Seven Nights in Atlas

A RWBY Story

By Sentinel 28II

AUTHOR'S NOTES: When writing my On RWBY Wings series, I've tried consciously to stay away from OCs as much as possible. I've had to create some NPCs for that story, but aside from Rissa Arashikaze, few have lasted more than a chapter or a story arc; even Arashikaze exists only to take over a role normally provided by Ozpin's disembodied voice. (Granted, "On RWBY Wings VI" has had to have a lot of OCs, due to adapting the Ever After to a semi-realistic Earth.)

However, like most RWBY fans, I have at least given some thought to OCs. Then I gave some thought of how those OCs could interact with the RWBY cast (who, for once, are not fighter pilots in a different world or starring in ribald sex comedies, but the actual characters), and how they could fit "between the pages" of RWBY, similar to how my Battletech characters end up between the pages of the Clan Invasion. Would they get along with Team RWBY? Would they be at Beacon or maybe show up later in Atlas? Is there someone that would "bridge the gap" between the canon characters and the OC team? And could I actually write these OCs without them becoming total Mary Sues?

Well, after reading an old GURPS adventure dating from before many of you were born, I think I got an idea how. So, if you're looking for a film noir style spy thriller in Mantle and Atlas before Salem's invasion, taking place in the seedy underbelly of Remant, this is the story for you.

Note that this story is violent and does have sexual situations. Viewer discretion is advised.

City of Atlas, Kingdom of Atlas

Three Months Before Salem's Invasion

Marrow Amin looked at himself in the mirror, then gave his uniform a bit of a tug, smoothing out the crease in the tunic. "You look awesome," he told his reflection, then winked. The Atlesian military uniform looked good anyway, all white and blue; the red ascot offset it just enough to be rakish without looking ridiculous. He bent down and rubbed a little bit of dust off the shining black knee-high boots. He straightened up and turned slightly, once more admiring himself. Much to his chagrin, his tail started wagging, and Marrow sighed. That was something he had yet to control. Of course, some girls think that's cute. Megan sure did…no, don't think about her.

Marrow made another minor adjustment to the ascot, gave the tunic another tug, picked up Fetch-his personal weapon-in its carrying case, and slung it over his shoulder. It was time to go to work.

He locked the door of his little room in the Atlas Academy barracks, then walked down the corridor with a spring in his step. It was his third week as a member of Ace Operatives, the elite of Atlas. The best of the best, he told himself, and his walk turned into a self-confident stride. Marrow checked himself—he was the first and only Faunus to be picked for Ace Ops, and that bore a certain amount of responsibility; he didn't need to be arrogant. He didn't stop striding or smiling, though. As he passed other soldiers and some of the cadets of Atlas Academy, he returned their salutes and told himself to be a little humble, as some of the cadets looked at him in awe. Others scowled, but Marrow ignored that. It was only a few now. These things took time.

It was a beautiful afternoon as he walked across the Academy plaza. The sun shone through the clouds onto Atlas, the floating city in the sky. There was a little bite to the air—Atlas was, after all, floating above the tundra of Solitas—but it was otherwise just perfect. Marrow had gotten to sleep in; Ace Ops was moving to night patrols. The Grimm threat was everpresent, but lately the Grimm only attacked at night. Mostly.

Ten minutes later, Marrow reached Ace Ops' exclusive briefing room. He checked his watch: one minute early. He'd taken a little too much time getting ready, but at least he wasn't late. He took a deep breath and went in.

And suppressed a sigh. He was the last one to arrive. Staring back at him was Clover Ebi, Vine Zeki, Elm Elderne, and Harriet Bree. They all acknowledged him, from Clover's genuine grin, to Vine's small but friendly nod, to Elm's more enthusiastic one, to Harriet's sardonic smirk. "Sorry," he apologized. "I, uh…should've walked faster."

Clover, standing at the podium at the front of the room, waved it off. "Actually, Marrow, glad you got here last." He glanced down at his Scroll. "I just got a message from General Ironwood. He wants you to report to him as soon as you got here."

