Roman wasn't sure what the most horrifying thing he had ever seen was.
He had never really thought about it, as he had seen a lot of horrifying things; most were better left to the depths of nightmares, or the bottom of a glass.
Perhaps it had been his uncle's face, the first time the man had stepped back and gazed upon Roman in a dress, pigtails, and makeup that looked more fit for a clown.
Maybe it had been the nearly unrecognizable man strapped in the chair in the warehouse, the night the Black Circle had discovered he was a traitor, screaming and bleeding as Roman pretended to watch the interrogators make an example out of him while he had stared at the wall and tried to keep his dinner inside his churning stomach.
It could have even been the first black sap overdose he had ever been present for; the operative slumped back on the toilet, face lined with black veins as she stared with murky grey eyes at the tiled wall, lifeless even as her clammy fingers twitched with the final spasms of consciousness.
Or it could have been the Nevermore, the first Grimm he had ever born witness to, shrieking a razor cry and diving for the bullhead as its fell wings blocked out the very sun, its beak on course to impale their vehicle directly through the windshield that had never seemed so fragile until now.
"Forward!"
Roman was vaguely aware of Marcus shouting to his right, barely audible through the drone of the bullhead's engines and the piercing of the Nevermore's cries.
"On the throttle! Forward!"
Marcus' hand grabbed the joystick and slammed the pitch forward, and Roman came to his senses just as the bullhead was pushed into a steep nosedive. He was thrown back against the pilot's chair as he shoved the throttle, and the craft roared as it rocketed down into the mists. Neo gripped the back of Roman's headrest with a white-knuckled death grip; in his ear he could faintly perceive acute, short breaths of adrenaline as she held on, avoiding slamming into the back of the fuselage by fingertips.
The Nevermore soared right over the diving bullhead; the force of the massive creature carving through the sky shook the craft, and its dismayed screech was not far behind.
"Pull back on the throttle, then the pitch!" Marcus roared, "Level us out before we hit the ocean!"
"The ocean!?"
"Pull! Back! Now!"
Roman drew back the throttle with less grace than intended, but gravity took over, and the bullhead fell through the clouds until he jerked back the pitch. All occupants were thrown into the air before slamming back down as the craft paralleled with ocean below. Crystal waves were now visible far beneath them; the sight would have been beautifully serene had there not been a shrieking Nevermore on their tail, angry at its prey escaping. Their abrupt dive had gained them several hundred feet on the beast as it reoriented itself, but soon it had turned and given chase, and it was closing the distance at a frightening pace.
Roman didn't wait for Marcus to order him this time; he jammed the throttle forward and the bullhead rocketed through the light mists that hung in their path. As far ahead as he could see, only open ocean stretched on into the mists several hundred feet ahead, and even at top speed it was already apparent that outrunning the Nevermore was impossible. Roman kept frantic eyes flicking between the open sky ahead of him and the bullhead's side mirrors, which afforded a poor view of the aforementioned beast flapping its mighty wings and approaching with every beat.
They had a minute, at most.
Roman's hands shook on the controls; he had sidestepped death one too many times today, and now it was here to call him on his debt, in the form of a red-eyed, screaming, giant bird from Hell. There was no way out.
"Stay calm!" Marcus screamed, looking back at Neo, "Both of you! The more you panic the tastier you look to that thing!"
"What do we do!?" Roman panicked, "How do we kill it!?
"We don't! There isn't an ace pilot alive who can dogfight a Nevermore that size in a bullhead!"
Roman blinked twice at Marcus, speechless.
"We have to shake it!" The assassin continued.
"…How!?"
Marcus growled, brow furrowed as he tried to focus. Neo pushed her way into the cockpit and stabbed an arm forward and towards the horizon; through the misty clouds, the outline of several jagged crags jutted forth from the waves. As they approached, the outlines grew clearer; a group of rocky glaciers, dotted with what looked like man-made stone ruins, still a considerable distance away.
