Vale, Day 23
The violent smacking of cane against umbrella filled the dimly lit warehouse. Sparks briefly illuminated the workbench nearby as Neopolitan whipped the blade of her parasol along the floor with a screech, whirling into a violent clash with the much taller Roman. She braced a heeled boot behind her as his superior leverage threatened to throw her to the ground and clenched her teeth.
Above their two weapons, deadlocked in an X shape, Roman's jaw was set in determination; Neo could feel him pressing her downward with all his strength.
His mistake.
She winked, and it was his only warning before she tucked a foot behind her and quickly spun to the side as Roman stumbled forward with a curse. She swung for his exposed back, but he blocked it, having caught his balance at the last possible second.
Neo's heart jumped; with a tug of his arm Roman hooked her parasol and yanked it forward. Relinquishing her grip or being thrust forward and off balance her only options, she let go and retreated with a graceful backflip as Roman gently tossed her parasol behind him with a smirk.
"You should have disarmed me when you had the chance," he goaded, "I counted three missed opportunities. So, Miss Politan, I wonder what you'll do now?"
She scowled, but it was only an attempt to hide an amused grin of her own, and a poor one at that. Roman slung Melodic Cudgel over his shoulder trying to tempt her into a hasty decision, but she wouldn't fall for his tricks. Her nearly healed calf throbbed briefly as she evaluated her options.
Tired of waiting, or perhaps on a whim, Roman tossed and caught Melodic Cudgel at the opposite end, depressing a switch and firing the handle forward on a cable straight for her uninjured calf.
Oh, Roman: always the gentleman.
The ballistic grappling hook impacted only an ethereal illusion. Neo watched the smiling visage of herself take a bow and shatter into glass from several feet behind Roman, exactly where she'd wanted to appear; her control of her semblance was growing.
Her illusions were not so much visual trickery, but rather tangible afterimages that she left behind after a short distance teleport; they were fallout from her tactical relocations. Roman retracted Melodic Cudgel's handle and turned around just in time for Neo to oust the weapon from his grip with a hooked kick, sending it flying across the relatively small warehouse.
She didn't give him time to do more than snarl and prepare himself before they were locked in unarmed combat, exchanging furious strikes, counters and kicks in a furious rhythm. Roman still had the upper hand in unarmed combat, so to speak, so Neo allowed him to drive her backwards and believe he had her on the defensive. She was aware of her discarded parasol on the floor several feet behind her, even as she threw a telegraphed kick.
Roman caught her leg and pulled her in, and she used the momentum to kick her other heel into his aura-protected knee, and thus she arced, rotating, through the air as he winced in pain. Still, Neo caught his single lined, visible eye watching her display, and in it, buried beneath immediate frustration, she saw admiration and awe.
And it made her hot.
She landed on one knee, swiped her parasol from the ground, and charged Roman with her blade drawn. Her attack was a flurry of steel and wood, but her opponent weathered it with deft, precision counters and deference, all the while studying her even as they traded violence.
Roman's eyes on her were what she wanted; for him to look at her and see her spirit, her ferocity, and her ruthlessness, even if it was, for the moment, against him. Her calf throbbed but she was going to win this duel, not to survive, or to prove she was better, but so he could behold her, as she stood triumphant.
But in a second his grip ripped the parasol from her left hand, and she was forced back on the defensive as he whipped the curved weapon through the air. Defense was close to useless with just the thin, needle-like blade she was now left with, and so she braved Roman's aggression and went for his neck.
Blow by blow their aura drained, but they pushed through the pain even as their clash rained sparks upon the ground. A high-pitched beeping pierced through the sounds of combat, their scrolls warning both combatants that their respective aura wells were almost dry as they landed blows undefended, but their exchange was unrelenting; lightning within the eye of a storm that grew more ferocious as it roared.
And then they stood still. Weapons held to one another's throats as they glared into one another's eyes. The only sound the frantic beeping of their scrolls beneath heaving breaths. The subtle quaking of limbs as the adrenaline pumped through their bodies, and the slow curl of their lips, the aftermath of it all in crescent, tired smiles.
They lowered their weapons, and Roman withdrew his scroll as they stepped back from one another. Neo heard him sigh, and could see the cringe in his voice even as she studied her own scroll.
"Why don't we call this one a draw?" he suggested, his grin sheepish.