Harriet's smirk got bigger. "Uh oh. FNG is in trouballl…" Marrow fought down the urge to kick her. FNG—short for Fucking New Guy—was Harriet's pet nickname for him. The others had seemed to accept him, aside from the occasional prank from Elm-he had been sent out for headlight fluid on his third day-but Harriet enjoyed riding him.

"No, he's not in trouble," Clover said, a bit of steel in his voice. He was getting tired of Harriet's attitude as well, it seemed. "But you are going to be on detached duty for a few days. The General will let you know."

"Oh my," Elm winked, then dropped her voice. "Super-secret duty." Vine gave a slight smile, which for him was the equivalent to raucous laughter.

"Oh, okay," Marrow finally answered.

"Well, get going," Clover prodded.

"Yes, sir." Marrow turned and closed the door behind him. He lingered outside for a moment, hoping to hear something through the door. Clover told Harriet to quit hazing, then turned to the business of the day—something about the Argus Limited partially derailing. That was far away from Atlas and Marrow was curious what it had to do with Ace Ops, but when Ironwood said he wanted someone to report to him, the general wanted punctuality. Reluctantly, Marrow began walking down the hallway.

It took another ten minutes to reach Ironwood's office, high in the central spire of the Academy. Marrow's trepidation grew with each one of those minutes, as he went through three checkpoints, showing his ID card. They didn't ask him to leave Fetch at any of those checkpoints; Ace Ops was one of the very few allowed to be armed in Ironwood's presence. It showed the general's confidence in his best Huntsman/Huntress team, but it was lost on Marrow. He had Clover's word that he wasn't in trouble, and there was no reason to think that he was—his record had been generally impeccable to this point, except for that one place in downtown Atlas he was no longer allowed to go to. Still, being asked to report to the commanding general of the Atlas military without warning was a little worrisome.

Marrow squared his shoulders and knocked on Ironwood's office door. "Come in," said the general, and Marrow, swallowing nervously, went in. He walked about halfway across the office, to where the spear emblem of Atlas was worked into the floor at the middle of a compass rose, and came to attention. A single desk and a chair was the room's only furnishing; it was lit by the sun, streaming in from the giant picture window behind the desk and the overhead skylight. "Sir," Marrow said formally, and managed to keep the quaver out of his voice, "Marrow Amin, reporting as ordered."

General James Ironwood looked up from his desk, then stood up. He wore the same uniform as Marrow, albeit with a tie instead of the ascot and a belt across his tunic. Otherwise, there was no indication of rank: Ironwood didn't need it. He exuded an air of authority. His features were harsh, even a bit haggard behind the graying beard, but then he smiled. It changed his entire face, removing some of the hard angles, some of the obvious fatigue. He came around from behind his desk and shook Marrow's hand. "Good to see you, Marrow. How's Ace Ops? Settling in?"

Marrow tried to hide his expression of relief, though his tail was infuriatingly wagging again. "Yes, sir. Things have been going pretty well."

"Good to hear. Clover's had nothing but praise for you. You stepped into a tough situation after Tortuga got killed, and you've risen to it." Ironwood's smile became a little mischevious. "Though I did hear about a certain incident at the Brass Rail."

"Oh, er…well, sir…it's like this," Marrow stammered. "I, uh, things got a little rowdy, and I…um…"

Ironwood held up a hand. "It's fine, Marrow. A soldier that can't tie one on and get a little rowdy now and then isn't a soldier at all."

Marrow blew out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Whew! Thank you, sir. I thought…this might be part of that."

"No, not at all." Ironwood stepped back up the three stairs to his desk and leaned against it. "In fact, you might consider this an honor…given that you're the only member of Ace Ops that I think can pull this off."

Despite himself, Marrow felt pride swell in his chest. Something only I can do! He had no idea what that could possibly be, given that he was only six months out of the Academy, but it certainly felt good. "When do I leave, sir?"

Ironwood laughed. "Now hold on, Marrow. I haven't told you what it is yet." He glanced back at some papers spread across his desk. "You're originally from Mantle, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes, sir." Marrow wondered why Ironwood would be asking that; he knew that already.

"And your father was a policeman, right?"

"Yes, sir." Ironwood had never mentioned that before, but Marrow had supposed the general knew that as well. It was in his personnel file.

