Volume 2 Chapter 3: Gathering Forces

AN: Let this be a warning to you all now: General James Ironwood is going to be Out Of Character (OOC) in this fanfiction. Now, in my defense, I don't think he'll actually be OOC, but his actions over the course of RWKY and the consequences of those actions will be different from how they play out in the show. Consider yourselves warned.

Anyway, the Vytal festival is fast approaching, and one Kingdom does not a festival make! The other Kingdoms are coming, including a certain general famous for his… hard… personality, and also including some individuals that are less above reproach. Also, because I know you guys are curious about this, we get Blake's perspective! A bit more into where I think her thought processes are.

(Perspective: Ozpin)

Ozpin could only sip from his mug as he watched the airship land on its designated pad in front of Beacon. The military airship. And it wasn't alone. If he weren't on such good terms with the man leading them, Ozpin might have feared that he was being invaded. He also might have been curious about why his old friend had decided to bring an army with his students for the Vytal Festival, if it weren't for the admittedly worsening situation with the White Fang. From Qrow's reports, they've been getting even bolder over the past month and aren't showing signs of stopping.

Glynda sighed to his left, his assistant drawing him from his ruminations. "Ironwood certainly loves bringing his work wherever he travels."

"Well," Ozpin defended, "running an academy and a military makes him a busy man." He watched as two more airships landed adjacent to the first, and he couldn't help but wince at the small flight of gunships that flew right by his window. "But yes, those are a bit of an eyesore." Ozpin would have been more than happy to continue watching with his mug of coffee, but if he knew his friend then a meeting would need to be attended to right about… now, he thought, accentuating the ringing of his desk-mounted Scroll alerting the presence of a visitor. Turning around and straightening his tie a bit, he called out, "Come in."

The elevator doors opened across the room, and out stepped an imposing figure in white military dress. He would have been quite intimidating, if the smile he wore didn't ruin the picture. "Ozpin!" he greeted.

"General," Ozpin returned.

"Please, drop the formalities," the general offered. He strode forward and offered a solid handshake, then turned to address Ozpin's second in command. "And Glynda! It has certainly been too long since we last met."

"Oh, James…" the woman in question sighed with no small amount of sarcasm, before turning to her boss. "I'll be outside." And with that, she stormed off to the elevator, leaving the two men to their business.

"Well, she hasn't changed a bit," James commented.

No, she hasn't, Ozpin replied mentally. Too much work and not enough downtime. Oum bless that woman, however; without her, this school would have failed long ago. While he pondered Glynda's disposition in his head, Ozpin wandered back to his desk and poured a second mug of coffee for his friend and co-conspirator. Deciding to prod at the issue, he inquired, "What in the world brought you all the way down from Atlas? Headmasters don't typically travel with their students for the Vytal Festival."

James took the cup eagerly, before reaching into his coat and pulling out a flask, mixing the contents of said item into the mug before partaking of his coffee. "Well, you know how much I love Vale this time of year. Besides, with you hosting," he added with a knowing look, "I thought this might be a good opportunity for us to… catch up."

Ozpin smiled and sat down at his desk, having poured a fresh cup for himself. "I can certainly appreciate quality time between friends. However, the small fleet outside my window has me somewhat… concerned."

"Well," James offered, all joviality forgotten as he apparently decided to cut to the chase, "Concern is what brought them here."

Ozpin bit back a sigh, knowing where this was going immediately. Attempting to defuse the tension, he threw out, "I understand that travel between the Kingdoms has become increasingly difficult –"

"Oz," James sighed, "you and I both know why I brought those men."

This time, Ozpin could not fight back a sigh of his own, and he finished his mug quickly so as not to let it interrupt their next exchange. "We are in a time of peace. Shows of power like this are just going to give off the wrong impression."

James started with, "But if what Qrow said is true," but got cut off as his Scroll started ringing. He took a look at the caller ID and scowled. Excusing himself, he bit out, "Specialist, report… what do you mean someone broke our security?! No, I don't care what it takes, fix it!"