"Snowcone you're a genius! We'll lose the Nevermore in those mountains!"
Roman was trying to find words that would properly express his thoughts.
Really, he was.
"…I am not flying in there!"
"Yes you are," Marcus corrected, "You're going to fly right through there! The Nevermore can't fit!"
The assassin indicated what looked like the remains of a stone bridge, its proximity to the glacier opposite the one it protruded from creating an extremely narrow opening, possibly too narrow for even a bullhead.
"Neither can we!" Roman protested; if death had been completely inevitable he would have been ashamed of the desperation in his voice, sarcastic defiance until the bitter end the only way he would have been able to rest in peace once the darkness claimed him.
But this was just reckless, straight-up suicide for so many different reasons. It was one thing to face an unavoidable demise with stoic cynicism; it was another to flippantly throw your own life away.
"You can do it!" Marcus assured, attempting to raise himself out of his chair and grimacing in pain.
"I have five minutes of bullhead piloting experience! I'll kill us!"
"Please don't," Marcus grunted as he shuffled past Neo, "I have a boy who would miss me, and I'm too sober to die right now."
He disappeared from the cockpit and Neo hopped forward into the now unoccupied copilot's chair, eyes stark white and small chest heaving with visible terror.
"Where the hell are you going!?" Roman screamed.
"Buying us some time!"
Marcus leaned against the fuselage wall, slamming a button with the back of his fist. The wind howled and the sound of the engines grew to a furious roar as the side of the bullhead opened, and Marcus leaned out, one hand gripped on the door and the other on Melodic Cudgel.
The cane whistled, and in the mirrors Roman saw the Nevermore shrug off an explosive round as if it were no more than a spitball.
"Don't drop that!" Roman was suddenly conscious of the ocean below, and Marcus' one-handed grip on the cane he had only recently reclaimed.
"Focus on flying!" Marcus replied, firing another round. It struck the Nevermore's head, but though the beast shrieked, blinded, it did not slow.
Roman desperately tried to keep his attention on his task: saving everyone's lives. He stilled his hands, focused on the stone bridge, and kept the bullhead on course. The Nevermore was gaining, but the throttle could not be pushed any further, and they would not reach the ruins ahead in time.
He almost jumped when Neo gripped his shoulder with white knuckles, and she looked to him, tears in her wide eyes. Even through his coat he could feel her grip shaking.
Are we going to die?
Roman couldn't look. Melodic Cudgel's frequent whistles and the Nevermore's enraged screeches cut through the roar of the engines as Marcus fired away in vain.
Neo tugged on his coat again.
We didn't escape just to die here! We won't, right? We won't!
A single glance at the mirrors told Roman the truth: the truth that he couldn't even face himself, let alone tell the child desperately clinging to his coat.
How could he? At least he'd had the chance to live; he hadn't formed many friendships, fallen in love, had any children, but at least he had woken up with a hangover after taking someone to bed at least once in his life. Neo didn't even have that; all she had were memories of solitude, pain, suffering, and for endless years.
"She has nothing to believe in but you…" the last words the old man had ever spoken to him, "…No family but you, and if she has any chance for a normal life, after what this shithole has taken from her, it's with you."
Roman ground his teeth. The ruins were close now, about two thousand feet, but the Nevermore was closer. Marcus withdrew Melodic Cudgel and retreated into the bullhead.
"You cane is dry!" he yelled over the howl of the wind and the screaming of the bullhead's strained engines, "We have seconds! P-"
Whatever he said next was drowned out by the shriek of the Nevermore, and its cry practically shook the craft that would soon serve as their tomb. One last look in the mirror showed the giant fowl practically breathing down their necks.
I'm sorry, Roman thought, Grandpa, Neo, I let you down…
She deserved to hear it; for all she had done for him, it was all that he could give her now.
"Neo…"
Roman's voice shook as he turned to her…
Only to find the copilot's seat empty.
"…What?"
