Hello Hello! Welcome to my first fanfic.
I've discovered this little world of writing about.. a couple years ago.. at 2023 or so. I forgot.
Short of it is that I saw a fanfic link in a comment section on a Naruto episode on a site and I followed it all the way to this website, before my mind was BLOWN.
Yuh. And ever since then I've been reading the many works on this site which expanded my literacy and least of all imagination for "What-if" scenes I always wondered about in regards to the original works.
And I'll say that it's been a joy so far to have discovered a newfound hobby in reading and literary expression. I even discovered A03 and wow,I don't know about you but I certainly do notice a lot more of the steamy works are present on that site.
Anyways, I'll make this quick since I'm dragging on. Recently I had been getting rather invested into the RWBY franchise and after having been an avid enjoyer of readingfor a long time, I wanted to try my hand at writing for a change. I do have the free time as of now.
Since I'm a clear amateur, I'd kindly ask you to read and review and, if you have any fair criticism, feel free to share! Nothing quite like experience and a little failure to really improve something.
Without further ado, begin!
A ringtone blared out of an object in his back pocket, light vibrating digging into his side. Qrow Branwen took out his scroll and checked the caller ID. Ozpin, huh. And just as he was about to explore the variety of exotic alcohol in Mistral in his self-appointed duty to ensure Remnant's alcohol quality stays above a fine line. Whatever old Ozzy wants better be good, tapping the accept button and bringing it to his ear.
"Yo."
"Good day to you as well Qrow. Surely it wouldn't cost you so much as to exhale more than one syllable when greeting someone."
"Was about to sample some Mistrali alcohol and make sure the stuff's up to snuff."
"Is that your new self-appointed occupation? If the huntsman lifestyle is wearing down on you, I can put a good word in to set you up as a taste tester at a local brewery. Living out the rest of your days as you embrace your truest passions in alcohol induced bliss."
"Ha ha, real funny. Anyways, let's get down to business. What's this about?"
"I have new marching orders for you and the rest of us, and I thought it'd be a good chance for all of us to catch up on recent matters and discuss things moving forward."
The last time the inner circle had been called together for a serious meetup was months ago, when Amber had been hurt badly by Salem's lieutenants. Qrow hummed. "Sure. Where and when are we meeting?"
"I had recently been invited to spectate a regional tournament in Mistral a couple days from now, so it'll be here at the capital city's central sports arena, repurposed for the tournament. Once we're all there, Leo will prepare for us a private room where we can speak freely about things I'd rather not speak over the line on."
"Alright. See you there."
"See you as well, Qrow."
Ending the call and pocketing his scroll back, Qrow looked toward the bar he'd been about to enter. Making his way inside and to the bar, he sat and ordered some new import the bartender received. Perfect. As he waited for his drink, he thought about the up-and-coming little tournament meet up Ozpin announced.
He honestly never really cared about the tournament scene, sure, perhaps he had once, when he was young. Hyped up at the prospect of glory after beating down wave after wave of competition, rising to the top as the crowd chants his name like he's the center of the world. With years on his belt and a little cynicism, he can definitely say that it was all more so a show to cheer up the masses every now and then and to showcase the latest generation of huntsmen-to-be with theatrical displays and rigid, rule locked performances.
Although he'd normally never go to one, if it's on Ozpin's orders for a meetup like this, then he supposes that he'll take up his own word and check out what the new generation has in store.
Not gonna cost me anything to check out some fights, even if they're a tad boring and clean. After all, for the moment, I don't got anything better to do…
A slam on the counter in front of him brought Qrow out of his musings, looking up he saw the bartender present his drink with a smile. "Red Desert Martini sir, imported from a private winery in Vacuo and last I heard," He leaned down and held a hand to the side of his mouth. As if saying something confidential. "It aged over a couple decades rather well!"
…Actually, never mind.
- / - / -
"Miss Nikos! What do you think your prospects are for winning?"
"Miss Nikos! Do you intend to win four consecutive regional tournaments in a row?"
"Do you plan on expanding your career from the tournament scene, Miss Nikos?"
"Miss Nikos!"
"Miss Nikos!"
Plastering on the polite public smiled drilled into her by her agents, Pyrrha Nikos answered calmly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to put the tournament scene on hold, as I'm going to be focusing on my education as an aspiring huntress-in-training."