She couldn't help it; Neo bared her teeth in a wide smile as she displayed her remaining aura level with a smug pride.
Twelve percent: that was below tournament disqualification grounds.
Close.
Roman hesitated, his face falling melodramatically. Slowly, he showed her his scroll, and the nine percent indicator across its screen.
"Like I said… draw?"
Neo shook her head, still smiling. She beckoned daintily with her fingers, and Roman handed her parasol over to her with a defeated clutch of his heart.
"You got lucky," he said, "Next time, you're eating concrete, miss Neopolitan."
Hearing him say her name flushed her white skin. She sheathed her blade in her parasol, placed her gloved hands on her hips, and cocked a brow.
That's what you said last time.
That was what she wished she could say.
"Yeah, well," Roman retrieved Melodic Cudgel from the warehouse floor, "Like I said, you got lucky. Maybe when you get older I should bring you to the casino; we'd be rich in an hour."
She rolled her eyes and shook her shoulders; what she wanted to say, however, was that she was already old enough.
She thought. Maybe. She'd lost count of the years in The Maw, but she was sure that she was at least close to so-called legal age. She was well aware that her stature was far below average, yes, but she had suffered for longer than she had appeared.
The two of them silently set about recovering from their combat practice in their own ways. Even in the stuffy confines of the warehouse, Roman lit a cigar, but Neo didn't mind; she now associated the musty raspberry-scented smoke with his presence and felt calmed by it, even as she herself opened a bottle of water and quenched her strained, dry throat. The bottled water available in Vale, even water from Folly's kitchen tap, was so pure, and Neo felt like she was the only one who noticed.
"Anyway," Roman said, "You might want to start heading back home; wouldn't want to miss your appointment."
A rush of anticipation ran down her spine, an acute mix of excitement and apprehension as sparks fell from Roman's cigar.
"I think I'm gonna grab a drink," he chuckled, "But don't worry, I'll be there to hold your hand."
Neo shook her head. Roman's genuine smile then grew serious.
"Remember to use the safe routes. Text me when you arrive…. Oh, and drink some orange juice."
She held up her scroll.
Don't worry about me.
Occasionally Neo was thankful that words had abandoned her, because lying was easier when all you had to do was smile and wave a scroll. Truthfully, she never wanted Roman to stop worrying about her: it made her feel safe and valued.
As she exited the warehouse she opened her parasol immediately, squinting under the early afternoon sun; it felt like an iron pressed to her eyes. Had her vocal chords been able to produce the sound, she would have growled. She used to love sunlight; it had been one of her first memories, and one of the last to fade. It had lit the darkness, warmed her in the cold, but now the sun was here, kissing her skin once again after years away and all she could do was shrink in the shade as its rays threatened to blind her.
Curse him: Russet. Curse him for robbing her of even the warmth of the sky after all he'd taken from her. She walked briskly in the direction of Folly's shop, heels clicking on the pavement as she reached the sidewalk. It was the middle of the day on a weekend, and even in the industrial district a fair number of pedestrians walked past or around her, smiles on their faces.
But she didn't see them. She walked straight ahead, her face blank as the world around her began to fade. The clopping of shoes upon the ground, the murmur of voices, the smell of oil and tarmac: All of it felt far and away and soon she was alone in a world of hate. A world of pain, and of fear.
It was back. All of it. She hated it. She had practiced with Roman not minutes ago, so she was not there, she was here, but she felt there. She wished she could kill him again. And again. And again.
That was all she wanted, just to kill him again. The memory wasn't sweet enough. It wasn't fair. It wasn't—
She collided with someone and instantly recoiled. It was a man of average height and build, walking in the opposite direction.
"Hey! Watch where you're…" he trailed off, and his features turned to worry, and then, to fear.
It was only then that Neo realized that she was snarling at the man who had touched her. In the space between her hands, a sliver of her concealed blade could be seen gleaming in the sunlight.
She sheathed her weapon immediately and bolted, straight past the confused man and weaved through the other pedestrians in her path; now more than ever she had to get to a safe route. Roman had charted several detours through back alleys and side streets that he had used when running contraband for the Circle as a child, and Neo had committed them to memory so that the current Black Circle would not spot either of them when they commuted to their practice space.
She darted into the nearest alley and vaulted a dumpster in her path, crouching behind it even as she realized her mistake; drawing attention. Because of her failure to keep herself in check that man would certainly call the police and report an armed, murderous woman suddenly running away from him with no explanation.
