For Roman, the zip of the sliding door welcomed in insufferable music. Immediately following, the big man himself stepped into his chambers, flanked by two puppies ready to heed his every beck and call. Ah~ No matter how early or late, a visit from the master forever flushed an itch underneath his skin.
General James Ironwood never paid visits without wanting something from the host.
"Hello, Torchwick."
"Jimmy!" Playing the foolish little gremlin, Roman hopped from his bed - or what amounted to one - and prancing into something resembling a salute. "Swell for you to drop by. To what does this," dipping into an overly exaggerated bow, Roman rolled his tongue, "L-l-l-lucky servant owe to the pleasure of the eve?"
Oh, poor Jimmy; didn't he know that if you make a slimy face, it will get stuck that way? Considering this was the grand and celebrated head of the Atlesian Military, he must have. A champion bearing such a grandiose title could never be at fault. Too bad misfortune had swirled its ugly mug around to stare his merry men down, otherwise they just might find a way to combat whatever the heck Cinder had ready to bust all over their housewarming party.
"Hmm..." The good man's brow curled upwards, and his eyes merely lidded. "You seem to be in a good mood today."
"Thank you, thank you." Adjusting his coat, which had been emptied of all goods upon being taken into custody and washed every two days hence, Roman grinned, knowing this arrangement would merely last until Cinder chose to play her cards. "I barely try."
Humming, the General ordered his men to grab him, and soon enough they marched down the cramped overflooded corridors of the airship. With everyone stepping on each other's toes all the time, you'd assume they might eventually shill out a little cash for some more leg room.
"Seeing as you're in such a good mood, I'll let you decide on how we handle things going forward."
"Oh goodie," Roman leaned back in his new seat. The interrogation chamber outclassed his cell by miles, even though it was twenty percent smaller and Ironwood sat across the table. Smacking his still cuffed hands overtop the pearly surface, he grinned. "Go right ahead~ Lay down my cards. I'm feeling lucky~"
"Option A: you answer all of our questions, and we'll consider setting you free on the spot; if you agree to some stipulations first." That was... uncharacteristically lenient, all things considered.
"Ohh~" Roman clicked his tongue, twisting his head sideways into a deeper grin. "The taste of freedom is tempting, but I wouldn't have gotten this far in life if I only ever took the first deal."
"Very well. Option B: you refuse to tell us anything-" Ironwood unlatched the revolver on his waist "-and we put a stop to things right here."
"Oh you~" Roman shook his head, ready to call the bluff, until the barrel directed itself between his eyes.
Ironwood's grin stretched too wide; too animated; too childish.
"Today just isn't your lucky day." Shaking his head, the general rose from his seat. "But, I guess we can't always be high rollers, now can we?"
"You'd be surprised." His mask began to crack, doubling in effort as cold eyes burrowed into him. It reminded Roman of the way Cinder watched as the weak and feeble burned to ash, begging for their lives and for everything to end. "I have quite the lucky streak."
"Can't be too grand, seeing as you're here. Apparently, you haven't grasped the situation, so allow me to clarify. You harbor information I want, and I will do anything to take it from you."
"Ooh... Is that right?"
The next chamber of the six-shot clicked into place, and the hammer sat half cocked.
"You're much less important than you think. So what will it be: option A, or option B?"
Wait… was he serious? He couldn't do this: he was military - government regulated and all that jazz. There were rules he had to follow, so he couldn't just up and murder anyone he wanted. Roman knew better than most men how strict the law could be on officials, especially international visitors. To pull the trigger would mean-
"I'll give you until the count of thirty to make your choice."
What?!
"Now hold on there just a second." Roman's voice was immediately drowned out by the general's countdown.
"Twenty seven... Twenty six... Twenty five..."
"You can't just point a gun at someone and expect-"
"Twenty three... Twenty two..."
"Look." Roman lifted his clamped hands, shaking them and wearing a stiff scowl. "You don't even know what's going on. The White Fang just pay me-"
"Fifteen... Fourteen... Thirteen..."
