bring up before we begin. 1) This is my first time writing a story in the first person. In order to help with this, I made a stylistic choice. All of the POV character's speech will be in bold, and thoughts in italics. If you are a person who doesn't like to read stories in the first person I will not, and can't for that matter, stop you from leaving. I suggest you give this story a try though, as it will make me happy, and not feel like I wasted hours/days of my life. 2) I do not own, or claim to own, RWBY or any of its affiliations. I do not work a Roosterteeth LLC, as much as I wish I could. The OCs that inhabit this work of fanfiction are not canon, though they all fit within the guidelines set by Monty Oum, and any events featuring them are also not canon.

Thank you for your patience.

The streets of Vale were silent as I walked them that evening. Most of the shops were closed, or almost closed, but other than glancing at their names I paid them little mind. Under normal circumstances, I would never be out that late. The keyword there being normal. A clerk at one of the clothing stores I visited told me they were least busy just before closing. I wouldn't have bothered, were it not for the fact that there was an outfit I wanted to try on. Purchasing it was out of the question, but that didn't matter.

I hadn't lied, per se, when I told my parents I was getting some last-minute things. Ammo was on the shopping list, and maybe some other supplies, but that could wait. At that moment, getting to that shop was more important than anything.

I had only visited that shop once though, as my window shopping tended to take me to different parts of the commercial district each day, so it was harder to find than I thought. I noticed it the first time because its yellow paint made it stick out from the other buildings. I looked back, ready to turn down another street before I realized it was a few doors from where I stood.

When I pulled open the door, I was greeted by a bell made by angels. There were cute clothes everywhere in all sorts of colors, with several mannequins adorned in dresses, skirts and blouses, and even some nice dress pants. The best part though was that there was no one else there but the clerk! The only way my heart could've beaten faster was if I had run a marathon. Upon hearing the bell, the clerk, a sweet old lady that was probably someone's grandma, turned around.

"Welcome back," she said sweetly, "It is much better here without such rude patrons."

No kidding, that lady was a jerk. Of course, that's not the real reason I was there. She didn't need to know that though. I hope it isn't too much trouble.

"Of course not dear, just let me know if you need any help."

Ok, I will.

She then turned back to what she was doing, and I made a beeline for the back. There were several other things that, if I had more time available, I would have loved to try. But my goal an outfit worn by a mannequin next to the changing rooms. It consisted of a baby blue blouse with gold trim and a white and gold striped skirt. I grabbed the pieces closest to my size in the stacks of like items and ducked into the nearest stall.

After taking off my pants and shirt, I slipped on the skirt and blouse. Once all the buttons were in place, I looked at myself in the trifold mirror. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of my reflection. The blouse almost matched my eyes to a T. And the way it contrasted my chocolaty hair would, potentially, draw attention away from my ears. I still don't think my trait is from a Siamese, despite what mom says. My favorite part though was all the gold. I twirled in place and reveled in the feeling of the knee length material as it swayed against my legs. Dad would freak if he saw this. I wrapped my arms around myself in glee as I gazed at my reflection just a little longer. If only.

Ultimately, it had to come to an end. I sighed and changed back into my regular attire. I placed the clothes on a nearby desk and continued to browse. Just as I thought there was nothing else I needed, the image of my reflection entered my mind, and I remembered, I needed more hair ties. The ones holding my pigtails were the last ones I had. Through a quick search I found them and grabbed two packs; one of black, and one with a variety of colors. For special occasions.

I made my way to the counter to make my purchase. "Did the items not fit right dear?" The clerk asked with concern. "There should be some other sizes available."

It's not that, I said with a sigh, it's just, my parents would be upset if I spent that much on clothes. True enough.

"Well that's a shame," she said in disappointment, "I'm sure they would have looked splendid."

Oh, they did, I assured her, but there are still some supplies I need to get before I head to Beacon tomorrow. Very true.

"Attending Beacon eh, you do know it won't be easy right?"

Yes ma'am, I said with a grin, I've been working my hardest to get to Beacon. And I'm going to make sure it pays off.