They were coming for her now.
And they would take her back to darkness.
She sat still as a corpse, her heart beating in her ears too loud for her to hear the bustle of the sidewalk outside the alley. Folly's shop was still several blocks away, and if she continued to take the safest, most indirect routes, she could arrive slightly late, but hopefully escape whatever police presence was bound to descend on her.
There was also the possibility that the man would be too scared to report her, and would simply go about his day, happy to be alive.
But rationality was like a distant whisper through a wall of screams. The fear was like a weight. Even as she willed herself to move, to run, her body was stilled. Her muscles felt hollow and useless trapped within limbs of stone.
It was several minutes before she was able to rise. When no one came for her she peered around her hiding spot, and saw that the passersby strode casually down the street just as they had been all along. Perhaps her transgression had been overlooked, but if she returned to Folly's shop using the designated back alleys the chances of her being caught were further lowered still.
Neo breathed deeply; it was time to move. She rolled up the navy blue sleeve of her coat. The faded serial number from The Maw marred her skin, but after today it would become like everything else.
A memory.
Roman pushed through the doors to the bar to the smell of cheap wine and the sound of outdated music playing from a jukebox on the right. It was a dingy place, two blocks from the abandoned warehouse, but the location was close enough to be practical and far enough away that he could still take alternative paths back to Folly's.
He strode past several unoccupied tables to take a seat at the bar. He signaled the bartender, a portly man with a mustache and glasses, all the while thinking only of Neo. She had made it back without incident before, but that was no indication of anything; what if this was the day she got jumped? The day she was kidnapped?
His stoic expression betraying not the thoughts in his head, Roman nodded to the well-stocked shelf behind the bartender, and the man wordlessly dropped some ice cubes into a glass and grabbed the bottle of Amberwood whiskey from behind him. Roman cracked his neck as he waited; that sparring session had left him tense.
Neo was becoming a better fighter by the day; even with a healing injury she was besting him on a consistent basis, and with a relatively complicated weapon with which she had little training. Even unarmed, her balance and precision were forces to be reckoned with, but the way she handled the weaponized parasol he had gifted her was almost an art in and of itself in its lethality.
He had asked her if she wished to christen the weapon with a title, but she had neglected to do so. Perhaps its namelessness personified the bond between weapon and wordless warrior better than any title could have.
Roman's drink, golden and iced as always, was placed before him even as the barstool adjacent to his was taken, suddenly and without grace. He looked to his side: a woman's frame wore a shiny, black trench coat that hung from her narrow shoulders, and her gloved hands leaned a black parasol with a marble handle against the bar.
Reptilian, viridian eyes stared at him framed by greasy midnight hair suspended in a messy bun, and faint dark veins reached from her temples into her hairline, evidence of routine Black Sap usage. The only exposed skin besides her face on her body were her pale thighs, where between the hems of her compact shorts and the tops of her tall boots the tattoo of a Boarbatusk was partially visible on her left.
The woman was no stranger to Roman: she was Collette Prasina, agent of the Black Circle and her weapon Misery Chord, and presently her pallid lips curled back into a wide grin over a pair of sharp fangs.
"Roman Torchwick…" she spoke as if beholding a specter, and her forked tongue quickly slicked her lips, "Do my eyes deceive me…?"
Roman stayed silent. He sipped his drink, and his wince was the perfect cover so the fear did not show on his face. Collette had placed her weapon between the both of them where Roman could easily grasp it, which meant that the snake faunus either bore him no ill will, or she wanted to make him think that she didn't.
"I've been getting that a lot lately," he forced a chuckle and a smile, "Nice to see you Collette; you look good these days."
Against her pale cheeks her flush was apparent.
"Oh, stop it you charmer," she tucked a greasy lock behind an ear, "They told me you were dead; I thought I would never receive such compliments again!"
"I'll try to make up for lost time, then."
"Hey!" The bartender placed a hand between the winking Roman and the bashful Collette, "We don't serve faunus here. Get lost, snake."
Collette turned her attention to the man slowly, and all traces of happiness dripped off her face. She fixed him with a leer, removed a single glove and laid it gently upon the counter, and he beheld the snarling King Taijitu tattooed on the back of her hand. Roman sipped his drink, and Collette caressed the man's chest across the bar without pause. Her eyes were unyielding, and her tongue dragged slowly, deliberately across her lips.
