Chapter 13:

Fabrications

Bloodborne is property of Fromsoftware. RWBY is property of Rooster Teeth

"Talking"

"Mental Speech"

/+/+/+/+/

Gehrman easily dodged the swing of the axe sent his way, shooting his left arm forward and grabbing his prey by her neck. She gasped, eyes bulging out as she swung her axe with renewed fervor—alas, it bounced off his Aura-clad arm, after which he was able to wrench it from her grasp.

The woman—Jade Masters, an ex-Huntswoman that trained at Haven Academy—grit her teeth in response, closing her eyes as well. After which, Gehrman felt his hand heat up at an incredibly fast rate. He pulled the woman closer, startling her, and saw that her skin—although dusky—was remarkably red. And steaming in some places.

Gehrman grunted, "So, Aura can't block heat—could the same be said for the cold?" he mused. He returned his attention to Jade, noting that she'd given up using her Semblance in favor of feebly clawing at his arm. He applied a little extra pressure to her neck, bringing a permanent halt to that.

He dropped the corpse, snapping his fingers and summoning the Helpers. "You know the drill," he said, turning around to search the woman's camp. He paused, looking over his shoulder with a glare, "And remember to leave the eyes intact." The little golems groaned sibilantly, bowing their heads before beginning their task.

Facing forward once more, Gehrman surveyed the ruined campsite before him. Jade's camp was in remarkable disarray from their short 'fight'. He'd been unable to sneak up on her, as she was a Faunus (though her only animal attribute were webbed toes akin to a frog, according to her bounty). That seemed to be a regular occurrence when he Hunted Faunus; their senses were so sharp—perhaps even sharper than his own—that any attempt to catch them off guard usually ended in failure.

But perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Some Beasts had learned to roar at higher pitches—pitches that ordinary Yharnamites weren't nearly as affected by—so as to incapacitate Hunters. A similar strategy might come in handy the next time he faced a Faunus.

Ooohoohhooohoooo

Gehrman looked down at the noise, grunting when the Helpers deposited Jade's head at his feet. He filed his thoughts away for later—he had a bounty to collect.

/+/+/+/+/

Ozpin sighed deeply, leaning back against his chair and pinching his nose. "In hindsight," he grumbled to himself, glaring at the stacks of paper before him, "I should have abolished taxes during my tenure as King of Vale." He scoffed, "What am I saying? That'd just plunge the world into greater chaos…but I wouldn't have to deal with all this…" he trailed off with a chuckle, rolling his shoulders and getting back into the thick of it.

At least, that was the plan.

At that moment, Glynda burst into his office.

The Headmaster jerked back, brow furrowing at the distressed frown on his second-in-command's face. "Glynda," he asked, "what's the matter?"

"H-Headmaster," she stammered (which just compounded his alarm), "have you watched the news lately? Or read any…urgent articles?"

He hadn't—he normally didn't during tax season. Forcing his voice to remain even, he replied, "No. Why?"

Glynda just licked her lips, quickly striding forward and pulling out her Scroll. She tapped on it a few times, turning it towards him.

His heart skipped a beat at the title of the article Glynda pulled up, blood running cold as he read it:

'Terror Across Vale: A New Kind of Huntsman?

Perhaps you've heard the rumors circulating the continent of Sanus? Tales of bloody bodies being left outside the gates of isolated settlements. Some new, terrible Grimm that delights in tearing its victim's limb from limb. Well, like all rumors, there are nuggets of truth interwoven within the fantastical tales.

The truth is, yes, there is something tearing people apart and leaving grisly remains throughout Vale's wilderness. However, this is not the work of some monstrous new Grimm stalking the night. No, these macabre acts are being perpetrated by a Huntsman. A terrifying, butcher of one, but a Huntsman all the same. A Huntsman that doesn't hunt Grimm. No, he hunts people, Human and Faunus alike.

