With a loud grunt, Philip shoved the last three crates onto the shelf. He rubbed his stubble and grinned. This might be the third time this week he had to be here. But at least he was finishing sooner. Supper was just around the corner.
"Loading crates for the docks, loading crates for father, and now loading crates for Mr. Lim." He chuckled and shook his head.
He stretched his stiff back and peeked outside the warehouse. No one was around. As silent as he could be, he creaked the door open and locked it behind him. His nose twitched from the sweet scent of his favourite flower shop at the end of the street. With the faint stars above him and the cool evening breeze caressing his face, he walked to the shop's back door. His fingers lingered on the cold doorknob. Images of people screaming at him flashed in his mind. He slowed his breathing. He was no longer in Mistral. Even if he was, there shouldn't be any customers at this hour.
He yanked the door open, and the familiar smells and scenery soothed him. He smiled at his neatly placed packages of Dust on the shelves. The many hours he'd spent putting different colour stickers on them. The lines of magazines that he'd placed at the far end of the shop. Refined Dusts were in tubes while pure Dust crystals were under display. Mr. Lim's ideas. As for the big boss himself, he was standing behind the counter with his back turned against him.
Philip crept towards him and stopped. There was actually a customer. A young girl, probably in her mid-teens, was reading a magazine behind the shelves. A bold title, "Weapons", was printed on the cover. She was wearing a black blouse with a matching short skirt. Her red hood hid the top half of her face. There was also a folded weapon behind her back. Though it could be anything for all he knew.
He glanced at her again, bobbing his head along the catchy pop music from her headphones. She was probably harmless. Philip lifted the counter door and patted the old shopkeeper's back. With much less force this time.
"Hey, Eyebrows. How's the shop looking?"
Mr. Lim flinched. His thick eyebrows knitted together, and a small smile appeared.
"Good. I've sold out the latest shipment."
"Nice! High five!" Philip raised his palm.
Mr. Lim gave him a flat look. More so than his usual grumpy face. Moments passed, and he swiped his palm against his.
Philip's grin widened. "See? That wasn't so hard. We'll get you young in no time."
"That'd be a sight... Listen, I was serious this morning. If Jeremy is giving you a hard time, you're welcome to stay on the second floor."
"Thanks. But my new place isn't so bad," Philip lied.
A smell of smoke. Maybe cigar?
The front doorbell rang, and entered the weirdest group of the day. At the front was a man dressed in a white suit and a bow hat. He smoked his cigar and swung his cane like some kind of bigshot gangster. Accompanying him were five people in black suits and red ties. Their black fedora and red sunglasses matched their style quite nicely. One of them started checking the crystals on the counter.
But regardless of how stylish they looked, there shouldn't be that many people at this hour. Panicking students finishing their last-minute assignments wasn't uncommon, sure. But they didn't look like students. They didn't look like Huntsmen either.
Philip stepped in front of Mr Lim. "Hey, guys. You here for Dust?"
The man flicked his cigar ash onto the floor. "Of course. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a Dust shop open this late?"
Another man pointed his gun at Philip. Philip stared down a gun barrel. His breath was trapped in his throat. He clenched his fists until he couldn't feel them anymore. The world spun around him like a neverending carousel, and his mind shattered like glass. He was sure. He was going to die.
Mr. Lim's voice came only as a blur. "P-Please. Just take my Lien and leave!"
"Shh, calm down. We're not here for your money." He looked at his subordinates. "Grab the Dust."
They opened the tubes from Philip's peripheral vision and poured Dust into their containers. One of them ordered Mr. Lim to take out the crystals. But they didn't matter. There was a gun, a gun in front of him.
Then, something zoomed past him. Another one, followed by the sound of a window breaking. He blinked. Those projectiles were the robbers and that little girl. She stood outside with her ridiculously massive scythe. She pointed it at them with her headphones now off. The others were focusing on her. Guns drawn and ready to fire. But more importantly, that included his gunman.
Philip swung his fist at one of them. With a solid "crack", he flew through the front door.
"GET DOWN!" He leapt over the counter with a kick towards the leader. But he missed.
"Kill them," the man ordered.
The other gunman raised his pistol at him. Philip dodged, seized and slammed it at his face. The gun was destroyed on impact.
Another one had a rifle. He aimed and pulled the trigger. Philip braced himself. Gunshots echoed through the shop. Bullets zoomed past him, tearing and ricocheting on everything. They were trimming his Aura. But there was nothing he could do.
"Hey, I'm right here!" she said.
A few yelps of pain later, and the firing stopped. The young girl stood at the centre of groaning bodies, facing their leader alone.
Philip cleared the dirt and debris on the curl-up man. "Mr. Lim, are you okay?!"
Mr. Lim nodded shakily. He opened his mouth. But an explosion ruptured the pavement, destroying the remaining windows. When the smoke settled, their leader was escaping to the rooftop.
The girl rushed back into the shop. "Is he okay?"
Philip glanced at her silver eyes. His heart sank from the state of the shop. The walls and shelves were filled with holes. The metallic smell blended with the Dust littered on the floor. This wasn't supposed to happen. The White Fang might not have done this. But he shouldn't see this again.
"Yeah." Philip slowly nodded. "But he's dead."
