On My Terms

by Good Old Hoxton

After being fired for a clear disregard of teamwork and human life, a single RED Sniper finds brief employment with a notorious criminal, only to be arrested the same night in a place he doesn't understand nor recognize. However, after a deal with an interesting head teacher of a prestigious warrior academy, the Sniper is given the job of supply teacher. What could go wrong?

3. Better than Auto-Balance

"Hell of a lot better than London public transport," Face whistled as he stepped onto the bus, Jerry in tow in civilian clothing but with a police badge and a pistol held ready in case Face tried to make a run for it. The civilians already on board were immediately giving intrigued looks to the two men that had just stepped onto the bus, but outside of a few whispers that sprang up around the already quiet vehicle, Face didn't see any reason to pay heed to them. They were wearing normal clothes, and from what he'd been told, it was a weekend. Naturally, people would be out in their thousands to enjoy the summer sun, go shopping, and generally just enjoy themselves, which Face almost envied. He hadn't been able to properly go shopping in years, instead having to rely on Mann Co.'s mail order service if he wanted new weapons and hats. Sure, other Mercs around the place liked leaving stuff on the floor when they died, and Face was quite happy to take their hats and guns then sell them to guys on his team, but it wasn't going to be as satisfactory as just...browsing a shop. Stopping to look at things and consider them. Picking things up and trying them on. But it wasn't really something he cared about at that point in time.

He was being escorted to this 'Beacon' academy by a guard of his choosing. He would be taken to an airport, flown over to the school, given a tour and a few days to get settled in, then he was to be teaching a class of first-year students since their usual Professor was out capturing Grimm for educational reasons. Naturally, Face's chosen escort was Jerry, because Face liked Jerry and it was just like in the old war camp movies where the American soldiers called the Prisoner of War camp guards 'Jerry', as a derogatory term due the fact that many Germans were called 'Bill', and also because the words 'Ben' and 'Jerry' reminded them of the Great Ice Cream Factory Bombing of 1918 where Franklin Roosevelt personally blew up every ice cream factory in Germany, with the explosions destroying the recipes to several classic flavours that truly demoralized Germany and forced their surrender in 1919.

Jerry was also carrying Face's guns in a metal carry case, so the Sniper was constantly flicking his eyes back at the Guard to make sure his weapons weren't being treated badly.

Regardless, Face was rambling mentally as the bus wheezed its way down winding streets. He was looking out the window, and seeing what there really was to look at as he went past. It was nothing but shops for a while, occasionally passing a plaza or museum, but when it came to the airport after a few stops and a twenty minute bus ride, Face was truly impressed. The building housed rows of large platforms that were raised above the sea on metal and concrete stilts, with a sleek white metal and glass roof over each platform to keep commuters from getting wet in rain. On each, there were rows of benches and glass walls that displayed what Face could only assume to be travel times, and even the staircase leading up to the platform was quite grand. Slowly, the bus halted, prompting most of the occupants to stand and prepare to exit the vehicle. That meant people were mostly waiting for Face and Jerry to exit so they felt safer, even though the men had said nothing to anyone on the bus. One might even have gone so far as to say that they looked like criminals with the way they were standing.

Face gave his shoulders a brief roll, feeling the satisfying click of back bones in the process, then letting his hands go freely by his sides as the doors hissed open. Calmly, Face stepped out onto the pavement in front of the airport building, then after a further analysis began making his way up the stairs. As he went, there were faster footsteps behind him as Jerry caught up. "Not a bad place," Face mused as his guard caught up. "Back home, airports were shit and the shops sold awful stuff for high prices. At least, that was when I last went to an airport."

"Yeah?" Jerry asked. "And how long ago was that?" Face looked up at the brow of his hat in thought as they began to ascend the second set of steps.

"Ah, what day is it today?" he asked.

"Saturday," Jerry replied.

"Then it was fifteen years, four months, and nine days since I last visited an airport." Jerry raised his brows in surprise. He was a rather handsome man, with the almost generic young soldier face and blonde buzz-cut so his helmet would fit on his head smoothly. Across his cheek, he had a small scar where he'd been hit in the face with a plate during a prison riot, but it was hardly noticeable if you would speak to him. Sometimes, Face even forgot he had the scar.