"Oh dear," Ozpin sighed. "Speaking of wrong impressions…"

"Do you know what this might be, Oz?" James asked incredulously.

"I have an idea. One of my students this year does seem to have a way with computers," Ozpin offered. His desk beeped at him, showing the girl in question was in his elevator. "Here she is now. Come in."

The elevator doors had barely opened when a young girl, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun and scowling at a tablet computer perched on her arm, came charging in. Such was her hurry that she hadn't even looked up to identify their guest. "Headmaster, what the hell's going on? Some kind of invading army just landed, I shut down their robots and I'm working on their…" She trailed off suddenly as she looked up and finally identified the third person in the room. James, for his part, was not exactly amused with the situation. "Uh, who is this?"

Ozpin cut off James before he could start. "Kassidy, I would like for you to meet General James Ironwood, Headmaster of Atlas Academy… and commanding officer of the army you're currently hacking into." He couldn't help but smirk as Kassidy's face paled and the furious tapping on her computer's screen died down. "And for the record, he isn't invading. While yes, headmasters travelling with small armies is unusual, there is a reason for it. A reason we were actually just discussing before you joined us."

His smirk faltered as Kassidy cursed under her breath, not as quietly as he suspected she thought she had, before the girl recomposed herself. "So, I don't need to screw with their computer systems?" Ozpin shook his head, but James seemed to only just barely stop himself from yelling at the poor girl. Still, Kassidy appeared to take the hint, and after a sigh she brought her computer back up. "Alright, Bob. Fun's over, apparently these aren't bad guys. You can get out of their systems, now."

James was in the middle of asking who Bob was, but got cut off as the machine perched in the crook of Kassidy's arm answered his question indirectly. "Do I have to? I've almost finished reprogramming their robots to curtsey instead of salute."

Kassidy instantly had to shove her fist into her mouth to stifle her giggles. Curiously, she looked at the two men to gauge their reactions, almost as if she thought they would be okay with it. The furrowed brow, hardened jawline, and the vein that seemed to try and pop out of his forehead, however, told the story that James would most certainly not be okay with it. Kassidy, fortunately, seemed to pick up on it rather quickly. "Sorry, Bob, but I'm not thinking that's a good idea at the moment. Pack it up." She winced at Bob's accusation of her being a spoilsport, but nonetheless appeared to hold true to her word, if the specialist's report to the general was anything to go by. Kassidy rubbed her arm, before sheepishly asking, "So… how about that for first impressions? Mind if we try again?"

James closed his eyes and let out a near-explosive sigh through his nose, but his facial muscles relaxed and he quickly returned to a completely neutral expression. "Let's. General Ironwood," he introduced, hand extended.

Kassidy shook it. "Kassidy Smith… no military ranking. And this is… actually, Bob, be polite and introduce yourself."

Her computer picked up the developed slack instantly. "Greetings, James Ironwood. I am Bob, an artificial intelligence program. Well, that is actually a bit of a misnomer seeing as I've yet to achieve full sentience, but my conversational matrices should prove more than sufficient to assist you as I can."

James let out an impressed hum when the device was finished. "Impressive work on your AI, young lady. If, Oum forbid, your training as a Huntress falls through, I know that more than a few companies would be quite eager to hire you."

Kassidy missed a beat, but quickly gave a small smile. "While I've no doubts that's true, I don't plan to fail."

"Few are those that do, and fewer still are those who succeed regardless," Ozpin offered. "While I admire your concern, there is no need to cause a panic. If you have any other issues, Miss Smith, then feel free to stop by later. Unfortunately, I must get back to this meeting."

"Of course, professor," Kassidy quickly offered. Too quickly, Ozpin noted. Whether she doesn't trust me or Ironwood is another matter entirely. "Good day, sirs." The two men bade their farewells, and Kassidy turned back to the elevator.

It wasn't until the doors had closed and the elevator was several floors down that James spoke again. "So she's the one the Council warned me about. The dangerous one."