For the last month, settlements new and old across the northeastern portion of Sanus have lived in fear of being visited by this mad Huntsman. It's said that he comes in the dead of night, drenched in blood and carrying the head of his hapless victims in a bloody, pungent sack.

Now, some of you may be wondering why this man hasn't been arrested—or worse—by the authorities. In truth, it's because this man's barbarism exists in a very gray legal zone. See, all the people that he's killed are wanted criminals. The heads that he carries, we've been told, are used as identification for bounties. Is this level of violence simply one man's way of seeing justice met? Or a loophole a sick mind has found to fulfill twisted fantasies? Only the man himself could say, and he's, surprisingly, been very hard to find.

We know from interviewing the citizens of Slumber, the first town where he 'debuted', as it were, that he's a tall human whose name is Gehrman—no surname. Unfortunately, no one's been able to recall his exact features, as the last anyone saw of him, he was covered head-to-toe in the blood of the bandits Cameron Heron and Umbra Dustin, thus obscuring him. He did perform a standard Grimm extermination job with three other Huntsmen, but they've declined interviews.

All that we do know of Gehrman is that he is, in fact, an official sanctioned Huntsman—and we only know that because his records are sealed in accordance to the Calavera Accords (which, for the uninformed, state that a Huntsman's personal records cannot be accessed by anyone not a member of a Kingdom's government, below a grade silver Huntsman, or for publishing in the media without the Huntsman in question's permission).'

Ozpin stopped reading at that point, dropping his head in his hands. Without looking up, he asked Glynda, "Have the other Headmasters heard of this?" She made to reply, only for his Scroll to start ringing—a quick look revealed that the caller was Leonardo. Then, his computer lit up, revealing that Celia wanted to host a video conference. His Scroll's ringing grew louder, Theodore's name appearing on the screen.

"…Never mind."

/+/+/+/+/

Gehrman found himself grateful that he'd already developed such a fearsome reputation. Made bartering so much easier.

"T-That'll be four-h-hundred and s-sixty Lien," the shopkeeper stuttered from behind her counter.

The First Hunter cocked a brow, "I was under the impression that your chain was offering a ten percent discount on bulk shotgun shell purchases."

"O-Oh! Well, you see, that deal actually ended a few days…" she trailed off, sweat pouring down her face, "…You know what, my mistake," she squeaked. Gehrman nodded, paying the reduced price.

He exited the store, turning away from the setting sun anpulling out his Scroll, accessing the current bounties put in place by the Sanus bureaucracy. There were some reports of banditry between the town he currently resided—Burrowton—and the city of Vale. However, none of the identified men and women were ex-Huntsmen.

He scrolled past the reports with a soft hum, casting his net wider. Perhaps he should travel to the western end of the continent—Vacuo, it was called? Or visit one of the surrounding islands? Piracy had largely been curbed since the Great War near a century prior, but it was still a problem, from what he could tell. The First Hunter chuckled; he'd never killed a pirate before. Might be fun.

Suddenly, that dull, coppery scent wafted into his nostrils. Blood. And it was getting closer. He looked over his shoulder, just in time to see a small shape dart behind a building. Sighing, he put away his Scroll and made his way to the main gate. This had happened a few times, children wanting to gawk at the man their parents whispered about. The Butcher of Vale. the media had taken to calling him. What a ridiculous moniker; as if he was some inelegant slob. The meagre evening crowds parted before him quickly, but still his stalker persisted, getting closer. If they kept it up, they may do something really stupid, like follow him out of town.

Gehrman spun on his heel, quickly spying his lurker dart around a corner. With a huff, he walked towards them. As he neared the mystery person, he was able to determine that that blood he smelt was a little old. Dried, whatever wound—wounds, he further determined—it oozed out of starting to scab over.

He rounded the corner, coming face-to-face with a red-haired adolescent boy, his blue eyes wide with alarm. He gulped, "Y-You're really him. T-The Butcher."

Gehrman scowled lightly. Pushing down his ire, he said, "Stop following me."