"That long, huh?" Jerry whistled. The two men finally came to a pause in front of a holographic timetable and began to scan its contents. They'd been given tickets for the five o' clock flight to Beacon academy, but they still needed to know the platform required to even get there. Suddenly, Face leaned forward and tapped a line of text.

'BEACON ACADEMY 5:00 FLIGHT, PLATFORM 7A'

"Perfect," Jerry nodded as he picked up Face's gun case again. "Let's get over there." The two men turned around, looking down the fixed ceiling signs listing platform numbers. Upon sighting the white-backed sign labelled '7A' with an arrow pointing left, they began to move in the direction.

And, as fast as exposition could happen, the airship arrived, Jerry and Face boarded, and the journey had been completed. The whole process took about two hours, meaning that the sun was just starting to set across the horizon and that Beacon Academy was bathed in the warm orange glow of evening sunlight. The other people that got off the airship often had some teenager waiting on the platform to greet them, and judging by the larger buildings in the distance, Face assumed that students would live at Beacon and their family would visit them at certain times, just like college that Face never went to. However, rather than being greeted by anybody, Face had already been told to make his own way to the teachers' accommodation building, place any belongings in the room, then head up to go and see Ozpin in his office.

Considering appearance was everything around this place, Face could only assume that the headmaster of a school this size would have his office as the flagship part of the school: The huge tower in the center of the campus was most likely Ozpin's office. But Face was getting ahead of himself: First, he needed to drop his gear off in his room, and the teachers' accommodation building was on the campus at the end of a long path leading up to the school. Either side, it was flanked with vast pools of water, and in the center of the path there was almost a 'rest stop' with a fountain and benches, in case someone got tired from walking to and from the landing pad. Afterwards, it was another long walk onto main school grounds. Around the entire area, however, there were colossal, pantheon-like towers with large bridges over them, seemingly to circle off the entire school from the rough-looking surrounding area of hills. In the distant campus, the buildings towered over these pantheons, with larger ones seemingly built as school dorms at the forefront of the school.

"Hell of a walk," Face sighed as they passed the fountain. "Not that I mind, of course, but Jesus Christ, this is a long-ass march just to get in."

"I suppose it must whittle down the students arriving for the first time," Jerry smirked, zipping up his black hoodie. "If you don't make it down the path, then you probably weren't worthy of going into the school anyway."

"I suppose so," Face mused, "But to visitors, this is just...wow."

"Exercise is taken very seriously here at Beacon," Jerry laughed. "If you're over four hundred pounds and sweating on arrival, then it's a hundred pushups."

"Truly, America is doomed," Face chuckled. "But anyway, what're you meant to be doing when I head off to see Ozpin?"

"Well, as it turns out, I've got to head straight back. I've been ordered to watch over Junior for the night: He's been arrested again for serving a minor."

"Again?" Face groaned. "Goddammit, Junior, get your shit together. Not that bad, anyway, he's actually quite a nice guy if you get to know him."

"Is he? Heard he rents out thugs to gangs."

"Apparently. Though I must say, he's got nothin' on the woman in purple: RED Mercs on transfer all said that they were employed by a woman in purple. Same one, too. She was practically a Pimp for Mercenaries."

"But you never knew who she really was?"

"Bingo. Pretty sure I heard some guys on BLU team discussing it once, since their voices echoed around the place when everybody was out. The last thing one of them mentioned before I punched him in the face at twenty-eight-hundred feet per second was that all BLUs that he had encountered were employed by the woman in purple, and that she was paying them, too."

"So your job must have been a cover-up. If they're to be believed," Jerry murmured, scratching his faint stubble thoughtfully. "Still: What could she get by creating two teams and making them fight each other? She'd be paying for ammunition, food, wages, supplies...everything. It's just a waste of money."