As per usual, the various journalists – or more often than not at events like these, sensationalists – began loudly clamoring for more details, talking over each other and drowning most noise out into a barely intelligible cacophony. Honestly the things they write up at the smallest things she says or does sometimes has her thinking that they must have a degree in extrapolating things out of nowhere. As more of them tried to push their way forward to ask more questions she can't bother answering, the security detail assigned to her started pushing them back. One of them turning to her to speak loudly over the noise.
"We'll handle things over here ma'am. The interview's basically done and the tournament is starting soon. You should make your way to the changing rooms and prepare."
Pyrrha nodded. "Thank you." Before making her way down the corridors.
As she was walking, she couldn't help but think back to her casual dismissal over reporters as annoyances intruding on her personal life every chance they'd get, and how things had come up to this point. It wasn't always like that, she thought. At the beginning, all that had been on her mind was the thrill of the fight. Ducking and weaving, slice, step back, parry, counter, rising to the top through skill and being the best fighter she could be. To protect what's precious to her and those that can't protect themselves from the harsh world of grimm. Idealistic as that may have seemed, Pyrrha genuinely liked the idea of helping others by being an inspiration. A strong figure to rally the community and fight back against those that seek it harm. Upon first tasting glory and fame at the tournament scene, from her early matches in showcase fights, up until her first regional debut, with the cheer and excitement she had brought about she really had thought that was a good way to achieving her goals.
And for a while, it did.
Time has a way of wearing out the novelty of things, however. Genuine interviews about her plans and what she'd intend to bring to the community turned into subtly intrusive word games where she'd have to walk on eggshells while answering questions about her past and personal interests, lest a journalist somewhere misconstrue what she said and blow things out of proportion. Community and charity events she'd volunteered to sponsor out of the goodwill of her heart turned more into chores she'd have to do if only to get the insistent business representative off her back. She used to have friends early on in her education at Sanctum, people she could goof around, joke, laugh, rant, and be a normal girl with. With rising fame however, her itinerary got fuller and she couldn't spend much time with her friends. Wake up, eat breakfast, train, attend interview, eat lunch, talk with managers about career plans, entertain sponsors, visit a children's hospital, eat dinner, and by the she's done for the day she's to exhausted to do anything more than sleep. And before she knew it, her friends moved on without her, and those who do want to acquaint themselves closer to her more often than not have veiled interest in career prospects than any real interest into getting to know her.
But what really grinds her gears most of all is the honest lack of control for what she wants with her life. The image fed to the public by local media outlets paint the picture of a kind, benevolent, altruistic symbol of the country, bringing glory and honor through her fights for the kingdom of Mistral. She grieves how effective it is that her business managers take this narrative and immediately start making plans to push her in that direction – heedless if she truly even wants it in the first place.
And that's not even taking into account of how her fanbase eats it up and whatever that results in. Although every now and then those results end up in articles of their own by the crazy end of the spectrum of her fans. Thinking about some of them, Pyrrha shudders.
Nope, not thinking about it.
Opening the door of the changing rooms and making her way inside, at the edges of her vision she can already make out tracking eyes and changing whispers as the topic of conversation shifts in her direction. Ignoring them all as she makes her way to her locker and starts checking on her gear.
"It's her!"
"It's the three-time regional champion..."
"Ah, well, there goes my chances of getting past the preliminary rounds."
"Should I even bother if I go up against her…?"
"Crazy strength. I swear they feed her with all sorts of boosters."
"Yeah, winning a tournament's one thing, another is a shocker, but at three times in a row you gotta start wondering what they're feeding her."
"Mhm. And now she's going for four times in a row…"
"Monster, I tell ya."
Tch, dismissing their defeat as a foregone conclusion from the get-go, simply because of her reputation. While she can acknowledge her own skill, she can't help but feel annoyed at spending so much time training, hyping herself for the thrill of a good fight, only for the other person to take one look at her and resign themselves to half-hearted attempts at batting her off to save energy because no matter what they do, she'd win.
And she's sick of it! All of it!
The shine of fame had long since worn off. Leaving behind an angry and exhausted girl behind the false smiles and polite words. Let somebody else have a go at it for a change. Let her have some peace and quiet for once!
But most importantly… let Pyrrha Nikos exist in the same world they do.
Finishing up on final touches, Pyrrha holsters Miló and Akuóu to her self and makes her way to the competitors waiting area.