"That's good to hear." She then paused a moment in contemplation. "You know," she said as her own grin sprouted on her face, "it's always good to look your best when doing something important. Especially for a young huntress in training like yourself." She then leaned forward and lowered her voice. "So how about I give you a special deal? A pre-emptive thank you for the work you'll be doing, and to make up for the manners of that horrid woman today."

It was as if a fire had started in my chest and radiated outward until my whole body felt fuzzy. R-really?

"Yes, go ahead and pick one thing and I'll give you a discount on it."

The skirt.

Joy and gratitude fueled the fire and turned it into an inferno as I made my way back to the changing rooms. The skirt still sat there on the desk, folded to the best of my ability, so I grabbed it and ran back to the counter. "An excellent choice." She began to ring up my items, and I noticed the skirt, which was rather pricey, had its price cut significantly.

I couldn't possibly pay so little for that.

"Nonsense," she said as she took my hand in hers, "that's the discount. The only condition I have is that you give it your all."

My free hand instinctively went to my face as something wet slid down my cheek. I would have hugged her then and there, despite my aversions, but I was somewhat preoccupied as I struggled to mop up my tears. Between sobs, or maybe they were laughs, I fished he needed Lien from my pocket, then handed it to her. I promise.

"Good, now go out there and knock 'em dead." She patted my hand to emphasize. "And I'm not just talking about the Grimm." I laughed as I continued to wipe my eyes. With things in hand, I proceeded to the door, the clerk following behind me to lock up. "Be sure to come back whenever you can."

I turned around just before closing the door. I will.

At that, I continued down the street with a bubbly heart and butterflies in my stomach. Once I was down the street a way, I stuffed the things in my bag and made my way to the only Dust shop I knew would be open at that hour, From Dust Till Dawn. The streets that took me there slowly became more populated, which wasn't entirely surprising considering how close it was to the residential district.

Finally, after turning several corners, my destination was in sight. The little shop sat right where the two streets intersected. I had spent many hours there, mainly because of how close it was to my house. The shopkeeper, an older gentleman with a balding head, was very friendly. He didn't say a whole lot though.

Upon drawing closer to the shop, I noticed there were several men inside. All but one of them wore black, and a red flag immediately popped up in my mind. I ducked into the shadow of an alley and watched in case my suspicions were wrong. They weren't. One of the men turned to the back with his weapon drawn, some sort of red blade, and was making his way toward someone in red. I should step in before they get hurt. After approaching the red figure though, the man found himself knocked to the floor by his intended target.

Another man, this time carrying a gun, rounded on the figure but was tackled through the shop window by his tide-turned assailant. The figure, who turned out to be a girl that must have been younger than me, slowly stood. Her outfit, which consisted of a gothic dress, combat boots, both of which with red accents everywhere, and a red hooded cape, was blown about by a shift in the breeze and would've looked cute, despite its intended edge. I say would, because any level of cuteness that could have been ascribed to her was replaced by sheer epicness as her weapon unfolded into a giant scythe!

With a flourish, the girl spun her weapon and embedded the blade into the asphalt and stared down the men still in the shop, despite her size. The one man in a white coat, who I could only assume was the leader of that little band, stared at her lazily. I thought he was trying to piece together what happened, but I could have been wrong. From that distance, I could just barely hear him give them the command "Get her," which brought the other men in the shop out of their stupors.

The girl swung herself over and around her weapon and kicked one man in the face before landing back on solid ground. She then discharged a shot that made her spin and used her new momentum to send another man flying, followed by a downward slam into another. With several more shots accompanied by inhuman bursts of speed, are those rose petals? Must be part of her semblance, she dodged the last man's gunfire, then charged. She knocked him off his feet, dug her scythe into the pavement to swing herself up, then slammed him as well.

With the bodies, and probably prides, of his goons thoroughly beaten, the leader had stepped out of the shop as well. He looked down at the men, with no surprise on his face, and muttered something. He took his cigar from his lips and said, "Well, Red. I think we can all say it's been an eventful evening." He dropped the cigar and crushed the smoldering end with his cane. At that moment I recognized who he was, Roman Torchwick, the nefarious criminal of Vale that the police had been trying to apprehend. "And as much as I'd love to stick around," he said, pointing his cane at her, "I'm afraid this, is where we part ways."

