Chapter 17:

Cold Reception

Bloodborne is property of Fromsoftware. RWBY is property of Rooster Teeth

"Talking"

"Mental Speech"

/+/+/+/+/

Celia Palette hummed as she watched a video of Winter Schnee expertly completing the obstacle course before her. It wasn't often that she was made aware of students that had just entered Tor Preparatory Academy, even if they belonged to a family as influential as the Schnees. But she had to admit, the girl was skilled. Finished the course just eleven seconds shy of the record for her year. And, from what she'd been told, the girl abhorred using her family's influence to ease her way in school—she'd earned the praise given to her. The young soldier bore watching out for, certainly.

"General Palette," a stern, if young, voice called, entering her office and standing at attention on the other side of her desk.

Celia closed the video. "General Ironwood," she replied, smirking at the blush that appeared on his face, even as he stayed stone-faced.

He cleared his throat, "I've only recently made Lieutenant General, Ma'am. It's still…strange to hear"

"Ah, you'll get used to it, I'm sure. And you've more than earned your stripes" His blush returned, but Celia spoke the truth. He was devoted to Atlas, wielded a keen mind, and, perhaps most importantly in the current political climate, believed in equality between humans and faunus. Even if that last bit had earned him more than a few sneers in his life, he'd climbed through the ranks of his own skill and accord.

And earned himself a potential place with the true defenders of Remnant.

Ah, but formally inducting him into their ranks would come later. She straightened in her seat, "Now, why have you asked for this meeting?"

James nodded, pulling out a Scroll and sending a file to her, "A report of the recent rash of earthquakes, Ma'am."

Celia frowned, opening the and reading through the report. Her eyebrows ended up shooting up into her hair, "'No rhyme-or-reason'?" She looked up at James, "This is the official report?"

"Unprofessional, I know," her subordinate growled. Celia turned her attention back to the Scroll as he added, "But a correct assessment, as far as I'm aware."

Celia's disbelief reached an all-time high as she read the report. 'No rhyme-or-reason'—despite being a deplorable way to describe things—was correct. While, yes, a number of Dust mines were the epicenter of some of the earthquakes, just as many were not. To say nothing of the fact that only two of the earthquakes (of which there had been ten in the last five months) were located near established fault lines.

She'd need to ask Ozpin's opinion on this, see if he'd ever witnessed such a strange string of natural disasters in his impossibly long life.

She put the Scroll down, sitting back in her chair and rubbing her temples. "The affected towns and villages are receiving due compensation?"

"Yes Ma'am," James nodded. "It's in the report. After both Solus and Tinsel village were affected by the earthquakes, more and more Lien has been put towards relief efforts. Not even Jacques Schnee can argue against it."

"Good—the less power that man has the better." Celia had no idea what Nicholas Schnee was thinking making that Jacques the heir to the SDC. Or what he was thinking letting the man marry his daughter. Alas, Nicholas was dead, his secrets buried alongside him.

In the end, it was no matter. Jacques could play whatever games he wanted; Ozpin would run circles around him if he ever went too far.

She returned her attention to the report, only for a short ring to catch her attention. She looked up, cocking a brow at the sight of James frantically swiping through his Scroll. "Am I keeping you from something?"

He had the decency to blush, but his eyes were hard as he said, "Gehrman is on his way to Atlas."

Celia beat down the wave of panic his statement brought. Curiosity quickly took its place, and she asked, "How do you know of this? While I've no doubt his appearance would quickly make the news, I've not yet heard anything."

James, not looking up from his Scroll, said, "I have a friend in air traffic control. I asked him to notify me if Gehrman booked passage to Atlas."

Celia blinked, before leaning forward, narrowing her eyes, "That's a very thin line you're straddling, James."

"It's necessary!" he stressed, looking up from his Scroll, his eyes blazing. "Gehrman is a psychopath that needs to be stopped and punished to the fullest extent of the law!"

"I'm not qualified to speak of the man's mental faculties," even if she did agree that there was something wrong with the bounty hunter, "but he has not done anything illegal."

"He's chopping people up!" James exclaimed.

