[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

Tangy: "Now officially, you are not supposed to kill or mistreat prisoners until they have been tried for their crimes. In Vale, Atlas, and others. However, in the middle of Mistral, the rules on the treatment of prisoners are rather lax when it comes to bandits. Like these bandits!"

Captive members of the Branwen Tribe appear on screen.

Weiss: "Oh no she's not going to..."

Tangy: "Let's see how Plasma Cutters work on their limbs!"

Random Bandit: Turns to Weiss. "Please, we'll tell you where Raven is, just keep her away from us!"

Weiss: "Sorry, she's my commanding officer."

The sound of a plasma cutter turning on is heard nearby as the camera pans away to I=Visha who goes over the specific laws which allow them to do this.

Visha: "And under the Haven Treaty of 1955, bandits are covered under Hostis humani generis, meaning enemies of all mankind! Also faunus but that was added in later!" She eats some cookies. " Mmm...! Chocolate chip!"

Blake: "Should we really sit around watching war crimes being committed in dubious territory under dubious circumstances?"

Jaune: "They're technically not war crimes since it's not an actual war. Also they were already committed. This was recorded."

Ruby: "Yeah, they're all dead."

Ren: "Good riddance."

Nora: "Yeah! Fuck bandits in their stupid bandit faces!"

Pyrrha: "H-How about we change the channel?"

Jaune: Switches the channel to the next show which is "Tea Time with Queen Artoria Pendragon."

Weiss: "Oh thank the Breaker! Something normal and wholesome!"

Blake: "You do realize the Saber Queen has a body count in the tens of thousands, right?"

Weiss: "Yes but she's moved past that! She's a sweet old lady now!"

Artoria: "Greeting viewers. My great-grandchildren are helping me with showing tea time! Proper Albion tea time is a ritual that calms the nerves, lets you center yourself and helps establish calm in the chaos of life."

Weiss: "Oh yes! YES! Wonderful!"

Blake: "Hmph. Menagerian tea ceremonies are better."

Ren: "You took them from Mistral."

Blake: "W-We had the idea first and they stole it!"

Yang: "Careful Blake, don't wanna boil over, do you?"

Blake: "Ugh..."

Artoria finishes up the tea and smiles at the camera.

Artoria: "Now we let it seep. Until it's done, I will show off my family photo album." Brings out a photo album. "Here's a picture of my Great-Grandson Jaune at a cultural festival in Mistral with a young girl who he thought was really pretty."



Jaune/Ren: "YOU WERE A GUY?!"

All of the girls develop blushes and nosebleeds.

Merlin: "Come to Merlin's Mystery Museum! Filled with the strange, the bizarre, the unholy! There's snacks, there's videos for the kids, there's photo ops! And me, Merlin the Mystery Wizard of Mystery!"

Jaune: "Grunkle Merlin, do I have to wear this outfit?"

Merlin: "AND THE AMAZING TALKING GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOY! He's not a Faunus! So him talking is a miracle!"

Jaune: "We're gonna get sued again."

Merlin: "And his adorable twin sister!"

Orchid: "Bow wow. Bow. Bow wow."

Merlin: "They're so cute together!" Jaune scowls. Merlin elbows him.

Jaune: sighs "Bow wow. Wow. Bow wow."

Merlin: "Throw money at them and they dance!"

Jaune: "Wait what-?!"

Jaune: "Um, Blake, I know how it looks but I wasn't culturally appropriating anything!"

Blake: "..."

Jaune: "Um, Blake?"

Blake: blush 'He's so cute in dog ears...'

Ruby, Weiss, Yang, Pyrrha, even Coco: 'So cute...'

(Again, feel free to write your own takes!)

A Whiter Rose snippet based on the musings of days recently passed:

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"My apologies for my late arrival." James Ironwood said as he exited the elevator that led into Ozpin's office. "The Grimm attacks have only been growing in number and ferocity since the fleet arrived."

