Here is the much anticipated second chapter. I very much hope that you enjoy it. Thank you everyone who reviewed the previous chapter, I shall send a response to everyone that I am able to reach soon.
It was with a hint of reluctance and self-loathing that Jaune handed over a stack of lien to the lady behind the counter. A stack of lien, he might note, that was almost double what he had initially brought with him to Vale. And it wasn't even a sixth of the amount he now carried in his pocket thanks to Roman. The dead but in his head criminal had been all to willing to direct him to a safe house filled with money, and a few other things he rather not think about. It was with a quick word of thanks that he took his four bags and walked out the store.
He had thought about asking Roman where the money had come from, and apparently he had thought to loud because the crook had answered.
"Why, from a bank of course." Roman had cheekily supplied. It took longer than he would have liked to admit to realize he hadn't withdrawn it lawfully.
Roman's laughter had echoed in his head for a good four minutes.
Honestly, it was so obvious he should have picked up on it immediately. Of course the criminal stole his money, why shouldn't he? And now here Jaune was, using it to buy more huntsmen worthy clothes. He tried to console himself with the fact the money was being spent on legal things instead of black market weapons or drugs or whatever criminals buy.
He casually entered the hotel he was staying in. It was a step up from the one he had first stayed in when he came to Vale, Roman insisting that they stay in a place up to his standards. Jaune had wanted to argue, but Vales former finest thief had pointed out he had lien to burn now; why not use it? If he was being honest, he had agreed more to get him to shut up than anything. Having Roman's voice in his head was strange and unnerving. It was nothing like in a movie where it was normal speech with maybe an echo. No, when Roman spoke it was like it was his own thought, just knowing what the criminal wanted to say. There weren't even really words, just the idea of words. The only way he could differentiate Roman's thoughts from his own was that the criminals thoughts felt like him.
And honestly? It kind of scared him.
"You know, you don't seem very appreciative of my gift, kid." Roman chided in his head, "Here I am, graciously allowing you to use my hard earned lien…"
"Stolen." He muttered aloud. Sure he could just think a reply, but speaking aloud made it feel much more normal for the teen. And he needed all the normalcy he could get. The young wanna-be huntsmen waved awkwardly to the lady behind the reception desk.
"Hard earned." Jaune could just imagine Romans smirk. Or maybe he was seeing it? The man was in his head, so maybe his imagination when it came to Roman was the real deal? The blond grabbed his head with his free hand, groaning; this whole thing made his head hurt. "Going out of my way to get you some half decent equipment so you don't get yourself killed trying to be a damn huntsmen." Roman scoffed, Jaune knew what he thought of huntsmen, the man had made his position clear in the short time the two had been together.
He thought they were all idiots.
The idea of risking your life for little to no reward just didn't click with the selfish criminal. Never-mind the potential to save another's life, if their wasn't any profit to it, the man didn't want to hear it. Of course, he was more than happy to wave them off to go hunt the Grimm, but only because it meant less risk of him being caught.
"And I don't hear a word of thanks." Roman sighed sarcastically, "Some hero, doesn't even know to show some basic courtesy. Honestly, I fear for the future if people like you are to defend us."
Jaune groaned as he opened the elevator door, setting his bags on the floor, pushing the button to take him to the top floor. Again, Roman had insisted on the best. He really shouldn't complain, the room was great, but knowing that he was using stolen money kind of tainted it for him. Not enough for him to consider going back out into the cold and filthy alleys, though.
"I might thank you if I understood why I need all this." Jaune complained, taking a rather nice red collared shirt from one of the bags. "I mean, this is nice, but how is it supposed to protect me better than my armor?" He felt it was a fair question, but Roman's laughter crushed that thought.
"Kid, you're wearing what amounts to papier-mâché and duct tape in this dangerous world of ours." Roman snorted. "It's fine for a civilian, but for someone who plans on getting into even a scuffle with a rent-a-cop? You'd be torn to pieces."
The elevator door opened, letting a distracted girl with long white hair in. Jaune dropped the shirt he was holding and smiled weakly, pushing his bags back to give her some space. She rolled her eyes, saying nothing, and selected a floor irritably, tapping her foot impatiently as the doors closed. Idly, he noted that her wallet was sticking out of her purse a little. He turned away, feeling Roman's interest. That was another thing that bothered him about their, for lack of a better term, bond. He got a vague sense of whatever it was that Roman felt at the moment. Nothing really intense, just vague senses of things like amusement, boredom, intrigue. Still, he had to wonder if it might lead to Roman manipulating his emotions without his knowing.