Ironwood looked at him. "What happened to your father?"

Marrow set his jaw. "He was killed in the line of duty, sir. By the fucking White Fang." He winced. "Sorry, sir. I apologize for my poor choice of words—"

Ironwood shook his head. "No, don't apologize. That's my opinion of them as well. But he would be remembered on the Mantle Constabulary force, right?"

"I don't know, sir. He was killed over a decade ago. My mother moved to Menagerie last year, after I graduated." Marrow remembered the day, as he always would. He had been ten, an only child. He remembered the uniforms, the somber tone of the chief of Mantle's police, his mother falling to the ground in shock. Then the funeral, on an uncommonly sunny and pleasant day, and the flag draped over his father's coffin. There had been over a hundred people there; someone told Marrow that it was the largest funeral for a Faunus in Mantle that anyone could remember. "I suppose there might be some older officers around that would've known him."

"Mm-hm." Ironwood folded his arms across his chest. "And how well do you know Mantle?"

"Pretty well, sir. I grew up in the north district—the middle-class area." Middle class, Marrow thought to himself, middle class for Mantle, in that you have a regular job that isn't in the mines, and people don't look at you funny when you take the uplink to Atlas...unless you're a Faunus.

"Then it sounds like you're the one I'm looking for. You know Mantle, your father was respected on the police force, and you're a Faunus. I bring up the latter only because you won't stand out." Ironwood picked up a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Orders, detaching you as liasion to the Mantle Constabulary Force for seven days. You'll be reporting to a Rainee Cordovin."

"Cordovin, sir? Like the name of the general in Argus?"

"Her granddaughter. You'll be working with Cordovin, not for her, so don't take any crap from her. A little hazing of the new guy from Harriet Bree is one thing, but you're in her team, not in Cordovin's. Understand?"

Marrow smiled and nodded. So Ironwood did know. "Yes, sir!"

"You can take your uniform, but you probably won't be wearing it. I don't know if it will come up in conversation, but you don't mention anything about your job except that you're a Huntsman and an officer of the Atlas military. Nothing about Amity. What you heard about that stays in this room. Understand?" Ironwood repeated.

"I do, sir." He scanned the order form, but there was nothing in it other than he would be with the Constabulary for a week. "Uh, sir…what exactly am I doing?"

Ironwood was silent for a moment. "This is also not to be discussed with anyone outside this room—not Cordovin, not even Ace Ops. I'll brief Clover if and when it becomes necessary. There is a man in Mantle who will be gaining possession—hopefully—of a data file; his name is Kevin Grunwald. I can't tell you what is on that file, but it is very important to the survival of our kingdom. Perhaps to the survival of Remnant. That is why I want you as liasion with the Constabulary, Marrow. Once Grunwald has the file, he has been instructed to give it to you, and you only. Once you have it, you'll return to Atlas and give the file to either myself or Winter Schnee."

"Why not send me in alone, sir?" Marrow asked.

"Because this Grunwald character isn't the most trustworthy person, and there's a chance someone else might have already made him, or whoever currently possesses the file. If you get ambushed by someone—White Fang or whoever—then you'll need help. Cordovin knows about the file, but she thinks it's information regarding a serial killer she's been tracking. Don't tell her. We have the information she needs, and once you've delivered the file, it'll be released to her. She goes on her merry way, and so do we."

"Sir, can I ask who the serial killer is?"

"No. That information is compartmentalized, Marrow. The less you know, the better."

Great, Marrow groaned inwardly. His father had dealt with serial killers as a detective on the force. He didn't talk about it in front of his son, but Marrow had sneaked out of his room one night and listened as his father broke down in front of his mother—the only time Marrow had seen his father cry. They had caught a man who had been kidnapping children, and found the remains of those children in the man's basement. Marrow didn't understand what rape and pornography was back then, when he was eight. He did now, along with murder. "Well, sir," Marrow said, "when do I leave?" He threw a smile on it.