Grimm had been sieging Vale's walls nonstop for the past few days. And with the arrival of Ironwood's fleet - a showy measure of insurance for the Vytal Festival, most certainly not a lot of warm bodies to cover up a covert war with an enemy older than history or a sledgehammer to be wielded against her proxies, nothing like that - and it had run the commanding general of the Atlesian Army ragged.

Ozpin took another sip of his drink, his eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "They have, James. Now, you have been in my confidence for longer than most, in living memory at least, so I say this as a friend. Is it not possible that the two phenomena are correlated?"

Ironwood snorted, "we've been over this half a hundred times, my forces aren't going to start a panic. People won't worry about all of the armed men and machine circling the city. I imagine quite the contrary. Who wouldn't prefer having twelve brigades between them and the Grimm?"

"I don't mean that this time, James. I mean something a bit more tangible than mere apprehension. Come here." James obliged, making his way through the clockwork ensconced in emerald-glass. "Pull up one of those other chairs too. You're going to need it." Ozpin appended. James rounded on his heel and lifted the metalwork with the ease that only machine limbs and Aura combined could provide, before depositing it next to Ozpin's own chair.

"Now watch this." Ozpin said, pulling a CCTnet video up on his desktop.

"Oz, are you sure that you have the right video?" James asked.

"Positive, why?" Ozpin replied.

"It's an SDC ad." James explained.

"Quite. Their new head of marketing has something of a personality to him." Ozpin replied.

Jacques' new PR man had a personality all right. The old one had been fired once the magnate twigged to the fact that all of those attempts to boost his image by associating his face with the SDC's premium lines were taken as narcissism and egomania by the broader public. It was definitely a point in his favor that the new guy did not start off with green-screen glamour shots of the CEO.

However it was ten points against him that he started off with fifteen seconds of a cacophony increasingly deep-fried looping reaction gifs. Only for the whole screen to be tossed aside with comical exaggeration by a pair of wiry arms, attached to a white-haired boy in an immaculate suit, who now dominated the screen.

------

"Hi, I'm Whitley Schnee, head of marketing and accounting at the Schnee Dust Company. Now, I know what you're thinking. 'Aren't you a little young to be juggling two departments at the world's biggest Dust conglomerate?' Yes, Yes I am. And it's infuriating." He hunched in and curled his fingers as the lighting shifted around him such that he looked like he was now telling a story at a campfire. "And you know what else is infuriating?!?! This FUCKING INVENTORY! I'm so mad that we haven't cleared this stock, I'm going to have an aneurysm. Drrurururururrrrr-"

------

Outside of the video, Ironwood had to ask, "Was the zoom-in x-ray fart sound effect really necessary?" Ozpin's only response was to take another gulp of his drink.

------

"In fact, I'm so angry, I'm going to make this cute, big titty goth girl watch cursed gun images." The camera panned over to none other than Ruby Rose, waving with both hands, and with her legs conspicuously chained up.

"What he did to get Miss Rose to go along with this I'll never know." Ozpin muttered, believing contrarywise that the answer had involved several dozen pounds of cookies.

Whitley plopped down next to Ruby, who - not at all playing the damsel in distress well - slid closer to him on the couch until they were butt-to-butt. Then her hands came onto his shoulders. "And remember, this is a blind reaction. I have no idea what horrors this fiend has in store for me."

"She calls him a fiend but I see what she's doing with his arm while he's trying to move the mouse." Ironwood muttered.


Whitley clicked on a link and it brought up the first cursed gun of the night


"Starting off slow, eh." Ruby muttered. "It's not that cursed. The gold plated lever action makes him look like a forest warlord from the backwoods of Anima. And speaking of Anima, you wanna bet that the whole continent would flood if he drops that buttstock in Lake Matsu?"

"More spirit than I expected. Hmm, very well. I retaliate with cursed gun level 2." Whitley retorted, before clicking on the next link.


