Nova's POV (3-4 years before Team RWBY)

Beacon Academy: one of the most prestigious hunter academies in all of Vale, and seemingly the center for a lot of activity.

Getting in would be easy. Some would call my confidence in my abilities something along the lines of arrogance, but I would simply call it knowing my own strengths, of which I have many, and weaknesses, of which I have few.

By next week around 11 o'clock, I will have passed that admittance test and come back home in time for lunch. Unfortunately for me, getting back home involved a hike of approximately ten miles from downtown to my incredibly small scale apartment; a hike I was currently undertaking. If I had to guess, I'd say it was around half an hour before midnight.

I soon pass an alleyway and take a glance at it. As I look through the dark, I clearly spot several buff thugs crowding a small space, A commonplace thing in this part of the city. I nearly leave them alone when I notice a small figure lying in between them. I grimace and turn a full ninety degrees towards the group and into the corridor. Another thing that happened to be commonplace in this part of the city was my interference in situations I found to involve injustice. Oh, how I despised an unfair fight, which was ironic considering what was about to transpire between these idiots and my fists.

"You know," I say authoritatively, addressing the degenerates, "I've always hated people who ganged up on others"

"Go away, kid," the biggest one spouts, "This runt tried taking from us, so she'll be punished. If you don't want to end up the same way, I'd suggest you back off."

I frown mockingly, "Well, it sure would be a shame if someone were to interrupt this 'punishment' wouldn't it? By the way, you've got one thing wrong about me," I correct, raising my sleeves, exposing a massive burn mark along my left arm, "While I may be a 'kid', I am in no way a 'runt'."

Then, intending to taunt the group, I raise my hands and motion the universal sign for 'come get some'. With a quick glance to his buddies, the biggest guy looks over to me like I'm a freshly cooked steak and starts walking over. What this imbecile doesn't realize is that I'm leagues better at fighting than him. As he is taking his sweet time walking over, I perform the cliché act of cracking my knuckles and popping my neck.

Next, bright purple and blue flames originating from my shoulder start to slowly swirl around my left arm. My lips form a maniacal smile as MrToughGuy's step falter suddenly. "What's wrong?" I ask as I shrug, "Heat got your tongue?" At that moment, the aforementioned flames reach my hand. I curl back my middle finger and flick a ball of fire at his head.

Of course, he dodges it, setting a small garbage can on fire in the background, but its job is accomplished. That glorious little fireball and my beautifully smug grin pushes UglyFaceMcGee and his pals over the edge. They attempt to charge me.

"Four against one? That's hardly fair...for you," I state jokingly, with my ever growing smirk

Despite the size of the men, the haphazardness of their little rush is laughable. I take a moment to chuckle to myself about how easy this is going to be. The big one that had started walking originally reaches me first. A simple crouch and a grab at his ankle makes him fall like a rock, bashing his head on the pavement in the process. The rest still barrel towards me, however, so I time a nice leap and land on one idiot's head, at which point the other two decide it would be a good idea to punch up at me.

Another precise leap and their punches land in open air, causing their weights to shift forward and crash into the one I was standing on. Only one of the three manages to get up, as the others are entangled with each other, groaning in pain and discomfort, but a swift kick to the knee and a follow-up uppercut do the trick of taking him out as well.

I take in the glory of the sight of four large men lying on the ground before me, then I turn my attention to their victim. It is a girl, clearly, of an exceptionally low height and long, multi-colored hair, wearing torn up and bloodstained clothes. She seems to be clutching a packet of something close to her chest, probably food. The girl is also unconscious. Figuring I can't just leave her in the street with these thugs, I decide to help her out a bit more. I easily heft her onto one shoulder, obviously not the one that is still steaming from using my semblance, and step over, and naturally on, the bodies of her tormentors as I make my way back to the main road.

Line Break

Eventually, I make it back to my humble abode, and when I say humble, I really mean humble, as in apartment for one. The place is definitely not made to house myself plus one unconscious chick. However, me being ever the gentleman, I give her the bed. That's right, I sleep on a couch for a lady I don't even know.