"Which, while certainly deplorable, is within his legal rights as a Huntsman chasing after criminals," barely within them, perhaps, but within them, nonetheless.

"That…That man," James spat, "is not a Huntsman!"

"Headmaster Ozpin seems to think so," and while Celia had no idea why, she would respect his judgment. She cocked a brow, "Unless you think he has made a mistake?"

Anger flashed across James's face, and for a brief moment, Celia was afraid he would follow the instinctual emotion. But patience won out in the end. He drew up to his full height, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'm certain Headmaster Ozpin has acted to the best of his ability."

Celia stared at James. He lasted for only a moment before he started to squirm, worry worming its way onto his face. Sniffing, she said, "Rest assured, Ozpin has Gehrman on a tight leash." He'd never come out and said it, but it was obvious the immortal hero had something on the mystery man. Something that curbed his more…violent inclinations.

"Not tight enough," James growled.

Suppressing the urge to click her tongue, Celia muttered, "You're not going to let this go, are you?" James paused, before shaking his head. At least he was honest. "…You have my leave to be at the airport Gehrman will arrive at." James was too professional to break out into a smile, but his eyes shone with a mix of glee and smugness. "However," she leaned forward, making him squirm once more, "you can only observe him. If I get any word of him being unlawfully detained, I will have you court-martialed for abusing your newly given authority faster than you can blink!"

James gave a sharp salute, "You have my word, Ma'am! I won't punish him without due reason." Leaving it unsaid that he would look for any reason to punish Gehrman.

She dismissed him, unable to think of anything else to say. She drummed her fingers on her table. James was a good man, but he could be overzealous in his actions. Ruminating on the problem, she decided on the best available course of action.

She dialed Ozpin's number on her Scroll.

He picked up on the second ring. "Celia, how are you?"

She didn't bother with pleasantries. "We might have a problem."

Her fellow Headmaster groaned, "What now?"

/+/+/+/+/

Gehrman quirked a brow when, in the middle of reading an enlightening article on the various types of diseases that directly affected blood cells, a call from Ozpin rang on his Scroll. The sound echoed across the empty bullhead (a rather pleasant consequence of his reputation, Gehrman was finding).

He answered the call, "Ozpin!" he grinned, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm afraid I have some troubling news before we can speak of pleasantries," his fellow man of the Cosmos said, voice stern.

Gehrman grunted, straightening in his seat. "What is it?"

"A man by the name of James Ironwood in Atlas has taken a vested interest in you."

"Oh? Have I killed or crippled a friend of his?"

"No," there was a pause, "though I will look into that sort of thing. No, James is an Atlesian general that, well, takes immense offence with your existence."

"Whatever for?"

"…Really?"

"Oh," The First Hunter rolled his eyes, "Let me have a little bit of fun."

"I'd prefer that fun not come with the risk of you being imprisoned."

Gehrman blinked, "I'm to be imprisoned? On what grounds?"

"You misheard me," Ozpin replied. "James means to have you imprisoned and will no doubt watch over you like a hawk in hopes of finding some sort of infraction to clap you in irons."

The Hunter hummed, "Surely he can't take such a grand offense to my existence."

"Oh, I believe he can," the Headmaster smoothly countered. "Now, I am by no means close to James, but I know his type." There was a short pause, before he said, "He's steadfast in his duty to uphold law and order. His offence is to your liberal means of bounty hunting."

"If it is truly a problem there would be safeguards against my actions."

"Yes, I imagine a new series of laws will be passed within the next decade to curtail your efforts." He laughed, "If you continue your bloody streaks across Atlas and Mistral, this might be the first time in close to a century more than two kingdoms unanimously agreed on something!"

Gehrman grinned at the remark. He'd read about the kingdoms' shaky alliances. Lingering resentments over the Great War seventy years past still lead those in charge by the nose, it would seem. Nothing overt—no one was clamoring for war or anything. But Atlas was more likely to give its best resources to Mistral first, and Vacuans harassed visiting Valeans less than other foreigners. They were little things, but they betrayed the global unity the kingdoms' loved to profess.

It also spoke of the impossibility of Ozpin's divine mission, but he wouldn't gloat about it.

