AN: You Thought this shit was dead? Fuck no it ain't! Though, there ain't gonna be much action in this chapter, just a bunch of filler. Finals and college in general got me fucked up, and I hadn't had the chance to properly write for a while. So bear with me while I get back into the swing of things.

Also, once again, this shit is still Unbetaed. So, if any of y'all are willing to volunteer your precious time for a dumb RWBY OC fic, my offer starts at Reddit mod pay rates.

Music: The Devil Makes Three – Never Learn

"Nobody is ever involved in an aggressive war; it's always a defensive war – on both sides."

– Noam Chomsky

VII. SECOND IMPRESSIONS

Then…

Bobtown Volunteer Fire Department Building, Bobtown, Commonwealth of Pennsylvania…

"I told my boy, 'Go roll like ten blunts for me' (what? Roll ten, what?)~

I told my boy, 'Go roll like ten blunts for me' (what? What? What? Roll ten)~

I'm tryna get high 'til I can't feel nothin' (whoa, what? What? What?)~"

Well, there goes Jordie with his Playboi Carti again…

Ashley would be the first to admit, he wasn't partial to Zoomer rap and trap. He thought it had too much autotune and not enough substance, his tastes being more in line with the classics his grandpa showed him: Eminem, Jay-Z, 50 Cent, Kanye (before he got institutionalized), and the like…

But, his battle buddy was absolutely into that kind of shit, and since he was the one who owned the Bluetooth speaker and paid for the janky internet connection... well… c'est la vie. Zoomer trap/rap it is!

At the very least, it wasn't the intolerable propaganda-laced so-called "hip-hop" currently being pushed out on terrestrial radio and the net. It served well as a good enough background noise as they slaved away in their makeshift workshop.

With the southern front across the border heating up to Blood for the Blood God and the state logistics network still reeling from the collapse of the Feds, the ammo was burning fast and running dry, and the Guard was looking for any duct-tape solution until they could get that factory fully built at Kittanning. It just so happened that his and Jordie's unique, and very much questionably acquired skills made them temporarily indispensable to the war effort.

And not a pay raise in sight – Yippee!

So here they were, in some middle-of-nowhere abandoned coal town taken from the wiggies a mere month prior, churning out 5.56 NATO rounds by the thousand. Ashley was in charge of making the primer and the powder, Jordie was either inspecting used casings to see if they could be recycled or stamping out new ones from the machine. The other poor bastards were stuck with assembling the damn things.

It was mind-numbing, and very much dangerous work, especially in their current conditions; OSHA was certainly spinning in its grave…

"Wake up (Wake up, wake up, woah)~

It's the first of the month (Slatt, slatt, slatt, slatt)~

I brush my teeth and count up (What? Slatt, slatt, slatt, slatt, woah)~

I let my bitch roll my blunt (Woah, slatt, slatt)~"

…and all the while, they were made to listen to a deep philosophical discourse on the ethics of cannabis consumption with one's fellow African Americans. As already stated, the style wasn't to his taste; Ashley much preferred Professor Dogg's take on the subject.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Rattle…

"PFC Sass, I swear to God, if you don't turn off that zoomer shit right now-" But, there was a certain someone of I-went-to-college rank who was even less of a fan – Bang! Bang! Bang! Rattle… – The garage door nearly shook off its motor from the abuse it was getting outside, "-I'ma shove my boot up so far up your ass, you'll be spitting my fuckin' toenail clippings!"

Meet Second Lieutenant Tyler "The 'i' is silent" Tozier, their current CO, and a guy pickier than a tweaker when it came to which rap artists he listened to.

"Sorry, El-Tee!" Jordie wasn't sorry in the slightest.

"Yeah, yeah! Just put on some fuckin' 2Pac before I gut you" He was a real charmer too…

"Alexa, pause!" The music stopped – Jordie silently waited as footsteps shuffled away from the garage door… "Alexa, play Who Shot Ya by Biggie Smalls,"

"Now Playing…" The speaker chirped, "As we proceed (uh)... To give you what you need~"

A smirk bloomed on Ashley's face, "You evil son of a bitch…"

Tyler may have been a PA native, but West Coast music was near and dear to his heart… unlike the filthy bourgeois elitists of the East Coast. Ashley honestly couldn't tell the difference, but the fact it pissed his CO off made the distinction amusing enough. What they were doing was tantamount to giving the golden calf a sloppy toppy in front of a horrified Moses.