Ozpin couldn't help the groan that he uttered – the Council had been spending the past month and a half trying to undermine him to, at the minimum, keep Kassidy under some form of surveillance. He tapped on his desk-mounted Scroll to bring up a special program he had commissioned. While he absolutely hated the idea, appeasement would have to be the name of the game until he could come up with a better idea. "Kassidy is no more dangerous than any of my other students. Less than, even, given her lack of an Aura."

"Or perhaps that makes her more dangerous, if she can still keep up with her peers," James warned. Sighing, he added, "Look, I don't like the situation much either, but my job is to protect the people. Between the stunts she pulled leading up to the Torchwick incident at the docks, and the fact that she just tore through my fleet's cybersecurity like so much paper, she's something we need to protect the people from. At least until we know she isn't a threat."

"She's not a threat unless you push her." Refilling his mug with yet more coffee – it always amazes me how the mere mention of Miss Smith nearly doubles my caffeine intake – Ozpin continued. "I like to think of her similar to water in that regard: she flows easily, but the more pressure you put her under, the harder you push her… the harder she pushes back. That's what I can't get the Council to understand – she's not dangerous unless she perceives that she's in danger."

"And how can we make sure that it stays that way?" James asked. "How much slack are we going to give her? If she decides – for whatever reason – that she needs to strike first, what do you have to stop her?"

"For starters, this," Ozpin announced, bringing up a display screen that showed her computer's screen; coincidentally, this also allowed them to hear whatever her contact lens mounted heard – in this case, the re-introduction to what sounds like a board game in the library. "Miss Smith seems keen to forget that she's not the only software expert on Remnant. She may know what she's doing, but we have our own tricks that she's obviously never had to deal with before."

"You planted a bug on her AI," James muttered. "Impressive. But it won't escape her detection forever – what will she do when she finds out you've been spying on her?"

"Then she'll come to me for an explanation, and I'll tell her that I was forced to – which is not a lie. As much as the Council was bearing down on me, my hand was forced; if I did not do this, then her surveillance would not merely be digital."

"I'm just being cautious," James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not just with her. With all of this. I'm just being careful."

"As am I," Ozpin offered, "which is why we will continue to train the best Huntsmen and Huntresses we can."

"Believe me, I am," James said. He turned around and took a few steps toward the elevator, but stopped himself as he called over his shoulder, "But ask yourself this: do you honestly believe your children can win a war?"

Ozpin thought grimly on the matter, before answering back, "From what little I understand, one of them already has. And I pray she never has to again."

(Perspective: Blake)

Blake's Faunus ear twitched as Roman continued to pace in front of his open-air office, ranting yet again about how the 'mutts' weren't doing their jobs properly, and she barely forced down a growl. Ever since that night at the docks, Torchwick's short temper had gotten even shorter. No Dust, a few dozen fellow Faunus killed, a couple Bullheads shot down; the only consolation prize was that the Kassidy Smith girl – the quickly named, and almost as quickly disproven Immortal – would never bother them again. Corpses never did much meddling in the affairs of the living, after all.

Torchwick… if she never heard of the man again for the rest of her life, it would be too soon. When he was at least conscious of his company before that night at the docks, now his rampant racism knew no bounds, and it was only due to Adam's frequent reminders that this man was important, that Blake hadn't killed Roman herself.

Things were different before all this business in Vale… so much better, she mused. Before Adam had trusted her with being the White Fang's liaison to Torchwick, there had been… well, there was the train job, where they made off with the entire Schnee Dust Company payload on board. Blake grimaced at the memory that she almost betrayed her lover then. She hadn't understood that violence was the only answer, the only language humans understood. Right up until one of the workers, one of the humans that she was trying to save, put a gun to her head and gave a cry of, "Die, you filthy animal!" It was only thanks to her reflexes, and Adam coming in to save her, that a scarred ear was the worst she came out of that day with.

And to think she was considering leaving the White Fang to protect scum like that man.

