New story. I honestly considered calling this "midlife crisis" because that's what it feels like to a degree (for the character, not for me). Either way, I fancied a bit of a change so here is Roman-centric story. Expect low key narcissism, ego and whining.

I still maintain Roman was too awesome to be killed off as he was. He has so much more class than Cinder – but then Watts had more class than Cinder, too.

Chapter 1

"You look like death warmed over."

Roman Torchwick, gentleman thief extraordinaire, slumped down at the bar and accepted the rum and coke sent sliding his way. He didn't feel very extraordinary at that moment and flipped off his bowler hat, slapping it down on the bar with a wet squelch. His free hand came up to shake his hair, and a little soot, and a fair amount of sweat, fell upon his shoulders like dandruff.

"I feel every bit as bad as I look, Junior. Believe me."

"Rough night?" asked his old friend and information dealer.

"You don't know the half of it. It was meant to be an easy job. An old man, an empty store, at least ten of us." Roman waved his gloved hand in the air dramatically. "I mean, you don't get any easier than that. Do you? That's a formality."

"Did he turn out to be some martial arts master?"

"I wish. I could look myself in the mirror and told myself I'd become someone's badass origin story if that was the case." He downed his drink and flagged down another, flicking out some lien onto the bar. His own, sadly, as he hadn't gotten away with a single lien nor a single spec of dust. "Would you believe that all those men I borrowed got sent scattering by a child? By a little kid!"

"Huntress-in-training?"

"I bloody well hope so, Junior, or they make kids different these days. Some brat wielding an over-compensating farming implement with a bloody sniper rifle on the end. What's up with the that? A scythe and a sniper?" Roman held his hands out like he was pleading for answers. "Where's the logic!? Of all the two weapons you could slap together, why those two? Am I out of touch? Is this the cool new thing now?"

Junior laughed. "Okay, so, this child sends my men running and then you… what? Fought her? Lost?"

"I had to book it at that point. We didn't plan for action, and I knew the alarm had been tripped. Course, she chases me to a rooftop and pushes me to fight. Damn fool girl," he grumbled, rubbing his hand down his face. "I could have killed her. Felt like she was forcing me to, and I don't need murder on my record, you know? Most times even the huntsmen are willing to let you run if it means they can check on the victims."

"Not confident you could have beaten her non-lethally?"

"Tiny thing. Looked to be all speed and no muscle. And I didn't get much of a choice anyway when Glynda Mc-fucking-Goodwitch shows up. Because of course she'd just happen to be out in the middle of Vale at goodness knows what hour hardly a few days before Beacon opens for the year. Why not, eh?" Roman threw his hands up. "Why the damn well not be out in the middle of the night in the exact same place I'm hitting!? Maybe a teacher at Beacon just spontaneously needed dust in the middle of the night. Makes sense, eh?"

He wouldn't have gotten away if it weren't for Cinder, and that was a bitter pill to swallow. There was no love lost between them but she had him by the balls, and now he'd gone and made a fool of himself in front of her. He'd half-expected Cinder to kill him for that debacle.

The fact she hadn't didn't fill him with confidence either because it just meant she needed him too much to get rid of him for the moment. Roman didn't fancy his chances long-term, but what other options were there? He couldn't say no to her, and he couldn't skip Vale. Going to the white hats wouldn't be any use either, and he'd sworn long ago he'd never go to Bart and Beacon.

Over my dead body, you bloody hypocrite…

"Sounds like you need another drink," said Junior.

"I don't have the money."

"Really? Then it's on the house this time." Roman accepted the pity gesture, even as he felt his self-esteem shrivel up. "But you know, it's dark times indeed when the so-called gentleman thief can't even afford to pay his tab."

It damn well was. Roman sipped at it, miserable from head to toe, and wanting nothing more than to crawl home and die under his covers. Neo would be waiting for him too, though at least she didn't have a voice to mock him with. He'd been the best of the best, infamous, and now he was some schmuck an egotistical bitch used to threaten old men like some two-bit mugger. Anyone could hold up a helpless civilian with a gun.

And he'd even failed at that.

"Damn it, Junior. What happened to me? Did I go soft?"

"Maybe," his old friend said with zero sympathy. "Or maybe the world got harder, and you were left behind. It happens, Roman. We grow old, the young replace us, and yesterday's news story is today's garbage."

Roman grimaced, and downed his drink, setting the glass down before standing.

"You owe me, by the way."

"What?" Roman looked back, too tired to argue. "You said it was on the house."

"I mean the men I lent you, numbskull. They've been arrested. It's going to cost me money to get them bailed and grease a few palms. You know the rules. Compensation if you lose them."

