Team WRPP (The Elites Volume One) - #RWBYverseAwards

The Giant

Two months. Two full months had passed. He couldn't complain about his current locale. Not that it was fantastic, but it wasn't all that bad either. Sure, there were the few Grimm here and there that would stumble into his clearing, but nothing that he couldn't handle. He would make short work of the smaller Grimm: Ursa, Beowolves, the works. The ones that would really hit a nerve with him were the Deathstalkers and Nevermores. While they were powerful, they were also annoying as hell to deal with.

Currently, the boy had just finished hunting for some small woodland creatures, succeeding in finding himself some sort of sustenance. He had caught a rabbit and a couple of weasels. He felt bad killing them, but he had to get some protein in his diet. His reserves could only sustain him for so long.

He was just about to enter his clearing. The sun was ducking below the horizon of the trees surrounding him, signalling the end of another arduous and boring day. Such was life when you lived by yourself in a Grimm infested forest.

He walked into the clearing to see his makeshift tent, and the traps and other security measures surrounding it. He managed to step around all of them, and took a seat inside his considerably large tent that he had called home for the last little while.

He grabbed the guitar that was lying near his bed and began to retune the strings... for the fifth time that day. The rapidly changing humidity of the forest did not treat the guitar nicely at all.

It was only after the man behind him cleared his throat that the boy wheeled around, his arm transforming into an assault rifle, aimed right at the man in green's head.

"Calm down, Primal. I only wish to talk."

The metal boy slowly changed his hand back into its proper form, and looked at the man expectantly.

The man in green crossed his legs, the coffee mug in his grip sloshing somewhat.

"I would like to ask you to return to Beacon."

Primal looked at him through his new mask. It had been poorly crafted from the wood of one of the larger trees of the area, and had been fashioned in such a way so that the mechanical tentacles that held his eye could run through it; the purple veins in the metal pulsating every so often. He missed his helmet.

"I am not yet ready."

The man recrossed his legs.

"Unfortunately, I don't think we can wait for you to become ready. We need someone with your expertise and your personality. And there are people that miss you."

Primal sighed, the mechanics in his voice shining through with a harsh, metallic undertone of the breath.

"If I must, so be it."