From the end of his cane came a screaming flare which, when it made contact with the ground the girl was quick to remove herself from, exploded, leaving a rather large crater in the street. Using the distraction, Torchwick dashed off out of view, presumably down the adjacent street. When the girl landed from her dodge, she looked around until her gaze focused above us. He must be climbing one of the buildings. After a brief glance at the shopkeeper, she used her weapon to propel herself onto the roof of a building.

I rushed over to the shopkeeper. Are you okay?

"Yes."

I was about to respond when the sound of engines distracted us. I turned to see a bullhead aircraft hovering level with the rooftops. That must be his getaway. I quickly turned to the shopkeeper. I'll see what I can do to help. Before he could respond, I bolted down the street, pulling my own weapon from my bag and shifting it to its primary rifle form. Being in the middle of the street, where there was no natural cover, I opted to let my semblance wash over me, turning me invisible.

As I looked up at the bullhead, I caught sight of small red glint that flew onto the roof, followed by one of Trochwick's flares and an explosion. Fear took hold of my heart for a moment, until I saw a faint purple glow in the clearing smoke. Someone must be up there with her. A wave of calm washed over me as I let out a sigh. I then hurried as I dug through my bag for my magazine of ice rounds, which I then loaded.

Purple streaks then flew from the roof and struck the bullhead and caused it to sway in the sky as it tried to compensate. Then a ball of purple light flew up, formed a mass of dark clouds above the bullhead. From said mass, shards of ice rained down upon the bullhead and the street below. I was, of course, forced to dodge those projectiles. When the last of the ice hit the ground, I took aim. What I did not expect though, was a ball of fire to leap from the open bullhead door. Said ball caused an explosive pillar of fire to appear on the roof, scattering debris around.

The debris glowed purple and formed into a lance that shot at the bullhead. More fire shot out, breaking up the lance, only for it to reform and batter the top. Several smaller lances then formed and began to circle the vehicle. Before any of them could strike though, a wave of fire burst out and incinerated them. In that brief moment, I knew I had my chance. While it was hovering in a stable position, I had a clear shot at the inside of the propulsion unit.

I aimed, found my mark, and fired. The crack of my gunshot rang through the air, and my round hit its target. The inside of the bullhead's tiltjet engine filled with ice, shutting it down. I then wished I hadn't chosen a bolt action for my weapon. In the time it would take me to load my next round and bring the rifle up to aim, the bullhead would be spinning far too quickly for me to make an accurate shot at the second engine. I stood, frozen in fear as the aircraft soon lost control and careened toward one of the buildings.

At the last moment, a bolt of fire struck the ice. Though profoundly damaged, the propulsion came back to life and allowed the aircraft to regain control before it could crash. The bullhead then pushed onward, flying over the line of buildings and out of sight. Torchwick escaped, but no one was harmed.

I put my weapon away and decided it would be better to leave than wait around and be questioned by the police. I held my invisibility until I made it to the next street over. I briefly noticed the girl on the roof looking at the street as she tried to find me, or from her perspective whoever shot the bullhead, and at being unsuccessful, she disappeared behind the lip of the building again. Once I was sure I was alone, I let my semblance drop and made my way back to my house in silence.

Ooh, something in the normal events of the show changed. I don't plan on going over the top with these changes. In fact, I was originally planning to leave things alone and have my OCs be part of the "background silhouettes" in the show that have their own goings on off screen. But then came the decision of whether or not the narrator would have a weapon on hand in this chapter. I was torn 50/50 because having an available weapon meant, because of the nature of this character, that things would change. So I left it to a coin toss.

And if anyone is wondering why a name has not yet been given for our protagonist here, don't worry. It'll come in due time. No, I didn't forget to make a name, I had to come up with four color related names that fit a color related team name. And no, I didn't leave it out because I'm lazy, though I will readily admit that I am lazy. I'm just waiting until introductions happen in the next chapter.

If you enjoyed it so far, or have any questions or comments, feel free to leave a review. If you really liked it, though, let's be honest, one chapter is not enough to know whether or not you really like a story, add it to your favorites. And please, share this with your friends.