She awoke to the sound of a woodpecker.

The first thing that caught her attention was the change of clothes laying on the kitchen table next to her. The second thing she noticed were how ridiculously oversized the clothes would be on her.

A red and black flannel shirt that would reach her shins, a pair of sweatpants that would barely grasp her slender hips: two things that, while oversized for her, looked a lot better when she considered that she had been wearing a stolen psychiatrist outfit for the past sixty hours.

She found it vaguely amusing that she had been conscious for around two of those sixty hours.

Just as she finished changing, she heard an obnoxious yawn sound off behind her, and glanced over her shoulder to see Roman Torchwick standing in the kitchen doorway, stretching his arms above his head.

"Morning, boss," he greeted in a voice awash in sarcasm. "Ah, you like the new duds? I know they're not exactly fit to please, but it's the only change in clothes I could find in this place."

The girl narrowed her eyes and looked Roman up and down, pointedly eyeing his white shirt and tan pants. He didn't have the courtesy to look sheepish.

"That is, the only change of clothes that I hadn't called dibs on," he clarified with a smile. "I don't do plaid, and sweatpants would just make me look unemployed."

He crossed his arms, leaned against the doorframe, and looked with mild interest out the broken window. An orange leaf floated down from the roof. A blue and white bird darted by the glass. From what he could see of the sky, the day was bright blue and unmarred by clouds. It was a good day for a walk, fortunately for him.

"But don't worry it too much," he continued, his attention drifting back to the tiny girl wearing clothes that were clearly meant for a husky woodsman. "If all goes well, you'll be in a new set of clothes in around…" He hesitated, running numbers in his head. "Let's say…two to three hours. Three and a half, at the absolute latest."

The girl raised an eyebrow above her chocolate brown eye. Roman shook his head and sagged his shoulders in a show of exaggerated exasperation.

"Listen, could you at least convey to me as to whether you're mute or not? At least then I would know if we're just wasting time on petty theatrics. Not that I don't enjoy petty theatrics…I just prefer my own over others…well? Can you or can you not speak?"

The girl smiled and shrugged. The young man rubbed at his temples with both hands.

"Theatrics it is." He sighed to himself. "Well, maybe we'll have some fun along the way…okay!" He suddenly clapped his hands together and grinned widely, confusing yet interesting the girl in his sudden change of emotion. "My dear employer, I have the distinct pleasure of informing you that I have a plan for getting to Vale."

Her only reply was a grumble from her stomach. Roman gestured to her torso with a single finger.

"I am slightly less pleased to inform you that breakfast is a non-option," he spoke it a somewhat disappointed tone; a tone which was soon replaced by one of excitement. "Not that we'd have time for it anyways." He rapped on the doorframe with his knuckles, and turned around, walking at a brisk pace towards the front door of the cabin. "Alright, let's get this show on the road! We've got an air transport to Vale with our name on it to catch!"

"…Well, technically it's Headmaster Arthur's air transport to Vale, but I don't think he'll mind if we hitch a ride. What do you think?"

Roman's whisper hummed in the girl's ears from their prone position in the school's courtyard. From what he had told her, the only landmark on the 'backwater' island of Patch was Signal Academy, one of the most prestigious primary institutions for Hunters in all of Remnant. Why they built it here and not the mainland, they had no idea. All they needed to know was that the school frequently sent air transports back and forth from Vale in order to resupply on essentials: food, ammunition, and metal tarnish, among other things. Roman had figured that these transports were garrisoned by security officers hired by the school, and, lo and behold, about a hundred feet from the thieves' position were two security guards flanking the large ship's primary entry point.

Roman looked off to the side, silently turning his head, to appreciate the architecture of Signal Academy. The building was a single, yet enormous, ivory tower that stretched hundreds of feet into the sky. At the zenith of the structure was an upside down dome constructed of immaculate glass that contained a gargantuan torch. The torch's mystical purple flame licked at the skies, accenting the sunset with its violet glow.

As for Roman's question, the girl didn't think much, except that she was dirty, hungry, and irritated with the day as a whole. Tromping through the wilderness while drowning in clothing was quite the ordeal; not an exhausting one, just an annoying one. Untangling the legs of one's sweatpants from an array of rugged underbrush begins to wear on a person after the third occurrence.