No more, she tells herself. No more rabid fans. No more paparazzi hounding her every step for the latest scoop. No more days of masks, fake smiles, and overly polite words.
She strengthens her resolve for the choices she's made to escape from the fame. One last tournament, just one more and I can go to Beacon. A new start, a clean slate. An academy known for producing the best huntsmen according to historical numeracy. Where advanced students learn from the best huntsmen teachers in Vale, and would take one look at her and see that she's not so different from everybody else. Nothing as special or exceptional as others would doggedly claim.
And maybe, just maybe, Pyrrha wishes so very badly, she'd be able to make true friends who could see past her fame and see her for the regular girl she truly is.
Just one last tournament.
- / - / -
"You are dismissed."
Qrow nodded and twisted on his heel, filing out the private VIP room Leonardo secured and closing the door. Man, what a day, waking up at 8am with a killer hangover before rushing over to where Ozpin and the others had been in time for the meeting. Good thing he chose a bar close to the arena, or Glynda's little rant when he'd arrived would've been twice as long. He ran straight from the inn he'd bunked in to the arena, with only the smallest pause to grab some quick churros and a cup of water and as it is, he's feeling quite parched.
On his way to a nearby drinks stand – not alcohol, gasp! – Qrow ran over the meeting in his head. Wasn't as urgent as it could've been and had mostly been to discuss dealing with Salem, her lackeys, state of current assets, suspicious movement on the frontier, that new aura transfer machine James had been cooking up, among other things.
His new orders weren't even that different from what he'd been doing already. Ozpins occasional missions, monitor underground activity, take on the odd job on huntsmen bulletin boards, check up on Raven, pay his nieces the occasional visit, pretend to be a competent teacher at Signal, investigate known leads to any agents of Salem, the like. Just has he had been ever since the attack on Amber two months ago.
Amber, Qrow's mood sours. He had been at a border town at the time, probing out for anything of note going on while on his loosely protective duty on the fall maiden. Loosely because of Amber's general irritation at the constant reminder of her burden by his presence and everything it entails, so he put some safe distance between them, but never enough that he couldn't respond in a moment's notice if she gave him a call.
Just as he'd been leaving the town, he spotted suspiciously fast forming weather patterns a distance into the forest and assumed the worst, a fight involving the maiden powers. It was only his ability to turn into a bird that allowed him to cross the distance in time to fend of her attackers and rescue her. Cursing that he couldn't prevent them from reducing Amber to a comatose state and a partial transference of the maiden powers.
The maiden powers, the very weather at your fingertips. He groused, as he ordered for some juice and waited. The prospect of elemental control over the environment is enough to entice just about anybody at first. And he wouldn't blame them for thinking so. On one hand it's an incredible force multiplier that the kingdoms would kill for, a weapon that could wipe out battlefields with large scale attacks, slaughter grimm en masse, singlehandedly prolong the defense of a location tenfold, flight! And that's not even getting to the economical and industrial possibilities the power offers.
On the other hand, it paints a target on your back to be hunted down by an immortal grimm queen and her lackeys for the rest of your life. For the sake of their safety, their personal freedom of movement gets shackled, interactions with people have to be monitored for suspiciously probing questions, their paranoia needs to be rather well developed than average, and they must keep themselves in check in a fight or one wrong move could end up being heard by all the wrong kind of people. Metaphorical shackles that isolate the bearer of the power with the general populace. A reminder of the burden placed on their shoulders for the sake of Remnant.
No wonder Amber gets all stiffy when he's around.
With his drink in hand, Qrow finally makes his way to the stands and takes a sip. Leaning on the railing and peering at the fight below.
A redhead girl versus a boy, one with some mechashift rifle-javelin-sword hybrid and a shield, the latter with a halberd-rifle combination. Honestly, the kinds of weapons kids make these days has him thinking they're all inspired from sci-fi novels or 10-year-old's ideas of the coolest weapon on Remnant. But he supposes he can't judge too harshly, considering he uses a Greatsword-Sythe-Shotgun amalgamation and his niece uses a farming impediment with a sniper rifle in the mix.
The girl so far is holding the tempo for the fight, pushing the boy but also – sparingly – being pushed back. Quick hits, feints, versatile mechashift usage, being able to think on her feet and pick apart opportunities to take advantage of holes in her opponent's defense. There were some missed opportunities and movement wasted dancing around her opponent when she could've forced her opponent to trip, slide into his guard and end the fight. Again, the whole thing is a show for the masses anyway, but credit where credit's due, the girl is good for her age.