"Probably some bandit's beat-to-shit-old claw revolv- oOh, why is the hammer so big? Can that even engage the firing pin? First off, ditch that brass knuckle handle that you have no way of using, and then file down that hammer, then smelt the shavings with the knucks to forge yourself a proper grip so you can abosorb the recoil when SOMETHING COMES OUT OF THE MUZZLE BECUASE YOU PULLED THE FUCKING TRIGGER."

"Hmm," Whitley observed, "still more mad than broken. I will have to resort to the superiority of Atlesian science and craftsmanship to break you."


------

Ironwood felt the initial wave of embarrassment when none other than his own Due Process came up on the screen.

------

"You know," the boy started up, with an impish grin that Ironwood could somehow feel mocking him through the screen. I heard that gun started off as a Mare Constrictor."

"Very interesting: Ruby replied, her voice dissonant and still, like the waters of a lake known to house treacherous Grimm. "Then maybe you could explain to me why it looks like a FUCKING Pw-12 with a fucking Floch slide on the top!" Whitley errupted from the confines that were the arms of the girl sitting next to him. "Mwahahaha, you have no idea about the heights of bubba-ry to which Atlas has ascended."

"Bubba is the word for it. It looks like he heard about a dual-trigger safety in passing and tried to build one from scratch with no frame of reference." Ruby continued.

------

James unholstered his gun and examined it.

------

"And the fucking hammer again. I assume there's a downward-canted firing pin housed in the frame because it fires from the bottom chamber but it doesn't! I mean it may as well fire from the bottom chamber with the height-over-bore from that fucking semi-auto slide. I can't even tell if that slide is just a part of the frame or not. I mean, what's the point. How would that even work? Some of the gasses generated by the powder going off going up a concealed gas port near the muzzle and pushing back on the slide? Is that how this gun cycles? Tell me that's not how this gun cycles Whitley!"

"Well, it's funny you should mention that..." Whitley replied. "Seeing that the hammer is too high up on the gun to do much other good..."

Ruby blinked once. She blinked twice. "Don't tell me. The gas impulse is what pushes the hammer back." Whitley nodded solemnly, "and then it returns home, allowing the cylinder to rotate. And it was built to cycle that way. Look just below the rear sight."

"Are those... slide... serrations?" Ruby's eyeliner was running down her cheeks. "He built it that way... on purpose. This thing just keeps getting worse and worse every time I look at it"

"I actually feel a little bad now. Tell you what. One more for the sake of the video and then we'll be done." Whitley said. Ruby's arms wrapped around him in less than an instant and pulled him into a crushing hug. After muttering something that the recording equipment did not quite pick up, but sounded suspiciously like "goth girl tidd," Whitley clicked on the next image.

------

And James Ironwood was amazed that the shrill scream of alloyed terror, hatred, fear, and disgust that came out of the girl's mouth didn't shatter every pane of glass in the tower. "How is all of the glass in this tower still intact?"

"Magic." Ozpin replied before enigmatically sipping his drink again. "Literally," he followed up in a less enigmatic fashion, "I had to repair everything in the tower and then reinforce it after I played the video for the first time. Also, you may want to invest in a glassblowing, or repair, or construction firm in the near future." James penciled that little detail away for later.

------


"Every time I see it, I feel the urge to gouge out my eyes with a melon-baller." Whitley muttered shaking his head. "I remember these fucking things. My father bought them to be standard issue among SDC security forces."

Ruby had not taken the sight nearly as well. "Why? Why? Why? Whyhyhy? Why does the bolt carrier need to be so biiiig?"

------

"Miss Rose is exceedingly passionate about firearms." Ozpin explained.

------

"And the selector switch. Why does it need to be so far forward. It's supposed to be near the thumb." Ruby sucked in some more air. But you'd need an index finger the size of a Beringal's to reach that teeny-tiny little nub that reminds me of whoever designed it."

"Are we not going to address that thing's barrel length?" Whitley asked.