The boy gulped, straightening his spine in an effort to appear larger. "Y-You kill people, right?"

Gehrman rolled his eyes, "Goodbye."

"W-Wait!" the boy shouted, only to flinch, fearfully looking around. The lack of people around them must've emboldened him, because he whispered, "C-Can we talk?"

"If you have something to say to me, say it," Gehrman intoned.

The boy flinched once more, eyes darting around nervously. He licked his lips, "I…I need you to kill someone."

"Goodbye," Gehrman repeated, turning around and heading for the village's main gate.

"Please!" the boy pleaded.

"Seek out the local authorities for a solution your issue," Gehrman replied.

"I can't," the boy pleaded.

The First Hunter smirked grimly, "Then solve it yourself."

"I can't!" the boy cried, reaching out and grabbing Gehrman's sleeve. He realized his error soon enough, hastily releasing the clothing. "I mean…my dad is the local authorities."

Gehrman's shoulders slumped. "Boy," he said sternly, "forgive me, for I appear to have mislead you. I don't care about—"

"He beats us," the boy blurted out. "Has for a while, and no one'll do anything about it cause he's the mayor. And there's a reelection coming up and he's not doing so well, and he's been drinking more and…" the boy continued laying out his father's sins.

The First Hunter suppressed a sigh; this was not how he envisioned this conversation going. Time to put a stop to it. "Boy," he said, causing the youth in question to flinch, staring up at him with hopeful eyes. "I am not killing your father."

At once, the boy's foolish hopes died, face falling into a frown, "W-Why not? You're the Butcher."

Ignoring the stupid sobriquet, Gehrman considered the question, deciding to answer honestly. "I've yet to hear a reason why I should."

The boy jerked back, stunned, "B-But I just told you—"

"You've certainly given me a list of reasons why you want him dead." To be fair, child abuse was a sickening crime. However, Gehrman was most certainly not qualified to mete out that particular brand of justice. Interfering with domestic affairs had never been in the job description.

The boy grit his teeth, "Why should that matter? You're a killer! A psycho! I'm giving you a free-pass to be crazy and you—ack!" the boy gagged as Gehrman grabbed him by his throat, shoving him against a wall.

With a deep, suffering sigh, the First Hunter leaned forward, whispering into the boy's ear. "First of all," he said above the pathetic whimpers, "if you wish to negotiate anything, don't insult the other party. Second," he pulled back, glaring into the child's watery eyes, "I only kill those whose existence personally aggravates me. Your father, for all his impressive faults, has not done so. You, on the other hand…" he trailed off, the boy paling rapidly.

Gehrman released him with a dismissive grunt, "Leave." The boy shot off like a bullet, not looking back. Clicking his tongue, the First Hunter turned on his heel, leaving Burrowton behind.

/+/+/+/+/

"He needs to be brought to justice!"

"Has he actually done anything illegal?"

"You approve?"

"All I'm saying is there's a difference between what is illegal and wrong."

"At the very least, we need to collect him."

"Ha, sure you don't want to rethink that sentence?"

"ENOUGH!" Ozpin roared above the din of his colleagues. They reeled back in their screens, eyes widening. He lightly glared at each of them in turn, huffing through his nose. "You've been yelling over each other for the past two nights, and, surprise, surprise, we haven't gotten anywhere."

"Oh? Does the mighty Ozpin see a solution we're missing?" Celia sneered.

The immortal man smirked, lifting his Scroll into view, "I have his number."

Theodore blinked, "You…have his number."

"Yes." Ozpin removed his glasses, cleaning them, "And so do all of you, if you'd remembered that you could use your inherent connections as Headmasters to access his file and look it up yourselves." His three peers all looked away, blushes on their chastened faces. "However, given that I'm the only one that's established a rapport with him, I believe it would be best if I'm the one that contacts him, no?"

Leonardo frowned, "And why haven't you brought this up before?"

