RWBY Fanfic: Team MLCM.

“Lancelot we are about to begin, are you in position?”

With a slow deliberate twist, the view cleared as Lancelot made the final calibrations to Guinevere’s scope. The weight of the rubber bullets had skewed the balance of his weapon and the calibrations needed to compensate for the weight had run his patience dry by the time he had settled into his nest, which consisted of the interlocking boughs of an oak tree that had made its roots on a hill overlooking the gardens of Beacon Academy. 700 hundred yards at a sprint, a distance that would not have been a challenge for an ordinary sniper, and Lancelot was anything but ordinary.

“Merlyn, please. I do not tell you how to lead this team, so please don’t tell me how to shoot.”

Lancelot blew a long slow breath as he settled down into the tree, feeling the tension drain out of his body as he melted into the rough bark, becoming a part of the world around him and turning his senses towards his surroundings. His skin, eyes and ears flowed into the eddies of the wind while his nerves, bones and sinews extended into his rifle Guinevere, every polished inch, ridge and screw as familiar as the contours of a lover, and more intimate than any girl he can ever know. Intent honed razor thin, mind resting on the edge, ready to fall into action.  In that moment he was no longer Lancelot the son of Vale’s greatest Faunus hunter, no longer the heir of the dust slinger. He was a blade now, a keen edge that dealt death at a thousand yards.


“Hostiles are marked.” There was no snark or bite in his reply, a weapon after all had no emotions. “Ready on your go.”
A short silence crackled through the ear-piece stuck snugly into his right ear.


“Green light is go. Good hunting.”


“Bitch, hunting is always good.”


Lancelot didn’t feel the recoil as he unleashed the first bullet. Snipers felt recoil, a master only felt confirmed kills. One shot, two shots, three. There were four hostiles that had been marked earlier, Lancelot didn’t bother with the fourth shot, ricocheting the third bullet to take out two targets at the same time, a couple who had just been about to share a kiss under a small pavilion. Through the scope, Lancelot watched as the couple, with closed eyes and puckered lips, flew apart as a rubber bullet bounced off the boy’s forehead and slammed into the bridge of the girl’s nose. It was a one in a million shot, made possible due to the bullet being a rubber round rather than a steel jacket. But it was a shot only he could make, and that was all that mattered.


“D-D-D-Double Kill! All hostiles eliminated, packing it in and calling it a day.”


There was another brief silence.


“Lancelot, you missed one.”


<>


“Bullshit! I do not miss!”


“Well there is another hostile approaching the target now!” Merlyn snapped in reply as he hauled the last unconscious body into the bushes, out of sight behind the pavillion. “Tall with blonde, scraggly hair.” With a grunt, Merlyn heaved and tossed the mass of gangly limbs into the brush, next to her partner who was snoring peacefully with his face in the dirt. “Look forget about whose fault it is, can you take him out? Fine, just keep on overwatch, I’ll deal with this.”


Article 56 of the Grimmnoire states that ‘no plan survives first contact with the enemy. Which is why a hunter plans first to survive.’ Merlyn had failed to do the second, and now the success of the entire mission could be irrevocably compromised. How embarrassing, his master would have not been pleased if she were to know about this.


Curse these small hands! A detriment and shame it is that a hunter is unable to properly grasp a sword. Well, it is a thought to be depressed about some other time as Merlyn set himself on a collision course with the blonde hostile approaching the target, a towering amazon with brilliant red hair strolling through the garden towards the academy’s double doors at the end.


Picking up speed, he broke into a sprint as his prey entered into range, throwing his arm around a lean, muscled chest as his charge staggered the tall, blonde hunter with the resulting momentum. The hunter reacted quickly, bracing his feet to stop himself from being knocked over. Feeling the sudden resistance, Merlyn turned and dropped to his knees, the abrupt change in height flipping the hunter over his back and dropping him face first into the ground.