"Where was I?" Ozpin spoke up once more, trailing off.

"You were detailing James Ironwood's gripes with me and my actions," Gehrman replied. "My vigilante actions are a matter of personal offence to him."

"Ah, right! However, your vigilantism is only part of the issue, I believe." He grew silent once more. "Again, I don't know him personally, but I believe your actions…confound his personal beliefs."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I believe that James has a very binary view of the law and law-abiding citizens. You either do, or you don't, with all that implies. And then you come along, someone who commits very criminal acts in the name of upholding the law. Order through chaos, as it were."

Gehrman scoffed, "He dislikes me because I challenge his sensibilities? I'd expect that from a layman, not a soldier."

"It very much has to do with the fact that he's a soldier," Ozpin countered. "Atlas, as you may know, is the only Kingdom that demands its Huntsmen join the armed forces." He'd read about it. A sensible practice, in all honesty. What better way to keep track of them all? "A holdover of their…dictatorial past. James—like all children born the decades following the Great War—was brought up under the belief that Huntsmen were pillars of the community. The light that shines through the darkness."

"And in I come," Gehrman hummed, "staining that light in blood."

"Yes. As bad as your reception has been on Sanus, I think you'll find Atlas to be its own beast. They show no quarter against lawbreakers."

"I am not an outlaw," Gehrman said. He took great care to ensure he never broke a law.

"No," the man agreed, "but you cannot deny that you recklessly straddle the line." He would not call it such, but agreed, nonetheless. "But as long as you continue as you have, you shouldn't get into any trouble." His voice dropped a touch, "But if you do, if you are unjustly harassed, I implore you, inform me, and I shall get it all sorted it out."

Smiling at the vow, Gehrman said, "I shall."

"Well," Ozpin's voice gained a much more jovial inflection, "that's enough of that. How was your tour of the jungles of Vacuo?"

"An…interesting experience," he rubbed his jaw, "I'd never been to a jungle before—I'd assumed it would be akin to the forests of my homeland."

"It's not, is it?" Ozpin asked, mirth shining in his voice.

Gehrman resisted the urge to groan, "I've never known such humidity. How do people live there?"

"They typically wear less clothing." Gehrman huffed, knowing that his refusal to lose a layer of clothing earned him as many stares as his brutal practices. But he couldn't risk a mosquito or other bloodsucking insect flying up and drinking his blood. That would only spell disaster. "And I understand that you've started buying cars."

"Yes," Gehrman nodded. "I've discovered that there are different types of vehicles better suited for certain terrains than others." He hummed, "I've been thinking of buying my own bullhead. Would it be worth it?"

"I…am unsure," Ozpin said after a moment. "You'd have to train for a pilot's license, obviously. And there are older models that you can buy relatively cheap. But the main issue would be storage."

"I have more than enough space," he replied. At the start, he'd been wary of giving the Little Ones his newly acquired car the first time they'd clamored for it. But they sucked it—and the other five vehicles he'd purchased—down into the void as readily and easily as a pair of pants. They even cleaned the vehicles for him, to his pleasant surprise (something he rewarded with a few pints of how own blood).

"Certainly. But there are procedures that must be done. Inspections to regularly undergo. You can't just say, 'Oh, don't worry, my Semblance takes care of all that.' That just doesn't fly."

Huffing at the jest, the First Hunter said, "Perhaps I will not procure my own bullhead. But I shall look into getting a pilot's license."

"You should. Personally, I believe every Huntsman should be a qualified pilot, but it is a very heavy investment of time that could, possibly, be better spent elsewhere."

"How does one gain a pilot's license?" he asked.

"Any sizable airport will have pilots that offer lessons. Or you could go through one of the Academies."

"Perhaps later then," At Ozpin's hum, the pair fell into silence. Until another topic bloomed to life in Gehrman's mind.

"Ozpin," he said, "you've warned me away from Anima on the grounds that there are clans of bandits running around everywhere."

"I have," the man said neutrally.

"Yet, I find myself worried that, were I to continually avoid the continent, it would encourage criminal Huntsmen to congregate there."