"H-Hey! Wait up!" She yelled after him.
He dashed out of the shop and jumped onto the ladder. The bars bent under his force. When he reached the rooftop, she was already beside him. The man was climbing into a flying Bullhead with a twisted smirk.
"End of the line." He tossed the Fire Crystal at their feet and fired his cane.
Philip braced himself again. But the explosion didn't touch them. A woman with a purple cape stood before them. The large purple protective circle in front of her gradually faded. She pushed her glasses up and unleashed streaks of purple light at the Bullhead, tossing it around like a chew toy.
"She's a Huntress," Philip muttered.
As the airship started losing control, another woman, dressed in a fiery red short dress, stepped into view. With fire covering her arms, she shot out bolts of fire. They would've hit him if not for the Huntress's interventions. She used everything, even the debris, to press on her attack.
The rooftop shook from the battle. He immediately dodged to the side. But that girl decided to join the fight. She switched her scythe into a sniper rifle, deafening him with her shots. Even so, their combined effort changed little. The Bullhead still flew away, leaving them on a silent, damaged rooftop.
"You're a Huntress!" The girl said with sparkling eyes. "Can I have your autograph?!"
Philip let out a shaky breath. Seeing the Huntress had given him an idea. Not a great one, of course. But a bad one was better than nothing. He just needed to find a way.
Philip slumped on the chair. That damn ticking clock was starting to piss him off. Two hours. Two hours too long in this tiny, dull room. He rocked his chair back and forth with his feet on the table. Both squeaked and threatened to collapse.
After separating from Ruby, the little girl with the massive scythe, the cops put him in this interrogation room. They took a statement from him, demanding to know why a Faunus was working so late at night. When they realised he was technically an employee, they questioned why anyone would hire a Faunus. Typical stuff, really.
Philip sighed. He would've left already if not for the knobheads stationed outside. Their disgusting smell of cologne was unmistakable. But two other scents became stronger. One was the flowery perfume of that Huntress. The other was...coffee.
The Huntress pushed the door open, followed by a man with short white hair. He sipped his mug and placed his expensive-looking cane at the side of the table. The overhead light reflected his small, round, oblique glasses.
He asked, "Philip…Viewforth, correct?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Viewforth."
"What? Ain't my fault my parents have weird names."
"Right." The man hesitated for a moment. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I'm Professor Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon Academy. You've met my associate, Professor Glynda Goodwitch."
Philip snapped his eyes at them. He removed his legs from the table and sat up straight.
"How the hell did they let you in?"
"I'm friends with the police. It's one of the few…perks of being the headmaster."
"That's fucking concerning."
"From a certain perceptive." Ozpin smiled. "I want to show you something."
He took out his tablet and played a video. It was shaky and had the quality of a brick. But it was footage of that robbery. The commenter mumbled something when one of the robbers flew through the front door, landing a few meters away. The other robber turned around and fired at Philip. The gunshots cracked the audio. But the bullets slowed to a halt before a faint red glow and fell lifelessly. Within seconds, Ruby stepped into the frame and knocked out the robbers. The video continued until an explosion broke the lens.
Philip looked at Ozpin flatly. "Yeah, I can use Aura. What about it?"
"What you did was an active Aura shield," Glynda said. "Even a fully-fledged Huntsman would struggle to control it. Where did you learn it?"
"You're joking. It ain't that hard. You just…push it?"
"...And where did you learn it?"
Philip shrugged. "Nowhere. Learnt it myself."
She exchanged looks with Ozpin. An intense gaze dawned on Philip. Without saying a word, Ozpin smiled again.
"I see." Ozpin stood up. "Well, that'll be all. Goodbye."
"Hey, hold on a sec!"
Ozpin glanced at the hand that was holding him. His expression remained amused. But his smile faded when he tugged his arm. Philip chuckled nervously and let him go.
"What's the hurry? We were having a nice chat!"
"We were?" Ozpin quipped and rubbed his wrist. "Do enlighten me, Mr...Viewforth. What more can we discuss?"
"Listen, I may not look or smell much. But I'm a pretty good fighter. Strong, too. I can be a great Hunstman."
Glynda said, "Being a Huntsman isn't just about being strong. It takes dedication and years of training to become one."
"Then train me! Beacon is an academy, anyway. Aren't you guys impressed by my Aura? Imagine what I can do in a few years."
"That I could," Ozpin chimed in. "But a Huntsman carries a heavy responsibility. They're Remnant's best defence against the Grimm. From where I stand, you've yet shown those qualities."
Philip groaned and ruffled his hair. He glared at Ozpin for a moment. Then, he dropped to the floor with his head pressing against the floor.
"Please! Just give me a chance. I've been hiding from the White Fang for weeks. They're gonna kill me if they find me. I just need a place to hide. I'll do anything!"
There was a suffocating silence. Then, someone sipped his coffee again.
"That's better."
Author's notes:
So it begins.
Hey, guys. A-bald here. Currently enjoying the beautiful sun in New Mexico. Welcome to GRPJ. I'm taking a stab at RWBY to pretend I'm a better writer (which I am, obviously).
Characters may not follow the canon plot. Some will live. Some will die. Some will live long enough so that they can die better.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy my fic. See you next week.