Ninjas of Love

The Meaty Part

Billy drew the stroll to a close in front of a fairly normal-looking market stall, being staffed by a burly man of roughly sixty years, with skin that looked like tanned leather. Most striking about his appearance was the fact he was completely shirtless, abhorring Charlie to a point of near-nauseation, and the fact his hair, despite having long since receded from his head's shiny top, hang in greasy, bleached-blond clumps from the back and sides of his head. "Oh... uh... hello." Billy spluttered out, searching his pockets for the required cash to purchase an item from the eccentrically-styled pensioner.

"Hello! How can I help you today, brother?" The man growled excitedly, yet intimidatingly, at Billy, his head turning a strange shade of cherry red. "Oh yeah, I'm ju..."
"By the way, brother, my name is Bulk. Bulk Bogan. Now then, jabroni, what can I interest you in? An inauthentic Yappapi Indian strap? A dodgy DVD? Name the item, brother!"
"Well," Billy thought aloud, confronted with a wide range of all sorts of cheapish tat that could potentially comprise his gift for RWBY's team leader, "I think those black and red headphones would be just perfect."
"An excellent choice, brother! That'll be 25 Lien, my esteemed friend."
"Ok." Billy sounded on edge and weirded out by Bulk. "There you go." He handed over 25 Lien in coins that had long weighed down the left side of his combat gear, and received a sleek, matte black and red pair of headphones in exchange. The ear cups were adorned with beautiful, laser-engraved roses, which Billy proudly showed to his three colleagues- evidently very proud of his transaction.

"Oh, and before you go!" Bulk called out, as the quartet turned to go find Charlie's gift for the tricky- to say the least- Weiss Schnee. "Yeah?" Billy asked with an unintentional aggressiveness, back to his socially inept self. "No guarantee they work, brother!" Billy reached into his pocket for his receipts. "And no refunds either!" Giggling together vis-a-vis the undoubtable weirdness of Bulk Bogan, the gaggle of hunters, plus huntress, walked off into a relatively sparsely populated area of the market to regain bearing and find somewhere for Charlie to peruse on Blake's map.

"How about that one?" Kerian asked, voice sincere. "You're suggesting we go to..." Charlie craned his head closer to the map. "Phil McF's Big Boy Bolton Bakery and Wine Tastery?" Kerian nodded, furred ears twitching. "How about no?" Charlie suggested, shutting down Kerian's idea like he was Skepta. "Weiss would like wine though." Emily suggested sagely. "But I'm 16." Charlie answered, his voice a cross between frustrated logic and ranting anger. "Oh, good point." Emily and Kerian conceded together. "Now this one looks like a better plan!" Charlie declared excitedly, his stubby finger nearly stabbing a hole through the stall he had found on the map. "What is it?" Billy asked exasperatedly, seemingly desperate to just get moving again. Charlie squinted carefully at the map, and nudged his black-rimmed glasses slightly further down the bridge of his nose. "I think it says..." Charlie squinted even more carefully, and shut his right eye, "Rosie's Inhumane Butchers." It felt to Charlie like Weiss was stood right over his shoulder and her hot breath was burning the back of his neck like the sun in the burning heat of a Vacuan summer. Alas, she wasn't and it wasn't, he was simply terrified of the heiress. Not terrified enough, however, to not match his understudies about three and a half miles over the Valish City Centre- seemingly forgetting Emily's legs- to the other, Atlesian end of the festival market to purchase Weiss some brutally, potentially even obscenely, slaughtered meat.

"Here we are." Charlie told his group, stopping them in their slow, whinging tracks. "If you ever do that again, I'm going to stick this cane up your arse." Emily managed to splutter between laboured, audible breaths. "Agreeo." Billy spoke in some form of error-laden pidgin a lot of the time, and this occasion was no different. "Fuck's sake." Charlie muttered to himself, as he- flanked by his three, admittedly unintimidating bodyguards.