He whipped his head around to see Neo hanging out the door of the bullhead like Marcus had done, the assassin staring at her with the most unhidden expression of shock that Roman had witnessed cross his face in the time he had known him. He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine Neo's scowl as she thrust out her tiny hand, clutching the uncorked vial of Burn Dust that, last he had known, had been in his pocket. He patted at his coat just to make sure.
"How the-"
Oh, right. He had personally taught her how to pick pockets like a slick-fingered professional.
The Nevermore was mere feet from the bullhead, and with a fell shriek, it thrust out its talons for the craft. The razor claws sunk into the ship like fangs into flesh...
And in the mirrors Roman watched as the illusion shattered into millions of flaming, glass-like shards, engulfing the Nevermore in fire. Loose pieces, bright orange and already melting landed inside the bullhead. Neo yelped as one cut through her bare calf, steam rising from the wound as she fell to the floor, eyes closed. Her limp body tumbled and rolled, on course for the open doors, and Roman found himself choked as his heart leapt into his throat.
"Neo!"
He reached a gloved hand out for her, knowing it would not stop her fall, as one tiny hand disappeared over the ledge before Marcus surged forward, grabbing her arm and hauling her back onto the bullhead with an agonized grimace.
"She's fine!" the assassin called, standing and slamming the side door shut, "She bought us time, use it!"
Roman forced his eyes forward; the ruins were so close now. A glance in the mirrors and he saw the Nevermore shrieking and writhing as flames licked its black body. Neo's Dust-enhanced illusion had put some distance between the bullhead and the beast, but it wasn't long before the enraged Grimm ignored its flaming feathers altogether, flapping its wings once more and giving chase with renewed fury.
The gap between the bridge and the glacier led to what looked like the remains of an ancient fortress, or perhaps even a city built into the surrounding crags. There was no way a Nevermore would be able to maneuver in there, but being the novice pilot he was, Roman doubted he would fare much better. How intelligent was the Nevermore? Would it even fall for this simple trick? Or would it rise and circle the glacier until they emerged? In that case, it would be simply a matter of time.
Run out of fuel and starve to death, or die running: given the choices…
"Dammit… Strap in!" Roman yelled to his passengers, "…And don't forget to pray!"
There was no response as Marcus secured himself into one of the many seats in the fuselage, the apparently unconscious Neo's head lolling in his thick arms.
The Nevermore let out a cry; drawn out, shrill, and pissed-the-hell-off.
"Yeah, yeah…" muttered Roman.
They approached the bridge. The gap was too small. The Nevermore wouldn't fit, but neither would the bullhead. He could dive under one of the bridge's struts, but the ruins on the other side made for too tight a space to maneuver, not at their current speed, and if they slowed down they would be lunch.
Roman took one last glance in the mirror at the pursuing Grimm, charred feathers trailing smoke as it rapidly closed in, and decided that of all the ways he could exit this world, he would not be doing it as Grimm food.
They were seconds away from the bridge, and the Nevermore was moments away from the bullhead.
"Quoth this, Nevermore," he growled.
He ripped back the pitch, sending the bullhead up and into the sky as he killed the throttle. The craft hung for a moment, suspended by inertia alone as it spun, and swiveled as Roman's hat fell off his mane of flying hair to the riveted canopy. He felt what little breakfast he had stomached rise into his throat as Marcus cursed from behind him.
There was a dismayed screech as the Nevermore buffeted its wings and halted its flight path, and Roman glimpsed its dark, seared feathers before he closed his eyes, let gravity takeover, and threw every chip he had into the pot.
The bullhead shook and crunched; rivets pinged as the fuselage fell directly onto the Nevermore's wing with the sound of twisting metal. A pained shriek stung his uncovered ears as Roman once again gunned the throttle, and the engines burst to life and seared the already blistered feathers of the anguished creature beneath. The damaged fuselage groaned and protested as Roman used the Nevermore's back like a runway, rocketing away as one massive wing began to flap furiously.