"Unless they were funded by a higher source, which I assume involves TF Industries and Mann Co., two biggest suppliers of trained Mercenaries and silly hats in the world." The men stopped, and looked at each other, then around their current position. They were standing in the middle of the nearly empty path leading into the school, Ozpin's tower looking tall about a hundred metres away, and the staff accommodation was, according to a nearby sign, at the end of a smaller path that branched off from the main entrance through a grassy knoll. A set of trees covered the top of the path with leaves acting as a natural roof, with the warm orange glow of the sun slipping through gaps in the foliage. After a moment of further silence, Face looked to Jerry. "Remind me to never go into an analysis of my old employers," he said flatly, before turning to move down the path. "C'mon, let's get the gun case dropped off, since I'm certain carrying that many guns is bad for you."

"Hey, it's no bother to me," Jerry shrugged as they moved towards the building at the end of the breakaway path. "You got me a day off work, and I got to visit Beacon. I planned to come here as a kid, I just...wasn't skilled enough." Face shook his head, tipping his hat slightly to stop sunlight from going through the gap in the top of his sunglasses.

"You wanna see someone with no skill, you should have seen some of the transfers we had at times," he smiled. "Apparently it was a plan by the guys up top to create the perfect, order-following Mercenary. Test-tube grown, trained to kill almost from birth. Only problem was that they were almost all complete idiots. They'd normally be wearing tired old top hats, which were mostly given out to Mercs when they managed to kill someone loads of times without them getting revenge. That, and their combat techniques were poorly thought out and mostly revolved around gloating for ten minutes after one kill." He looked back at Jerry. "Not really scientific breakthroughs, but I guarantee you're probably a thousand times better than them."

"Comforting," Jerry groaned. Finally, the men had reached the building. Upon looking at the size of it in comparison to most other dorms and class buildings they'd seen, it was little more than a small block of flats. It made sense, Face thought as he pushed the doors open, since you wouldn't exactly need a few thousand or hundred teachers for any number of students. Well, yes, maybe over a hundred depending on classes and their sizes, also the resources and classrooms available, but he supposed that for a school of Beacon's size the teacher numbers have to ca.p off at 150-200. Face looked around as he entered: Presumably, this was the teachers' lounge, due to the sofas, coffee machine, TV constantly displaying the news, and the teachers in the room, that were lounging.

There were only three of them, and Face recognized one of them as that one bitch from the other night. Goodwytch? Badbitch? Whatever. The other two were both quite different: The first was a fairly tall man with green hair (Face didn't like the amount of hair dye they must have used in Vale) and circular glasses that had a strange opaque quality to them. His white office shirt was quite unkempt, half-tucked in with the collar still standing up to display the golden tie around his neck. He had black trousers and brown shoes, and was standing up with his hand behind his back watching the news as he sipped a thermos of coffee. The last man was quite the opposite to the other: He was reclined over the lavish red couch with his legs crossed, and his maroon outfit with gold trim held a more organised tone. He was wearing a pair of black boots inside, so Face was assuming that the guy was a hunter of some description. However, most noticeable was that his eyes were invisible under his grey parted hair, thick grey eyebrows, and manly grey moustache.

Face squinted slightly at the majesty of it.

Even Saxton Hale himself would be proud of such fantastic facial hair.

They all remained distracted by the events going on over the news, so Face announced his arrival as elegantly as he could. Walking up beside Goodwytch, he made no noise, surprising her all the more as he stood right next to her and looked at her. "G'day," he said calmly, causing Glynda to yelp in suprise and for the two men to look in his direction. "Apparently I was meant to come here?" After a moment where Goodwytch contemplated destroying his pelvic existence with a few good kicks, she straightened up and sighed.

"Ah, Mr. Face," she said in as calm a manner as she could muster. "You've arrived with your escort."

"He's got my guns, I can't ditch him," Face replied smoothly. "And from what I remember, he's being sent back once he's dropped my guns off in my room." Goodwytch sighed.

"Glynda?" Asked the man in the maroon outfit as he stood up to greet Face. "You never told us we were expecting company!" He extended a large hand to shake, which Face did and revealed just how crushing the man's grip was as their hands moved up and down. "Professor Peter Port, huntsman extraordinaire, at your service!"