"I'm only taking cash. They promised me-"
"Ten..."
"Compensation for-"
"Nine..."
"I'm only trying to-"
"Eight..."
"I'm telling you I-"
"Seven..."
"Are you even listening?!"
"Six..."
"I'm trying to explain-"
"Five..."
"They're done with mount-"
"Four..."
"They have a plan-"
"Three..."
"What do you want?!"
"Two..."
"I've made my choice if-"
"One-"
"OPTION A!" The countdown died, and Roman collapsed upon the table. Huffing and puffing - and woefully glad to be breathing - he peered up. "I pick*huff* I pick option A."
"Smart choice." The gun never lowered, and nor did the finger leave its place on the trigger. "Now tell me: who was in charge of setting up that little incident leading to the breach?"
"You're not listening for anyone in the Fang, are-?!" Hearing the scraping of metal against itself, and seeing the finger tighten again, had Roman blurt out, "Cinder Fall!" The trigger stopped, shrieking as it peeled back into its home. His heart finally slowing, Roman tried to match his breathing to its tempo. "She goes by Cinder Fall."
Ironwood smirked, sitting back down and holstering his revolver.
Trust stood at the apex of the underground; and he had just betrayed it in favor of living. Granted, it was a fair deal, but he'd just stepped in line to be shot by everyone else - as if Jimmy hadn't tried. Knowing he was probably screwed, Roman lifted his head to challenge the general's deal.
"You got what you wanted, so will we be discussing my early release now?" He slumped over. "Or will you just leave me to rot?"
"I'm a man of my word."
Yeah right. Roman watched as the general pulled from within the folds of his uniform jacket a small remote. Clicking the top button, a little beep resounded from Roman's cuffs, and they fell with a thump atop the table, soon clattering to the floor as Roman kicked from his chair backwards. While observing and fixing the sleeves of his coat, Ironwood drew his attention.
"Now, as for those stipulations..." Light flashed from within his eyes. "How would you like to take up some community service?"
.
.
"Um... Sir?"
"Yes, Specialist Schnee?" General Ironwood glanced at her briefly, never faltering in pace as they left behind the interrogation chamber, with Roman Torchwick being shipped off and prepared by a couple of soldiers for his new job. She hadn't questioned why he chose to deal with Torchwick there, but having watched the scene play out in full - having seen the bullet lodge itself in the one-way screen - it left Winter carrying unsteady eyes.
"Did you honestly mean what you said back there?" It wasn't her place to question him, but the way he so effortlessly prepared to murder the often-reported thief put a prudish taste in her mouth; metallic almost of the blood General Ironwood threatened to spill.
"Not quite." Winter released a breath she didn't know she was holding. Rolling his shoulders, his human hand twitched momentarily, before he briefly adjusted his opposing sleeve, which had become fairly bunched up from his outright sporadic motions during the previous encounter. "But Torchwick didn't know that, and I needed to instill the belief that he was nothing but a wasted cigar; one I was more than happy to stomp out.
"Of course." If there was one thing criminals faltered underneath, it was the threat of death. Fear directly controlled their lives, as without an apt sense of judgement and caution they would not survive the day to day. But the way General Ironwood's eyes glazed over... it beckoned similarly to his semblance.
If that was the case, then chances were he very well could have pulled the trigger. He was, after all, head of the Atlesian Military. Who would take the word of anyone else over his own in the face of a single criminal's disappearance? Even someone as prominent as Roman Torchwick carried few supporters who'd wish him justice for unfair murder. Even if someone did discover misconduct and conspiracy, would they really go so far as to do something about it? Especially for an infamous criminal they wished to see go under?
That wasn't even mentioning the breach forever staining Vale's central park.
Winter Schnee had grown up under the S.D.C; more specifically, under the rule of Jacques Schnee. That man was everything she hated in life: demanding, heartless, selfish, cowardly, and egotistical. He threw away servants about as fast as he threw away his wife's concerns, shirking responsibility onto everyone in arm's reach. Her father had one goal for her in life: inherit the S.D.C, and bury all competition six-feet under.
