"Take a wee peek at this one, lads and lasses. I'm very proud of it." David told the hunters and huntresses-in-training, who were gathered around one of his stone workbenches as if the blacksmith were leading some bizarre, stimulant-fuelled cult initiation which culminated in him pulling out the sleek, black, steel handgun that he was presently brandishing with such enthusiasm and gusto. "That is certainly a pistol." Billy mused, sounding- intentionally or otherwise (but most likely intentionally)- rather snide in his assessment of the firearm. "Aye, it is. But, lad, it is also something else." The blacksmith flicked a shimmering, metallic toggle switch on the underside of the gun's trigger which caused a long, silver blade to just out from the guns barrel at extraordinary speed, almost piercing straight through Kerian's muddy, faeces-coloured eyes. "Aye, I need to be careful." David reminded himself as he rotated the handle of the revolver to create a much more effective, and less ergonomically challenging, hilt. He then flicked the toggle switch again with his calloused finger (which rather resembled a Morrison's Eat Smart Cumberland Sausage) to retract the blade once more, in a concertina-like fashion, before he handed the sleek, black, long hilt back to it's original owner, Billy.
"Right guys, whose weapon would this be?" The blacksmith asked loudly, rummaging through a pile of metal before holding out a contraption to the waiting quartet. It was an old, rusted sniper rifle, which had been shoddily duct taped to a classical Pictish Claymore with all the precision of a bland walrus trying to play snooker. Kerian, slowly and reluctantly, put out his left hand to claim the bodge job of a weapon that David had probably put together in an absolute bloody maximum time of fourteen seconds.
The next item the burly Caledonian effectively chokeslammed down onto the countertop was Emily's weapon, Electro Velvet. The weapon consisted of two intricately engraved axe heads, sitting parallel to each other at the business end of a sawn-off shotgun- a Franchi SPAS-12, to be precise. Emily grabbed a hold of it excitedly, in awe of the actual craftsmanship that had gone into its production following Kerian's adhesive-tape abomination. "You see?" David asked her, a lecherous smile exposing his misaligned and mustard-yellow teeth. "Only my best work for you!" He told her, winking at her before he turned back around to find his final weapon while Emily messed with the butterfly-wing-like folding mechanism that converted a dangerous Norse killing machine into a dangerous Soviet killing machine in the space of under ten seconds.
"Now this," David Beckett segued, whilst facing his sweaty back toward the four trainees, "I am especially proud of, so I don't want you to criticise it too harshly, right guys?" He finished his sentence with an unnerving and intense stare at Billy, who had gone back to his game of Pissed Off Birbs and was far too absorbed in his scroll to notice or care about David's vaguely threatening behaviour. David then pulled out, from underneath the countertop, two chunky leather wrist straps filled to the proverbial brim with knives and even a leather fanny pack with the spare knives in. "These knives, lad, can tesselate into a staff so you have a melee option too. Plus, you look like the sort of fella who know his kiln from his engraving knife. So I made it fairly easy to tinker with and change. Just remember it was originally a..."
The blacksmith paused and took a deep breath inwards before pointing up to the sky and screaming,
"DAVE CREATION! Right guys?"
YOU ARE READING
Ninjas of Love
FanfictionWhen four hunters stumble across the legendary Team RWBY in a forest, they are taken on as proteges, as the ragtag heroes attempt to bend the rules and convince Ozpin to accept the new team as students of Beacon. Sadly, as all linear stories require...