She could tell he wasn't waiting for an answer, and that most likely he was just taking the opportunity to remind her that she hadn't voiced her opinions with him at any point. Even though she wasn't going to answer, however, her body had other plans, as a rumble from her stomach lead Roman to raise a hand to his mouth, stifling laughter.

"Hey, the sooner we get on that ship, the sooner we can raid its pantry," Roman offered in a hushed voice. "And the soonest way to get on board is getting those two gentlemen out of the picture."

The girl nodded, grinned eagerly, and shifted herself as if to get up when Roman motioned for her to remain still. She raised an eyebrow at his request, but did as he instructed…for the time being.

"I'm sure you'd be up for some up-close action, but allow me to remind you that you…hired me." His voice was faux-silk, a mocking yet soothing tone with just a hint of reprimand. "Besides, you may find this entertaining. I certainly will."

Without any form of preamble, he began to rip up random sections of his clothing; a tear on his right sleeve, one down the neckline of his shirt, another on a leg of his pants. Whilst the girl looked at him in curious confusion, he scooped dirt from the ground they were laying on and spread it over his face and forearms. Finally, while remaining prone, he crawled backwards until he was in the forest that surrounded the courtyard.

While the girl had no idea what the man was doing, the last thing she expected from him was for him do something as blatantly stupid and risky as what he did next.

"Help!" Roman yelled, breaking from the tree line and running to the center of the courtyard. "Help, they're right behind me!" His face was the perfect image of panic, his eyes wide, and his movement erratic. The guards, predictably, raised their assault weapons and took aim at the raving redhead.

"Halt!" one of them yelled out, the top half of his face concealed with a glass visor attached to his security helmet. "State your business!"

Roman didn't respond to the guard. Instead, he continued to sprint up the courtyard until he was around twenty feet from the two guards, at which point he fell to the ground on his knees and pointed behind himself with a shaky finger.

"Beowolves!" he screamed, wild-eyed and delirious. "A whole pack of them! I barely got away, but they're coming! They're almost upon us! Please, help, help!"

The guards looked to each other uncertainly for around three seconds before making a decision. They both ran up to Roman until he was safely behind them, and pointed their guns into the underbrush, looking for Grimm that simply weren't coming.

In fact, they were so busy looking for Grimm that didn't exist, they didn't even hear Roman as he stood up, took a nonchalant step towards them, positioned his rigid palms over the exposed flesh of their necks, and sent them both into unconsciousness simultaneously.

The girl simply stared at Roman, who dusted his hands off on his pants before placing on his hips and looking appreciatively down at his victims, their bodies lying in the dirt at his feet. He took a long, drawn out sigh of relief; he had missed this feeling. Then he blinked, glanced about the courtyard to make sure no one was around, and looked to the girl expectantly.

"Well? Do I have to drag the bodies into the bushes myself? Or do you just want to be the one who snaps their necks?"

It's a bit insulting how security guards are often seen as the moral opposite to nameless mooks in that they're a dime a dozen, easily replaced, virtually useless in the face of a great threat, and, most importantly, identical. However, there are instances in which a security guards ambiguity in the mind their superiors can come in handy…but rarely for the security guard's themselves.

In short, they make for effective disguises.

…When the disguises are fit to size, anyways.

"Hold still…" He kept his voice down; he both doubted the supply closet door was soundproof and didn't want to take the chance of letting someone walking by hear what they were up to. With plenty of time before takeoff, he was crouched down in front of his savior, his hands busying themselves with tucking the legs of her pants inwards.

She didn't look comfortable. Whether it was from his close proximity, the restricted space of the closet that was causing said proximity, or some combination of the two, Roman didn't know, but a part of his mind desperately wanted to know. It was a cold and calculating part. The part that sought out weakness, the part that didn't take chances, the part that recognized the usefulness of knowing whether or not someone is claustrophobic.

The only sound in the closet was that of shallow breath and rusted scissors. Roman cut the overflowing fabric off of the legs of the girl's new black pants slowly and carefully, making sure to be as even as possible. He did the same for her sleeves, and instructed her to tuck her shirt in; it would save him some work. As she silently did as she was told, Roman brushed his fingers against top shelf of one of three supply lockers, then the middle shelf, then the bottom.