In the mirror the other wing hung down, torched, broken, and useless. The beast's back was a smoldering conflagration from which ascended plumes of black smoke as its head whipped side to side in rage. The desperate flapping of its one good wing annihilated the ancient supports of the stone bridge, and the entire structure crumbled, raining hundreds of stone blocks down upon the already doomed and plummeting creature. Its cries subsided to choked yelps as it spiraled down to the waves below, the stones of the ancient bridge accompanying it on its descent. It slammed against the glacier's rocky side, once, twice before it hit the waves, screeching no longer, and the fell fowl was nothing more.
His breath came in ragged bursts as he calmed his thundering heart; it had worked.
He was still alive.
The bullhead was still able to fly.
…He never, ever, wanted to do anything like that, ever again.
The calm that ensued felt unreal; yet again he had pried death's cold fingers loose, and everything around him remained as indifferent as it had always been, wholly unchanged. The waves far below crashed in rhythm, wispy clouds drifted around the bullhead's battered fuselage, and somewhere else in the treacherous world of Remnant, Giovane Verde was helping himself to world-class Mistralian wine, believing Roman to be forever rotting in a Maw that was still operating as it always had.
He waited a minute, letting his breathing return to a steady pace. He donned his hat once more, which had fallen from the canopy when he had righted the bullhead, and exhaled heavily; his day was far from over, he still had to get home.
"…Black?" he called over one shoulder, "You alright?"
The response was delayed.
"…Torchwick, you are the craziest motherfucker I have ever met… and I've met a lot of crazy motherfuckers."
"I'll take that as a compliment. Is Neo okay?"
"Yeah, thanks to me," Marcus hauled himself into the cockpit, easing into the copilot's chair once more, a medical kit in his hand.
"If I hadn't been holding onto her when you dropped an occupied bullhead onto a Nevermore, she would be dead. As it is, she's unconscious; that illusion must have taken all the aura she had left."
Mentally, Roman breathed a sigh of relief; he had no intentions of letting Marcus see him do it physically, however.
"What about her leg? I saw her take a hit."
"First off, never do that again," Marcus grunted, "For your sake, not mine… I bandaged Neo up, she'll be fine."
He opened the medical kit in his hands as he spoke, adjusting his seat to allow his injured leg to rest on the dashboard, "It's a nasty wound but not too deep; the heat cauterized it, and once her aura recovers she'll heal up in a couple weeks. Not going to feel too great though… when we get to Vale, it would be a great time for her first shot of whiskey…"
The assassin grunted as he wound a tight bandage around his wounded limb, "Seriously though, we're lucky this bird is still flying after that stunt you pulled; the floor is barely walkable, there are cracks in the fuselage, and I don't even want to think about the condition the wings are in."
"Hey, we're alive," Roman shrugged, "And still flying."
"For now…" Marcus continued to dress his wound, assembling the beginnings of a splint around his knee, "Just keep us on an even keel and we'll be fine; fly low."
Roman nodded, dipping the bullhead gently and descending closer to the waves. It was only seconds before Marcus held up a hand, and they leveled out a solid two hundred feet above the crashing currents.
"Winged Grimm don't usually fly this low, not above open sea, and the tentacled ones won't grab us this high up, unless they're massive and hungry."
"Massive, hungry, tentacled Grimm… that's comforting…" Roman sighed.
"Just think happy thoughts."
Marcus leaned back, leg bandaged and eyes closed. For the next few moments the only sound was the drone of the bullhead's engines. Nothing but ocean stretched on for as far as Roman could see, dotted by only the occasional large, icy rock. He checked the compass multiple times to make sure they were headed south, and every time he reminded himself that as long as he kept his feet off the pedals, the compass would not change.
Marcus broke the silence.
"You're a poetry fan, huh?"
"…Excuse me?"
"Quoth this? Seriously?"
"Oh! You heard that? …Well, not really, just that one poem."
Marcus snorted, "Typical."
