Ninjas of Love

A Submissive Ginger and Two Arguing Nerds

"Yes, Charlie. In fact, now might just be  the worst possible time for you to announce that." Weiss told him, her voice veritably dripping with disdain for the blue-clad boy's neglect to inform his friends about his condition. "Aye, you'll be fine." The pilot reassured him. "Just make sure that you don't get any vomit on these seats. They're original leather." Blake gave an excited smile as she rubbed her hand along the seat back. "The name's Pilot General Maul Purphy, in case any of yous were wondering. Just Maul is fine, though. Oh, and please, no funny business on my ship. I'm looking at you with the doggy ears and his buddy, who I'm sure I used to teach at college. She's beautiful, and she doesn't want to be covered in juices. By the way, Miss Ship-enthusiast, she is actually a 900 series and her name is Isabella."

***

"Do you know what you're doing?" Cinder asked Roman, her voice hushed and sultry. Roman nodded, screwdriver clenched between his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth, and his suit jacket sleeves rolled up to his smooth, hairless elbows. "If that's the case, you plant that, ahem, shrubbery in the right biome, while myself and the rest of Team MDRI go prepare for our big fight."
"I'm sorry to ask, mistress," Mercury grovelled to the crimson-clad women who towered over him, with the help of her stiletto heels, "but what is the... device... hidden as so we can avoid it during the fight?"
"A shrubbery!"
"A shrubbery?" Emerald asked, confused about Cinder's terminology. "A shrubbery."

"So, Roman. Can we trust you to sit at the back and detonate the bomb only when we get the opposition around the shrubbery? Or need we have a backup plan in case you do what you so often do, and fail miserably?"
"My mistress, there is precisely zero chance I would attempt to blow you up."
"Not what I asked, was it, Ginge?"
"Sorry, ma'am. No. You needn't have a backup plan; I will ensure that the plan is carried out to the letter and in a way that may satisfy your slightly unnerving bloodlust, my liege."
"Very good, Torchwick. And I suppose I needn't remind you of the punishment should you fail to provide me with a satisfactory result either, do I? After all, you've met the business end of my whip more often than any of my other loyal sla- I mean followers- have, and that's not because of some sort of bizarre fetish, it's because you can't do your job. You want my advice on this one, Torchy?" The man shifted the position of his bowler head and nodded in affirmation. "Yes, m'lady."
"Very well. My advice is as follows: do NOT fuck this up. Do I make myself clear?" The ginger moved his fringe out his eye and let out a meek little "yes" before getting back to his tinkering.

Truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing when it came to weaponising what Cinder insisted on calling "a shrubbery", but he knew he had to find a way. He couldn't very well infiltrate the leadership of the White Fang without some sort of villainous status, could he? And that was his main end goal. To remove that wet flannel, that absolute dud of a high leader, and shape the White Fang into his own vehicle for punishment, his own private army. Then Cinder would pay. They'd all pay. For making fun of his strawberry blond hair. For it all. Just as soon as he worked just where he had to attach the brown wire to this bomb.

***

"There yous go. Amity Arena, competitor's entrance no less. Hope you enjoyed your flight with myself today. Even Ghostface Killah back there." Maul bantered with his passengers as he touched his Parovstelar down on one of the few hundred parking spots- right next to the short pathway to the dressing rooms. There was a dressing room for every team, but BECK decided to jettison theirs, favouring the opportunity to join Team RWBY. After all, they were dressed already- and even if they weren't, the only one who'd profess to be uncomfortable with the whole thing had definitely already been naked around Yang.

"The best thing about these places is they always leave free snacks in the dressing rooms." Ruby told her gaggle of friends excitedly. As she opened the door, she sprinted to the bowl of crunchy N 'n' Ns so quickly that petals materialised from her body- through pores in her arm or some shit, I don't know or care, and this will never be important again so neither should you- and scattered across the grey stone floor of the dressing room. "How come you never make our bed look like this?" Emily asked Yang jokingly, from her position in the room's one proper chair. "Regretting not bringing the wheelchair along now?" Charlie asked, in that tone one's mother uses when they want to ever-so-gently remind you of your own boundless and prominent-to-the-level-where-it-should-actually-be-illegal stupidity. Emily nodded silently, disappointed in herself both for being wrong, and for admitting to Charlie he was right. "So you admit I was right, Em?" The blue boy asked his question while grinning smugly from one sticky-out ear to the other. "If we didn't have to focus on taking out LOLI right now, Charles, I'd pull myself out of this chair, and as soon as I limp over there, I'd kick your ass."
"Try me bitch. We all know your broken, crippled knees can't reach my ass if you tried."
"Charlie, give me a second, I gotta take a phone call. Oooh. Guess what?"
"What?"
"The 1750s called. They want your outfit back. I mean, you look like you're about to go out and lynch a goddamn ni.."
"Ok, that's quite enough of this." Ruby interrupted the two bickering-cum-bantering siblings. "Only goddamn ni.... nincompoop any of you four need to be lynching right now is on that Team LOLI. You've got 30 seconds to get out there."