"No! Having a five fucking inch barrel makes sense when you're firing pistol rounds. What doesn't make sense is the muzzle break big enough to double the barrel length to compensate for the recoil when you empty that single-stack-thin magazine in one burst. Where does anyone even find this crap?"

"I believe that father accepted an offer from an esteemed personage reputed throughout the community in the dignified circles of Atlas." Whitley replied.

------

"Fancy way of saying 'he'd sue me if I said his name.'" Ironwood muttered.

------

"Ah yes, how could I have forgotten," Ruby muttered. "Everybody has heard of Bubba, scion of the eight hundred year old House of von Bubbastein."

"And that rail. It looks like it was converted from a KA-74's gas tube that got put on backwards before they stuck a cheap-o red dot on it." Ruby dipped back into her hands to sob quietly for a few seconds. "And what's with the giant Putterware trunnion and the bulky stock that was probably made by the guy from image one. Truly, you must need a lot of mass to handle all of the recoil from the your blowback-operated carbine. Can, can that gun even cycle. Does that what? 9x18 Markhov? produce enough recoil to push back that bolt carrier the size of a house? Markhov's a good round. In a compact or a subcompact against human or faunus enemies without Aura, at close range. Because that's what it was made for. Why is it in a twelve pound carbine?

"ItsnotaMarkhov." Whitley mumbled.

"What."

"Thatgun'snotchamberedinMarkhov." Whitley mumbled again.

"Well, it looks too small to be chambered in 9 mil Lunge, what else could it possibly be chambered in?"

"Nine-seventeen short." Whitley confessed, giving Ruby pause.

"Whitley. Commit patricide immediately. Everything the White Fang says about your father is correct. Kill him and spend all of the money that would have gone to his funeral on giving your company something chambered in a real caliber. Just leave his body in a dump, it's where he belongs. Him and all of his shit guns."

------

The image froze and went grey in the instant after. Another Whitley walked onto the screen, superimposed in a manner similar to how the video had began. "Only you can prevent cute goths from being exposed to cursed guns. So come to the SDC tent at the 40th Vytal Festival. Participate in our blowout sale. Get up to fifty percent off on our premium stocks. Emerald-grade Plant Dust? 3,000 Lien a crystal. Sapphire-grade Water Dust? 4,000 Lien for a twelve ounce vial. And we have Ruby-grade Fire Dust, down to just 3,200 Lien a crystal, or just 2,500 Lien for a ten ounce vial for all those DIYers who want to mix their own Combustion Dust. Orders exceeding 25,000 Lien will also receive a-"

Another Ruby sprang onto the screen happier, more scantily clad, and holding some sort of machinist's kit. "This amazing combined Dust centrifuge, capable of making even triple-base Dust mixtures at home, and a reloader's tool and die kit, guaranteed to pay for itself within two hundred rounds, absolutely free."

------

James stared at the screen. "I legitimately forgot this was a commercial for a clearance sale."

"It's the SDC's most viewed and most liked video on the CCTnet." Ozpin replied. "And Miss Rose has single handedly done away with all of the negative stereotypes about Atlas. By replacing them all with the notion that your institutes are all run by bubbas. Incidentally, that is why people are upset about being protected by the Atlesian army. In the minds of almost everybody, you can have an unloaded gun and still present a terminal danger to yourself and others. And not even the gun itself will be safe."

Fin

Count's note - Not the happiest that I've been with a snippet. Didn't shit on the Abomination as comprehensively as I wish that I had (there are still design problems that Count hasn't touched). Characters feel too inanimate, just as a vehicle to bang out as many jokes on the cursed guns of RWBY and less like characters in a story. I know that is inevitable to a degree in a one-night writing barrage, sub 2.5k words.

Pleasantly surprised to find that very few cursed guns exist in the world of Remnant (which does make sense, they should (mostly) have guns figured out on a death world. All images are official except for this fanart of Due Process I found on Reddit (by mojojoj) - which like most fanarts adds slide serrations that I don't think were actually on the gun on the show and I thought the bit was too funny to pass up.