"Hey," Roman snapped, "I was already made fun of once today for not reading enough, and that was in addition to nearly getting eaten by an oversized, screaming raven from Hell. I didn't get to go to school, and I didn't get many chances to read in the Black Circle; they're not big on… academia."
Marcus laughed aloud.
"They used to be; creator of the Circle was a fucking writer, even I know that. Dravus Malachite: he wrote Thief and the Butcher. It's a classic, read it next time you're getting inked."
Roman pretended the knowledge interested him as he reached for a cigar. This time he placed the cigar between his teeth, retrieved his lighter, and lit it without being interrupted by any deathly wails.
"Those things will kill you, kid," Marcus muttered, wafting away the smoke that soon filled the cockpit.
"So will alcohol," Roman smirked.
"Fair enough," Marcus shrugged, "But what's more important for a close combat fighter? His liver, or his lungs?"
"His sobriety?"
Marcus turned away, sighing as Roman continued to grin.
"I've been sober for too damn long," Marcus turned back, "You want some real advice from me, you Black Circle hotshot?"
Roman cocked an eyebrow. Marcus glanced behind them, back into the fuselage before continuing, his voice low but not quite a murmur.
"Don't let that girl talk you into being some kind of daddy now that you busted her out; I know she looks just precious, but you're better off staying single, making money, moving to Menagerie and living like a king. Give her some cash, drop her at an orphanage, or a mental hospital, and go live your life for yourself."
"…Talk me into it?"
Marcus rolled his eyes.
"Figure of speech."
Roman took a long drag off his cigar; the taste was sweet, like crushed raspberries with a hint of red sap, as he breathed it out, slowly.
"So, the man who busted out of prison to return home to his son, is telling me to dump the mute orphan in the back on a street corner and move to Menagerie?"
Marcus smirked.
"Those faunus girls… they'll do what you wa-"
"I wouldn't sleep with a faunus if you paid me!" Roman snapped, "And I can't just… abandon Neo!"
"Have you even thought about what you're going to do with her once we get to Vale?"
"Yes! No! Kind of-ugh, look…" Roman dragged hastily off his cigar as he gestured aggressively, filling the cockpit with a pungent haze, "I'm not dad material, but I can't just leave her; I need to at least help her adjust to the world first, give her some money, get her some new clothes, maybe a speech therapist. I have stuff I need to do, but I'm not heartless."
"I saw you kill dozens of people in the cafeteria, and some were begging for their lives," Marcus huffed, "Not to mention you're an assassin, just like me, who killed a man by gouging out his eye and then slamming his head into a table."
"Like I said," Roman smiled condescendingly, "Not dad material."
"And just a little heartless," Marcus added, "I'm serious: leave the girl. Look at where she was compared to where she is: You've done enough for her. I love my boy, sure, but did I want the brat? Two different things, Torchwick; live for yourself."
Roman fixed Marcus with a cold side eye, and with each second that crawled by the assassin looked more and more like his father. The father that had abandoned his mother.
Abandoned him.
To his uncle.
"She saved us," he said in a monotone.
"And you saved her," Marcus said, "But that doesn't mean you owe her anything."
"Do you have any idea what she's been through?"
"I did my research on Russet; I think I have a pretty good idea, but do you want to deal with the effects of that shit? Taking care of a normal kid is difficult, but do you think there's anything normal left in that girl?"
"Can we not talk about this!?"
He violently stubbed his cigar against the dashboard, where it left an ashen black smear.
"I will decide what to do with her. She's not your problem. End of discussion."
"Alright!" Marcus held up his hands, "At the end of the day, yeah, she is. Was just trying to give you some advice. Don't get so touchy, you don't want the Grimm to smell your anger."
Roman sighed. Irritated as he was, he still had to admit Marcus was right… about that. Encountering another Grimm was literally the lowest thing on his to-do list at the moment, just above dying.
"I… probably couldn't have made it out of there without you, Black," Roman managed, breathing steadily, "So… thanks. You pulled through."