He notices the expression on her face as she breaks away from a counter attack to briefly circle her enemy in a momentary pause. Eyes zoomed on her opponent and a small smile on her face. Simple enjoyment of a fight and letting lose all over her enemy, the thrill of the moment as the adrenaline pushes her to give it her all and hold nothing back.
Amber had the same look, once. Qrow thought
Looks like she's going to end the fight on the next pass, he observes as she dashes toward her opponent around the edge of the arena. Nothing special but also nothing to scoff at either. Well, they are athlete's he supposes, so that makes them better than average. Doesn't change the fact that it's a sanitized fight with a sanitized end.
If only something interesting would happen
- / - / -
Her opponent's pretty good.
Actually pretty good!
It's not every day that Pyrrha gets pushed so hard in a fight. Less so for the ones that actually try fighting instead of resigning to the defense. Props to this guy for dragging a fight so long out of her that her aura is in the lower yellow. So far holding his own with good offense and better defense, considering she's the one with the shield and the most armor visible on the him are vambraces on his arms and knee-high reinforced boots.
A faint stinging in her foot from a previous attempt to kick his leg out can attest to that.
But unfortunately, all things, no matter how good, have to come at an end. Dashing in for the last pass, she parries his swing before locking his hilt with her and throwing it upwards. Ducking, she steps into his guard and scores a fine line into his aura, bringing it closer to the red. Stepping back from the counter, she observes a diagonal upward swing in the makings and makes to sidestep from its trajectory, before–her foot slipped.
…
What.
Mid-sidestep, her foot apparently slips on the rough dirt floor of the battlefield, just as she was about to end the fight after her opponent's counter. Somehow ignoring the principle of friction, her leading foot slips in a way that has her falling face-first into the weapons trajectory. Within the split second, it was all Pyrrha could do to hastily start moving her shield up, squint her eyes, and slam her aura to the fore – as unfocused and rushed as that would be – before her face was introduced to the business end of a halberd.
The world then went black.
- / - / -
Qrow couldn't quite keep his jaw off the floor as the redhead – Pyrrha, or so he read – slipped from a sidestep and furiously made out with her opponent's weapon for all of a second, before limply cartwheeling out of the arena. Dropping into the knock out zone with one last flip before stopping, resting her face on the floor, arms splayed forward and butt held high.
The cheering stops and a silence pervades the colosseum, as the fan-favorite, he assumes, gets knocked out of a winning fight in the most anticlimactic way possible.
Tripping on air.
Sure, she had aura, and for a split-second he saw the glow of it as she pushed a rushed amount to her face, and it would have protected her skull from being opened by absorbing the impact. That's the thing about aura; it protects the user by dampening the damage taken. Allowing huntsmen to shrug off gunfire and grimm attacks and come out with only wounds and bruises rather than death. But a blunt hit to the skull, with all the centripetal force packed in it from the other kid's wide swing, is gonna leave you with a mild concussion at best.
Looking back at the girl, he didn't know what he was expecting to be honest, other than her face on the floor and in a rather suggestive pose for all the world to see, cameras covering every angle so as to fill the wet dream of every hormonal teenage boy along with their pants. That's definitely not leaving the internet anytime soon. Nothing like a case of bad luck and an embarrassing position – while unconscious – to get your face plastered across the media for all the wrong reasons. Poor girl–wait.
Bad luck…
Quickly digging into his scroll from his pockets, Qrow checked his aura meter. Shit, 97%, just his luck. Of course, what are the chances that anyone would slip on dry, flat, hardened ground. Now he has to deal with the trickle of guilt worming its way into his conscience for indirectly sabotaging a tournament fight. He just knows Ozpin will be on his case when he finds out. Finishing his drink and chucking it into a trashcan, he glances once more to the knocked-out girl and sighs. Well, at least the consequences aren't anything worse than a few weeks of embarrassment. Better than critical injury or casualty on the field.
The audience broke out of its stupor, murmuring anxiously about their champion while the commentator shakily announces the winner and attempts to get the crowd in control. He even hears a few people off to the side throw accusations about foul play and cheating, about a dirty semblance used un-honorably at the last moment to sabotage the true winner.