But, for as much shit they give their resident green boy of an officer, they could certainly do worse. The guy actually knew how to lead if one looked around his extremely stupid hangups – and many times, it was his call and his call alone that saved their asses in a firefight.

They say that who you're with is the difference between life and death; and considering they all hadn't been merked by a wigger-rigged IED, checked in at commie camp, or busted by boogaloo boys… Tyler wasn't doing all that bad for a goon who signed up straight from a fancy-schmancy liberal arts college.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Sass, I'm not fucking around here!" Speak of the devil!

Ashley snorted, and Jordie gave him a look that perfectly wordlessly encapsulated the whole situation: butterbars gonna butterbar.

A twinkle appeared in Jordie's eye, "Alexa, raise the volume by thirty percent!"

Ashley nearly spilled a beaker of nitric acid at the audacity.

Now…

Men's Showers, Locker Room, Beacon Academy, Vale…

He reached for the knob to shut off the steaming hot water. The warm mist cleared up slightly, and Ashley was able to find and snatch his towel; he started drying his hair and ears first thing. A moment later, he stepped out of the showers and was immediately hit with a cold breeze, making his hair stand on end; the chill dispelled the last traces of sleepiness left in his body– if the morning exercise hadn't already done that.

While coffee was good and all if he needed a quick pick-me-up before high-tailing out, he found that a short 10-minute jog, watching the sunrise, and taking a hot shower was a much more wholesome way to spend his first hour awake. The routine did wonders for his mental health too, allowing him some peace and quiet before facing what bullshit life had in store for him that day.

Leisurely, he strode on over to the sinks and was pleasantly surprised. For once, he didn't have to bend his back like a question mark to see his reflection – the barely fogged mirrors went all the way up to the cathedral-like ceiling. With a happy hum, he lathered the shaving gel over his face and whipped out his straight razor. He was done in two minutes flat, carried by two lifetimes of muscle memory, with the haste that an interesting and violent life demanded.

He stared at his reflection as he let the water run. His eyes sharpened, then relaxed. An ear twitched, flicking a bead of water onto the faucet…

"Alright, you dumb son of a bitch… ain't no going back from here…"

That brief feeling of dread, deep, deep down, not unlike when he first caught sight of Fort Haupt, briefly welled up inside him…

With a heavy breath, and only a towel and a pair of boxers to keep his modesty, he marched out into the locker room proper. It was still almost empty, unsurprisingly, considering it was still quite a bit early.

Without looking where he was going, he rounded a corner,

"Ah!"

"Fuck!" Ashley cursed, almost crashing into some blond kid who was sprinting full speed, "My bad, man!"

The kid regained his bearings, "Oh! U-uh! I-" Jittering around, he looked one embarrassment away from a nervous breakdown, "I-I-I, S-" and, oh wait a minute–

It was at this moment that Ashley had finally registered that he wasn't looking at a little kid. No, it was a grown-ass teenager in baby blue onesie pajamas, cutesy bunny mascot plastered front and center. Really, it was remarkable that they even sold those things at that size – Ashley honestly thought the only potential market would be those freaks who got off to shitting in Spongebob-themed adult diapers.

Dear non-existent God, did he want to be wrong so badly right now…

He cleared his throat, "Settle down. Try again," cutting into the guy's nervous stuttering in his calm down you dumb boot voice.

"..." The guy froze, looking at him expectantly.

"You got a name, Jumpsuit?"

The guy shook his head, taking a good second to regain his bearings, "Name's Jaune Arc… Short, sweet, and the ladies love it!"

Oh, thank God! It's just a manchild!

"Ashley Morgenroth… Long, with just the right amount of thickness so it ain't too painful… The ladies really love it," Ashley gave a slight grin before it broke into a full-blown smile – he extended a hand, which Jaune shook after a brief moment of hesitation, "What's got you all worked up, Jaune? You look like you're boutta blow your top."

"My locker, uh… well…" Jaune gave up speaking halfway, instead motioning Ashley to follow.

Jaune led Ashley down the maze of lockers, left and right and left until they were close to the entrance. The guy's locker was around four rows down, and the problem was clear as day: the thing was busted to shit, looking like somebody went to town on it with a depleted uranium baseball bat. The holographic keyboard was flickering and completely nonfunctional.