Ozpin shrugged, "I wanted to see if any of you would have remembered that little fact." He grinned, "Sorry to say you all failed."

"We're Headmasters, not students," Theodore griped.

"Never too young to learn, my friend," Ozpin countered with a cheeky grin. Theodore grumbled some more and exited the conference. Leonardo bid a quick farewell, and he too left. Leaving only Celia, a contemplative look on her face. Ozpin grunted, "What is it?"

The Headmistress of Atlas Academy pursed her lips, "…I feel that I must offer you a warning." Ozpin straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes. "It's James."

Ozpins's heart clenched in his chest; had they been wrong? Swallowing his initial panic, he asked, "What about your young successor?"

"After informing him of the 'special' aspects of our job," she said, "James has been…eager to please." She clicked her tongue, "He's still smarting over the fact that Gehrman was never officially interrogated, and this latest…development has him chomping at the bit."

"Do you think he'll go above and beyond his duties?" Ozpin asked.

"If we don't get this mess sorted out, he might have to be ordered to."

Ozpin grunted, "Don't worry, I'll get to the bottom of this." Celia nodded, and Ozpin ended the conferance. As the computer screen died, Ozpin allowed himself a short scoff. 'Get to the bottom of this'. As if it were so simple.

He glanced at the clock. Three-thirty in the afternoon. Gehrman should be up and about. And Glynda wouldn't bother him for anything for another couple hours, at least. Nodding, he dialed the number, starting a video call.

It rang three times before Gehrman picked up. Ozpin tried not to grimace as the man's bloody face came into view. "What is it?" he asked gruffly.

"Do you have any idea why I've called you?"

"I presume it has something to do with the reputation I've gathered."

Ozpin nodded, "Good, we can cut to the chase." He leaned closer to the screen, brow furrowing, "What the hell are you doing?"

The man huffed, "Is it not obvious?"

"Don't play coy with me," Beacon's Headmaster coldly replied. "Gods' sakes, you're going around killing people."

A scoff, "It's not as though I'm breaking into people's homes and smothering babes in their cribs."

"Yes," Ozpin drawled, "you're only saving grace." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Did you offer any of them the chance to turn themselves in?" Gehrman's flat stare spoke wonders. "Why?"

The man scowled, "You believe that those who would betray their fellow men deserve a chance at redemption?"

"Yes," he responded without hesitation.

"Then you are a fool," Gehrman sneered.

Ozpin twitched, many a similar conversation over his long-life bubbling to the surface of his mind. And, as all those times before, he countered, "If we so firmly deny one the ability to grow better than they are, how can we call ourselves human?"

His ally snorted, "Do you and I even qualify as such anymore?"

Well…that's certainly a response he hadn't heard before. Pushing away the dark and terrifying thought, he said, "It's not about you and me, per say, but the world at large. You are a Huntsman, a beacon for all to look towards."

"And what of those I've killed? Were they not once 'beacons' themselves?"

At that, Ozpin allowed himself a small sigh. "It is a conundrum—one that prisons are…adequate at solving."

The Huntsman scoffed, "You think placing handfuls of like-minded traitors in one confined space is a good idea?"

"It is when that confined space is a penal colony."

Gehrman arched a brow, "Penal colonies? Shunting them out of the public's eye is the better option?" Before Ozpin could reply, Gehrman gasped, smirking maliciously, "Ah…but it diverts the Grimm's attention from the main populace, doesn't it? All that concentrated negativity?" He chuckled, "That's actually quite ingenious." Ozpin nodded lightly, adjusting his collar. A barbaric practice, but an effective one. "Still," Gehrman continued, the grim mirth fading from his eyes, "these people need to be hunted in the first place—regardless of whether that Hunt ends in their death. And I've yet to come across another that thinks as I."