I hope you enjoyed and that I managed to stay within the SFW for the thread.

Velvets family comes to beacon. It ended up going weird.

*Cardin is surrounded by a small horde of bunny and hare faunus. Most are femboys. The oldest is a fucking huge. All are muscular*

Big bun: so. This is the boy?

Velvet: y-yes?

Big Bun: you let him pull your ears? In front of everyone, and didn't fight back?

Velvet: yes....

Big bun: very well. The courtship is being considered, he must first pass the trial!

Cardin: courtship? Trial?

Big bun: we are prey species faunus. For you to be accepted you must know what it is to be prey.

Cardin: I don't like where this is going.

Big bun: therefore you will have a week where you must dodge our endless hunting. If we catch you-

Cardin: I die?

Big bun: you would wish for death.

Cardin: right, one question first. Hey what's that?!

*Points at the distance behind them then runs away. None of the rabbits looked.*

The diplomatic dinner was a glittering facade, held in a grand Mistralian hall adorned with woven tapestries and glowing Dust lanterns, the air heavy with the scent of exotic spices and sea salt. Outside, the tropical night hummed, stars piercing the velvet sky. Diplomats and elites from across Remnant mingled, drank, connected and schemed.

On a secluded balcony overlooking the ocean, General James Ironwood and Sienna Khan stood more or less side by side, their wine glasses catching the moonlight. Ironwood's crisp Atlasian uniform gleamed, his prosthetic hand steady on the railing, while Sienna's flowing robes, edged with tiger stripes, rustled in the breeze, her golden eyes sharp but weary.

"It's been a while, Sienna," Ironwood said, his voice low, measured, the weight of years in his tone.

Sienna sipped her wine, her tiger ears twitching slightly. "It has, James. A very long while."

Silence fell, thick with history, the distant murmur of the dinner fading behind them.

"How is the Colonel's family?" Sienna asked, her tone mostly neutral save for the slight hitch at the end. This was never an easy topic, their former commanding officer.

Ironwood sipped his wine, his artificial arm tensing up noticeably before he answered.

"His wife is doing well, still running her flower shop. Their son is running a construction company, and their daughter is helping with the shop."

Sienna nodded slowly, her gaze not leaving the starry horizon.

"That's good. I sent flowers on the anniversary."

"I know, I had to deliver them."

"I can't very well deliver them myself," Sienna said, a bit wryly. Ironwood looked like he was about to say something cold, but he forced himself to hold back.

"No. I suppose you can't," Ironwood said softly.

They returned to staring out into the blackness of the ocean, the waves crashing against the rocky shore and the chatter of the party the only sounds around. Sienna, again, broke the silence.

"This wine," Sienna said quietly, "is terrible."

"It all tastes the same to me," James murmured. "I just drink it out of obligation."

"You never did care much for decorum like that in the old days," Sienna observed, glancing his way. James shrugged.

"The price you pay for ascending in rank," he said, "The lubricant of politics is liquor, money, and flattery."

Sienna smiled almost viciously.

"You were always philosophical. That hasn't changed."

Ironwood fixed his gaze on her for a moment, and shrugged.

"It helps with the burdens of command," he said.

"I suppose so," Sienna acknowledged quietly. Again, silence fell between the two.

Ironwood's jaw tightened, his blue eyes fixed on the horizon and the stars shining in the sky.

"You need to stop your attacks."

Sienna's gaze flicked to him, her voice cool but defensive. "What attacks—?"

"Sienna…" Ironwood's scowl cut through her words, his tone heavy with warning. "Don't."

She held his stare, then sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "…It's just for the purposes of gaining leverage."

Ironwood's grip on his glass tightened, his voice rising. "And you think you can put the genie back in the bottle? You think you can keep it under control?"