When the morning comes, I follow my normal routine. I get up to make some food, for myself, not the girl, progress into my office to use my computer for a while, then decide to check up on my new tenant. I walk into my cramped kitchen to make some soup for her, then bring it to my bedroom. When I walk in though, the first thing I see is the red bedsheets. Yesterday, I had managed to stitch the girl up, but now the stitches were open again and bleeding freely. Great

I do the natural thing and rip off the sheets, pick her up, and move her to the restroom where she can't stain anymore of my- I mean where the first aid kit is. She still has the torn clothes from yesterday on, but I gave her a robe to keep her warm and covered. Now, those clothes were matted with even more blood than before, a lot of it fresh. I grab a couple of rags to soak up the new blood before realizing that a majority is originating from under her clothes, meaning that I would need to remove her shirt to clean her cuts. This is one-hundred percent unavoidable, with no alternatives. I know my medicine, and these injuries might cause some serious infections if left untreated, My next actions are nothing but justified.

I easily slide off her shirt. There are many advantages that come out of this. At first, I find other wounds I had not previously seen, and I have much more freedom to place my bandages. As a secondary plus, I get a nice view of her nicely shaped brea- stomach. I mean stomach, of course. I pay very close attention specifically to her stomach. It seems that she is not as malnourished as I had expected her to be. Of course, I have her best interest in mind, so my intentions are purely medical, no bullshit whatsoever.

After I finish my work, my actual work, I give her one of my outfits to wear. it undeniably doesn't fit, but I have no other choice with her original clothes being in their morbid state.

After I lay her down again on her, or rather my, newly cleaned sheets, I ponder how I would continue to care for this girl. I thought I would only have to watch over her and such until she woke up, but of course, it's never that simple. My plan didn't account for how much time I was going to have to spend figuring out how to get this girl her food, so I figured I would just feed her soup for a while until she could eat for herself, but she's been out for a couple days now.

I sigh, "It's fine, It'll all end up fine," I lie to myself as I pick up the bowl of soup.

Line Break

Surprise, it did not end up fine, though when is it really when dealing with women? Give me a swarm, or even a horde, of Grimm any day. I can't blame her, though. Obviously, waking up in an unfamiliar bed in an unknown room with an unidentified person feeding you is going to freak you out a bit. Just a small bit that is.

I was sat in my room listening to some great tracks from my phone. I had my "classics" playlist brought up.

I can't stop this feeling

Deep inside of me

Girl, you just don't realize

What you do to me…

Blue Swede- "Hooked on a Feeling". I sigh as I listen to the rest if the song, then I spin around in my chair to face the bed as the next few lines come up.

Lips as sweet as candy

Its taste is on my mind

I had been humming along, but at those words, I hesitate. My eyes slowly glance over to the girl. Looking towards her face, the song suddenly becomes about her. I scoff suddenly. I don't even know her name yet. I go to change the song, but the next few aren't much better.

Free, on my own, that's the way I used to be

But since I met you, baby

Love's got a hold on me

It's got a hold on me now

Elvin Bishop- "Fooled around and fell in Love". Not that one.

I never knew how complete love could be

'Till she kissed me and said

Baby, please-

The Raspberries- "Go All the Way". Nope.

What am I supposed to do-

Just sit here and not fall in love with you?

Can I do anything to conceal it?

Can I lock up my heart and not feel it?

Try to hide from the fact

That there's no turning back

I'm in love

Jeff Williams- "Not Fall in Love with You." First off, that is not a classic, that is a relatively new song. How did it end up in this playlist? Also, for fuck's sake, no. Dear Monty, when did all my songs have to involve love? I'm not some lovestruck teen that's actually into that or anything. Well, I am a teen, but...

I hit the pause button and sit down on the bed. I next grab the notorious bowl of soup from the bedside table. Feeding this girl occupying my apartment easily became a daily ritual halfway through the week. I thought that it might help me clear my mind a bit, but I'll admit it wasn't a smart idea. Who would've known that going through the intimate act of feeding someone would do the exact opposite of make you think about them less?