Ozpin chuckled, "To be fair, yours is a very…unique view," Gehrman's lips twitched upward. "But," Ozpin sighed sadly, "you're correct in that it's not a task people readily jump to accomplish." From the beginning, there'd always been the question as to how people were supposed to deal with errant Huntsmen. At first, they were simply executed—a solution he didn't wholly approve of, but he had too many other things on his plate at the time to devote all his attention to finding a solution. Soon after (a few years after the King of Vale 'died'), those left in charge lamented the permanent loss of 'talent', so other methods were sought out. Methods that seemed to change per kingdom, per decade.

"It is a demoralizing prospect," Gehrman commiserated.

Ozpin cocked a brow, "You're speaking from experience?"

A nod. "…I was not a fool. As more and more Hunters were trained, the odds of one deciding to turn against the people we swore to defend—for one reason or another—rose higher and higher. When such a thing occurred, I would eliminate the offending party."

Ozpin blinked; that would certainly explain a lot. "And what did people think about that fact that their leader would kill their comrades—traitors they may have been?"

"Take a guess," Gehrman scoffed. His eyes then widened, lips curling into a smirk, "But…a solution did present itself. A solution that may also work here." Ozpin, suitably intrigued, gestured for him to continue. "It was, oh…" the man's face fell into a sneer for a second, "a few years after we made contact with It." Gehrman coughed, schooling his features, "a Hunter had turned, but proved slippery. Managed to escape to the outskirts of Yharnam. As I was chasing them, I came across blood—a lot of it." Ozpin grimaced, "But before I could worry about that, I came across a curious sight. A foreigner, dressed liked a crow, drenched in blood burning my quarry on a pyre."

"A crow?" Ozpin asked, mind flashing to his own crow.

"He—Tobi was his name—wore a cloak that had black feathers sewn all along it, and a large bird mask over his face. He said the feathers upon his garb were meant to ease one's foes way to the afterlife." A chuckle, "The mask was both a means to hold incense to block undesirable scents and, in his words, 'look scary'. Affable fool," Gehrman fondly muttered. The man sobered, "Tobi informed that he meant to travel to Yharnam to learn how to hunt Beasts, and I allowed him. However, he proved much more adept at fighting his fellow men than Beasts. And, as a foreigner who so visibly clung to his homeland, he was treated with no small amount of scorn."

Ozpin hummed in understanding, "He became your scapegoat."

"Of a sort," Gehrman nodded. "He became the Hunter of Hunters, taking on the worst of my duties with a disturbing amount of grace. And when he grew old and tired, he passed on his position to another foreign hunter, who passed on the position when her time came, and on and on until…" Gehrman trailed off, eventually shrugging, "The last I heard a woman named Eileen had taken up the mantle."

"And now," Ozpin said slowly, "you want to perform a similar…practice."

"Ozpin," Gehrman narrowed his eyes, "I've killed twelve traitors in the span of a month, all over Vale. You cannot tell me it's not a problem."

"Perhaps not legally. Morally—" Ozpin trailed off, ruminating on the issue. On the one hand, it's murder, plain and simple. On the other…There's a steady curtain of terror falling over Vale's settlements, that cannot be denied. However, those settlements no longer had to worry about trained Huntsmen raiding them for supplies. Just the standard, easily beaten dregs that made up bandits. Although, that raised another question.

"Tell me," he said, "how come the majority—all but two, I believe—of those you've killed are ex-Huntsmen? Yes, you've readily proclaimed your disgust for traitors, but there are more types criminals out there."

"Well," Gehrman shrugged, "there's really no reason more than that. Certainly, banditry is a deplorable pastime, but ordinary bandits never once swore to devote their time slaying Beasts so that others might rest easy in the night. Besides," Gehrman looked down, lips dipping into a contemplative frown, "imposing limits on oneself is the truest difference between Man and Beast."

Ozpin considered the statement. "So long as those are hard limits," he concluded.

"Indeed."

"And what of the Grimm? Do you mean to ignore them in favor of this vendetta?"

Gehrman scoffed, "The Grimm are a non-issue. Those I've managed to come across during my travels were easily dispatched. And there are more than enough skilled Huntsman going around protecting vulnerable settlements from them." He sniffed, "Better I put my talents towards a different field."