Roman ran his hand through his hair again. This was just more bad news he didn't need, and he'd come away with bugger all tonight as it was. "I'll get you your money," he promised, and slapped his hand down on the rim of his bowler hat, causing it to flip up. He made to catch it and sweep it atop his head, but he misjudged it and the hard rim slapped into his face. The twins giggled at his misfortune. It was just one more indignity.

He trudged out the club with his hands shoved in his pockets.

/-/

Roman unlocked the door to his apartment and swept in, closing it behind him and shaking off the rain that had soaked his coat through. The weather had turned without warning, which made it par for the course given his night. He swung his coat off and hung it on a standing pole and placed his wet hat atop it. Fishing out his cigar case, he carried it toward the living area where Neo was already curled up on the couch, asleep. Stooping, he dragged a blanket over her small body and walked past the claimed sofa, through the door and into his bedroom.

The apartment was small. People might have assumed a thief like him would be rich, but wealth drew attention, and the better places in Vale weren't prepared to risk themselves by hosting a criminal, even for a bribe. It was the desperate landlords who knew not to ask questions. Besides that, even if you stole a million lien's worth of goods, it'd only be worth a tenth of that fenced on, and supplies and dust and bribes weren't cheap, to say nothing of hiring Junior's men.

Vale would have been surprised to know its most famous criminal lived paycheck to paycheck. Tapping his cigar case open he reached inside, only to groan as he poked a mushy cigar. Water had creeped in and ruined them.

"Typical," he spat, tossing them in a corner. He threw himself down on his bed, the mattress creaking. "What the hell is wrong with me? I used to be something. I was huge!"

Rolling over, he slid open a wooden drawer beside the bed and drew out a stack of newspapers within. Neo mocked him mercilessly for it, and he'd be the first to say he deserved it, but he'd made a habit of keeping newspapers that talked of his exploits. It was a guilty and somewhat embarrassing hobby of his to look back through the times he'd made the first page, but there was nothing wrong with having pride in your work. Flipping through the papers, he found himself smiling nostalgically at the headlines.

Infamous thief strikes again.

Mastermind criminal robs Vale Grand Museum.

Roman Torchwick. Can he be caught?

Heist of the century launched by Roman Torchwick!

There were many more but, as he flicked through them, the headlines began to fade and become less dramatic. About halfway through, he stopped making the front page, and beyond that it was mere mentions and footnotes deeper inside the papers. His capture had made the frontpage again, a rare moment of pride, and his escape had done it as well, but he'd failed to maintain the spotlight for more than a week or two after.

The last newspaper he'd bothered keeping was a whole year old by now, though maybe his name would be in tomorrow's. Idiot thief loses to teenage girl. Infamous thief bested by preteen. The thief who couldn't rob an old man with ten men.

Cheer fading, Roman let the papers fall back into the drawer. He didn't even have the balls to toss them away or rip them to pieces. They were a last link to a time when he'd been the talk of Vale. When the rich trembled and when women had blushed while he relieved them of their valuables. When he'd been on everyone's lips and the whole world knew his name.

The gentleman thief, Roman Torchwick.

"Cinder's bitch more like," he said, eyes closing. "I really did fall, didn't I? From the top all the way to the damn bottom. And now I don't even have enough to pay rent."

He could go hold up some shops to get some cash and a few cigars, but it was more of the same. More bottom-feeder business. He might as well trade in his hat and coat for a black balaclava and a handgun. Cinder might even prefer that, because then she wouldn't have to keep remembering his name and she could call him "nameless mook" like she so obviously thought of him as.

And her brat kids could laugh at the washed-up old man, too.

But there wasn't much he could do about it. The world wasn't fair, and you could either be on the side of the winners or you could be a loser. The way things were might have been humiliating, and they might have been hard, but at least he would survive it. For what poor definition of living this could be called.

The door opened and Neo stumbled tiredly in, her mismatched eyes glinting in the dark as she picked him out. She was as cold-blooded a killer as any, far worse than him in every conceivable regard, and yet he always had a soft spot for the little psycho.

"Hey kiddo." He grinned. "You didn't fall asleep waiting for me, did you?"

Neo snorted and shook her head, blatantly lying as she crawled onto the bed and against his side. He'd never questioned why she felt the need to sleep with him, presuming it nightmares or trauma and leaving it be. Neo seemed to appreciate that. He wasn't one to turn down a warm body either.

Not when the heating had been turned off a week earlier.

"We're running out of funds by the way," he said. "Tonight was a bust. That's going to mean cutting down on the ice-cream." He felt her stiffen. "Sorry. I'll try and bring us some more in to fix it. Cinder's shit has been taking up all my time, though. You know how she is."

