This Time
…red…always red...
Frail petals drift gently across a solid white sphere hanging in the dark sky, twisting and curling through the air as they billow from the small, delicate figure swathed in a red cloak.
…red like…
…fear...
Flat, untarnished whiteness yields to sheer, unforgiving cliffs. The figure stands alone, motionless before a lone plaque, aged and beaten, near forgotten.
…hatred…
Snowflakes fall, the red cloak waves in the chilling breeze, and still the figure stands alone, face hidden from sight.
…happiness…family…friendships…torn…broken…
The figure finally turns, departing without a backward glance. On the faded white stone is etched a humble farewell and a beautiful honour; a single, fragile grey…
…roses…
The world surrounding ripples and sighs, vision shifts.
…fills my dreams…
…desperation…envy…loneliness...
The icy wind is bitter and harsh, whipping up thin white wisps that tug at the small red cloak. The figure kneels against the cold, hood lowered to the pale stone marker.
…and takes me to…
The hood rises, hem fluttering in the wind, unseen eyes staring up at the silent white cloak before it.
…loss…desolation…hatred…
White petals dance in the wind.
…the place you…
The pale figure crumbles, fading away into so many white wisps. The moon follows, splitting and shattering.
…always hatred…
The sky reddens.
…rest…
The world is engulfed in blinding, empty whiteness.
…but perhaps victory…
The small girl yanks back the bolt and pulls the trigger, the scythe's massive recoil blasting her backwards with a burst of crimson petals as the black hat and red sunglasses grimaces, opening fire.
Skipping from side to side the girl dodges the bullets with controlled shots, propelling herself towards the red sunglasses. Skidding on booted feet, the girl slams into the black suit, kicking him into the air.
Planting the scythe's tip into the ground, the red cloak spins and flips, ripping the blade out as she does so, twirling the oversized weapon.
…is in the simpler things…
Vision whirls and twists as he follows her elegant movements.
The scythe's blunt end pummels into the black suit, sending him tumbling to the ground before a red tipped cane as the girl lands gracefully, red cloak fluttering behind her.
"You were worth every cent, truly you were."
Cigar and feathered hat looks down, commenting nonchalantly, sirens heard in the distance.
…that you've long forgotten…
The white coat steps forward, cigar tossed to the ground.
"Well Red, I think we can all say it's been an eventful evening…"
The red tipped cane snubs out the glowing stub and levels itself at the skirted girl.
…things that require a smaller…
"…and as much I'd love to stick around, I'm afraid this…"
A crosshair pops out from the cane's end.
"…is where we part ways."
A blinding flare bursts from the cane, screeching towards the young hooded girl.
…more honest soul…
Vision flickers, the wind shifts.
The girl rolls aside, shielding her eyes with her arm. The white coat ducks and dashes out of sight.
Vision swims and warps. He is watching the white coat saunter across a roof.
A shot echoes below and the small red hood soars into sight and lands, scythe in hand.
"Hey!"
The white coat pauses at the edge, cane held under the arm, looking over the side.
"Persistant…"
A growing rumble shakes the roof top, the white coat unmoving as a huge metal shape rises before him. The girl steps back at the sudden downdraft, blinded by an intense searchlight.
Vision trembles, his heartbeat quickening.
The white coat clambers aboard, holding up a flickering red crystal for the girl to see.
"End of the line, Red!"
…no….
Flinging the softly chiming crystal, the white coat shouts and the small girl follows its tumbling fall to her feet. The red tipped cane swings up and releases another blazing shot at the red hood.
Vision twists. He raises a desperate, unseen hand.
… move...
Silver eyes flick upwards at the sound, scythe raised to shield.
His breath catches. He can't call out. He can't warn her.
…move! …
He reaches forward, the moonlight surging.
Grey dust drifts over the crumbling crater, the white coat's whoops of laughter still heard over the roaring engines.
…not this time…
A small, red cloaked figure lies motionless under the shattered white moon. Broken, frail, her weapon lying snapped by her side.
…I hope you realise…
He fights to step forward, vision rippling.
Sirens blare louder, and many footsteps and voices are heard below, but the young girl lies unnoticed above.
…your actions tonight will not be taken lightly, young lady…
He has to reach her, to help her.
Small lines of blood trickle down her small, pale face, silver eyes still closed.
He stumbles forward, tripping on hidden feet. He must reach her.