"C'mon, c'mon…" he breathed out, his eyes searching for the tool he needed for adding the final touch to the girl's disguise. It wasn't until the bottom shelf of the third supply locker that he found what he was looking for. He turned back to the girl, who was leaning against the wall, her face an enigma.

"The sleeve," he said concisely, holding out a hand. The girl looked up at him and frowned, causing him to roll his eyes and readdress her. "May I?" He wasn't put off that she wanted him to ask. He just found it a bit childish.

With a slight smile, the girl complied, placing her wrist in Roman's hand. The thread and needle did quick work. He folded the cut sleeve over on itself and sewed it down, creating an impromptu cuff. This, along with cutting her clothing to size, wasn't a perfect solution to the situation with her outfit, but it would do for the time being. He repeated the process with her other sleeve before crouching down and starting with pants legs, taking the opportunity to make some choice observations.

"I don't suppose you've ever been complimented for your lovely ankles?"

Roman and the girl knew that they would have to act the part of guards if they were to make it to Vale. They expected that they would be standing guard over precious cargo, or even be requested to stand by a member of Signal's faculty.

What they didn't expect was be chewed out nearly immediately after takeoff.

"Sir, we were instructed to man this transport-" Roman lied though his teeth into the gruff mug of his 'superior', a rather burly and scarred copper-skinned man who was, at the time, angrily informing two of his 'subordinates' that they had no business on this ship.

"If you were instructed by anyone other than myself, then you had no reason to abide by their command," the man who was presumably the captain of the guard reprimanded. He glared back and forth between the tiny girl and Roman. "Were they the two guards I had stationed to oversee takeoff?"

Both Roman and the girl nodded with calculated hesitation. The Captain closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the physical action would hold back the torrent of anger running through his veins.

"Sir..." Roman began carefully, "They informed…well….they told us that they had been reassigned, and that we needed to take their place 'guarding the transport'. Those were their exact words, sir. We took it to mean that we were to be stationed on board. We would have cleared it with you, sir, but there was a Grimm on board."

The Captain's attention snapped to Roman, his eyes widening in surprise.

"A Grimm on board?" He repeated disbelievingly.

"An Ursa in food storage, sir," Roman lied. "We dealt with it, but by the time Nancy and I got there," he gestured to the girl, "the Ursa had diminished nearly all of the supply of dried meats."

The girl smirked imperceptivity.

"We'll have to resupply upon landing…" The Captain mused under his breath before raising his voice. "You're telling me that there was a Grimm on board, and that you two were busy dealing with it during takeoff?" The guards nodded. The Captain sighed to himself in resignation. "…Well, we're on a tight schedule as it is, so I'm not about to turn the ship around just to get you two back to Signal…fine. You'll both receive punishment for your negligence once the trip is concluded and we return to Patch, but for now, I'm assigning you both to guard over the students."

Roman and the girl looked to each other, confused, before returning their attention to the Captain.

"Students, sir?" Roman asked, uncomprehending of what the Captain had said. "We were under the impression that this was a supply transport."

"Whatever 'impression' you've been under has been false." The Captain scowled. "Use your heads. Why would I be overseeing a supply transport?"

Roman opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing, dumbstruck. It wasn't an often occurrence, but at that very moment, he was at a loss for words.

"The students are in the mess hall, having dinner, "The Captain informed briskly. "You'll oversee them until 2100 hours, then escort them to their quarters. The mess hall is down the hall behind you on the first left, and their quarters are down the hall behind me on the second right. After they're all settled, you'll go straight to bed in the guest quarters – directly across the hall from the student's quarters – and report to me in the cockpit at 0600." He paused before leaning down condescendingly. "I assume you can both figure out where the cockpit is?"

Roman blinked, baffled, before saluting, his fellow 'guard' following suit. "We understand, sir."

"See that you do," the Captain grumbled before turning around and walking down the hall, back straight and shoulders back, leaving Roman and the girl to look to each other in thought at the unforeseen development in their escape. Roman waiting until the Captain was out of earshot before voicing his main concern.

"…Students?"