Neo nodded against his shoulder, but her sorrowful sigh was all too audible. He'd have called her ice-cream dependency childish but, like not sleeping alone, he had a feeling there was something much deeper to it than met the eye. He'd always tried to do well by her in his own, helpless way.

He probably hadn't been a very good guardian or a role model, but at least he'd made sure she was a fashionable little thing. It was about the best he could do, even if Neo deserved a whole lot better. Maybe he could look to pawn off Melodic Cudgel for some funds. Even if he wasn't a hotshot now, his old weapon ought to draw some interest from a collector's market. It had a story behind it after all.

Look at me. Reduced to selling off my weapon to make ends meet. I used to think my name would be remembered for centuries after I died, but it's been forgotten before I've even hit forty. Roman Torchwick, reduced to a single father barely bringing in enough to keep his adopted-daughter fed.

How the mighty had fallen.

Roman closed his eyes and promised to do better.

For her sake.

/-/

The ATM buzzed angrily at him.

Roman cursed, withdrew his card and picked another out his wallet to try that account. There had to be some money left in one of them. Behind him, an old woman tapped her cane onto the ground as she had for the last two cards he'd inserted. It had been annoying them, and it was no better now.

The machine buzzed for another empty account. Roman swore and went for another card.

Her cane clapped down again.

Something in him snapped. "Do you damn well mind!?" he snarled, rounding on the old crone. "I know you're one foot in the grave, you old hag, but that doesn't mean everyone else has to rush for you!"

The old woman fired back. "Rushing to what? Bankruptcy? Face it, you don't have any money."

"Do you even know who I am, you old biddy?"

The woman looked him up and down, and Roman straightened, adopting his old killer smile that had sent women into a tizzy. Her face scrunched up. "Should I recognise you? You're just some unemployed bum. Get a job if you need money that badly." Her piece said, and his self-esteem in tatters, she pushed past him and took her place at the ATM.

Frustratingly, she brought out some money straight away.

And Roman wasn't in a position to turn that down. The old bitch gasped as he snatched the wad of cash out her hand, tearing it from her shocked fingers with a wicked grin. He ran, sprinting off before even she could turn out to be a freaking huntress, and that cane a rocket launcher or something.

"Thief!" she cried, as Roman sprinted away. "Thief! Stop him!"

People turned to look but didn't intervene. They never did. Most people didn't have the guts to put themselves at risk, and thankfully there was no bratty kid with a scythe to get in his way this time. Roman ducked into an alleyway, out another, and then through a second, before he joined a crowd heading down into the subway tunnels. Heart pounding, he counted his ill-gotten gains. A measly two-hundred lien, not even a quarter of the rent he needed.

But it was a start.

I'll have to pick pockets and threaten a few people to cover rent this month, then I'll need to dedicate some of my gains next month to paying Junior back. It paid to have, and keep, friends in this business. And that's not counting the work Cinder will have me doing, which I won't be paid for because she's a megalomaniacal bitch.

The month ahead promised to be hard work, and inglorious work. More robberies on dust stores, and more threatening old men, and stealing from old women drawing out from their pensions.

Roman paused, glaring down at the lien in his hand like it had personally offended him.

"Used to be I'd light cigars with this much lien…"

The good old days, when money had been plentiful and a young, ambitious thief had dominated the city and made it his bitch. He'd lived the high life then, wooing women and stealing priceless antiques and getting away with it every time. He'd had fan clubs. He knew because he'd secretly joined each and every one of them and spent whole afternoons watching people fawn over him.

Once or twice he'd even posted derogatory comments about himself, fanning the flames and enjoying the absolute rage at which his devoted fans rushed to his defence. There'd even been fanart for crying out loud. They'd idolised him. Those sites were barren now. Hardly anyone commented.

Now, he was unrecognised. People in the subway walked past on his left and right. Not one of them stopped to call out his name in shock, awe, or fear. They didn't even notice him, and Roman Torchwick slid onto a train, committing his second crime of the day by failing to pay to get through the automatic gates.

It didn't make him feel any more accomplished.

Roman pushed deeper into the subway train, bumping into one man and lifting a pack of cigarettes from inside his jacket with a muttered apology and sat down. The cigarettes were cheap but he needed the nicotine and breathed a sigh of relief once his body slackened. Someone nearby huffed and pointed to a "no smoking" sign but he ignored them. They should have been pointing at him anyway. He was a wanted criminal. Instead, no one reacted to the once-infamous man among them.