"Well—"

"Also," he said, cutting of Ozpin's response, "I've looked into it, and only a relatively small portion of the continent is under the control of bandits. So, I could simply avoid that part of the country, could I not?"

Something he'd said must have annoyed Ozpin, because he was silent for a long while before biting out, "You're not wrong."

Gehrman narrowed his eyes, lips curling into a frown, "What are you not telling me, Ozpin?"

There was a long, drawn out sigh on the other end of the call. "It is not my place to say," his fellow man of the Cosmos said evenly.

"Whose is it? Someone I know?" He hoped not. Gehrman could count that number in one hand.

"…No," Ozpin forcefully declared. "No, we are not doing this now. Put Anima out of your mind until you end your visit to Atlas." Gehrman scoffed. "I'm serious," Ozpin was glaring, no doubt, "I'm not doing this to be difficult, but in an effort to spare certain people unnecessary pain."

"My heart goes out to these unknown people," even if he probably knew at least one of them, "but I will not allow others to be physically harmed to spare a few hearts emotional turmoil."

Ozpin chuckled, "That's very admirable." He sighed, "Regardless, let me worry about Anima. You just go ahead and…give the Atlesians a headache to rival mine."

At that, Gehrman smirked, "Of course."

/+/+/+/+/

He and Ozpin maintained a few more minutes of polite conversation before the pilot called to say they would be landing shortly. He ended the call, rising to his feet as the vehicle landed at the city of Yuletide, a major port city on the western edge of the continent.

He couldn't help but shake his head and laugh as a tall man in military regalia flanked by a dozen-or-so armed men and women were revealed as the bullhead's platform lowered. He strolled down, arching a brow at the man in charge. "James Ironwood, I presume?"

"General Ironwood," the man growled.

"Ah," Gehrman bowed, maintaining his smirk, "do forgive me."

Ironwood's nostrils flared, his chest expanding with his rising anger. "I don't know how you've gotten away with your savagery, but it stops here and now."

"Does it really?"

"Yes, it does!" Ironwood stomped forward, face set into a snarl. Gehrman had to admit, it was impressive that, upon realizing that Gehrman was a full head taller than him, Ironwood did not falter. "Atlas is a lawful kingdom with law-abiding citizens."

"Ah," Gehrman's smile grew mocking, "then my trip through the countryside should be a short one." Ironwood's face colored, his blue eyes growing cold as ice. Gehrman shifted his gaze to the soldiers. Some of them wore black, non-descript uniforms with face-concealing helmets. A few, however, were dressed differently. They did not wear helmets—allowing Gehrman to see their fearful or suspicious expressions—and they all wore uniforms that were a combination of red, white, and blue. Those ones were a cut above the normal rank-and-file, he could see.

He took a moment to ingrain their uniforms into his memory—it would do to keep an eye out for them.

Turning back to Ironwood, he tipped his hat, "A pleasure," and walked onward.

"Gehrman!" Ironwood barked. The First Hunter stopped, looking over his shoulder with a stare. "I'm watching you."

Rolling his eyes, Gehrman continued on his way.

/+/+/+/+/

James was fuming. That bastard had the audacity to roll his eyes! As if his murderous rampages were nothing more than a silly game! He forced himself to take a deep breath. He had to be calm. Acting out in rage never solved anything.

He had no idea what the hell Headmaster Ozpin was thinking, letting Gehrman cut bloody swathes through Sanus. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he wouldn't let it happen in Atlas. They had enough problems without adding a psychopath that exploited the law to fulfill his perverse desires.

He turned around, barking out, "Ace Ops, step forward!" Three men and three women stepped forward. He turned to Eliza Marsh—the current leader of the Ace Ops—and said, "I want at least two pairs of eyes on that man at all times. If he so much as toes the line, you are to arrest him and bring him to Atlas to be tried and punished to the fullest extent of the law."

"Yes sir!" the elite soldiers nodded; eyes resolute. It was only then that James let himself relax. They'd see their mission done. And maybe then, the people of Remnant could rest easy.

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A/N: How Jacques Schnee came into power is so fucking weird. There isn't enough time in the day for me to go over all the problems I have with that clusterfuck of a backstory. Regardless, be sure to leave a review. Later.