Moving quickly, Merlyn pulled out Nimue and jabbed the kerambit deep into the muscles on the hunter’s back. Within moments, the sleeping venom took hold and the hunter’s struggles soon stopped. At the same time, a coagulating solution mixed with the venom stopped the bleeding and sealed the wound as the Taijitu fang blade was withdrawn from the hunter’s flesh. It will hurt like hell in the morning, but there will be no fatalities today at least.


“Hostile eliminated, any trouble?”


“Seven out of ten. The finish was good but your entry cost you points.”


“Everybody is a critic.”


Gripping the hunter’s ankles. Merlyn hauled the insensate form over to an empty bench and left him as he was after a miserable attempt at trying to arrange it so that the he could, at a distance, pass off for relaxing instead of unconscious.


“Merlyn I’m seeing nothing over the scope, is everything clear on your end?”


“All clear, pack it up and head over to rendezvous alpha. We’ve done all we can here.”


“Should we back up Morgana?”


“Nah. This is her part of the mission now. Let’s pull out and grab some pints, she’s going to need it later.”


<>


“Morgana, stop stuffing your face with coffee and tell us what happened.”


It had been two hours since Merlyn and Lancelot had retired to the Dusty Remnant inn, followed by another 30 minutes worth of coffee and sobbing before the third member of MLCM was able to coherently debrief the rest of the team.


“So I stopped Pyrrha as she walked by, and just like we rehearsed I came straight out and gave her the letter.”


Hiccoughing, Morgana reached over for the half-full coffee mug, and whined as Lancelot pointedly nudged it out of her reach. Whereas Merlyn was short and stocky and Lancelot was a ripped, blonde Adonis, Morgana was built for close combat. With a slender frame atop strong muscular legs. The entire package was decorated with a cheerleader’s face, perky and perfect with a pair of wrap-around shades dividing her tanned face with a horizontal, purple stripe. A vision of beauty warped into a mask of sadness and pain under the bar’s dim light.


“I passed her the letter first, after which I asked her to accept my feelings for her. She said no, which stung a bit but it wasn’t unexpected so I didn’t take it too hard. Laughed it off even.”


Nodding in sympathy, Merlyn reached over and gently slapped Morgana’s back as she went into a coughing fit, feeling the warm, wiry muscle in her back relax as the coughing quickly subsided.


“One is never truly ready to have one’s feelings rejected.”


“That wasn’t the problem.”


Lancelot looked up from his second pint of the night.


“You showed her your eyes didn’t you?”


“What’s the big deal!?”


Slamming both palms onto the table, Morgana sprang up from her seat and wobbled slightly as around the bar, patrons quickly turned to regard her outburst before turning back to their drinks just as quickly. All except for a trio of men sharing a table right next to the jukebox that was placed out at the front of the bar.


“I have pretty eyes! Why does everyone run away when I take off my shades?!”


Sighing, Morgana crumpled back down into her seat, her already small stature diminishing further as she rested her head on the table.


“Why did she run away?”


Lancelot took another sip. “I think two pairs of ‘pretty eyes’ is just one pair too many.”


Reaching over for the coffee mug, Morgana drained the lukewarm contents in one straight gulp and took off her shades, revealing four inky orbs glistening with tears. Her main eyes took up most of her face, a pair of dark blue pools that stared blankly out at Lancelot’s own emerald pair. Her secondary eyes were coloured a bright red, located in between her main pair, and were instantly obvious despite their smaller size. All four eyes were now locked on Lancelot who was doing his best, and failing to avoid looking directly at his heart-broken teammate.


“Hey don’t look at me like that faunus, I gave up a weekend for you. It’s not my fault that your crush was scared of spiders.”


“Alright guys enough of this talk.” Merlyn cut in as he refilled Morgana’s mug and hopped off his stool. “We have to be off soon so finish up, I’m going for a last round.” And with that, Merlyn glided off towards the bar, vanishing into the crowd after three quick steps.


Alone at their table, Lancelot continued sipping while Morgana lapsed into a depressed silence that, in all honesty, unnerved him more than facing down a Ursa Major at close range. After all, predators are at their deadliest when they stop making noise. It was little wonder that after a few tense moments Lancelot started looking around for anything that could be used as a convenient distraction, or a shield, should Morgana decide to act out again.