"You do today," she stated, "And it's python, actually."
The man's Adam's apple visibly bobbed.
"Now then: Gin, on the rocks, if you would."
The bartender glanced briefly at Roman.
He sipped his drink.
"Better do what the lady says."
"…Yes, yes of c-"
"Oh! And one of those little lemons, too."
She took back her hand, flicking the man lightly on the chin, and returned her attention to Roman with a smile and a single bat of her mascara-bloated lashes. He tried to ignore the mortification displayed in red above the bartender's mustache, and he found himself drinking from his glass frequently, and in larger amounts. The faunus woman, once his colleague, next to him may have been smiling at him, but there was no mistaking this encounter for what it really was: the preamble to a duel fought not with weapons, but with words.
"Oh where have you been, Roman?" Collette said, "Have you been alone at the bar for long? Is it because of a woman, I wonder?"
"You said it yourself; I was dead," he said, "Or at least that's the word on the street. I'm surprised that no one knows what really happened."
"Do tell! You were so sorely missed among our brothers and sisters."
"I did a job for Giovane: a simple snatch and grab. I got the goods to Ryuko, got kicked in the head, and then I woke up in The Maw."
Collette's brows rose, and then furrowed. The bartender went to place her glass of gin before her, iced and decorated with a slice of lemon, but she snatched it from his hand and took a drink without removing her eyes from Roman.
"That's… you escaped The Maw?"
Roman laughed, "I've been getting that almost as much as people thinking I was dead."
"…No wonder you're alone at a bar," Collette took another hasty swig, spilling some from her glass, "Well, forgive me if I have trouble believing you… but you're here, and you're not dead… when did you get back to Vale? Why have you not-no, wait…"
Roman knew better than anyone that words from a Circle operative meant nothing; he studied every movement of Collette's body and face as she spoke.
"You haven't tried to return to the Circle because someone among us has betrayed you! We only communicate amongst ourselves: is there ever anyone who didn't like you? Jealous of you? But then, how would they acquire the authority to send you all the way to The Maw?"
"Good question, Collette," Roman said, "I need to see Giovane, but I can't have anyone knowing I'm back yet. You operated directly under him; can you set up a meeting?"
Collette blinked and swilled her drink.
"The boss has been hard to reach as of late," she said, "He was concerned with your disappearance, especially with so many of our most trusted operatives… our friends, murdered by the Hong Zhao the day you disappeared, and with your corpse nowhere among them."
Roman watched her take a deliberate swig of her liquor, and her fangs clinked against the glass. The bartender stood several stools down, polishing an already-spotless glass.
"I don't even know where he's hiding these days, but there is a way you can contact him. I can explain… somewhere else."
"In that case, why don't you follow me back to my base of operations? We can talk there."
Collette's face lit up.
"That sounds splendid! I'll watch your back to make sure you don't receive any nasty surprises from the traitors among our brethren… after I finish my gin, of course."
Roman swilled the nearly melted ice cubes in his glass and polished off his drink in one quick, fiery slug.
"Way ahead of you," he winked. He reached for his wallet but Collette was faster, quickly slamming her own onto the bar with coordination visibly hindered.
"This one's on me," she said.
Roman whistled, "Aren't I a lucky guy?"
Collette just squared her shoulders and smiled smugly.
"I'll just use the bathroom before we go; I won't be long."
He rose from the bar, and swayed as he grabbed Melodic Cudgel; Collette was not the only one affected by their shared liquor consumption.
"Hurry up Roman!" she called after him as he navigated the mostly empty tables, "It's rude to keep a lady waiting!"
The bar's men's room was tiled, but it was hard to tell under all the graffiti and filth that adorned it. The door closed behind a growling Roman, and he planted his hands on either side of the dirty sink.
"Of course Giovane's been hard to find lately," he muttered, "Fucking viper."
Collette was lying to him; that much was certain, but it was whether she was lying outright or simply omitting the whole truth was unclear. By separating them, he had given them both equal opportunities to either flee or call for reinforcements, but it was doubtful Collette would call for additional operatives to converge on a bar in broad daylight, and with their course now charted for a warehouse that only Roman knew the location of, he had now made sure that whatever was to follow was as much on his terms as possible, be it negotiation or confrontation.
