Save the world? Fuck that, I want to make money! (RWBY SI) ch 65

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Vale was truly a breath-taking place. Its plazas, its avenues, its greenery was the envy of Remnant. Its bakeries and restaurants made the best food, the highest cuisine. Those that walked its streets had the finest fashions of colour. Indeed, it was a pride of Vale that its was already a center of expression and self-identity even before the Colour Revolution. But not all enjoyed its prosperity. Not all were The Haves and so many more were the Have Nots. In certain districts neglected by the Fleur, the Have Nots reigned. The Have Nots, the common classes of Vale, rubbed shoulders with those that had even less than them. And with so little, it was not a surprise crime was an avenue people turned to. 

For Lucas White, he just liked being one step ahead. 

He yawned as he left his bedroom, walking into the common room where he and others under the employ of a certain red-haired thief shared. He walked past the sleeping forms of his colleagues all knocked out on the couch snoring peacefully. In front of them, a paused screen of their video game. 

'Losers,' the goon thought as he shook his head and went straight for the kitchen. His stomach felt empty and he needed food. He opened it, yawning as he reached into grab a jug of milk. With milk in hand, he rifled through their messy kitchen for cereal. He spotted it, hidden among other empty cereal boxes. 

Just as Lucas sat to enjoy his breakfast, he paused to take out his scroll. Images of cats flooded his feed. He managed a smile, scrolling through it then paused as his eyes caught sight of a headline. He leaned in to read then scoffed. The Vacuans were sending over their delegates to prepare for the Vytal Festival. Well, them and the other Kingdoms worth a snot. Hell, Menagerie even managed to be worth something and was sending their own team to join in the throng. Unheard of in days past but then again, Menagerie wasn't exactly a shit-hole anymore. 

​The celebrities were lost on Lucas however. He didn't care for them and their pretend fights. If anything, the only thing he would like to know is their security so that he could swoop in and steal something or two. He weighed in the pros and cons of such. That Vacuan Royal certainly looked loaded. That and she was smoking hot too. He grinned as he was beheld to tanned skin, bright amber eyes, and long black hair all in a silky red harem dress. 

​It was then the doors opened and a familiar voice spoke aloud. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauties!" 

His colleagues woke up, snorting and swallowing their own saliva as the bowler-hat shaped form of Roman Torchwick appeared, striding down their hallway as if he owned it. Well, he did. But still, he didn't live here and Lucas felt a little sentimental about the bolt hole. Roman was perfumed, smiling, and peppy as usual. He wore the mantle of a wanted man well, as if it was nothing more but another hat to wear. Roman stopped, looking at the paused screen of the video game his men kept up. He rolled his eyes then turned back to waking rising band. 

​He tapped his cane on the floor, the door behind him closing on its own. "Now, do not panic. Ask yourself this, what is Roman Torchwick doing here so early in the morning?" 

​Melodic Cudgel was raised, landing on a half-asleep man. "You, with the saliva dripping. Why am I here?" He asked. 

​The man tried to answer but Roman beat him to it. "I am here because I am happy to announce that we are no longer going to be risking our hides stealing dust!" 

The room cheered. 

"We are now instead risking our lives stealing art!" 

The cheering stopped. 

"W-what?" Lucas blinked. Roman turned to him, nodding as if he had explained everything. Inwardly, Roman could not help but frown. Stealing dust was relatively easy. Relatively. Go in, mug the counter, and make off with as much as they could take. Stealing art pieces now? That was new. 

"You see, my good man, our client has decided that we are going to be famous!" he said matter-of-factly, as he walked up and picked up the remote. The men enjoying their game could only watch futilely as Roman clicked on the remote and the the familiar face of Lisa Lavender appeared on screen. "On the ground, we have the First Consort speaking to our representative Towne Cryer. Now, Mister Cryer, continue the interview." 

Lucas watches as the woman he fawned over spoke to a flash of cameras. She flushed at the attention, wiping away a lock of hair with a single hand. Lucas felt his heart beat. "I am honoured to be here, truly." Her voice was seductive, yet innocent. "We mark the next chapter of Remnant's history with the fiftieth Vytal Festival. I have much reason the believe that this Vytal will be to die for." 

​In the background, Lucas and the others saw men and women pushing forward boxes. He blinked.

"What's in the boxes, First Consort?" Cryer asked curiously. 

"Art," she laughed musically. She turned, gesturing to the boxes. "Vacuo would like to take this moment to showcase the treasures that our Kingdom has accumulated. Vytal is also about the unity of the Kingdoms, yes, but it is also a chance for each kingdom to shine as well. My husband and His Majesty, the King, wishes to showcase what Vacuo has forged in the past as well as now in its present. I am told Vale appreciates art and fine works. I hope to see that appreciation soon." 

"Might the viewers get an idea where the displays will be held?" 

​Consort Cinder turned to the cameras, a serene and welcoming smile on her face. "All around museums in Vale. We will also do one in the Warrior King's Palace, and finally, in Beacon Academy." She laughed, smiling sweetly. "I am sure the students there will find it...enriching." 

Roman turned the screen off and tossed the remote to a far couch. 

"Boss, I don't mean to uh, over-step," Lucas began. Roman turned to him, head tilting.

"Hm?"

"But isn't this job a bit too...uh...hot?" He pointed out. "There will be security all over. I am sure that these places will not just be swarming with ordinary security but the Army, Sentinels, even huntsmen too. Sorry, boss, but this seems way all over our heads." 

​Roman shook his head. "Oh dear, dear me. And here I thought you people were thieves." 

"B-Boss?" Lucas stammered. Roman placed a gloved hand against his chest. "Who am I, Mister Lucas?" 

"You're Roman Torchwick," Lucas replied, blinking. 

"And what does Roman Torchwick do?" 

"He is a thief," He finished. 

"A Master Thief," Roman corrected him. He levelled Melodic Cudgel to Lucas.

"And who are you?" 

"Lucas White," Lucas replied. 

"Why did you become a thief?" Roman probed. 

"Er...to be rich and famous. Like you, boss." Lucas answered with a cold sweat. Where was Roman going with this?

"Are you going to be rich and famous doing nothing but stealing dust from mumbling old men?" Roman asked. Lucas thought about it. Sure, stealing dust for Roman's client had granted notoriety but it did not really net admiration, rather, it had only brought them nothing but scorn. Dust was needed in people's lives to cook, to clean, to defend themselves from Grimm. Their lives depended on it. 

"No," Lucas said, dejected. 

"Exactly," Roman declared. With one hand, he gestured outside their window. "Look at that, out there. In the distance. You see those marble buildings and long, long avenues? We aren't going to get our rep up if we keep on doing low-level jobs. Vytal is our moment, our chance to sweep in and steal the spotlight from the Haves and bring a smile to the Have Nots!" 

He struck Melodic Cudgel down on the floor again, smirking. "When they're going to be talking about the 50th Vytal Festival, they're not going to be talking about the posers play fighting. They're not going to be talking about the prizes! No, they're going to be talking about you. And they're going to be talking about me, the thieves who stole all they had in the night." 

Roman adjusted the cap on his head. "That's what it means to be part of my crew. Are you it?"

Lucas stood up, determined. "I'm your crew, boss. Let's nail this Vacuan chick." 

Roman smiled indulgently. "That's the spirit." 

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A/N: The enemy is a plotting. Oh boy.