It was her understanding of him that drew her towards someone like General James Ironwood in the first place. Understanding, caring, selfless, brave, and viewing no one else below him by raising the hopeless up to his level. If Atlas had anyone to call its champion, it would be him.
The dark twang reverberating in her ears after that last encounter thus rendered her unsure of what to do.
"Specialist Schnee."
"Sir." And like that, all his valor bounced back.
"I have an assignment for you." She listened with keen ears, only to nearly trip. "I want you overseeing Torchwich as he plays his role as chaperone."
.
.
Flashing a bold grin as a few of the boys hollered her approach, Mint punched up two victory V's with both hands, earning a resounding - albeit small - applause.
From across the cafeteria, Weiss sank in her seat.
"I can't believe this is really happening," she droned, backed up by no one as all other onlookers carried their own opinions towards the fan-club Mint had cultivated in the wake of her stripping stunt.
"Bah!" Nora grinned wide, poking Weiss in the side, who ignored it for the most part save a dirty glare. "You're being over dramatic~ Look at her!" Nora waved both arms out as Mint gave a wink to a few boys she passed, who swooned, ogling her chest and lying in wait for their dreams to bounce out and flop around - miracles, unfortunately, rarely ever happened twice. "She's taking full advantage of her servants- I-I mean, fans~"
"You're not allowed to harbor your own cult," Ren forked a bit of salad into his mouth as Nora handed him a heart-broken look - puppy dog eyes on full display.
"But Renny..."
From here, Pyrrha stepped in and laid a hand on her more eccentric teammate's arm, pulling Nora back into her seat, at which point the girl crossed her arms and sniffled.
"We don't have enough space for them all in our room," said Pyrrha, gently rubbing the distraught woman's arm - Weiss was no longer the only one in a sour mood. "And besides: aren't Ren and Jaune good enough fans of you already?"
"But I want more..." Nora's cheeks puffed, and her eyes locked in a squint as she flicked them back to Mint. "How come she gets to have all the fun?"
"Because she slapped 'em with the girls." Yang, wearing a mischievous grin of her own, wrapped a pair of claws around her "girls" and proceeded to jiggle them under her top. Nora's expression lit the room, but before she could spring, Ren slapped a hand atop her head and pushed her back down.
"You're not allowed to exploit yourself either."
"But Renny!"
He then turned towards her, a stale look about him, but despite seeming no different than before, there was this mild seasoning on the tip of his tongue.
"Jaune and I cover a hundred followers each." That put a twinkle in her eyes, but he wasn't done there. Turning back, he casually shoved another chunk of salad into his mouth, before going on to say "any more and it won't be fair. The rules of competition state that opponents must be evenly matched."
"Uh... Pyrrha?" Jaune leaned over, shiftily eyeing both a calm Ren and his overly excited Nora who clung to him, just to make sure they weren't listening. "I don't think I reach the one-hundred guy level yet."
"You're right." Pyrrha smiled, breathing easy and tilting her head to the side. A sunny smile on her face to chase away the shadows over his. "You and Ren fall more into the two hundreds category."
With Jaune's head visibly spinning, this left only Ruby and Blake to carry on the equivalent of an average day's behavior. Granted, Blake was busy reading one of her novels and just ignoring the commotion all around them. But Ruby was doing okay... she thought; her head still spun when she pictured the incident. Nobody told her girls would flash their stuff at her.
For a moment she wondered if her own chest would have earned the same reaction Mint now faced, but immediately tossed those thoughts aside when they plopped a thick array of fire both across her face and a little below her waist. Exhibitionism was not something she wanted to indulge in - even if Mint made it seem so easy and kind of cool.
No! Bad Ruby! Those boys only want her boobs! Dad had warned her of boys like that: creepy weirdos whose only thoughts were on trying to watch her in the showers. Doing what Mint did would only have those perverts hiding in her locker, and Ruby really didn't want to open it up one day and find a creep waving her panties like a flag.