Marcus nodded, "I don't think the three of us should be here right now, but we are. Probably couldn't have done it without you either, Torchwick, and you and I would have had a tough time without Snowcone."
Roman suddenly remembered the feeling of Russet's armored toe against his spine.
"We wouldn't be here without her," he laughed, somewhat uncomfortably, "I'll thank her properly when we get back home; might buy her some ice cream."
Marcus shrugged, "I still think a shot of whiskey would be more appropriate, but it's your call."
Roman shook his head, smirking as Marcus rose to stand in the cockpit doorway.
"I think I'm gonna catch a rest. Listen, when our Dust hits the halfway mark…"
He indicated a nearly-full gauge marked by a glowing crystal design.
"Yell for me. I'll take over, and you can rest your head until we arrive."
"This is going to be the most fun-filled, exciting few hours of my entire life."
"Yeah, even better than all those times you probably stared at the walls of your cell imagining this very moment; you'll be fine," Marcus dismissed, "Just try to remember what a shower feels like, it'll make the whole process more exciting."
With that parting advice, Marcus limped carefully into the fuselage, where Roman glimpsed him laying across the bench opposite the unconscious Neo. He wanted to go check on her, even just for a moment, but he had to keep them on course. All that was left to do was keep the already-damaged vehicle heading in the same direction, stable, and then…
That was just it: the source of the new anxiety that gripped him. Once they arrived in Vale, he had no idea what he was going to do next.
Revenge on Giovane was a long term goal, and though it served as a driving force to press on through the pain and exhaustion that now challenged him, there were many steps between the present and the moment of vengeance that needed addressing, and he had no tangible ideas as for how to go about any of them. While in The Maw, despite his rage, refusal to accept his situation, and the events leading up to his freedom, which he was still having trouble realizing he had actually survived, freedom and revenge both had in reality seemed like the desperate dreams of a man already broken.
But now the freedom he had dreamed of was his new reality, and a new plan had to be put in order. He needed a place to stay, a base of operations, as the standard procedure for the death of a Black Circle operative was the destruction of their home and everything they owned: no evidence for the cops or Huntsmen to find. Even if his penthouse was still intact, he didn't exactly trust the Black Circle anymore, not after they had betrayed him in cold blood and left him to rot in a cesspit at the frigid ends of the world.
"Whoa!"
Roman swerved the bullhead around a large rock that jutted forth from the sea, quickly correcting his course. After making sure no more boulders planned on taking him by surprise, he returned to his deliberations.
All his friends, or more aptly, everyone involved in his life that had a first name to him, were Black Circle… but there was one person who wasn't; not technically.
But that was far enough for that topic, as he would have to deal with it when he arrived, and not before. The other question on his mind had to be dealt with before he found a new residence: What would he do with Neopolitan?
He snorted at the memory of when he had first titled the girl so; it had been a joke. She had strange eyes, no name, and at the time he really could have gone for a triple-stacked cone of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream. With a cherry on top, for kicks.
Fast forward three months and that girl was the closest thing to a friend he'd had in a while, or ever. They had trained together. They had shared a toilet. He had told her his life story. They had trusted one another.
Marcus' words earlier however, despite being delivered with the assassin's trademark snark, held points that Roman hadn't given any real consideration. Neo was a child, about 12-14 years of age notwithstanding her tiny stature, but she was a child that had suffered countless evils, isolated from the world for a time Roman didn't know the length of, because the girl was mentally and physically damaged so severely that she had lost her speech with which to tell him.
She needed therapy, medicine, a proper bed, and even then there was no guarantee that the damage she had endured could ever be undone. Roman knew very intimately the effect a broken childhood could have on a person; brutally taking a life and getting one's hand tattooed at 14 was just scratching the surface.
Once again, the old man's last words rang in Roman's head.