“Excuse me, might you be the one known as ‘the keen edge’?”


Oh this will do.
Turning around to face the new arrival, Lancelot finished the last of his pint as he took note of the pointed ears and too long canines that characterised the trio. At his side, Morgana slowly shifted into her seat, although she did not say a word or even acknowledge the sudden intrusion in any overt way.


“And what if I am?”


“Then you and yours will die tonight.” With a growl, three pairs of claws and yellow canine eyes emerged from the human features of the Faunus’s disguise. “The blood of my brothers are on your hands Keen Edge, and for their blood you will pay.”


As Lancelot placed his glass back onto the table, the three Faunus crowded around in an attempt to prevent the bartender from calling the authorities.


“On your feet Keen Edge, let us take this outside.”


“Certainly. After you.”


<>


While Tom, Dick and Harry were trading words with Lancelot, Merlyn had been closing in on the closest opponent, a tall, hefty werewolf with a tan mane of fur lining his shoulders. Extending his left hand, Merlyn gripped the werewolf’s wrist and swung outwards, forcing the werewolf to step back in order to keep his balance. And in exchange exposed his chest to Nimue’s bite. Driving onwards, Merlyn stepped through the werewolf’s crossed legs and dropped his hips, and clearing the way for Morgana to propel herself over the table and hurl herself head first into the remaining two werewolves. And as Morgana pinned one werewolf to the floor, Lancelot stepped in and introduced the point of his steel-toed boot to the last werewolf’s groin.


“Everyone ok?”


“Peachy, but at least Morgana has found something to sink her teeth into.”


“Morgana, please, treating the poor fellow as a juice pack is not helping things.”


Merlyn stepped aside as Morgana joined them, nightmarishly resplendent in her full Faunus glory. A spider’s features had warped the pretty face into a visage of gore-smeared, arachnid horror as four enormous, jointed legs punched through the back of her jacket and fell around her as she walked. Her eyes as well had changed at the taste of blood, the expressive hues turning into a soulless black holes that was absolutely unnerving.


For some reason, Lancelot was never affected by the change.


“Well you look horrifying, as always.”


In reply, Morgana’s face spread into a grotesque caricature of a smile as she dragged the hairy tip of a spider leg across Lancelot’s cheek.


“Ah Lancelot, dearest heart. I wonder how it will taste after I tear it out of your chest.”


“Alright stop.” Merlyn interjected as he forced them both apart. “We’ve caused enough problems here already. Let’s get out before we overstay our welcome.”


“Well we do need to get out, but overstaying is no longer a problem I think.”


Merlyn groaned as he followed Lancelot’s thumb towards the front of the bar where the jukebox had been located and large tables had been arranged to accommodate large groups. The tables had all been pushed aside and everyone that had been occupying those seats either glued themselves to the wall, or had been smart enough to leave before the confrontation began. All that was left were six more male Faunus bristling with an array of teeth, claws and even a magnificent pair of curling ram’s horns blocking the bar’s front door.


Morgana whistled.


“There are some yummy pieces of flesh before us.”


“I call dibs on those horns.” Lancelot said as he brushed the tails of his coat aside, revealing two silver revolvers that were strapped to his waist. “They will look lovely on the dorm wall.”


“Lancelot shut up. Let’s not make things worse than they already are.”



“God forbid that should happen.”


At that moment the crowd parted to allow the ram Faunus to pass. A six-foot specimen with the horns of a full-blooded buck and wielding a wicked looking blade in his right hand. Stepping up to the trio the Faunus buck threw his head back and bellowed, silencing the entire room and grabbing everyone’s attention.


“Faunus slayer! I am a prince of my tribe and I challenge you in their name. For the blood that you have spilt and the lives claimed, I will extract that debt from your corpse.”


“Ok this has gone too far.”


The ram snorted as Merlyn stepped forward to face him.