Why would I get into a fight with a rent-a-cop in the first place? He inquired, a tad confused. He might have figured it out on his own, had he not been distracted by his arm suddenly going numb.
"You're missing the point," The feeling returning to his hand as the thief spoke. " You'd be lucky to survive a swipe from even a baby Beowulf with what you have on now. But the stuff in the bags? They were made to be worn in a fight. There is a reason they are called hunter grade clothing, kiddo. That shirt you were holding is basically bullet proof up to a certain caliber, of course."
His eyes widened, What? How! That thing is thinner than my hoodie and felt like silk!
"Short answer? Dust."
And the long answer? Jaune asked, huffing, a tad annoyed by the crooks answer.
"Is something you really should know, 'Mister Hero'." The rouge drawled, "Look, all you have to know is that any combination of clothing from these bags are better than what you have now."
Even the pajamas? He inquired with a grumble.
"No. Those are because no self-respecting man would be caught dead wearing the monstrous thing you used to wear." Revulsion practically dripped from his words.
Hey, those were comfy! Jaune shouted defiantly into his own head.
"And a blight upon the human race. Trust me kid, I'm doing you a favor here." The elevator doors opened, allowing the white haired girl to stomp out. "If anybody saw you in that hideous thing, you'd be a laughing stalk. And that wouldn't be good for your image as a hunter." The doors closed slowly, and the elevator ascended towards Jaune's floor. "Or as a gentleman thief, if you ever wisen up and pick the smarter path."
Jaune blinked, How is that the smarter path? The doors slide open once more, and the blonde Arc grabbed his bags and stepped out onto his floor. The room he had rented was one of two on the floor, taking up the entirety of the left side. It was a bit much for his tastes, but it was really, really cool to stay in such a fancy room. It even came with a fruit basket! Not that he ate any, but the basket was nice.
"Because you have a longer life expectancy, higher income, and a much higher job satisfaction than as a hunter. Just look at this room! You couldn't afford this as a hunter."
"But," Jaune began, closing the door and setting down his bags, "you're dead." Jaune winced as he felt a flash of . . . something. It was hard to describe, and unfamiliar. Taking a breath, he grabbed his bags and took them to his room.
"Way to just say it, kid. You don't like to beat around the bush, do you?" The criminal muttered. "Yes I died. I was stabbed in the back by my employer for fumbling a recent job. Not that it was my fault, those rent-a-thugs were incompetent as hell. And then there was Little Red." The criminal voice in his mind grummbled.
"You were going to explain why these clothes make my armor look like a bunch of wet paper?" Jaune asked, cutting the man off before he could get into a rant.
Roman coughed, or the mental equivalent, composing himself. "Right. Since it seems you lack even the most basic of knowledge on this, allow dear Uncle Roman to fill you in." Jaune scowled, but couldn't deny the man's claim. "Hunter grade clothing, such as what you have here, is made with a specialized Dust, woven into the fabric. You do know about Dust, don't you? Or am I going to have to explain that to you as well 'Mister Hero'?"
"I know what Dust is, Roman. Everyone does." The teen replied with a scowl. He wasn't that dumb.
"Good, good. Just had to make sure that you knew some of the basics. Well, this Dust enhances the material to a point where it might as well be armor. Without the weight to drag you down. How else do you think Huntresses can get away with wearing skirts and dresses into combat?" He snorted, giving off an amused feeling, "Couple that with Aura and you could go out fighting grimm in a tuxedo and be as safe as if you were wearing a full set of armor."
Jaune had to give him that. While he wasn't one to judge people based on their appearance, he had often wondered what was going through a few Huntresses head when they chose their combat outfit. Sure what they wore looked good, but he had always thought it was silly how little in the way of armor they wore. Though, with Roman's information, he was the one feeling silly for doubting them in the first place.
"That's actually really cool! I had no idea…" And there it was. He had no idea that such a thing was possible. How stupid would he have looked, how much unneeded attention would he have gained, had he asked why someone about it later?
He felt amusement from Roman, "I think we already established that, kid. Are you sure you want to be a Hunter? 'Cause, it seems to me that you don't know anything about being one."