"I swear, It didn't look like that last night,"

"Ah… yeah, that one looks like a real doozy," Ashley walked up to the busted locker, and gave it a few experimental tugs, before yanking it with full power using his aura. The door didn't move a micron, "If it's any comfort, at least we know your shit's prolly still safe. I have to ask, though – Did you piss anyone off yesterday?"

"Uh, no?... I don't think so…" Jaune nervously scratched the back of his neck.

Ashley gave him a dead look, channeling his inner Mike Ehrmantraut.

"…I mean I may have flirted with one or two girls… Hypothetically, of course…"

Ah! Simp or jealous boyfriend, then – either way, ain't good for your health.

"Right." Ashley sighed, unconvinced, "Here, lemme try something,"

He backed up a few paces and flared out his aura, shining the locker room in crimson glory as he called upon his semblance. This was his second to last resort, but he was sure Beacon could afford it.

"Wait, what are you doing!?"

"You'll see!"

Ashley started to hear that painful clicking, feeling it in the back of his eyes, burning under his skin; the sound of a Geiger counter, that only he could perceive. He pushed that awful feeling forward, aiming it toward the hinges of the locker with laser focus. Seconds later,

Sizzle… Pop! CLANG!

The locker door fell off its frame and crashed onto the floor, where its hinges were melted into a glowing semisolid from the sheer amount of heat Ashley pumped into it in two seconds flat. Sparks flew out, and Jaune's stuff, now freed from their imprisonment, burst out into a disorganized pile. He dismissed his aura and semblance, the oppressive clicking immediately went away.

"Whoa!" Jaune leaped into the pile, quick to retrieve his things, "Ashley, you're a lifesaver! I would have been completely screwed without you there!" An innocent, thankful grin shined on his face, almost blinding Ashley in his enthusiasm.

"Ain't no problem, man," Ashley gave a mock salute, "Glad to be of service!"

Jaune's scroll on the floor suddenly beeped, "Oh, gotta hurry up!" With ants in his pants, he hastily picked a set of clothes, "Again, thank you so much! I'll make it up to you–" and took off for the showers, "Promise!"

…leaving Ashley all by his lonesome.

Well… that was a pleasant distraction, he shrugged.

Perhaps this being around stupid teenagers at this college of shit he already knew thing wouldn't be as terrible of a waste of time as he'd thought. Besides, all the way to before he went demented, the old man nagged him to get some goddamn friends. Which, well… One, their little gypsy mountain hermit lifestyle wasn't conducive to that sort of thing, and two, motherfucker, you never had any friends either!

Or maybe they were both wrong and the whole thing sucked a golf ball through a garden hose. Who knows!?

Fortunately, though, Ashley's locker was a hop and skip away. He tapped his code into the stupid holographic keypad, and the door automatically swung open. With much effort, he yanked a heavy-duty duffel bag, which he barely was able to squeeze in the night before – it was full of clothes, among other things.

There, he pulled and laid out his brand new huntsman uniform:

Most of the articles were just surplus straight from the store. They were either from either the Atlas military or the Vale Militia, or whatever the hell else was able to find in the shady black markets in the towns he visited on the way to Vale.

The majority of it was in your typical olives and greens, and of rugged good quality, which slotted neatly with Ashley's sensibilities; but the armor, he was forced to hand paint it a faux-ERDL pattern camo because the damn Atlesians had the stealth sense of the fucking French during the First World War. Blinding moving-target white was great and all in the snowy wastes up north and Siberia… and literally nowhere else.

Actually, now that he'd thought about it – the people of remnant as a whole had zero common sense when it came to combat wear, and it was a million times worse when it came to the huntsman and huntresses.

Why the hell did everyone get so pimped up in a nice suit or dress, only to ruin it in the mud and shit during combat? Even the old man went out overdressed at times, in between shitting in holes and huddling around campires… and then turn around and call him fucking weird. Oh, and don't even get him started on the damn high-heels he caught some of those of the fairer sex wearing while hacking and slashing nevermores…

Ashley supposed it was another one of those things that everyone on this schizophrenic planet had a collective lobotomy over.

Quickly derailing that train of thought before it ran out of control, he started putting his new clothes and armor on. Every part of it fit like a glove and clicked into place. He took a good look at one of the many mirrors nearby, and damn was he looking sharp as hell today.