Ozpin grunted, "Talents indeed." He leaned back against his seat, steepling his fingers. "…Gonna have to update your psychological profile."

"Hm?" Gehrman cocked a brow.

Clicking his tongue, Ozpin said, "People, generally, don't start killing people out of nowhere. There's a course of events that leads to this sort of thing."

"Oh?" Gehrman smirked, "Does this mean you approve?"

"Hardly," Ozpin smirked back, "but I'd be a fool to refuse your services—macabre and bloody they may be. And with the reputation you've gathered, the more we give, the less claims people will make up. In fact," he frowned thoughtfully, "play our cards right, and you might garner a bit of sympathy."

"Because that's obviously our greatest concern," Gehrman said with a roll of his eyes. He then asked, "If I'm to have a history of mental issues, how come I was allowed to become a Huntsman in the first place?"

"Skill," Ozpin quickly replied. "That, unfortunately, tends to take precedence over anything else. Although," he drummed his fingers against his leg, "it's not as though you would have displayed such murderous desires in your youth…there'd be a trigger of some sort, linked to events in your past, that made you snap."

"Abuse of authority," Gehrman supplied. "I grew up in Vale's ghetto's, right?" he said with a smirk. "Such places are often rife with corruption."

"Unfortunately," Ozpin agreed. "No doubt you were witness to many such unreported events."

"Terrible shame, how such things can mold young, impressionable minds."

"Oh," Ozpin sighed, "save it for someone who cares." Gehrman chuckled, nodding lightly. "For that matter," he continued, "there are a handful of unsolved bandit killings—people coming across corpses in the road and such. We could attribute those to you."

Gehrman grunted, "So long as those bandits were once Huntsmen—to firmly establish a pattern."

"Right. Also," Ozpin hummed, "I can assume that you plan on travelling to the other kingdoms?"

"Pickings are getting a little slim in Vale, I must say," Gehrman replied with a grin.

Ozpin huffed, "All I ask is that you avoid Anima."

"Why?" Gehrman asked with a furrowed brow.

"Because crossing paths with Raven Branwen will end in disaster," he thought gravely. Aloud, he said, "Anima…is home to a number of bandit tribes."

The bloodied man tilted his head. "Bandit…tribes?" he incredulously parroted.

"Ridiculous, I know," Ozpin sighed. "I was there when the whole thing started. Before industrialization, Anima culture was heavily nomadic. Afterwards, there was a great deal of friction between those that wanted to—"

"Spare me the details," Gehrman cut him off.

Ozpin grunted. "…Bottom line, it's an integral part of the kingdom's culture. The tribes spend more time attacking each other than committing actual robbery, however. They're more a nuisance than anything else, these days."

"So long as none of their rank include ex-Huntsman, I have no quarrel with them," Gehrman solemnly stated.

"Quite," Ozpin smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He glanced at the clock. Four-fifteen. Nodding, he said, "Well, you've left me with a fair amount of work, again."

"My sincerest apologies," Gehrman said, bowing his head.

"Before we say goodbye, however," Ozpin frowned deeply, "I must ask that you offer your targets the chance to peacefully surrender." Gehrman scowled, but Ozpin held firm. "'Imposing limits on oneself is the truest difference between Man and Beast'," Ozpin smirked as his friend's scowl deepened. "That's what you said, isn't it?"

The man scoffed but said, "Very well."

Ozpin hummed, "Take care, Gehrman."

"Likewise," Gehrman replied, ending the call.

Ozpin leaned back; overall, he could count that exchange as a win. Although…it never hurt to make sure.

Taking another quick look at the clock—noting that t wasn't yet Happy Hour—he dialed Qrow's number. It rang five times before the man answered.

"Yellloooooo?" the man drawled, "Qro' shpeakin'."

Ozpin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "It's not even five o'clock."

"It is in Coquina!"