Ironwood smiled back. "Right now." He reached forward and slapped Marrow's shoulder. "You're one of the best I have, Marrow. I wouldn't have picked you for Ace Ops if I didn't think you were. You didn't get picked because we needed a token Faunus—you got picked because you were damn good at the Academy, despite everything you went through. Your father would be proud of you, Marrow."

"Thank you, sir; I try."

"You try pretty well." Ironwood pushed off his desk and went back around it. "Good luck, Marrow. Dismissed."

Marrow decided to keep his uniform on; the only other clothes he owned were casual ones, and he didn't want to walk into the Mantle Constabulary headquarters wearing jeans. This would get people's attention, and probably get him a little respect to boot. Not necessarily, Marrow thought as he rode the uplink, the shuttles that went between Atlas and Mantle once every ten minutes, every day of the year, weather permitting. The Atlesian military was not particularly well-liked in Mantle, especially these days, with the embargo killing jobs. The military kept Mantle free of Grimm for the most part, either through the efforts of the android Penny Polendina or the Knight-200 warbots that patrolled the walls and streets, and Marrow knew that the Atlesian Navy stopped many Grimm well short of the city walls. For every Grimm that got through, three didn't, but the people of Mantle neither knew nor cared. A few people glanced at him, but he had a feeling it wasn't the uniform, but the fact that a Faunus was wearing it.

There were a few more looks as he left the uplink station and walked down the streets of Mantle, which were artificially half-dark: Atlas blotted out the sun at this time of day and year, and it might have been cold enough to seep through his uniform, had it not been for the city's unique heating system. Ugh…kind of forgot how kinda dank it can be down here, Marrow thought. He hadn't lived in Mantle since being accepted to the Academy, and he hadn't been here since his mother had moved to Menagerie. At least I heard she was okay there before the Fall of Beacon brought down the CCTS. Man, I hope the general's Amity plan works…sure would be nice to talk to her again…have to be careful not to let anything about that slip. Supposedly this Salem person has agents everywhere—hey, I wonder if that's the 'whoever' Ironwood meant?

Marrow let his mind wander a bit, since he knew the way to the central police station by heart. Once, as a child, he had always gone with his mother there to pick his father up, when he had worked the day shift. They would usually grab a hamburger or something on the way home, and his father would tell Marrow about his day. Even then, Marrow had known his father was leaving things out and only telling him the interesting, non-frightening things. I miss that. I miss Dad.

He got there just as the sun dipped below Atlas, illuminating Mantle in orange light and long shadows. He noticed a few people staring up at the bulk of Atlas, which hovered almost menacingly over Mantle, kept up by gravity Dust. From here, that massive expanse of metal did look intimidating, but he was so used to it being there he didn't spare it a second thought. Must be tourists, Marrow thought, and went into the station.

He stopped just inside the double-door entrance. It looked and smelled the same: it was a bit cleaner, more antiseptic now that Atlas was actually funding the Mantle Constabulary Force more than the bare minimum. There were more computers, certainly, and the police all wore smart, modern looking uniforms—except for the detectives, in their plainclothes, and the executives, in their suits and ties. Marrow found himself looking for his father's old desk, but there was a wall there now; it would be behind that wall, somewhere.

There was a skinny, uniformed policeman staring directly at him from behind a tall desk: from the spots in his hair, he was probably a lynx Faunus. Marrow walked up to the desk; the officer stared down, unsmiling. Well, here's someone who doesn't like the uniform. "Hi," Marrow said. "I'm looking for Rainee Cordovin."

"What do you want with her, soldier?" the officer snapped.

"Huntsman," Marrow corrected, not gently.

The Faunus blinked, and his shoulders dropped a bit. "Sorry…Huntsman." He pointed to an entrance to the left of the desk. "Go through that door. Detective Cordovin's desk is through the first door on the right, down the hall—"

"Yeah, I know the way. Thanks." Marrow waited until he was buzzed through, walked past the befuddled officer, and quickly found his way to the department he was looking for. If she has Dad's old desk, I'm going to lose it.

As it turned out, Rainee Cordovin didn't have his father's desk; that one was held by another detective he didn't recognize. She was three desks down, past a partition. She's in Vice? Marrow asked himself. Her back was to him at first, then she turned around.