He tested a few faces, some serious, some not, even shooting finger guns at his reflection, before moving on to the most important part of a soldier's day: gun care. Pulling out the hard case which carried his fully disassembled friend, he brought out the Q-tips and the holy CLP.

Muttering a brief daily prayer to the MIC and the machine god, Ashley began with his sacred duty.

40-Something Minutes Later…

Click-Clack…

The parts, now assembled, glided over each other smoother than a baby's bottom. There was not a single speck of dirt or grime anywhere on Mr. Luty.

If only Sarnt could see him now… he woulda creamed his pants completely white.

Setting it aside, Ashley got to work loading up the empty magazines. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar white head of hair and some red-headed girl hanging around nearby, having quite the awkward conversation.

"...ny thought on who's team you would like to be on? I'm sure everyone must be eager to team up with such a strong, well-known individual, such as yourself…"

Ashley resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the Schnee's blatant attempt at schmoozing what's-her-face. One would have thought that being from old money would bring a sense of subtlety…

"Hmm, I haven't actually thought about it that much," The redhead shrugged, "I was planning to leave it to chance,"

"Perhaps… we can be on a team together?"

…but apparently not.

A conspiratorial glint appeared in the Schnee's eyes; in her obvious plotting, she looked one evil laugh away from breaking into full-on mustache twirling. One part of Ashley thought the sight was hilarious, but the other part remembered what the Schnees have done and are currently doing and–

He held back a growl. It wouldn't do well to be acting like an animal when he was already being called one.

"Sure, why not?" The redheaded girl, of course, accepted the offer, ignorant of the other's machinations.

"Great!" The Schnee cheered, "How about…" And it soon devolved into a minute straight of her trying to gas the other up. Unsurprisingly, these attempts failed miserably – the redhead was silently looking for an escape from the whole situation while the other did their damnedest to talk her ear off.

And then, the redhead accidentally made eye contact with Ashley, "Oh! Didn't notice you there! Hello!" Thus, he was dragged into this "conversation" against his will, "So, uh… What's your name?"

"Name's Ashley – and before you ask, yeah, it's a boy's name too. You wouldn't believe the number of times I've been asked that question," He sat up straight to properly address her – probably was a good idea not to be rude to a bystander, regardless of his distaste toward a nearby white-haired snow demon, "What's yours?"

In an instant, the locker room seemingly went dead, as if he had just farted in a catholic church. Ashley stiffened slightly, wondering what weird cultural hangup he ran head-first into this time. Even after all these years on this planet – there were just these little things that he'd always miss to painfully cringeworthy results.

"You don't know who she is?" The Schnee girl butted in, looking down on him imperiously – or technically, eye-level, as the girl was on the shorter side, and Ashley was a gangly tall sumbitch even sitting down, "She's Pyrrha Nikos, you know, the…"

"I don't." Ashley silently apologized to the redheaded girl, whoever she was, "I'm afraid that name doesn't ring a bell for me."

"H-how?" She exclaimed flabbergasted, "She won the Mistral Regional Tournament four years in a row."

"Okay…?" Good for her, I guess.

"She graduated top of her class at Sanctum Academy,"

Never heard of it, "That's… nice?"

A furrow appeared on the Schnee's brow, "She's practically one of the biggest celebrities around – a rising star!"

Meanwhile, the girl in question looked like she wanted to shoot herself with a 12-gauge out of embarrassment.

"Sorry, but… I've kinda lived on the frontiers my entire life – don't really pay attention to pop culture that much…"

"She's on the box of Pumpkin Pete's Marshmellow Flakes for Pete's sake!" She screeched.

"I don't eat cereal – it's unhealthy." And expensive as shit too, especially out in the wilds. Besides, Ashley was an eggs, bacon, and sausage kind of guy when it came to the most important meal.

"AGH! Why do I have to suffer being around such ignorant schwie–" The Schnee stopped herself before she fully scared the other girl off, taking a deep breath, "... I just… I don't understand. But then again, how can I expect a fau–"

Then, out of nowhere, Pyrrha jumped ahead and took his hand, enthusiastically shaking it, "Well, nice to meet you, Ashley! I'm Pyrrha Ni– just Pyrrha," Letting go, she nervously scratched the back of her head, "And yeah, Pumpkin Pete's is probably not the best for you, but hey, they paid a lot and it's my dad's favorite, so..."