"Coquina shares a time-zone with Vale."

"…Your point?"

Ignoring the response, Ozpin stated, "I have a new assignment for you."

Qrow grunted, clearing his throat, voice lowering to a whisper, "I thought I was—"

"You can return to that after this."

Qrow grunted, "Alright, what is it?"

/+/+/+/+/

"Ow!" Summer shouted, bringing her left ankle up and rubbing it vigorously. "Who put that coffee table there?" she cringed, sucking in an anticipatory breath.

"Mommy," Ruby looked up from her coloring book, smiling sweetly, "don't you remember?"

Yang, who was cleaning the dishes with Tai, chimed in, "You did!"

"Yesterday," Tai added teasingly.

"Oh, stuff it!" Summer shot back, fighting the urge to smile.

The front door slammed open. "Guess whoooo?" a raspy voice crowed.

Ruby and Yang brightened considerably—which, was saying something, in the former's case—both joyously shouting "Uncle Qrow!" The red-eyed man entered the room, paper shopping bags in his arms, just in time for the girls to wrap him in tight hugs.

"Woah!" the man cried, teetering in place. Summer yelped, rushing forward to catch him, only to, once again, forget the placement of the coffee table. Her left foot caught a table leg, and she fell over with a short, indignant shout. She would have fallen on her face (for the second time that week) had she not used her Semblance, shooting out a rope from her right hand and latching onto the coatrack across the room.

Taking a moment to steady her breath, Summer raised her free hand, "Little help?"

"I got ya," Tai sounded from her left, grabbing onto her shoulders. Releasing her rope with a sigh, Tai lifted her up, after which she 'stumbled' into his arms.

"My Hero," she swooned, fluttering her lone eyelid.

Tai grinned suavely, "Well, I think this Hero deserves a reward." Summer cooed, leaning up and puckering her lips. Tai chuckled, bending down and kissing her once. Twice. Thrice.

"Bleh," Qrow spat, "see that, girls? That's what happens when you fall in love."

Yang and Ruby both made disgusted noises. "Never gonna happen to me!" the former declared, the latter heartily nodding her head.

"Oh, don't say that!" Tai chuckled, holding Summer tighter. "You never know when the lovebug will strike."

"Lovebug?" Ruby repeated with a tilt of the head.

Qrow grinned deviously, "You heard right Ruby. See, the lovebug is a terrible insect that, if it bites you, will make you act like them!"

Yang and Ruby gasped, stepping back and hugging each other fearfully. "No!" they cried.

"Ah," Qrow grinned, bending down and placing the bags on the ground, "but there is a way to keep them away." He reached into one of the bags pulling out—

"Oh gods," Tai groaned.

"Candy and soda!" Qrow shouted.

Yang and Ruby exclaimed wordlessly, snatching the sugary goods. "C'mon Ruby!" Yang grabbed her younger sister's arm, "let's hole up in my room!"

"The lovebugs will never get us now!" Ruby bellowed in her childish voice, the door to Yang's room slamming shut.

Summer gave her teammate the stink eye (she wasn't sure if it was more or less effective now that she only had the one). "You're going to clean up after them once all that sugar hits their systems."

"Oh?" Qrow leaned forward, a smarmy grin on his lips, "are you sure this," he pulled out a bottle of luiqor from one of the bags, "can't change your mind?"

"We don't drink Qrow," Tai grunted dismissively.

"Really?" The insufferable man shrugged, "More for me, then. Ah, before I forget," he reached into the other bag, "grabbed you these, Summer." He tossed a shrink-wrapped package her way. She reached out to grab it, only fumbling a little before clutching it to her chest.

"Got it!" she triumphantly cried.

"So that's, what, one-for-seventy-six? Summer clicked her tongue, lightly smacking Tai's chest with the package. She then blinked (or winked? Still weird to think about) upon seeing what the package was.

"Are these…plain white eyepatches?"