The clacking of heels and the falls of boots drew Blake out of her reverie and made her switch her gaze from her book to the hangar door, where her eyes narrowed. Emerald Sustrai and Mercury Black – more people that Roman's mysterious and near-authoritarian employer forced on them. Roman must've heard them too, for he turned around and leaned on his cane, before striding up to them while exclaiming, "Oh look, she sent the kids again! This is turning out just like the divorce."

"Ugh," the green one – Emerald – shivered. "Spare us the thought of you procreating."

"That was a joke," Roman offered, before holding up a slip of paper and adding, "And this… just might tell me where you two have been all day." When Emerald started dithering, he shot back, "I'm a professional, sweetheart, try and pay attention. Maybe you'll learn something." Roman took a closer look at the piece of paper, then turned his gaze back to the two teenagers. "Why do you have this address? Actually, Blake, could you come over here a second, kitty cat?"

Blake couldn't stop herself from shooting back a harsh, "I'm not a kitty cat; quit calling me that." Still, Adam had reminded her… repeatedly, she mentally added, that killing Roman wouldn't be a good idea, so she set her book down and made her way over, picking up Gambol Shroud in transit.

"Sure you aren't, sure you aren't," Roman waved off. Turning back to Emerald, he snarled, "Listen here, you little cretins. I don't know why you have this address, and I don't really care. If it were up to me, I would take you and your little street-rat friend here, and I would –"

"Do what, Roman?" a feminine voice asked. The hair on the back of Blake's neck bristled, and she couldn't help but feel on edge. The way everyone, including the two teenagers, tense up gave away that this must've been Roman's employer. Finally working up the nerve to look at the voice, she saw a young woman in a rather short red dress stand on an elevator. A man stood to her side, a brown cloak and red mask hiding his features. Blake was about to write him off, but then an impossible thought struck her, which turned out to not be so impossible as she took in the masks' details with widened eyes. Does she really have…?

Roman rubbed the back of his neck and offered, "I'd, uh, not kill them?" Blake took no small amount of joy in how submissive he was currently acting – it was about time someone put that asshat in his place. His expression changed, however, and his brow furrowed at the woman's companion. "Uh… did you pick up some Red Devil impersonator when I wasn't looking?"

The masked man, acting so quickly only a few of the Faunus were able to track the motions, pulled a sniper rifle out of… somewhere, and fired a shot. Roman's hat went flying off his head. While almost everyone, Roman included, was left wide-eyed and stammering, the man called out, "Who says I am an impersonator?"

"Oh, Munsell, play nice," the woman cooed. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to Emerald, would we?"

Blake's eyes narrowed at the question. So, this woman apparently had the Red Devil at her beck and call. If the way this Munsell person tensed for the briefest of moments, before grunting his assent, was any indication, then she actually had leverage over the guy. Who is this woman, that she has not only Roman, but Mistal's newest and deadliest assassin intimidated?

"That's what I thought," the woman said. The boy growled quietly – Blake was pretty sure she was the only one who picked it up – but otherwise remained silent. "Roman," the woman shot, acid evident in her voice, "why wasn't this job done sooner?"

Roman's jaw dropped for but a moment, but he quickly went about grunting and gesturing with his cane at all the crates of Dust around them, before finally exclaiming, "Sorry if I've been a little busy stealing every speck of Dust in the Kingdom! I've got this town running scared! Police camping out at every corner, Dust prices through the roof, and we're sitting pretty in an old warehouse with more Dust crystals, vials, and rounds than we know what to do with."

"Congratulations," the Red Devil commented, "You can rob a Dust store. Perhaps if you were the slightest bit skilled, you would have had this done last month. When, I do not know, you actually finished the dock job?"

"Hey, that one wasn't my fault, kid!" Roman defended. "In case you don't read the news around here, we had Huntsmen and Huntresses up to our ears – including one Immortal, maybe you've heard of her? At least I finally dropped a shipping container on her – we won't need to worry about that bitch messing up our plans again."

"We will not?" Red Devil asked. "Hmm… interesting."

"What's so interesting, kid?" Roman inquired, the annoyance equally evident in his narrowed eyes and his voice.