"Hey, It's fine. There are plenty of worse things you can do for a paycheck." Ashley subtly glanced over to the Schnee, Go ahead, say something, you dust-money slaving bitch. I quadruple-fuckin' dare you.

The Schnee didn't rise to the bait, merely narrowing her eyes at him.

"All First Years of Section A, please report to the cliffs. I repeat, all First Years of Section A, please report to the cliffs," Goodwitch's voice chirped over the intercom.

Pyrrha quickly pulled her sword and shield out of her locker and strapped it onto her back, "Well, It's been nice meeting you, Ashley. Good luck with your initiation!" She smiled.

"Same to you, Pyrrha!"

She then calmly wandered off. The Schnee girl followed her like a lost puppy, giving a stink eye towards Ashley the whole way out the door.

A moment passed, and he was now fully locked and loaded, Mr. Luty strapped to his back, Shaving Razor strapped to his hip, and all sorts of thingamajigs and thingamabobs in his pockets or on his belt.

Thump!

Ashley jolted, whipping his head around, only to find… Holy thingamafuck, was that Jaune and… Yang!?

"Don't talk to my sister again!"

If his eyes were seeing true, then there truly was a pissed-off blonde looming over a scared-shitless Jaune, with her fist nearly folding a poor nearby locking into a 90-degree bend from crushing force alone. Her eyes glowed red, the fires of Hell itself flaming behind them in her fury. Out of the corner of his vision, Ashley caught sight of Ruby running over to defuse the situation.

"Wait, Yang! He didn't mean anything–

"Ruby, he was trying to flirt with you, you're only fift–"

"Yang! We were just talking! That's all!"

"Wait, she's fifteen!?" Jaune shouted, horrified, "I thought everyone here was–"

"Grrrrah!" Yang reared back her fist, ready to brain him all over the clean plaster wall.

But before Yang could strike, Ruby burst into a swarm of petals and reappeared right in front of her, "Yang, stop! It's not like that – and even if he was a creep, which he isn't, I can defend myself!"

Yang froze in place mid-swing, "Huh?"

Ruby continued, "You don't have to protect me all the time, Yang – I'm a big girl now, not a little baby…" She trailed off, peering down at the terrified Jaune before looking her sister in the eyes, "Besides If I couldn't handle myself, would I be here in Beacon with you?"

"Ruby, you d–"

"Yang." Ruby glared.

Yang's jaw snapped shut. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax; the red glow in her eyes slowly faded back to their normal purple as she took in her sister's pleading expression, "…fine."

"All First Years of Section B, please report to–"

Her fist unclenched from its death grip; she turned around and started walking to the exit. For a brief moment, she looked like she was gonna turn around and shoot one last barb at Jaune, but another glare from Ruby dissuaded her from the notion. Right before she and Ruby were out the door, the latter mouthed a silent apology.

It was at this moment that Ashley decided to finally enter stage right.

"Hot damn, boy... You seem to be pretty good at getting yourself into all sorts of pickles…"

"But… Dad said all women look for is confidence…" The boy muttered to himself in disbelief, not noticing Ashley. He was wearing the same expression a medieval peasant would have if you told them the Earth was round and revolved around the Sun.

"Now… I'm not saying you're stupid for what you have done…" Ashley started.

Jaune flinched, and looked up at Ashley in half-shame, half-surprise, "Uh, thanks?"

"...Because you absolutely fucking are." Ashley glanced around, toward the ruined locker, "But I'm pretty sure you already learned your lesson from her and don't need to hear it again from me… Here." Ashley grabbed the guy's hand and helped him onto his feet.

"All First Years of Sections C and D, please report to the cliffs. Again, all First Years of Sections C and D, please report to the cliffs,"

"C'mon, Sunshine," Ashley pulled Jaune with him, "Daylight's-a-burning I don't wanna be late for this shit."

Near Outdoor Testing Grounds, Beacon Academy, Vale…

As fate would have it, Jaune was in fact part of Section C, while Ashley was lumped in with Section D, meaning that they had to split off halfway to report to different cliffs. So, here he was, walking down one of the many trails all by his lonesome.

Unsurprisingly, as he had now come to expect a lot from Beacon's top-class landscaping, the scenic route was beautiful through and through. Being out in nature, taking in the fresh air – it was a therapeutic experience for Ashley, and it never got old, no matter how many years he'd spent his life wandering around in it.

Yet unfortunately for him, this bliss was a resource in short supply – his ears perked up, picking up some breathing around one of the upcoming bends.