Her lips part slightly to allow room for the spoon as I insert and retract it repetitively. After each spoonful, I tilt up on her chin to force her to swallow. My eyes begin to wander over the rest of her face as the task becomes more mechanical. Her eyebrows are sharp and her nose is pointed and perky, very similar to the traits of another feature I noticed earlier on, might I add. Her eyes seem soft and round in contrast to her other characteristics, her eyelids only tilting upwards and coming to a point at the outer edge. She looks calm as she rests, but when I release her chin for possibly the 9th time, I notice her eyelids beginning to lift.

She is sitting in an upright position in the bed, arms above the covers and unrestricted. Her arm twitches suddenly and I instinctively lower my spoon hand to defend myself, barely blocking an uppercut aimed straight at my chin.

"Well, someone's awake," I say.

Next, she uses her left hand, which was previously propping her up against the bed, and swings in a shallow arch to meet my face. I release my hold on her other fist to parry her punch, then give a quick shove to her chest, forcing her back into a lying down position. Any softness in her eyes or calmness in her face suddenly disappears, replaced by an expression of pure malice, and it is pointed directly at me. That, not her punches, but her expression, makes me flinch.

"You know, if I spill this bowl, it's going to be your fault," I mention pointedly, "Speaking of which, haven't you ever been told not to bite the hand that feeds you?"

At the mention of the bowl and 'feeding,' she grows a confused look and begins to survey the room.

"You're in my room, in case you were wondering. Don't you remember anything? The part about me beating up those guys in the alleyway? The part about me saving your ass and literally carrying you home? Not that you actually weigh all that much."

The only response I get is a perplexed stare. She mouths the word 'save' as if she is asking me, then tilts her head to one side

"Yeah, I saved you, you could say a little something appreciative, like maybe 'thanks', instead of trying to knock me out. That would be fantastic." I retort sarcastically.

Instead of doing any of that, she shakes her head. After a moment of searching, she points somewhere behind me towards a small desk. She seems to be looking intently at the pen and notebook I left there.

I grab it and hold it in the air, "You want this?"

Her answer is a resounding yes as far as I can tell by her adamant head nodding. Curious as to what she would do with it, I smoothly toss the paper and writing utensil into her waiting hands. She was going to write, that much was evident from the beginning, but write what? And why? It doesn't take long to find out. She quickly scribbles down a couple of words then, with a matter of fact expression, turns the paper around for me to see.

I read simply, "I'm mute."

"Well then, that would explain a few things, especially why I didn't hear a scream when I was walking the other night."

At this, she hastily pulls the paper back around and scribbles something else, "I do not scream."

"Well no shit, you can't," I think undoubtedly. As I'm about to voice this, she realizes herself and makes a correction to her sentence by scratching out "do" and adding "would".

A rueful grin comes to my face, "So you think you're tough then, just because you've lived on the streets of Vale for a while?"

I glance hatefully at my family's crest hanging on my wall, a now bloodstained portrait of a sword with a hilt shaped like the wings of a phoenix. The sword is depicted as being shoved into the earth, with red, splintering cracks growing around the blade in the rough shape of a semicircle. In the background is a volcano, from which a spout of lava flows upwards in many directions, completing the full circle.

Of course, my family has the original sword, displayed proudly and heavily revered, said to have been wielded by some legendary knight of an ancestor whose semblance could perish any evil, yadda yadda yadda. Just your basic mythological epic, which was not so epic in my opinion, but that tale had turned them into the most pretentious group of warmongers in the whole of Remnant. They even went as far as to call themselves "nobles" like we were called when that title actually meant something.

It's one of the reasons why my sister and I left that hell-hole without turning back. I keep the emblem there as a reminder of what happened.

"Trust me, I've been through worse," I tell her, studying her features for a reaction.

The girl notices my expression and begins to grow a curious look in her eyes, but before she can bring any questions, I start to ask her some of my own.

"What is your name?" I ask suddenly. I'd rather not continue referring to her as 'girl' for the remainder of our time together, however long or short that may be.

The look almost instantly dissipates as she again flips the notebook around and writes a three letter word down on the paper and shows it to me.

A genuine smile comes to my face, "Well then, very nice to meet you, Neo. I'm Nova, Nova Canis."