Only the person he'd bumped into earlier moved, patting himself down and cursing once he realised his cigs were gone. Roman closed his eyes and settled in for the journey, tipping his bowler hat down over his eyes.

His scroll beeped, interrupting his moment.

Cinder: "We need to talk. Immediately."

Ugh.

Great...

/-/

"Roman..."

"Cinder," he replied, standing opposite her. "No children today?"

"They are in Mistral, as I should be, but it seems you're fortunate indeed I was close enough to step in and save you from... what was it again? Oh yes – a child." Her sneer cut deeply. "Where is my dust, Roman?"

"It's a work in progress."

"Not good enough."

"These things aren't achieved in a day, Cinder." Roman stuffed his hands in his pockets, puffing around his cheap cigarette. It was cold out, late, and he wished he could be anywhere else than with this psychopathic bitch. "You want me to steal a frankly industrial amount of dust and hide it in the city. That's going to take time, even for someone like me."

"I'm beginning to feel the correct phrasing should be `especially for someone like you`, Roman. I thought I was hiring a professional thief. Instead, I've ended up with someone thwarted by a fifteen-year old child. That does not inspire confidence."

"It wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows for me either, and let's get to one thing – hiring. I don't feel very hired when you're not paying me. I'm running low on funds as it is, and hiring men to help steal dust isn't cheap. I could do with some lien being shifted my way."

Cinder clicked her tongue, telling him all he needed to know about his chances of getting any renumeration from her. Bitch. His teeth ground together as she mockingly approached him, reached out and touched a hand to his cheek. He didn't move, knowing she would get aggressive if he did. But the fact he stood still only confirmed she held the power. It was a loss no matter what he did.

"You are a thief, Roman," she cooed, gripping his chin between fingers and thumb. Cinder tilted his head left and right as if she were expecting him, then plucked the cigarette from his lips and, with a flash of golden-yellow, incinerated it in front of his nose. "You should be more then capable of dealing with your own finances – and with anyone who gets in your way. That child, training or not, shouldn't have been a problem for you. I know you can fight."

"I can," he admitted, "but that doesn't mean I should. How I act determines how much of a concerted effort the city puts into stopping me. Robbing a few stores means I'm a low priority. Thrashing, or killing, a huntress-in-training, a child, will have me hunted down by every huntsman and huntress in Vale." He did his best to hold her smouldering gaze. "There's a reason I aimed that dust crystal at her feet. Killing someone on a robbery is the worst thing you can do. It's amateur."

Yeah, he could have beaten Red in single combat if he accepted it, but what was the point? She wasn't his target and all he'd do was galvanise Beacon or Signal to hunt him down. He'd expected the brat would take her victory and stick around feeling smug about herself. Not chase him up a ladder and put her life at risk, the reckless little brat. If Cinder had actually succeeded in killing her and Glynda both, then he'd have been screwed. It would be the whole city after him, and they'd put a bounty on his head that would have the likes of Qrow Branwen after him.

That kind of heat wasn't worth it.

But Cinder didn't care.

"You have your job, Roman. I need dust – more dust than you are currently bringing in. I don't care for excuses or your methods. Do whatever you have to, kill whomever you have to. As long as you gather the dust in the timeframe I have given you, we shall not have any problems." Her hand snatched his chin again and yanked his head down. "But disappoint me and I shall show you just how expendable you are," she hissed. Her eyes glowed ominously in front of his. "And the last headline your name ever sees will be the city reacting to your corpse found burnt and nailed to the nearest police station. Am I understood?"

Roman's blood boiled.

But Cinder could make that metaphor a reality and cook him from the inside out.

"Understood," he grunted, his jaw aching under her grip. "It'll be done."

Cinder released him, giving his chin a little push as she did so that he staggered to the side. The little show of power seemed to amuse her to no end, or maybe it was that his surrender excited her. Aroused her. Neo often teased him as narcissistic but Cinder was worse.

"See that it is, Roman, and see that you handle your own financial problems while you're at it. I don't care how you get this done, only that you do." She looked back, her hair falling across one eye. "Oh, and this is your last chance, Roman. Disappoint me again, or drag me out to save you, and you won't live to regret it. At this point, I feel like I could replace you with a street-level thug and get the same level of service."

Cinder's heels clicked away as she left, leaving him to angrily fish out another cigarette, fumble it, then crush it in his gloved hand. A snarl escaped him and he threw the cigarette down, stamped on it and drew another. This one he bit into, but too hard, severing the base and sending the rest spilling over his chest.

That arrogant, twisted, egocentric bitch.