"Hello. I'm Rosie, owner of Rosie's Inhumane Butchers. The only butchers to make you go "Eek"! How can I help you four today? And no, I can't make you any pig-bear-people. Evan already asked."
"Well, I'm not too sure, Rosie." Charlie mused. "What would you recommend if I was buying a gift for a vegan?"
"That you think about this. What if, instead of having a plate of peas, you could just have one massive fuckoff pea? How cool would that be? Anyway, I digress. How about a flank of meat from our finest dogs? They're organic, and Haribo-fed."
"I'm not too sure. Do you sell anything more... orthodox?" Charlie asked, utterly confused at why there seemed to be a rule that stipulated all market proprietors had to be batshit insane. "Why, we do!" Rosie exclaimed, a terrifyingly sadistic smile on her face. "Could I interest you in the freshest pork cuts in Vale? The pigs are extra special. They have long toes." The butcher seemed to have no filter or grasp of what people cared- or otherwise- about. "Sure, why not?" Charlie asked melancholically, hoping only to get this utterly surreal ordeal over with quickly. "Come with me, gang!" Rosie called out, beckoning the gang behind the counter, and behind a blue curtain of muslin that had been strung along the supposed back of the stall.

Once Team BECK had followed Rosie behind the curtain, they were surprised, but in no way excited, to find a small pen filled with lambs, pigs, dogs- who were eating Haribo Tangfastics from a trough- and a single, lonely-looking goat. "So, which pig do you like the look of?" Rosie asked Charlie, a strangely kindly gleam in her eyes. "I don't know, to be honest. I guess, that one?" Charlie said tentatively, pointing his hand in the general direction of one of the smaller pigs, whose tail was missing. Rosie nodded her head so violently that her chin-length hair began to splay in all directions. "So you choose Reece?"
"Sure, if that's his name. I choose him." Charlie said, trying to process quite what sort of character Rosie had. "Ok. Nice. Watch this, gang!" Rosie yelled excitedly as she reached into the pocket of her olive-green gilet.

She pulled something out quickly; no member of Team BECK saw more than a flash of polished, galvanised silver until she slowed down and put it in position. It was, quite evidently, a pistol- and a well-kept one at that. After a quick mouthing of the word "sorry", Rosie pulled the trigger and emptied the entire barrel of six rounds into the head of Reece The Pig, cackling maniacally.

"That was fun!" Rosie giggled to herself, stuffing the firearm back into her pocket, and pulling a rather heavy-duty-looking knife out of the opposite gilet pocket. "But this will be even more funner!"
"I believe the phrase is more fun." Emily piped up, her pedantry always quick to interrupt the bizarreness of any situation. "I've got a knife. Don't correct me, Michael Cane." Rosie told Emily, as she began to cut roughly around the pig's neck- loosening the head enough that she could pull it off. "Anyone want the head? All yours for 20 Lien."
"No thanks, love." Billy responded, his face flushed a pale hue. "You're such a dullard." Rosie complained, licking the excess pig blood off her hand. "Not bad, a lot like Mr. Weston's cooking." Her comment did not go unnoticed by Charlie, who looked visibly unwell. "Now for the even funner part!" Emily had to fight the urge to correct the knife-wielding weirdo again, as she began to cut thin steaks from the pig, discarding the skin cuttings into a box marked "Scratchings". "What's the skin for?" Emily asked, through intrigue rather than disgust. "Well," the strangely-proportioned butcher explained, "I like a snack when I drink one or two vessels of lager ale."
"Sorry I asked."
"It's fine, lovey." Rosie cut a fourth and final steak and handed the polystyrene container full of pork and blood to Emily, as she seemed the least white-faced of the four. She quickly covered it over with cling film before the flies could begin to eat the precious, meaty cargo. "Ok, blue boy, 40 Lien please."
"That's daylight robbery, love. But fine." Charlie reluctantly handed over the money, and shoved the package of steaks in a carrier bag. "I'll just tell Weiss they're vegan. And you won't tell her the truth. That's an order from your leader."