“Little one, will you champion the Keen Edge’s life?”


“No. But I will give you one chance to let us go before I get upset.”


“And would I not like you upset little one?”


“No. No sir you would not.”


Exploding into motion Merlyn stepped in and drove Nimue in a sneaky uppercut aimed at the ram’s solar plexus. But for Merlyn’s speed, the ram was still able to drop an arm into the blade’s path, although his return stab was similarly blocked as well when Merlyn dropped his left elbow into the ram’s arm before latching on to the arm’s triceps.


“Impressive little one, but now it seems we are in a stalemate.”


“Article 23 of the Grimmnoire; Victory or defeat, never a draw.”


Dropping his knee, Merlyn swiftly forced the ram to widen his stance in order to counter the attempted throw. With his attention focused on keeping his balance, Merlyn simply dropped his arm and sunk Nimue into the ram’s calf. Staggering back with a dead leg, the ram wasn’t able to react as a dust round exploded into his face, the resultant force sending him flying into the jukebox. As the report faded away, everyone turned to find Lancelot blowing the smoke off the barrel of one of his revolvers. Its twin was still in its holster, although as everyone could clearly see, the restraining strap had been flipped loose and a snake’s head was draped loosely on the weapon’s black, polished handle.


“Article 72 of the Grimmnoire; a ‘duel’ is a fancy word for ‘distraction’.”


With slow, deliberate steps. Lancelot walked over to stand next to Merlyn while Morgana sashayed over and draped an arm on Merlyn’s shoulder. Several of the remaining Faunus flinched as the four, impenetrable pits of darkness and a blood-stained spider’s grin passed over them.


“Alrighty boys, clean out your ears and listen up. What I hit your friend with earlier was a concussion round, a lot of bang, a lot of pain, but non-lethal. Though I bet your friend would wish it was once he wakes up.” The twang of his Vacuo childhood started to emerge as Lancelot spoke, keeping everyone hanging on his next words as he continued.


“Now some of you may be wondering, ‘are all my rounds concussion rounds?’. Well, I would say then a better question would be ‘which rounds are not concussion rounds?’ because right here in my hands are eleven bullets. All of which could be either non-lethal, or very lethal if you catch my drift. In addition, just because a bullet is non-lethal doesn’t mean that it is any less nasty. Take a paralysis round and you’ll be a sitting duck for my knife wielding compatriot. Eat a sleep shot, and you’ll be light eating for spider girl standing over there. So now I will ask you mooks a question. Five guys, eleven bullets and three very dangerous people in a bar. So tell me…”


The five Faunus flinched as the click of two hammers snapped across the room.


“… How do you like them odds?”


<>


“So Lancelot, were all your bullets non-lethal?”


“Does it really matter? Minimal casualties and collateral, I’d say that’s a win for us.”


Hauling his overnight bag into the luggage rack, Lancelot groaned as he sank into the airship’s economy class cushions. Merlyn followed a moment later while Morgana stretched out happily onto the empty seats next to hers, propping her head against the porthole while draping her bare feet over the armrests.
“Well it’s a pity, I would have liked a snack for the road.”


Pulling out one of the magazines, Merlyn asked Morgana as he reclined his chair.


“You feeling ok? About your crush I mean.”


“Yeah, well. Still a little hurt but I guess it’s all for the best. Sure, I may have had my heart broken. But at least I know that I have two guys who would be willing to go through today for me. With friends like that, I think I can hold off on the relationship thing for the time being. Besides, I would have just eaten her sooner or later.”


“Ok you really got to can the spider jokes.”


Reaching under his seat, Lancelot pulled out a package and flung the airship issued blanket into Morgana’s lap.


“And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your pain. I know all too well how it feels to get your heart broken.”


“Well aren’t you a sentimental bastard.”


“Better a bastard than a virgin Merlyn.”


“I’ll take your word for it. But anyway guys I just want to say, good hunting today”


“Merlyn please,” Morgana replied as she wound herself into a tan, cotton cocoon. “When team MLCM’s around, hunting is always good.”