Marrow had met Brigadier General Caroline Cordovin once, at graduation, and had not been impressed; he saw her face on recruiting posters as well, though why they put her face on those posters mystified him. Caroline Cordovin was an old woman who resembled an angry frog. In his mind, he had pictured the granddaughter to look more of the same: a hatchet-faced, unsmiling woman whose uniform creases he could shave with, prematurely gray hair in a crewcut and upset at the world because of it.

Rainee Cordovin, however, was none of those things, except for the unsmiling part. Marrow looked at her, then down at the nameplate on the desk, then back up at her, because he wanted to know whose teenaged daughter was playing cop. She looked like she was about sixteen, and her hair was long and brown, over her shoulders. She wasn't wearing a uniform, but a rumpled white blouse and blue jeans that were entirely too tight.

Cordovin was currently on her Scroll, cradled between her face and shoulder. She noticed him, her eyebrows came together in confusion, but she didn't stop talking. "No, Bob, I said we needed to hold him for another 24 hours! We do not need that nutbar out on the streets!" She finally recognized him, gave Marrow the briefest of smiles, and held up a finger as he opened his mouth. "What? He got a lawyer? That weirdo?" She sighed. "All right, fine, but he doesn't go anywhere until Theo gets a chance to talk to him." Cordovin rolled her eyes as she listened; Marrow could only hear a muffled voice. "No…I know that, Bob…look, did you find someone to escort the kids at school yet?" Another pause. "What the hell do they need a Huntsman for? They're five years old!" A long sigh. "Look, Bob, I was only asking; it's not my damn department anyway, though if I don't get this case solved, they might just move me back to Traffic…okay, look, I've got some Atlesian military type standing right in front of me here. I gotta go, okay? Yeah, great. See you." She dropped the Scroll from her shoulder and caught it, shutting it off. "Hi," she sighed again, and held out a hand. "You must be the Atlas military liasion." Marrow took the hand; he was surprised it felt calloused. She looked far too young to have any callouses.

"Yeah," he replied. "Marrow Amin."

"Rainee Cordovin." She motioned him to a seat. "Um, something to drink?"

"Oolong tea, if you've got it."

"Yeah, I can scare some up. Hold on." She got up, brushed past him, and walked down a narrow corridor to an old, familiar break area. Marrow found himself staring at her rear end, and his tail was definitely wagging now. Whoa, down boy! he told himself. It's been awhile, huh? Well, hell, if she didn't want me to look, she shouldn't wear her jeans so tight. Then she came back, and he couldn't help but notice that Cordovin had a rather nice figure. Then he quickly found something interesting on her desk. Yeah, don't stare, Marrow. Sure, she's got nice boobs and a really nice ass, but that's what got you in trouble the last time. Let's keep this professional, sir.

She plunked down a bottle of oolong tea in front of him. "It's not warm…hope you don't mind." She brushed past him again—there just wasn't a lot of room—and collapsed into her chair. She cracked open a can of grape soda and took a long drink. "Okay, yeah, sorry about all that when you came in. It's been a day."

He opened the bottle and took a drink himself. "The serial killer?"

Cordovin shook her head. "No, no…serial flasher. Just some guy who likes to run around and show everyone his goodies. He's not even all that, either. Fat and hairy. We finally caught him, but he's lawyered up, so he'll be out on bail. Hopefully he'll flash a Grimm or something."

"He's not doing that to kids, is he?"

Cordovin blew out her breath. "Thank the gods, no. He'd be in the hospital if he did that. No, that's something else entirely…but that's not why you're here." She leaned across the desk. "The Grunwald thing?"

"That's it."

Cordovin nodded. "All right. Thing is, we won't be meeting him until tomorrow night. Anyway, I'm off shift here in about ten minutes anyway, so…let's go find somewhere where we can get to know each other, huh? It's not exactly private in here, and…" She twirled her fingers in the air. "These walls have ears, if you know what I mean."

"I sure do," Marrow agreed. Not everyone on the MCF was honest. Supposedly, Dane Amin's death at the hands of the White Fang had been coincidental, but there were times Marrow wondered if his father hadn't been set up. Well over half the MCF were Faunus, and even if only a quarter were loyal to the Fang, that was too much. Already his uniform would have been recognized and catalogued.