He withdrew his scroll with some regret. He had promised to be there for at least the tail end of Neo's appointment, but now he would be cutting it short. He sent a quick text message to his mute partner:
Return to the warehouse. Come armed and disguised. –Roman
She would understand, he hoped, but now with his call for backup sent, it was time to take a lady out on the town. He took a deep breath and returned to the bar, where Collette was finishing the last remains of her gin. The bartender was clearly waiting for her to leave, even as she threw several lien bills down next to an empty glass.
"Thank you for your exemplary service," Collette licked her lips at the stoic bartender before turning to Roman, "Are you ready to whisk me away with you, Mr. Torchwick?"
He tipped his hat.
"It would be my pleasure."
The walk was short, but the few minutes it took for them to reach the warehouse felt much longer. Roman tried to keep his eyes open for any ambushes or other operatives pursuing them, all the while focusing on both walking in a straight line and listening to Collette talk.
Unlike him, the woman stumbled and talked loudly. Collette Prasina was not subtle, and her skills in combat were the only reason the Circle employed her. In that respect she was not to be underestimated, as she was quick and deadly. Once Roman had seen her take five men apart in less than a minute with nary a scratch on her.
And she had been drunk then, too, and tripping on Black Sap.
She gasped when she beheld the warehouse, and Roman walked ahead of her clenching Melodic Cudgel.
"What a pleasant abode!" she exclaimed, "I remember this warehouse; isn't this where we used to bring our weapons for field repairs?"
"A few years ago, yeah."
Roman's scroll hadn't vibrated; Neo must have been out of reach of her phone. He would have to handle this one by himself.
"Then the cops shot the smith, and we had to send our weapons to the South."
"Curse them," Collette spat.
In a first, Roman agreed with her, but did not say so. He opened the side door the warehouse and proceeded inside followed by Collette. He flipped the light switches and closed the door as she walked past him, observing their surroundings with a curious air.
"It's not much to look at," Roman said, "But my penthouse was torched; I didn't have much of a choice."
Collette looked around before replying. Her gaze wandered over the marks in the concrete floor left by the sparring sessions. Her gloved fingers tapped gently on Misery Chord's furled, black canopy.
"Then why…" she fixed him with a reptilian eye, "…Is there no bed anywhere?"
A light bulb buzzed and flickered.
Their weapons met in a flurry of blows, each swift but predictable in trajectory and direction. Both fighters snarled in rage, their weapons locked, and Collette smiled a wicked, cruel beam.
"I've been looking forward to this!" she hissed.
Roman shoved her away and swung at her legs; the alcohol still in his veins slowed his attack, but Collette's block sent her stumbling away, similarly intoxicated.
"So have I!"
Roman twirled Melodic Cudgel as he stared his opponent down, "Where's Giovane, Collette? Give him up, and I won't have to cut it out of you."
"Maybe I'll tell you… after you tell me what you've been up to with dear Folly."
Roman paled.
"It's odd…"
Collette fingered the spiked tip of her Misery Chord, "Folly was asking so many questions about you. And then, one day, she just… stopped. Perhaps I'll pay her a visit myself…"
The faunus licked her lips. She tossed her weapon into the air, caught it by the still-furled canopy, and swung it around her. Its marble handle followed attached to a bladed chain that flashed before Roman's eyes in the harshly lit warehouse. Collette surrounded herself in a field of the chain's blades with overhead twirling motions, and through the screen of sharpened steel, she leered at him with a flash of her fangs.
She brought Misery Chord to her side, and its chained handle disappeared into its shaft with a sharpened schick.
"Dance with me, Roman," she said, "Come and show a damsel a night under the lights that she'll never forget."
Roman steadied his nerves. Melodic Cudgel's barrel moved in small half-circles. He tried to block thoughts of Neo and Folly from his mind.
"I would love to," he shrugged, "But, I suppose you'll have to do."
Collette scowled.
"How rude."
A guest reviewer asked me if this story would tie in to Roman's recruitment by Cinder Fall. I am writing Like Candlelight, and scouring the RWBY wiki, with the intention of it being able to fit seamlessly into canon, so eventually it will tie directly into canon events. Presently, by setting the story 10 years in advance of canon and with characters that have little backstory, if any at all, I've allowed myself a lot of creative freedom, but as the story eventually closes in on canon events the story will intimately explore the Fall of Beacon through Roman and Neo's points of view.
-Rampag3