Well, they're not wrong about that per se…
Figuring he better skeddadle before his semblance acts up again, he makes his way out the stands. Just as he's walking, he hears a faint sizzling noise to the right and glances over. A soda bottle. A soda bottle fizzling more than it should be from just being opened by a guy mid-conversation. Before he could get it under control, the built-up pressure explodes out and the bottle bursts up and away from the lousy sod's grip and into the arena.
With dawning horror, Qrow tracks its descent as it flies into the knockout zone and hits the girl's rear dead-on target, flipping her to her back while getting lodged firmly between her legs. Adding salt to the wound, the bottle continuous by enthusiastically wiggling and expelling all its sugary content on the girl's unconscious form.
At the back of his mind, he feels a miniscule drain as his aura is lower than before.
Qrow is speechless. Actually, absolutely rendered speechless. There's no way that bottle should've even been able to get passed the protective barrier around the arena that blocks stray shots and semblances from reaching the stands. Did they turn them off after she got knocked out?! The crowd recovered from the second shock and the murmurs got even worse, a loud clash between raging at the perceived mockery of their downed champion and blasts of laughter at the frank show this had all become.
Even the commentators were heard cackling like hyenas through the speakers.
Recovering from a mini-aneurysm, Qrow swore loudly. "FUCK!"
Damn semblance. Usually, the bad luck happens to him but today it seems to be getting a particular kick from ruining a random girl's life.
"What's up with that guy…?"
"I don't know, maybe he was leching on Pyrrha."
"Yuck. What a perv."
"Mommy, what's a perv?"
"A-Ah sweetie, those are terms you'll… uhm… It's not something for you to hear! Not from random passerby's and not from dirty old men."
Aaaand great, people nearby are assuming all kinds of things from his outburst. Brow twitching, he shoots them a glare that shuts them up. They all glance away nervously. Good, he doesn't need getting called things after all that's happened in the past few minutes, and the day isn't even over! Brisk walking out the arena and into Mistral proper, Qrow could only sigh.
For what feels like the millionth time, Qrow curses the day he unlocked his semblance.
- / - / -
"What a day."
Recovering in her home holding an icepack to her head, Pyrrha sighs as the cold ice seeps a paradoxically burning feeling into her skin. Adjusting herself into a comfier position on her couch, she looks at her scroll. On the screen is the most recently trending video on the tournament, and perhaps all of Mistral from the view count it's getting. It plays out with her footing somehow sliding out of place before getting knocked out, setting a record for the greatest number of unconscious flips, and landing into a mortifyingly suggestive pose, before some stray soda bottle somehow flies into the arena like a missile and strikes her exact location, gets lodged between her legs, and drizzles soda all over her limp form akin to a dog peeing at a bush.
"How embarrassing…" The redhead muttered to herself. Even recalling it has her cringing.
The fight was so good up until that point. The roar of the crowd heard as their champion is about to break history and win four consecutive tournaments in a row, only to end in an outcome straight out of a cartoon scene. The backlash the followed after was hard to put up with, people all over media throwing accusations of foul play, trickery, and honest to goodness rage as their champion had been sabotaged out of a victory rightfully earned. She rolled her eyes.
There were even boasts as people tried to defend her. Saying that she was merely holding back and that she could have ended it beforehand, or that she could've dodged that blow if not for sabotage. The truth is she could've avoided it altogether, and she would have if it were not for how she became used to fighting. The whole thing happened in a split second, and after being used to fighting with skill, technique, and her body, only sparsely using her semblance, it wasn't a big surprise that she opted to bring her shield up out of reflex rather than push back with Polarity.
Alas, the halberd was faster.
Didn't help that she fell into its path. Idly, she wonders about the new Mistral regional champion and how they're faring. Feeling a tad sad at what some comments had to say about him, not knowing how to deal with angry media and all that entails while she gets to sit plush and comfy in her home with dedicated media agents to handle the brunt of the outcry on her end.
The whole thing was anticlimactic. Her reputation not in tatters but more like the three-time Mistral Regional Champion-who-was-cheated-out-a-win-and-then-dunked-on. The popular media circulating with a large volume of content featuring her and more specifically how her soda covered form came to be. There are more videos focusing on the dog-show she became rather than the actual tournament! It's… it's…
…It's perfect!
Pyrrha can't help but cheer at the prospect that with this, people might finally be convinced that she's not invincible. That she's not untouchable. That even she could be defeated because you could never truly account for every single thing that goes on in an actual fight. Maybe with this, the fame and pedestal she'd been doing everything to escape from would finally crack and the legacy of the Invincible Girl would fade into the background.