"We don't have a choice," Sienna snapped. "It's the only way to change things for the better!"

"I'm trying to change the system from inside !" Ironwood countered, his voice sharp, his human hand gesturing forcefully.

"And that won't work!" Sienna shot back, her eyes blazing. "You have to make too many compromises!"

"You'd prefer to burn everything to the ground, no matter how many people you end up killing?! Is that what the Major would want?!" Ironwood's voice rose, his prosthetic hand clenching the railing, metal creaking faintly.

"The Major died because of the system! You…!" She stared at his artificial arm, a hint of grief and guilt appearing in her eyes before she shook her head and continued.

"There's no other way to compel change!" Sienna hissed, her claws flexing around her glass.

They glared at each other, the air crackling with tension, their shared past a ghost between them. Slowly, they both un-tensed, Ironwood's shoulders easing, Sienna's ears stilling. They sipped their wine in unison, the bitterness mirroring the silence that fell, heavy and oppressive.

Sienna's voice was softer, almost wistful. "…You could have come with me."

Ironwood's eyes darkened, his tone flat but pained. "No. I couldn't. You made that clear. There are no humans in the White Fang."

Sienna's gaze dropped to her glass, her voice barely above a whisper. "…I would have made an exception for you."

"You can't have it both ways, Sienna," Ironwood said, his voice steady but laced with regret.

"And if I had come with you?" Sienna asked, her eyes flicking back to him, searching.

Ironwood's jaw tightened, his voice softer. His hand twitched, as though longing to reach out and touch her… But the gap was too great. "You wouldn't be a terrorist. We would have been forging real change—together."

Sienna's laugh was bitter, her ears flattening. "You're right. I am a terrorist. But we're making things change. Real change."

"Through fear, and hatred, and resentment," Ironwood said, his tone heavy, his eyes unyielding.

"Everything has a price," Sienna replied, her voice resolute but tinged with exhaustion.

"And how long before that price gets too high?" Ironwood pressed, his gaze piercing.

Sienna's eyes flickered, her voice a murmur. "…I don't know."

They fell silent again, sipping their wine, the bitterness lingering on their tongues. The ocean's
distant crash filled the void.

Ironwood's voice was low, almost a growl. "If we keep this up, Sienna… one day, I'll have to kill you. Or you'll have to kill me."

Sienna's breath hitched, her eyes meeting his. "…It doesn't have to come to that."

"You know better," Ironwood said, his voice heavy with inevitability.

Sienna sighed deeply, her gaze drifting to the stars. "…There was a time I would have given up everything for you. Was there a time like that for you?"

Ironwood's expression tightened, his prosthetic hand flexing. "…I can't answer that. And it's not fair to ask me that."

"No…" Sienna murmured, her voice soft, broken. "No, it isn't."

Silence fell once more, the weight of their choices a tangible force. From the hall, their subordinates watched—Winter Schnee, her posture rigid in her Atlasian uniform, and Adam Taurus, his horns glinting, his red eyes narrowed, not yet lost to his darker Path.

"What is your general trying to do to my leader?" Adam growled.

"I believe I could ask the same thing," Winter said, her blue eyes studying the scene intently. "They were on the same Atlas team together before she…"

Her eyes eyes widened in shocked realization. She couldn't help a slight smile. Adam scowled intently.

"What?"

Winter's voice was low, her ice-blue eyes sharp. "I see… They used to be together ."

Adam's jaw clenched, his voice a growl. "What? No! Sienna would never sully herself with—"

"A human?" Winter cut in, her smirk sharp as she sipped her wine.

Adam's glare sharpened. "…An Atlasian military commander."

Winter's smirk widened, her tone dry. "I suppose men are all the same, whether human or Faunus."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Adam demanded, his hand twitching toward his sword.

Winter's eyes glinted, her voice cool. "They cannot see what's right in front of them when a woman is in love."

Adam's scowl deepened, his voice a huff. "Hmph…"