Slow Day

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Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with RWBY, Rooster Teeth, The Flash, or DC Comics and their parent company Warner Bros. If any of them try to sue me, I will burn this to the ground.

Third-Person Pov:

Y/n is sitting across from Ruby and flipping through a comic book. Weiss holds up two tablecloths, each a different yet similar shade of white. "I need your help deciding which color we'll use to decorate," she says to Ruby.

"Um, aren't they both the same?" Ruby asks in confusion.

Weiss sighs in frustration. "I don't know why I asked," she says.

"Pick the lighter shade. It'll fit better with the rest of the decorations and the lighting at the dance," Y/n says after he flips a page. "Sure, it will be a pain to clean, but that's what you get when you use a white tablecloth," he says with a playful smirk.

Weiss looks at Y/n, who looks at her and shrugs before returning to reading his comic. Weiss walks away to continue setting up for the dance. Yang walks past her and sets a speaker down near Y/n and Ruby with an audible thump.

"So, have you guys picked your outfits for the dance yet?" Yang asks.

"I'm sticking with something simple," Y/n says. "And by that, I mean I'll just wear my school uniform, maybe switch out the neck tie with a bow tie and maybe a different vest too."

Ruby sighs, "Who cares? What's the point if Blake's not going?"

"Don't worry, she's going," Yang says.

"You sure? Because she's even more anti-social and moody," Y/n bluntly says as he flips to another page in his comic.

"Oh, don't worry, Red, she'll be going," Yang says.

"Well, if that's the case, I'll be on my way and take care of some things," Y/n says as he gets out of his chair and leaves the room.

Y/n Pov:

I make my way to one of Beacon's training rooms and raise the hood on my jacket so that it's covering my face and people don't freak out when they see me. 'I need to get my semblance under control. Two uses, and both required intense rage to function. And that's not mentioning how people look at me after my first use of it. I can take people looking at me with distrust, anger, hate, annoyance, and envy. But fear... I don't want people to be afraid of me. I don't want them to look at me the way they look at Him. I just want to go home.' I pull the hood down further and shove my hands into my pockets. Unfortunately, as I walk to the training rooms, I can't tune out people whispering around me. How I'm dangerous, a liability, destined to become a rogue huntsman, wondering maybe that's why I'm not on anyone's team.

I make it to an empty training room and see that I have an hour before someone will show up. I take off my jacket and wrap the sleeves around my waist. I close my eyes and activate my aura before trying to focus on what I felt when using my semblance besides the overwhelming rage. I take some deep breaths to help me focus. I can feel my heartbeat, slow, steady, and powerful. The air vibrating around me as the nitrogen, oxygen, and carbon dioxide bounce off each other. And the gentle warmth of my aura surrounding me like a blanket or a hug from my parents. I take a deep breath and focus on the warmth and try directing it to my hand, then condensing it until it's burning hot. I feel the heat intensify and open my eyes to see a flame hovering above the palm of my hand. It's about the size of a baseball. I feel a smile spread across my face, and I think the flame looks slightly larger and brighter for a split second.

"This is so cool," I say as I move my hand around, the flame traveling with it. 'I wonder.' I look at one of the training dummies in the room and back at the fireball in my hand. I move my arm like I'm pushing something away, but the flame still stays in the palm of my hand. 'Maybe a throwing motion.' I change my stance so it's more in line with something a pitcher would use. 'Here goes.' I move my arm like I'm throwing a baseball, but nope, the flame does not leave my hand. I try a few more times, but nothing happens. I can't throw fire. I close my hand and let the flow of my aura return to normal.

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