"How's the oolong?" Cordovin suddenly asked.

He took a drink. "It's…well, to be honest, it's awful." It was lukewarm, the disgusting medium between hot tea and iced tea.

"Not surprised. There's a coffee house three blocks down—the Rude Awakening. I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

Marrow left, thinking maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Marrow found a table in the back at the Rude Awakening, and took off his coat and ascot. He wore a red shirt beneath the uniform; it was a little less obvious than the uniform tunic. There weren't many patrons as night fell, so it was much quieter and smelled better than the overcrowded police station. From his vantage point, Marrow could watch the front door.

Twelve minutes later, Rainee Cordovin walked through the door. Marrow felt a pang of disappoinment: she had changed into looser slacks rather than the tight jeans. A jacket was thrown over the blouse. For the first time, Marrow noticed that she didn't seem to carry a weapon. The jacket was open enough to see the shoulder holster that most police wore, even off-duty, but she didn't wear one. He had carried Fetch with him the whole time, in its carrying case; no one had given it a second look.

She waved and sat down across from him. "Whew! This is better, huh?"

"Much."

A waiter walked over to take their orders; Marrow indeed ordered another oolong tea, while Cordovin had coffee. When he had walked away, Cordovin took off her jacket and threw it onto the booth cushions. "I had to get out of those damn pants…felt like I was being suffocated."

"Why did you wear them?" Marrow asked.

"Undercover work. A wise man once said you can get further with a kind word and a gun, but I find that a kind word and really tight pants help too. After all, you noticed." She smiled at him.

Marrow chuckled. "Busted." There was no point in denying it.

"No worries; I'm not offended. However…" Cordovin looked Marrow in the eyes. "When I said let's get to know each other better, I meant professionally."

He put his hands up. "I know. And despite me noticing those jeans, that's my intention as well." And while you are pretty damn cute, Marrow added to himself, the last thing I need right now is a repeat of Megan. "I'm only down here for a week, after all." Inadvertently, he let a bit of relief into his words.

Her smile faded at that. "Don't like Mantle much, huh?" she said defensively.

"I grew up here. I fought like hell to get out. Atlas isn't perfect by a long damn shot, but it beats being down here."

"Even though you're a Faunus—" Now it was Cordovin who put her hands up. "No, sorry. None of my business. Let's not talk politics." She took a deep breath. "So…your dad was a cop, huh? Some of the older guys mentioned him when they heard you got assigned to me. He was a pretty good cop, I hear."

Marrow was glad to let that topic go. "Yeah. Got killed on duty about fifteen years ago. Mom moved to Menagerie as soon as I graduated from Atlas Academy."

Her eyebrows went up. "You graduated from Atlas? Okay, I promised not to talk politics, but they don't usually let Faunus in? And I did a little digging when I heard you were being assigned to the case—you're Ace Ops too?"

Marrow nodded. "Yep, I graduated from Atlas; no, they didn't used to let Faunus in, though that's changing; and yes, I'm Ace Ops."

Cordovin whistled lowly. "That's really something. I guess you'll do." Her smile was back, to show that she meant nothing by the offhand comment, but Marrow could tell that she was actually impressed. His tail began to thump the seat cushion, and he willed it to stop.

"So what about you?" Marrow asked. "I did a little digging too, and you're Caroline Cordovin's granddaughter?"

Cordovin shook her head. "Oh gods. You've met her?"

"Just once. At graduation."

"Let's just say that one reason I took this job in Mantle was to get away from her." The drinks arrived, and they sipped them. The oolong was excellent this time. Cordovin tucked her hair over her ears to keep it from falling into her coffee. "Back in the day, Grandmama was one hell of a field commander, but there's a reason why she was transferred to Argus. Ironwood is hoping she's going to get the hint and retire. She is a giant pain in the ass, and that's no military secret. No one likes her, and she knows it." She sighed. "She was actually okay when I was a kid, but when I got older, she was just the worst. Kept bugging me to go to Atlas Academy and join the military. After all, it's what my folks did. She pressured them so much that they resigned and moved to Vacuo. I went to Beacon."