"Wow, Qrow," Tai said, glancing at the white eyepatch adorning her left eye, "that's…nice."

"They're colorable."

Summer gasped, and began cooing over the gift, "Awww! The girls will love it!"

"It's why I bought it!"

Tai hummed in agreement. "You just missed lunch," he said, "but we've got some leftover lasagna if you want it."

"No thanks," Qrow replied, grabbing the bags (which only held the wine bottle now), and walking over to the table, "grabbed some grub on the flight over." Tai and Summer snickered, prompting a heavy blush from their friend. "Shut up, you know what I mean!" They laughed louder instead, Summer managing to sit down on the couch before her eye hurt too much.

"So," Tai settled onto the couch next to Summer, "how're things?" That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Qrow's face fell, and he looked away from them. Tai frowned, "Qrow?"

Their teammate gulped, pulling at his collar and uncorking the wine bottle. He took a long swig, "Ah, good stuff. You're missing out."

"Qrow," Summer said gently, "what's wrong?"

Qrow finished half the bottle before answering the question. "You guys, uh, seen anything on the news, lately? Not the local stuff," he quickly added, "from the continent?"

"Nope," Summer replied. She gulped, "Should we have?"

Qrow grunted, pulling out his Scroll, tapped the screen, and tossed it to Tai. "Read this," he said.

Summer scooched closer, furrowing her brow at the title, of the article on the screen, 'Terror Across Vale: A New Kind of Huntsman?' Just the title gave her the willies—the article itself sent a chill down her spine.

Tai gulped audibly, a much more subdued reaction to Summer's own shocked gasps. "Is…Is this all true?" her husband asked.

"Yup," Qrow somberly replied. "Got at least twelve kills under his name—probably more." He finished the wine, "Suffice it to say, probably a good idea to—"

"Our offer still stands," Summer firmly cut him off.

Qrow and Tai stared at her, eyes wider than dinner plates. "Umm," Tai chuckled hesitantly, "maybe we should get you checked for brain damage."

"Tai," she narrowed her lone eye at him, "I'm serious."

Qrow cleared his throat, "Summer…this guy's bad news."

"Is he?" She blushed, "I mean, sure, he kills people which…isn't great. But…he also saved my life?" She shrugged, "If he were so horrible, would he have done that?"

Tai snorted derisively, "Like we're such great authorities on discerning someone's true personality."

Summer wilted slightly. Raven…you never did know when she would spoil the mood.

"But," Summer looked up as her husband crossed his arms, "…we did promise. It'd set a pretty bad example for the girls if we shirked on that."

"You two are crazy," Qrow deadpanned.

Summer smiled widely, leaning over and (barely) wrapping her arm around Tai's wide shoulders. "That's what makes us work!" Tai grinned, leaning his head against hers.

"Bah," Qrow groused, drumming his fingers on the table. "…If he comes, I come."

Summer smiled widely, "Wouldn't have it any other way." Qrow smirked back, tilting the empty wine bottle her way.

BANG

Summer, and Qrow and Tai, jumped, reeling back when Ruby—face stained with soda and chocolate—literally bounced into the room. "HeyUncleQrowgotanymorecandyweneedittokeepawaythelovebugs!" She started to hyperventilate, before burping, and falling over with a dazed smile.

The three adults blinked, Tai tentatively rising out of his seat.

"NOOOO!"

"Wha—hey!" Tai jerked back as a foam arrow struck his head. Yang burst forward, wearing a red sash on her forehead, a fierce look in her lilac eyes, chocolate smeared on her face to look like camouflage, and the toy crossbow they'd given her for her birthday held firmly in her hands.

"Stay strong Ruby!" Yang cried, loading another foam arrow, dragging her sister back to her room. "I won't let the lovebugs get you!"

Tai hummed, staring impassively at Qrow, "That's your cue."

"Yeah, yeah."

/+/+/+/+/

A/N: RWBY looks cool, but it's lore leaves much to be desired. Be sure to leave a review. Later.