Rustle… Rustle…

Then, sure enough, right before he was about to cross it,

"Well, well, well–"

A fellow beacon initiate popped out from one of the trees, menacingly holding a mace in his meaty paw. He looked exactly the preppy jock stereotype, being built like a linebacker – only a letterman jacket was needed to complete the whole ensemble. And that orange-ish hair pulled up and pomaded into a prominent pompadour–

Wait… Wasn't this guy one of the dumbfucks playing Arnold last night?

"– What do we have here? A starving lil' animal all by his lonesome…"

Oh, right he was yammering about something…

The guy puffed out his chest while sizing Ashley up, trying to make himself look bigger and more intimidating. Quite the Sisyphean task, considering that he was forced to crane his head up like a baby bird begging for food to meet Ashley eye-to-eye.

"Yes?" Ashley replied dully.

Smirking, the guy continued, "Y'know, for a faunus as… unique as you," He looked up and down at Ashley, "I would have thought you would have been well known. But after asking people from every academy worth a damn, I can't find a single person who knows who the hell you are… How did you even get here?"

Mmm~ That is one juicy nothingburger you're chasing there, Mr. Jones…

"My old man got me a recommendation here. He was a huntsman, a competent one at that."

"Sure…" The guy tsked, not looking the least bit convinced, "And how do I know you're not lying? Your kind is well known for being treacherous a–"

Aaand I'm already done with you.

"Dude, I'ma be real with you." Ashley cut in, "My application status is none of your Brothers' damned business, and if you're so concerned about it, you can take it up with Professor Goodwitch. 'Kay?"

Ashley moved to walk around the jackass, but he felt a hand grip onto his shoulder with a little too much strength. His collarbone made an unpleasant creak…

"Who said I was done with you?" A tinge of anger could be heard from the guy's tone.

"The school did. Initiation starts in ten minutes and neither of us got time for this shit," Ashley calmly pried the hand off him, "So, pretty please, with a cherry on top, go away."

Once again, Ashley tried to leave the whole situation semi-amicably, but the idiot started to trail him like a piranha who tasted blood in the water, nipping at his heels.

"Hey! Don't you t–" Ashley picked up the pace, "Last chance, Buddy…"

Words, words, words – they went in one ear and out the others. Ashley couldn't be bothered to give this dumbass a single sliver of attention anymore – and the guy didn't seem to like that, given how he was inching closer and closer toward a full-blown roid rage.

"–You think you're hot shit because you got some guy to forge your papers!?" Ashley felt a push against his back, making him hop forward an extra two steps. He kept on walking, "I know what you are! You're some damn White Fang mook looking to spy–"

Qu'est-ce que ç'est le fuck?

Ashley did a double take, unsure if he heard what he had thought he heard. Standing still, he turned around, letting the guy catch up to him, "Time out! Fucking what!?"

"I called you a White Fang bottom-feeder!" The asshole jeered, "What, did I hit a nerve or something, you filthy critter? What are you gonna do about it?"

A stray giggle forced its way up Ashley's throat, The fuck is this guy smoking? And can I have some?

The thought that he would have anything, anything at all to do with those terrorist scum was so absurd that he couldn't help but laugh at it. From Ashley's perspective, the guy went from 0 to David Icke in less than a minute, and it threw him off guard.

"HAHAHAHAHAAAH!"

After a second of thinking, it was an understandable mistake for an idiot human. That group was the only faunus-majority society that the media even bothered to report on. But still, Ashley… in the fucking White Fang, that was one helluva knee-slapper!

"HAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"…" The dickhead was caught off guard by Ashley's reaction, standing confused with his fist raised halfway.

"Heheh… heh…" Eventually, Ashley got a hold of himself enough to form coherent words, "If you… If you think that I'd ever associate with those scumfuckers… clearly you've never been to the frontier."

"Eh?..." The guy paused, frying one of his few neurons trying to comprehend a rational faunus who didn't side with Sienna Khan's piss-poor knock-off of the Nation of Islam, "You… hate the White Fang?"