"Okay, I have to ask because it's bugging me," Marrow admitted. "How old are you?"

"23. Oh yeah, I know." Cordovin laughed. "I look like a kid. Drives me crazy. You know how frustrating it is with two years on the force and you get carded at convenience stores? Still, it has its uses sometimes. What about you?"

That was a bit young for a detective, Marrow thought. "21. I graduated from Atlas last year."

"Two years out of Beacon for me. Guess I got lucky…one of the last graduating classes from there." Cordovin stirred her coffee.

Something finally clicked for Marrow. "Wait…you went to Beacon, and you're a cop? Why aren't you a Huntress?"

"Well, I could tell you that I wanted to serve the community, actually make a difference, and all that good stuff…but to be honest?" Cordovin shrugged. "Grimm scare the hell out of me. We lost a third of our graduating class before we even graduated. I…" Her face suddenly contorted with strong emotion, and she visibly fought back tears. "Okay, okay…enough of that shit. Let's just say that busting serial flashers and running in drug dealers is a lot safer than taking on Beowolves or Ursa. We run into some pretty nasty assholes in Vice, but they have to sleep sometime, and the worst those jerks can do is shoot at me—or use their Semblance, if they have one, and most don't. Grimm don't sleep, they never stop, and they eat people." Her hands were starting to shake. "Let's not talk about that, either." She put her hands beneath the table.

It surprised Marrow. His earlier battleaxe picture of Rainee Cordovin had been battered down by meeting her; now another mental picture of a Huntress who gave up the perks of being one for the dirty work of being a policewoman was dissolving as well. Marrow didn't particularly enjoy fighting Grimm, but other than something truly frightening—like a Goliath or a Geist—he'd gotten used to fighting the other kinds. Grimm were always to be respected, but if one kept their head and worked with their team, their biggest threat was simply grinding Huntsmen and Huntresses down by sheer numbers. He had been afraid his first few missions as a cadet, but that fear had become manageable, to the point that it became healthy wariness rather than sheer terror. He wondered what had happened to Cordovin.

He hadn't intended to press the issue—though he was curious what her Semblance was—but they were interrupted. Marrow noticed a short woman come in, dressed in a hoodie, her hands thrust into her pockets. She stopped for a moment, did a quick look-around, then walked directly for their table. She stopped behind Cordovin. "You know how much I hate cops?" the woman growled.

Marrow kept his left hand steady on the teacup, but his right slowly drifted towards Fetch. Cordovin stopped her stirring, and slowly turned around. "Oh, look," she said with heavy sarcasm. "Look what dragged in the cat."

"Fuck you," the woman snarled.

"You'll never go back to dogs." They stared at each other for a moment, while Marrow's fingers slowly undid the latches on the carrying case. Then smiles spread across the two women's faces, and the shorter one started laughing. "Buy me a coffee, police girl." Then she slid into the booth next to Marrow.

"Buy it yourself, Huntress bitch." Cordovin motioned towards her as the other woman slid back her hoodie and unzipped it down to her waist. "Marrow Amin, meet Tiffany Crimson—my classmate from Beacon. She likes to say she's my best friend, but that's only because I keep her out of jail."

"Ah, ignore her," Crimson snorted. "She's just jealous that I graduated top of my class while she just barely managed a C average." She turned and extended a slim hand to Marrow. He had noticed that Crimson was a Faunus the moment she took off the hoodie—reddish-yellow ears had popped out of her bright red hair, and now that they were closer, he saw the spots on her neck and forearms. He went to take her hand, but they stopped just short, as both Crimson and Marrow noticed something else: her eyes flicked down to his uniform pants, while he noticed the winged crest pinned to her shirt. Then their eyes met, and their smiles disappeared.

"Oh…right. Well, I screwed that up," Cordovin sighed. "I sort of forgot to tell you, Tif…Marrow's assigned to the Grunwald case with us, and he's sort of, um, Ace Ops." She covered her eyes. "And Marrow, I sort of forgot to tell you that Tiffany is part of the Happy Huntresses." She took a quick drink of coffee. "Um…that's on me."