"She has nothing to believe in but you…"
He couldn't just abandon her; he was all she had. There were times Roman thought it best to be selfish in life, such as when gambling, or killing someone intent on killing him; in fact, most of life was better spent serving oneself and no one else, but leaving a girl who was the only reason he was still alive on the steps of some psych ward and then going on his merry way would haunt him to his grave.
"Dammit…" Roman sighed, dragging a gloved hand down his face.
There was a silver lining to his deliberations; no matter how fatigued he was he wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel, or joystick, with thoughts like these churning in his head.
It was hours before Vale's continent became visible, nigh-imperceptible on the horizon; the sun was high, the skies clear and blue, and it would still be many more hours before they reached the shore. Roman had been smoking cigars to keep himself awake, stubbing them out one after the other on the dashboard. He felt somewhat nauseous with only the heavy tobacco in his system, but the appearance of land on the horizon made him blink in relief that he was too drained to properly express.
His body ached from sitting in the same position for hours, and instead of trying to keep himself entertained with plots and in-depth fantasies, he had opted to empty his mind completely, letting random thoughts drift in and out as they came to him, focusing solely on the seemingly endless ocean ahead.
The memory of the Nevermore was still too palpable for his liking.
And he had creatures like that tattooed permanently on most of his body.
Would he ever be able to look at his own right hand again?
Probably. They had killed it in the end.
He chuckled. Ocean waves continued to crash below and in the distance. He passed over a small, nondescript island.
He needed to think of something to say when he found Giovane again.
Something cool.
He wanted to see the look on the fat faunus' face when he showed up after being thrown in The Maw, complete with a snarky one-liner.
Footsteps.
Getting closer.
Roman snapped back into himself, whipping around only to startle Neopolitan who gripped the edge of the seat to keep from stumbling backwards.
"Oh! Neo," Roman chuckled nervously, tongue dry after hours of silence, "I, um…"
He didn't want to admit that for a split second, he had thought Neo had been a prisoner looking to stab him to death in The Maw.
She winced in pain, edging past Roman into the copilot's seat, where she clambered in clumsily.
"Your leg hurts, huh?"
Neo nodded. Frowning slightly, Her eyes were closed as she fingered the bandage on her calf.
Roman was amazed she was already up and moving. How long had it been?
"That was a hell of a move you pulled back there, with the Nevermore," he said, trying to get a smile out of the girl, "Did you augment your semblance with Dust? That's a Huntsman trick, I can't even do that."
He frowned dramatically, "And don't think I've forgotten how you picked my pocket; that was sneaky Neo, I feel betrayed."
Neo turned to him, a small smile forming on her face. Roman raised his eyebrow at her.
"Seriously," he pressed, trying not to grin, "Keep those sneaky fingers out of my pockets you little thief; I taught you to steal for me. What if I'm hiding something from you?"
Neo playfully rolled her eyes, still smiling. They stared, their understated grins and exhausted, but calm eyes almost mirrored in one another's features. Neo shrugged and rolled her head away, towards the window. Lazy fingers twirled within her tangled locks.
I had to do it.
They rode in comfortable silence for a while. Neo, incapable of breaking the quiet even if she wanted to, was contently watching the clouds and waves as they rolled forth in an endless stream, occasionally wincing as she shifted her injured leg. Roman felt calmer with her by his side; he attributed it to his earlier concern for her health being satisfied, seeing her sitting feet away, more relaxed than he had ever seen her, or so it appeared.
Still, it was his worry that had been keeping him awake all this time, and now he felt the fatigue besetting his limbs with renewed force. He found himself blinking as his head lolled, body desperate for rest, and he shifted in his seat.
"When we get to Vale, Neo…"
He spoke up mostly to keep himself awake and focused. Neo looked to him, curious.
"…I don't really know where we're going to go just yet. I don't think I have a home, so we might not have anywhere to sleep, but there are places that you can, if you want to."
Neo raised an eyebrow.
"I know places," Roman continued, "There are good people there, they won't hurt you. You can sleep there, and they'll feed you, too."
Pink eyes widened; a small hand tensed on the armrest as Roman's stomach twisted.