Perhaps with this, Pyrrha Nikos would stop being seen as an ideal.
And then the next step, Beacon, here I come.
- / - / -
"-eager to unite with such a strong individual, such as yourself."
Oh dear, it's Weiss. Even coming to Beacon, she thought that realistically, with her reputation preceding her, there would inevitably be a few of the unpleasantness's of fame to follow no matter how she may wish otherwise. But that was fine, she could get over it. No plan survives contact after all. But of all things she expected, the lowest thing on her list would be the monotonous song and dance of being approached by someone of high standing before said person starts the mandatory embellishments and listing down the reasons why they would be great partners. Mentally sighing at the old routine without breaking face, Pyrrha responded.
"Hm, I'm not quite sure. I was planning on letting the chips fall where they may."
"Well, I was maybe thinking we could be on a team together."
"Well that sounds grand." the redhead said, to which the other girl curtly replied "Great!" That old song and dance analogy is really kicking in. If this were a suitor, the 'we could be on a team together' would be replaced by 'we could further acquaint ourselves for pleasurable prospects, or, a little more…?'.
Broken out of her musings by a blond boy approaching, Pyrrha stepped to the side and watched as he introduced himself as Jaune Arc and began flirting with the girl, all without batting an eye to her. Joyous day! That little action – or lack thereof – made her feel a tad better. If Weiss isn't going to begrudge him a second of the day, then she won't feel bad about trying to connect with him instead. Well, he pushes her aside at first and continuous attempting to talk to the brick wall that is Weiss Schnee to no avail, before beginning to offer teaming with Weiss the same way the heiress tried to team up with her.
She interjected about how the teams are comprised of four people and maybe implying that they could all be on the same team. He started on his attempts to recruit her as well before Weiss jumped in. "Jaune, is it? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"
At first, he doesn't, and she starts finding it funny as he continuous that streak no matter how many accolades Weiss mentions, all the while staring at her with failed attempts at recognition. What a pleasant surprise, she thinks. She's definitely making a friend out of Jaune today. As Weiss opens her mouth to presumably assert another of her achievements, Jaune gasps. Something like realization filtering into his eyes.
For a moment, Pyrrha fears that he might end up being another starry-eyed fan seeing her for her fame once more. Not one day of being at Beacon and the scant time she experienced being just another person was already being taken away! Before she can fall into more mental grieving, Jaune opens his mouth and points.
"You! You're from the funny clips video about that Mistral tournament a few months ago!"
Pyrrha and Weiss blink, before Jaune pulls out his scroll and quickly taps away, presumably finding the video in specific. Internally, Pyrrha sighs. Well, she got what she wanted, at least. He doesn't recognize her for her fame, but recognizes her for something that she'd honestly started preferring to forget about.
He finally opens the video, titled "The 4th Mistral Regional Womp" and plays the few seconds it took to go from a winning fight to the most humiliating moment of her life. Laughing at the end and putting his scroll back, Jaune comments. "Y'know, where I come from, we don't always get the most up to date new in the frontier towns. But despite that," He pauses to chuckle. "Practically everybody in Ansel has seen the video. One time when I was watching it again, I saw my sister watching the exact same video!"
Pyrrha cringes a bit. "That incident was about six months ago now… I can't believe it's still in circulation after all this time."
"Oh, it's like that sometimes, with popular videos that is. Sometimes they die down before resurging in replays and it repeats like that for a couple months. Your video though is one of the more popular ones. Like, popular among the popular, to be able to stay afloat this long."
"I can't begin to imagine what that implies."
"Hey, cheer up, it may have ended in a bit of a disaster, but at least it'll be the most remembered retirement tournament of all time!" Barking out another laugh and seeming to remember something, he continued. Not once noticing the cringe on her face evolving into a cringe monster. "And that's just the original video! I've seen edits where they sped up and repeat the part where you slam face-first into the ground, remtube poop edits, and edits where you flip out and away into who knows what. Like there was one edit where you flipped so fast you destroyed a building! Hehe." Describing each variation of the video with a huge grin on his face and barely restrained chuckles before ending with his hands on his knees and shaking his head.
Thankfully, Weiss seems to have perceived the continued evolution of the cringe beast on her face and stepped in before Jaune could continue. "And I think that if you have the time to be humiliating a poor soul by listing out every way she's been mocked, I think you have the time to be preparing for initiation. Jaune Arc."