…you put yourself and others in grave danger…
…pain…fire…beauty…
A new engine grumbles, tires screech to a halt, voices raised in commotion. Yet the young figure does not stir.
…they started it!...
…fear…burns…gold…
"Ruby? Ruby!"
Worried calls echo in the darkening skies, clouds veiling the moon.
…if it were up to me…
…rage turns to sorrow...sorrow turns to pain…pain turns to agony...
He extends a trembling, invisible hand, to comfort the girl.
…you'd be sent home…
Hurried scuffles nearby. The red hood flutters aimlessly across her slight features.
"Ruby? Oh god, oh god. Ruby! Ruby!"
…with a pat on the back…
…agony turns to revenge…revenge turns to abandonment…abandonment turns to redemption…
His fingers move towards her cold cheek lined with faint trails of blood.
…and a slap on the wrist…
Screams rend the night air. Desperate, terrified.
He cannot leave her; he must stay with her till the end.
…always….red like…no…not this time…
She cannot die alone.
...but there is someone here…
The world tips and fades away. His hand never reaches her.
…not this time…
"…who would like to meet you."
With a cold, shaky breath, his vision snaps back into focus. Nearly tipping the plate of cookies balanced in his hand, the dark corridor rushes back, reality reasserting itself.
Blinking slowly, he turns his head back to the doorway, where a blonde haired woman stands in front of a plain, grey desk. Lit by a single overhanging light, he can just about see a small seated figure past the woman's flowing black and purple cape.
Exhaling, his heartbeat relaxes slightly and he steps forward as the stern woman moves aside and his eyes fall upon the young girl staring back up at him.
"Ruby Rose." His voice feels unfamiliar in his throat, echoing loudly in the small room. Leaning forward, he gazes down into the girl's hauntingly beautiful eyes, whispers still clinging to his mind.
"You…"
He could still see tears of blood lining her pale, ashen face …eyes closed, never again to open…the wails of grief from the older girl cradling her tiny body…
"…have silver eyes."
The girl was standing alone in the clearing, her scythe held at ease over her shoulder…around her were the scattered black bodies of Beowolves…spent bullet casings falling like rain into the snow…
"U-Um…"
Her slight body lies still on the frozen metal table…skin washed with blood…her empty eyes leer up at him…filled with such…darkness…
"So," he speaks loudly to shake his mind free of the disjointed images, nodding to the scroll held by the blonde woman, Glynda. "Where did you learn to do this?"
He asks even though he already knows the answer. Those were not the first visions of the silver eyed girl to have haunted him. No, he reminds himself, it was thanks to them that she is still alive.
"S-Signal Academy?"
"They taught you to use one of the most dangerous weapons ever designed?"
…for night after night the girl strives to perfect her design under the patient vigilance of her teacher…blinking in the dawn light, she finally emerges from the forge, a crescent of steel and red hugged close in her arms…
"Well, one teacher in particular."
"I see…" he says, setting down the plate in front of her. As hoped, the sugary treats preoccupy the girl enough so that she does not notice as he struggles to banish the foreign memories invading his consciousness.
…staring up at the green tinted sky, the world around her holding its breath, awaiting the coming bloodshed…quiet, honest words shared with a gentle smile…
"It's just that I've only seen one other scythe wielder of that skill before; a dusty old crow…" he adds, with an upward glance.
A weathered, black cloak billows behind the man…his vast scythe at his shoulder as he looks down at the blonde, pigtailed girl sobbing into her balled fists…a tiny, silver eyed child staring up at him, confused, from a simple red wagon…
"Ohh…that's…uncle…ow…"
Distracted from his thoughts, he narrows his eyes at the girl, and she swallows, clearing her throat with a nervous smile before continuing.
"Sorry. That's my Uncle Qrow; he's a teacher at Signal…"
A tall, grim looking man meets her at the gold plated gate, swathed in a heavy black cloak…his weather-beaten features split into a wide grin and he sweeps her of her feet in greeting, spinning her as she laughs happily…
"I was complete garbage before he took me under his wing, and now I'm all like wooo, watcha…"
The black cloaked Hunter stands calmly in the middle of the corpse strewn room…the girl stares at the blood on his hands in disbelief…which one?...
He takes a sip from his mug, hiding his mental turmoil. "So I've noticed."
His hands are beginning to shake, so he sets down his mug with a soft clink and leans against the table, while the girl hurriedly explains herself, with the help of various poses and sound effects.