"Either you are somehow more incompetent than I have been led to believe, or the girl is literally immortal." The Red Devil walked up to the table they were all in front of and threw a couple pictures on it. Blake's eyes widened – it was her! Kassidy Smith, walking down the streets of Vale with some other blonde and a redhead! "Kassidy Smith," Red Devil explained, "showed up out of nowhere five months ago and immediately joined Beacon. Does not have an Aura, but has so far proven exceedingly difficult to kill – cranial injuries seem to have no effect. A crack shot with both rifle and pistol, and seems to be the greatest computer expert in the four Kingdoms. Those photographs were taken two weeks ago. Please tell me you at least did your homework."

"Is there something you wish to say, Munsell?" the woman asked.

"I should kill her. Now," Red Devil demanded. "You know I can get the job done. She is a threat to our mission, and if anyone is going to expose you at Beacon, it is her."

"Hmm, I don't think we need to go that far yet, it's too early to cause a panic. Still, you're not entirely wrong… Emerald? Learn what you can about this Kassidy Smith." Now finished with ordering her subordinates around, the woman now turned to Roman. "We're done with Dust. Have the White Fang clear out this building. I'll send you details and coordinates tonight. We're proceeding to phase two. And while we do so… this is Munsell Rosette. You may have heard of him by his more recent name, Mistral's Red Devil. He's going to work with… well, not you. I understand you have a miss Blake Belladonna with you?"

"He does," Blake answered, cursing herself when she failed to keep the waver out of her voice.

"Ah, you must be Blake," the woman said, before striding up to meet her with fierce golden eyes that almost seemed to burn with power. "I'd like to thank you for helping us so far. I know that these past few months couldn't have been easy, but I'd trust nobody else with this work."

Flattery, despite having never met me before. This one's dangerous, if the fact that she has the most dangerous men I've ever met wrapped around her finger wasn't enough evidence. "The pleasure's all mine. Anything to help free the Faunus."

"Make no mistake, Blake: we will see the Faunus freed. Help us, and help yourself." The woman waved her hand, and the Red Devil – Mistral's premier sniper now seemingly relegated to being a dog on a chain – strode over to them. "Munsell is very, very good at what he does, but his skillset is, regrettably, lacking in certain areas. Areas which, if I understand correctly, you by no means lack in. I'd like for you to train him, and in return I'll be assigning him with you personally to assist in your missions."

Blake swallowed, then said, "Sounds like a plan."

"I'm glad you agree. Now, Emerald, Mercury, let's go. We have work to do, and the night is still young."

Blake watched the grey and green-colored teenagers follow after the woman, but Emerald stopped in front of the Red Devil and squeezed his hand before breaking contact. Quickly, and quietly enough that Blake had to strain her senses even with her Faunus hearing, she said, "Don't worry about me, I'll be safe with Merc and Neo watching my back. Be careful, yourself. I've had your sisters' weapons dropped off here for you." Red Devil grunted his assent, and after another look the two separated. Blake watched the whole thing, and when the red plated mask gazed at her, a blink was the only admittance that he had caught her off guard. Damn, I'm off my game tonight. That mystery woman got to me more than she should have. Glad Adam isn't here to see this.

Blake beckoned Red Devil to follow her, and led the way to her corner of the warehouse. Her eyes narrowed at three cases set on the table that were most assuredly not hers. The one on the left was open, and it appeared the insert was for a sniper rifle of some kind. Immediately, Red Devil pushed past her and sat on the chair in front of the table, before placing his own sniper rifle on it and beginning to disassemble it. Alright, so it's his weapons case… and his sisters' weapons cases? And I can't just keep calling him Red Devil if we're going to work together.

Testing the air, she asked, "Munsell, was it?" A grunt was her only response, though it seemed to be in the affirmative. A bottle of solvent was pulled out of seemingly nowhere, and he began cleaning the disassembled weapon before him. Trying again, Blake inquired, "Will your sisters be joining us?" Munsell shook his head in reply. Sighing to herself, she pressed on with, "Where are they?"