Jaune looked positively chastised at that last part, and actually began to look guilty. "Oh, a-ah. S-So-" He paused "Sorry if I sounded rude or like I tried to make fun of you. It wasn't my intention."
At his genuine tone and pleading face, how could Pyrrha hold a grudge? "It's alright." She sighed. "I'm used to such things and I don't blame you for finding a funny video funny."
"Thanks, I-I'll go find my locker now." He said, before walking off and giving a small wave, one she earnestly returned.
Well, that was certainly… a refresher. Though she may not enjoy being the butt of the joke, the part about not blaming Jaune for finding it funny rang true. She's only seen the video a few times from tournament reviews and she'll admit that even she laughed a bit at her own expense.
Finally breaking the silence, Weiss began. "Well, I applaud you for handling that conversation elegantly. Don't fret, videos like that are the only ways the armchair critics can get their fill once they realize their criticisms aren't getting anywhere." She said with a sly smile and a glance to the side. Perhaps remembering such words in her own experience.
"Besides," she continued, "If that had not happened, you would've been crowned the four-time Mistral Regional champion! A first in the world! History really could've been made that day, and even though it couldn't, it doesn't detract from the great things you had already achieved beforehand."
"Thank you, Weiss. I appreciate it." Pyrrha can appreciate the attempt to get her mind of the video but it's too late. Playing that video on maximum volume was like setting a bomb inside the locker room. People whispering and pointing at her with wide eyes and building grins on their faces, finally recognizing her not as the Invincible Girl but as the "Womp" as most popular media so unhelpfully termed. There was even a blonde girl with a wild made that barked a particularly loud "Woah, it's her!" before turning to a shorter redhead, who was also sheepishly grinning.
Before anyone could get another word in, the PA system crackles and Ozpin announces the students to head to the cliffs, Pyrrha stays for a moment while Weiss excuses herself. Lamenting to herself about getting what she wanted, in the most humiliating way possible.
Go to Beacon, start anew, and make some friends who don't see you for your fame. Yeah right, they don't see me for my fame because they see me as the butt of a universal joke.
The three-time Mistral regional champion sighed and made her way to the cliffs.
- / - / -
"From this day forwards you will work together as Team JNPR."
Polite cheering and applause sounded from the crowd as the newly minted team JNPR gave their own cheers. Nora jumping towards Ren to give him an enthusiastic hug, him momentarily losing balance before righting himself. Jaune stood straight and proud despite the surprise of having been made leader, but seemingly accepted the role with the seriousness it deserves. Pyrrha smiled at the sight.
Team JNPR…
True, genuine, caring friends. For the first time in a long time, she can definitely say the smile on her face is real, from the bottom of her heart. She wishes she could immortalize this moment.
Before the universe had a sudden spike of brilliance and ruined the moment when a voice shouted from the crowd. "It's the womp!" and barked out a laugh.
It was like a domino effect, one chuckle turned to two, then three, until a majority of the students started giggling and laughing, pointing at her as if she made comedic history on Remnant.
Honestly, she can't even react with anything more than stone-faced stupor. Even her new teammates are chuckling a bit at her misfortune – wait, even the teachers are giggling a bit! Even Miss Goodwitch, the stern woman embodying discipline had a faint upturn to her lips – the headmaster as well?! Her brow twitched.
Again, Pyrrha sighed the sigh of barely concealed suffering. Walking off the stage with her team as the headmaster called for calm once more as the crowd recalled the most legendary moment of her career.
The 4th Mistral Regional Womp
For what feels like the millionth time, Pyrrha curses the day her fame got switched out with hilarity.
And scene end. Boo...
If you have any oneshot ideas, I'd like to hear about it because for now, my immediate goals are definitely to keep practicing on improving my writing style, storytelling, dialog making, outline and writing speed, etc. for oneshots and short stories (Like, a couple chapters) before I go on to try making a short novel length one, like 50k words at the very least.
Of course if I wrote a fic about your idea I'm gonna give credits. Obviously.
This lil ficlet was outlined and fleshed out within 5-6 days which I wouldn't say is too bad for the writing speed but the quality really depends on perception.
Yup, there goes me dipping my toes into the writing world. Is it good? Is it bad? Are there continuity errors? You tell me. Have a nice day.