Oh, how he wished he could bash her head in. He wanted to dropkick her off a tall building and send her screaming to her death. Red was an annoyance, and an embarrassment, but Cinder was ten times worse. Sadly, she was also ten times stronger, and could very well follow through on her threat.

"No one would have dared talk to me like that before," he grumbled, fishing out a third cigarette which he lit normally. "Not and get away with it."

The trip down memory lane didn't help him any.

He was a washed up old man. A has-been. The old Roman Torchwick had been a spry huntsman-trained former student of Beacon, flexible and athletic and strong, whereas he was now thirty-two, and had felt each of those years over twenty-five much more keenly than he would have liked.

Gone were the days of shimmying into tiny crawl spaces and performing acrobatic flips. His back complained nowadays if he slept in the wrong position. Gone were the days of charming women's pants off as he robbed them. Gone were the days of duelling with the best in Vale and carving out a name and reputation despite being just a single crook surrounded by powerful gangs and families. Even they had respected him.

Now?

Now he had an old friendship with Junior keeping him supplied, and a run-down apartment he was sharing with a mute he'd saved. It was all too much. Roman lifted his bowler hat and ran his hand through his hair once again, and when his hand came back a strand of white glistened against his black glove.

"White hairs, too? This can't be happening. I'm not even middle-aged!" Yet. He was close. "I still have years in the tank, don't I? I'm not a washed-up old man. I'm Roman Torchwick, master criminal."

A crook that no one recognised and no one cared about, who had been reduced to stealing cigarettes and robbing old women at ATMs.

He still hadn't made enough for rent either.

I could probably just about scrape by if I spend the next two nights picking pockets off drunks around the nightclubs. Lift a few wallets of those about to go out with pockets full of spending money.

It was a depressing thought. That was street-rat territory.

Little risk. Little reward.

Perfect for a washed-up old man like him.

"No. I refuse. I... I haven't lost my touch. I'm still me. Roman Torchwick. Gentleman thief. Mastermind. I can do better. I will do better." The words felt empty, even to him, but he was past caring. "I'll show them. I'll show Cinder. I'll show them all!"

If he was going to go out, it might as well be with a bang.

One last hurrah.

/-/

The door to their apartment smashed open and Neo jumped, fumbling her last bit of ice-cream and spilling it on her foot. She cried out, silent and dismayed, and then bent her own leg back to lick at her own boot like she was her own bondage slave.

"Neo!" snapped Roman. "Don't be disgusting."

Tears ran down her eyes.

"None of that! We're going to buy you a whole freaking freezer full of ice-cream."

The words had her pausing, but the manic, almost desperate look in Roman's eyes worried her a little bit. She tilted her head inquisitively, and he understood what she was asking. He always did.

"We, my dear Neo," he said, pulling her up off the sofa. "—are going to hit it big. We are going to put our money troubles behind us and start a new chapter. We are going to be the feared criminals we should be!"

Roman swung his cane into the air, struck their ceiling light, flinched and hunched his shoulders as bits of glass and lightbulb rained down around them. When their landlord didn't burst through the door screaming at them, he relaxed a little.

"We are going to rob a bank!"

Oh...

Oh dear.

"Don't look at me like that, Neo. It'll be fine. I'm a mastermind thief and I still have it in me. The two of us are going to hold up the Vale Central Bank and make off with enough money to live like kings! We're going to be on the front page of every newspaper in the city!"

Neo had the sinking suspicion the latter was more important to him than the former. Ugh. She'd known she should have burned those newspaper clippings he thought she didn't know about.

Ugh...

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Roman was pouting. "You think I can't do it. You think I'm too old, too unfit, and too washed-up. Don't you?"

Neo quickly shook her head and waved her hands, smiling desperately.

Internally, she was nodding.

"I'm just as spry as I used to be!" he lied. Roman struggled getting out of bed some days and was always complaining about his back. "Just you wait and see. I can fight with the best of them, and they'll never know what hit them!"

Neo let out a long sigh. When he was like this, there was no stopping him. Thirty-two felt too young for a midlife crisis, and yet there really wasn't anything else she could call this. Roman was brimming with energy, rolling out some paper to take down a floorplan of the bank and plan their heist.

This was going to be a disaster, she could just tell.

Welp.

She'd have to make sure her adopted father figure didn't get himself in trouble. But given he'd just got his butt kicked by a fifteen-year old girl, she had the sinking feeling that was going to be a lot more difficult than it sounded.

"Stop doubting me!" snapped Roman. "I'm Vale's master thief, you know."

"..."

"I can tell when your silences are sarcastic, Neo!"

"..."

Good luck, Neo. I'm sure your adoptive father won't need you to bail his ass out.

Next Chapter: 7th November

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