"I'm not a great guy, Neo," he said, "I'm a scoundrel, and if you stick with me you might get hurt, again. There are people that will try to kill me, they won't think twice about killing you too, and once I go after Giovane, there are just going to be more of those people."
Neo shook as a single tear ran down her face. Before Roman could continue she shook her head, locks flying.
I'm staying with you.
She looked forward, eyes wide as they ran with silent tears.
"It's not like I want to leave you behind," Roman tried, "But you deserve a normal life; you're a kid, and there's still time for you to be one. Me? I never got that chance, and I want you to have it."
Neo clenched her teeth and shook her head once more, wiping at one pink eye.
I don't want it! I want to stay with you.
Roman sighed; how could Marcus be right about this? Neo was scared, and leaving her would only do more damage to a girl that had been already broken until fairly recently. It was an effort for him to speak to her like this; the last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain.
And she was also very handy in a fight.
There was still time to decide.
Roman chuckled, trying to lighten the mood; maybe if Neo smiled again he would stop feeling like a piece of trash for scaring her.
"Alright, you crazy kid," he said, "I guess we're sticking together; don't say I didn't warn you."
Neo closed her eyes, letting an audible breath escape with a shudder. She kept her eyes closed, nodding gently as she wiped away the beginnings of what would have been waterfalls.
She looked at him and nodded vigorously.
"I'm sorry Neo, I'm just exhausted, and…" he sighed, "I just…"
Neo shook her head, blinking.
It's all right.
"I just don't want you to get hurt," he said, "But it should be all right; we'll be watching each other's backs, just like we have been. What could go wrong?"
Neo nodded.
Only a few minutes passed, uneventfully, before Roman noticed the Dust gauge's needle dwindling at the halfway mark. He glanced worriedly at the landmass on the horizon, which seemed no closer, before remembering he had worked the problem over in his head hours ago; they would make it, even if they were running on fumes by the time they did.
The concern behind him, only relief remained as he realized he would finally be able to sleep.
"Looks like it's Marcus' turn to fly," he said, more excitedly than he intended, "Would you go wake him up, Neo?"
She smiled, climbing carefully out of the seat and entering the fuselage with the subtlest of limps. It didn't take long for Marcus to return in her stead, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"How long was I out?" he mumbled.
"No idea," Roman shrugged, "The sun is shining and I'm pretty sure Vale is over there."
Marcus followed Roman's finger and nodded.
"Should be a few more hours then," he said, gripping the joystick as Roman let go. The two men awkwardly shuffled past one another as Roman stood up for the first time since boarding the craft, stretching towards the ceiling in the door frame.
"Snowc-ugh, dammit, I mean Neo," Marcus called past him, "I might need your help up here; won't be able to get up quickly with my leg in a vice."
Neo looked up at Roman, putting her hands together against one cheek and miming a 'sleep' gesture in query.
"Damn straight," he yawned, moving past her as she returned to the cockpit and proceeded to mount the seat beside Marcus. Roman stepped over sections of the floor mangled by the collision with the Nevermore, but paid them barely any mind; the closer he got to the stiff-looking bench along the side of the fuselage the harder it became to keep his eyes open. The engines outside were louder now, but even he couldn't even bring himself to complain.
He removed his hat, laid gingerly across the bench, and once he closed his eyes everything he had been through since the start of the day, from nearly being killed in a prison riot and nearly being killed by Friedrick Russet, to nearly being killed by a sizable Nevermore and topping it all off with flying a bullhead halfway across the equator, all hit him with the combined force of a crashing wave. The quiet murmur of Marcus one-sidedly speaking to Neo blended with the drone of the engines, the perfect white noise for Roman to tune out his thoughts.
All of it: everything that happened and everything that was to happen, all of it could wait. Just for a moment. Just until he woke up.
RWBY Chibi has gotten significantly funnier these last few episodes.
Being this driven to get words to page is a great feeling. Hold tight for the next chapter!