The teen frowned, "Of course I'm sure I want to be a Huntsmen, it's been my dream since I was a kid. To be a hero like my dad, and his dad, and his dad's dad. I thought I had an idea of what it would be like, but apparently there's a lot I don't know or was never told. But that's why I'm going to Beacon, so I can learn to be a hero."
"Do you really think it will be that simple? Just show up at one of the world's most prestigious school's without knowing a damn thing? You have balls kid, but you're an idiot." Roman chided with a scoff. "I don't know how you got into Beacon, and I don't care. But you don't have the skill or the knowledge. And they are going to pick up on that faster than I'd pick a safe." He laughed, "Hell, I could tell you had no training while I was bleeding out. So listen, give up on being a hero, and follow me. I can help you become the top dog of this city, we can take over my old empire of crime and rule as king's! You think this room's nice? In a few weeks and a bit of hard work you could own this place." If Roman had a body he would be holding out his hand. "Make the smart choice kid, I know you have a brain."
There was something there, underneath a surface of amusement -smugness?- and anticipation. Just like all of Roman's emotions it was vague and ill defined. But if Jaune had to name it, he'd say it was almost like dread, but more yearning?
It didn't really matter.
Jaune didn't even have to think about it. "Thanks' for the offer Roman, but no. I'm not a criminal." Annoyance and anger danced at the edge of his awareness, but Jaune ignored it. Roman could be as mad as he wanted, but it wouldn't change his mind. He came to Vale to become a Hero, the exact opposite of what Roman wanted. And he would do it, he would find a way.
Roman didn't respond, seeming to pull into himself. It was a blessing for Jaune, as he was plagued with a sudden headache. Maybe Roman talking for so long had side affects, or maybe it was the situation, but it felt like he had been whacked by a cane in the head. He rubbed his temples, before getting to work sorting his purchases.
Setting the three heaviest bags on the bed, he opened the fourth and lightest and withdrew a large duffel bag. The backpack he had originally brought sat atop a dresser, it's contents looking pitifully few when compared to his new purchases. He gave it a sad smile, honestly it was a wonder how he thought he could make it through school with its meager contents. He may have been able to get by, but it would require him to do an awful lot of laundry. And even then he would probably have to explain why he arrived with barely anything. The more he thought of it, the more he felt a certain amount of gratefulness for Roman's assistance.
But not enough to consider a life of crime.
From the depths of his bags he withdrew and folded clothing, before organizing them into his duffel. Underwear, socks and undershirts were quickly sorted in, followed by pants and shirts. Honestly, what he had looked similar to his current attire, only with a bit of variety. Along with blue, he also had grey and black pants, and a practical rainbow of shirts. He even had a new hoodie, so he didn't run the risk of accidentally ruining his special Pumpkin Pete one in a fight! More and more clothes, and some toiletries, were carefully packed away into the duffel until it was completely filled. Soon there was only one thing left in the bags.
A woman's wallet sat innocently at the bottom of his bag.
"What the hell!"
"What was that about not being a criminal again?"
In a dark alley near the docks, one of the most feared individuals in the city of vale stood over a cadaver, shaking in rage. They said nothing, and beyond the trembling of their body, one wouldn't know anything was wrong.
But something was wrong. Very wrong.
Roman Torchwick was dead, and Neapolitan was pissed beyond belief.
Slowly, very slowly, she brought a hand to the dead man's face, tracing it gently with a shaking hand. With care, she turned the bodies head to the side, getting a clear view of the mans neck. She ran one hand down the neck, stopping at a point just before the shoulders. Her mismatched eyes narrowed into slits.
With less care than before, but still with restraint, she opened the jacket and shirt to inspect the bullet wound. She sneered at the wound, a glance all she needed to confirm her suspicions. She returned shirt and jacket to how they were.
Slowly she stood, inspecting the scene of the crime. Nothing escaped her notice. Not the slight burn mark on the brick wall, not the chip of green paint on the ground, and definitely not the footprint in the blood made mud.
Someone had just made the biggest mistake of their now much shorter life.
All was still in the dirty little alley near the docks. A curious cat, bell jingling on it's collar, stalked up to the still figure of Neo. It cried at the woman, demanding attention that she did not give. It paced back and forth, and did not attract her attention. With a cautious paw it swiped at the woman's leg, determined to grab her attention and possible affection.
It took off running as the woman and body burst into glass, leaving nothing but an empty alley behind.
The next chapter will be sometime next month, though hopefully sooner than this one. It shall also lead into the short but much loved initiation arc that everyone loves seeing.