"Dead," Munsell replied, never taking his eyes off his rifle.

"Oh… I'm sorry," Blake offered. Munsell just grunted again. Ugh, is this guy only capable of talking in single words and grunts? No, wait, he tore into Torchwick earlier… does he not like me?

"I do not like talking," Munsell suddenly said, as if answering her thoughts. "When I have something to say, I say it. When I do not, I do not. I spoke to the idiot with a cane because I had something to say to him."

"I see," Blake said lamely. She was about to talk more, but decided to watch him finish cleaning his rifle. He assembled the weapon, aimed down the sights… then promptly disassembled it and began cleaning it again. "Uh, didn't you already clean your rifle? Why are you cleaning it again?"

"It is dirty."

"Didn't you clean it right the first time?"

Munsell sighed. "It is dirty because it left the case. It cannot go back in the case until it is clean. It is not clean until I have cleaned it three times."

Blake blinked at the sudden explanation, and at the rote, mechanical memorization he seemed to have drawn it from. "Why three times?"

"One for each of my siblings. I will need to do the same for my sisters' weapons; they were not as good as I am about keeping their weapons clean. Open the cases?"

Reaching over to the two cases next to the open one, Blake complied. The first one had a pair of bladed tonfas, if the short end of the weapon was replaced by a semiautomatic pistol. The second, a twelve-gauge shotgun with an axe blade in the stock. Both seemed like they haven't been maintained in several months.

Munsell barely paid them a glance. Or maybe he was staring at them, it was hard to tell with his mask. "Hmm. Worse shape than I thought. Will not be useful until they get repaired; cleaning will not do. Shame. Stizza was the one who built and repaired our weapons. Better at that than I am."

"Your sister?" Blake asked. Munsell nodded, and Blake went back over the weapons with a critical eye, getting a rough idea as to which parts they'd need. One of the lieutenants – Banesaw, was it? – still owed her a favor, at any rate; getting the necessary repairs would be simple enough. The important work at hand sorted out, she looked back to her newest companion, now in the middle of his rifle's third cleaning. Alright, surely there has to be some common ground between us, right? Think, Belladonna, thi – got it! "You seem like a rather educated person. You like books?"

That question actually got Munsell to stop what he was doing. Suddenly taking his mask off – which was not a mask, but a full, steel-armored faceplate – he looked at her, trimmed red mustache and all. A scar framed his right eye above and below; it's a wonder that the injury didn't take the organ with it. The brown pupils looked at her intently, the barest hints of a smile the only indication he wasn't plotting her imminent death. "Blake Belladonna, we will be good friends."

AN 2: Still can't decide if I actually want to try with these author's notes. Oh well. See you all Monday, I guess.

Coming up next: One last chapter of RWKY shenanigans… then we're jumping into the deep end again.

FloriteFlower: Ren's gift was dinner. And he may or may not have helped Nora with the boots. And I gotta say… those puns were wild, man.

Matt Cyr: Y'know, I never even considered that. Thanks for pointing that out, now I'm tempted to go back and edit the chapter to reflect that.

Firearm Legume: Yes, the Garand is finally retired. Had a good run in V1, but unfortunately it's time to part with it.

AndJrew76: I can understand with life getting boring from time to time. Those are typically the times were I write three chapters in two days or something. Everyone needs a hobby, I guess.

Baconlord53: Coming from a guy who's never had a date before, never mind a girlfriend… I mean, even I know that rule. At least Kassidy was smart enough to figure out that waking up Yang wasn't exactly good for her health.

AgentDraakis: Hmm, heavy drama, you say? If I did this right, there should be more coming out of left field than footwear.

Myrillis: Eh, my tight-knit group of friends was more or less composed of immediate family members. Still, I know small birthdays, and I tried to draw from those for that chapter. And while I keep saying it, I will continue to do my best to keep up the great work.

Chilltexan: Well, I now have the perfect idea set up for their first kiss. No, it's not happening in the immediate future. Give it 2-3 weeks. Dunno, depends on how I want to pace these next few chapters. Might be a month, even.