Actually, that made things worse. Did Mint need her help fighting those guys off?
What was she thinking? Of course not... but that wouldn't stop her from trying.
"Hi." Ruby tossed up a little wave, which froze when she noticed that, while Mint greeted her all the same, she did so while bringing along the whole studio audience. Noticing her discomfort just as fast, Mint reached up and made a pushing motion with her hand, actively telling the crowd to shoo.
Unbelievably, everyone obeyed, and the group was left to their own devices at the lunch table.
"Well," Yang cocked a brow, smirking as she leaned on her elbow - a tiny twitch in her grin catching Mint's eye. "Seems you've got a few fans."
Mint puffed her chest, crossing her legs under the table as she slipped on a grin that burned a little too bright. Hoisting both elbows down, she linked her fingers, resting her chin atop them while completing her cat's mouth. Behind her, an older student - and a woman as well - passed beside while sporting a t-shirt carrying a chalk-like sketch of the image shared and tagged in the newborn meme: Mint's mints. Lifting a hand while the standing woman withheld a squeal and placed a marker into it, Mint signed her signature on the presently squished show of fan art.
Yang was forced, unceremoniously and a little envious too, to watch as Mint soaked in the glory of superstardom - although she didn't envy that it was all because of breasts.
"That was incredibly extra." Blake never once looked over, but still somehow flinched as Mint sent an almost ravenous look her way. Mint, in her own opinion, was simply enjoying the highs that came with sudden popularity; the origins of which be damned, because you wouldn't get anywhere in life if you sat down in the shadows forever.
You had to fight for your chance, shamelessly stealing every opportunity with the monstrous hunger of lions.
Mint reached up, wrapping both hands behind her back. Oh yeah, this was life. While everyone else was stuck just trying to figure themselves out, Mint had finally settled into something distinctly her own. Heck, even with all the sure-to-follow love letters stained in questionable substances just waiting to stack up in her locker, nothing could really ruin this moment.
"Hello again, class~"
Except that: that was what she called a perfectly timed example of what the fuck?
Lunging back from their benches, Mint fought not to trip as everyone backed up suddenly and took on varying battle stances. Up ahead, Roman Torchwick gave a fake yawn, stretching before popping his brow-line.
"We've been through this song and dance before, so you might, just might, want to calm yourselves down before somebody gets hurt."
"Yeah." Yang cocked her gauntlets. "You!"
The blonde brawler charged, fist aimed for the face of the man who made no attempts to dodge. Neo almost bolted, but froze when the blade of a steel, double-edged curved sword parried the oncoming knuckles. Leaping back and nearly tripping, Yang looked ready to blurted something out before Weiss stepped in.
"Winter?!" So that was the name of the one defending Roman; unknowingly saving Mint's new skin as well.
"We'll be having none of that."
Roman peeked over Winter's shoulder and waved.
"Hi~"
"W-what's going on?" Poor Weiss sounded ready to crack. Was this one of the five stages of grief? Honestly, Mint couldn't tell.
"Well~" Roman stepped out around, one leg swinging to the side before falling flat against the other, with his hands clasped behind his back as he leaned up and tilted his head. Winter was not amused. "To put it simply," He then tossed up his hands. "Ta-da~ I'm your new chaperone~!"
Mint didn't know whether this meant she should go in for a hug and cry, or if she should join everyone else who stood pale across the floor.
Author's note
…
I felt like getting weird this time - it gets boring sometimes; sue me.
General Ironwood reminds us that, yes, he is dangerous - but is he psycho, like Roman seems to think? Who can say? Roman, on the other hand, get's to play with the main crew - as if the cast isn't bloated enough already. And last but not least: Neo's a superstar meme - we had to have something weird, because it's no fun otherwise.
Anyway, with everyone in place, we get to have a little fun indulging the future plot.
Until next time.