"And what is an adorable girl such as yourself doing at a school designed to train warriors?"
"Well, I want to be a Huntress," the girl states seriously, as he slides into the seat facing her. Arching his finger tips together, he regards the girl again, forcing himself to continue.
A blood soaked reaper with a single staring silver eye holding aloft a monstrous scythe…a valiant defender of the people…a small child, crying for a mother who never came home…
"You want to slay monsters."
…four women stand surrounded by a sea of black horrors…colours of red, white, black and yellow…hopeless, yet still they fight to protect those behind them…
"Yeah. I only have two more years of training left at Signal, and then I'm going to apply to Beacon. See my sister's starting there this year and she's trying to become a Huntress and I'm trying to become a Huntress 'cause I want to help people…"
A lone, cloaked figure stands stop a flaming ruin…the young girl hurtles through the forest, eyes searching the shadows...
"My parents always taught us to help others so I thought 'well, you might as well make a career out of it.' I mean the police are alright, but Huntsmen and Huntresses are so much more romantic and exciting, cool and j-just yeah! You know?"
…dozens of terrified faces gather around the red hooded warrior, drawing hope from her words…a simple grey slab juts up from the snow to join the older, white stone beside it…
No, I will not allow that, if I can, he orders himself, as he tunes back into the girls hyperactive words, noting that he had not been properly listening. After the unexpected pause, he decides to bring the conversation to its intended destination.
"Do you know who I am?"
"You're Professor Ozpin; you're the headmaster at Beacon."
Two figures march across the wide courtyard, one filled with purpose and worry, the other filled with terror and rage…four warriors storm into the hall, faces lined with anger…eyes...so many eyes turn to him, filled with mistrust and justified hatred…
"Hello."
"Nice to meet you."
This is why we are here, he reminds himself again, his mouth automatically exchanging pleasantries. This is reason I instructed Glynda to intervene, despite being unable to explain why it is so crucial.
…I've believed in Professor Ozpin for many years…
"You want to come to my school?" he rests his hands on the table, leaning forward and staring carefully into the girl's silver eyes, searching.
"More than anything."
He glances up at Glynda, briefly meeting her green eyes.
…the schoolgirl floats down on a pillow of rippling air…skilfully manipulating her Aura to slay the red eyed monsters with purple hued blasts of force…
You've always believed in me, Glynda. Please; trust me one more time, he silently begs, and she flicks her chin dismissively, leaving the decision to him. Suppressing a bitter smile, he looks back at the girl sitting nervously before him.
"Well ok," he says, hating himself for the ease with which he says it; hating the relief that floods through him as he watches the young girl's face shift from surprise to amazement to uncertainty.
…the blonde woman presses a small ring into his palm with a weary smile, before her eyes close…
His eyes tremble shut, and he breathes quietly, Glynda ushering the young girl out, already beginning to lecture her on the application procedures. I can always rely on you, Professor Goodwitch.
…and the man's never once led me astray…
Alone once again, his face falls into his palms, and he releases a shuddering breath, listening to the soft ticking of the ever shifting gears as he sits in his cold, dark office. Even after weeks, no months, of careful preparation, just speaking with the girl had left him wracked with visions.
And near all of them...There can be no doubt; she is important, but only time will tell to what extent.
…a single pale statue stands silent among the barren flower beds, frozen and waiting…many eyes are cast up to her determined face… immortal, unforgotten…lost…
Leaning back, he stares down at his numb fingers, waiting for his vision to swim, for this world to fade and for the next to take its place.
…again and again in an endless cycle…a figure falls to its knees before the statue…I've made more mistakes…no…not this one…
He clenches his fist, picking up his mug again as he stands. He glances at the bright scroll left aside, the screen lit with simple transcript, eyes skimming the blonde haired photo and sighs.
...then perhaps victory…the figure drops its head, unable to look up at the girl's likeness…than any man, woman and child on this planet…not this time…this time he will find it…
Gazing out towards the glimmering lights of the distant city, he sips slowly from his mug.
...a smaller, more honest soul…
This time there is hope.
A/N
Good evening and hello, Tearmann here and thank you greatly for reading this story, which originated from idle wonderings about Ozpin's Semblance and abilities. Anyways, any comments you would like to make would be appreciated.
Disclaimer: RWBY belongs to the wonderful people at Roosterteeth. Also any possible references to other existing fanfics are either unintentional, or just my way of saying that they are brilliant.