"Don't hurt yourself thinking too hard about it, Bucko – the 'Fang out there ain't the little kittens you see picketing the streets," Ashley explained

Now, while he may not have ever run into them face-to-face, he's certainly seen the aftermath they leave behind. Little hamlets left to the beowolves, their supplies raided, the men killed, the women raped and then killed… the children…

He got an idea of what they were all about real quick and found that he hated it. Most of those who call themselves "White Fang" weren't members of an organization per se… more of a loose confederation of vaguely aligned activists and violent fanatics. Oh, sure, in the cities, they're all peace and love and forgiveness and all that MLK-type shit, but out in the forests and fields, they were some cold-blooded sons of bitches.

Plus, seeing how their current leadership is doing jack shit to clamp down on their more psychotic members, they could all go to Hell for all he cared. A terrorist is a terrorist is a terrorist – no matter what noble cause they claimed to fight for. The war had taught him to not cry a tear of sympathy to those who will give your loved ones none.

"I…" The guy paused, "...don't know how to respond to that."

Ashley checked his watch – Oh shit, – "Well, here's an idea, Pompadour – how 'bout you hop off my dick and we both skedaddle to the initiation we're both gonna be late for?"

"My name's Cardin, not–"

"Don't care!" Ashley moved to exfiltrate once more, giving the jackass the level of respect he deserved.

Of course… "Damn faunus nobody – don't walk away from me! Come here!"

Thump! Thump! Thump! FWOOSH–

Ashley skipped to the left, missing the mace by a hair, which then made a crater in the ground. The bastard's eyes glared at him in seething, indignant anger. Why was he not surprised?...

Ashley had plenty of time in both of his lives to get familiar with this specific breed of shithead; no matter the setting, or how "grown up" they were supposed to be – it all boiled down to the classic schoolyard bully.

And schoolyard bullies, he knew how to deal with, since he learned the hard way: Giving lip back to a bully only served to enrage them – leaving you limping with a couple more shiners than usual. Break a bully's nose in? Well, you just invited them to turn the school/criminal justice system against you to fuck you out of tens of thousands of dollars of lunch money in legal fees.

No, the true way to defeat a bully was to take their ego, bend it over, and fuck it raw until it was bleeding and broken; destroy their minds so much that the very idea of going against you again triggers an instinctual fear response; to truly dominate them, breaking them beyond repair…

Hmm, that sounded more like his faunus side speaking than his human half there…

…Eh, either way, Ashley had the perfect idea for this "Cardin" fucker, and he had just the lack of patience to implement it.

"You dare to–!" The asshole was about to swing his mace again, "I will-AAIIIEEE!" But, Ashley reached down and put his family jewels into a kung fu grip. Cardin went deathly pale in seconds, "W-w-wait a minute, man! I-I think we h-have a bit of a… mis-misunderstanding here!"

Unless he was facing a literal terminator, most men tended to fold like a wet noodle at this point.

"You think?" Ashley sneered, "If I remember correctly, you were calling me a 'starving little animal', a 'White Fang bottom-feeder', and all sorts of–"

"–N-no… I didn't– I didn't mean any of it! I–"

"Word of advice," Ashley squeezed tighter, "Shut up before you dig your grave deeper,"

"OWW! Ow-ow-ow! Fuck!" Cardin cried, "P-please, man, I-I won't bother you again! Promise!"

Ashley bared his teeth, emphasizing his canines, "You promise that on your manhood?"

"YIIPE!... Y-Yes," Cardin's voice strained, "YES!"

Ashley let go, and Cardin collapsed onto the ground, holding onto his crotch, "Good. Now take your mace and fuck off – I don't wanna see that faggot-ass haircut of yours ever again."

"B-but–"

"Now, motherfucker!" Ashley's foot gave Cardin a light love tap on the rear.

"Okay-Okay! Sorry!" Cardin took off, running bow-legged into the trees.

Ashley wiped his hand on his pants in disgust. Four minutes left on the clock, a light jog and he'll be able to make it in time. He started to hastily head down the trail to the cliffs, careful to conserve as much stamina as he could.

As the peace and quiet of nature and the pressure of time started to seep into his weary soul, a funny idea came to him:

There was a non-zero chance that the asshole might snitch and get Ashley expelled. But, it wouldn't even matter in the end – after all, the inheritance only stipulated that he had to attend Beacon Academy. He technically did, even if only for a day…

Who knows? Maybe Cardin What's-his-name could be his greatest boon yet, a ticket out of dealing with hormonal teenagers like him, or worse… the Schnee girl.

But, in actuality, the guy was most likely too much of a gormless pussy to even attempt such a thing.

Still, it was a thought…