"Face, ex-Mercenary and Sniper for hire, at your service." Port nodded his head in acknowledgement as he stepped back, allowing the taller green-haired man to step, or more accurately teleport to his old position. He rapidly extended a hand as though he didn't even make a move to that position, prompting Face to wonder how strong that coffee was.

"Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck," he nearly yelled at three words per second. "I'm the history teacher for the first year and second year students, and I'm very excited to meet someone who looks to know some history himself!" Face nodded as he shook his hand.

"Studied it for a few years, and read mostly history books whilst I had free time back in the New Mexico Badlands, so I know a fair bit, yes." As the handshaking stopped, Oobleck and Port looked at Face in a manner of wondering about his sanity, until Goodwytch rolled her eyes and stepped in.

"I forgot to mention, this is the man that the White Fang employed to assist them during the dock raid a few weeks ago," she explained, turning their expressions from curiosity to slight concern and marginal rage. "He was kidnapped by Torchwick's men from Earth and brought here without his knowledge." Oobleck's expression immediately softened.

"MY GOODNESS!" he cried. "Dearest apologies, it must be terrible being away from home, I hope you've been comfortable whilst on Remnant?"

"It's been..." Face's mind flashed back to his prison cell. "...good, I suppose. My own room, meals every day, warm bed. Not too bad, thanks for asking." He gestured behind him. "This is Jerry, he's the guy that escorted me here."

Jerry gave a small wave with his free hand.

"So," Port began, "What brings you to our fine academy?"

"Well, apparently, in a few days there's a teacher that's going out to catch Grimm for educational resource reasons, and due to staff shortages I've been told I'm to fill his place whilst he's away." Port threw his head back and laughed, slapping a hand on Face's shoulder.

"That'd be my lesson, m'boy!" he bellowed cheerfully. "I'm one of the best Grimm Trappers on Remnant, so it's my job to make sure the school's 'topped up', as it were. I'm certain the students will appreciate the trouble you went through to get this position, Mr. Face!"

"Hope so," Face tilted his head slightly. "Far as I remember, the kids here are some of the best in the business at what they do."

"You'd be correct in saying that," Goodwytch nodded. "Now come along, let's get your weapons into your room and I'll show you to Ozpin's office."

Face nodded, bid farewell to Oobleck and Port, and Jerry followed them upstairs with the large metal case of guns in hand.

After several hours, the weapons had been placed on the racks provided, Jerry had already headed off to the airpad to catch the next airship to Vale, and Goodwytch (Who Face now knew was called Glynda) was his new escort, taking him to Ozpin's office. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, meaning the only lighting around the surprisingly empty campus came from scattered streetlights that dotted the sides of the path. It certainly made Face look strange, since he was wearing a hat designed to shield from bright Australian sunbeams and a pair of dark sunglasses, but Glynda saw no real reason to complain. After all, she didn't much like Face, so seeing him walk into a lamppost due to his impaired visibility would certainly brighten up her day.

"So," Face began as they passed a tall dormitory building with most of its lights on, "Is there anything I need to know about the class I'm taking?" Glynda looked up.

'Good question: Is there?'

"Not...particularly," she replied, "Though I will mention these are top-tier students. Almost all of them are highly in touch with their Auras and Semblances, so you might notice how they would approach a situation differently." Face raised a brow.

"Alright, but I hope you don't mind me asking what 'Aura' and 'Semblance' mean?" Glynda almost stopped in confusion, before remembering the crucial fact that Face was from a place that had long lost its touch with Aura in general. She turned to her following companion, and gave a condescending smile.

"Certainly, let me explain," she said in what Face completely understood was an incredibly sarcastic manner. "Aura and Semblance are two truly important aspects of the lives and combat styles of Huntsmen and Huntresses. Aura is a projection of the soul, useable by most able huntsmen as a means of defence. The greater your soul, the more defensive you can be and the more hits you can withstand." Face suddenly understood how the girl at the docks had survived the headshot. That's a bloody good Aura.

"So like an Übercharge?" he asked. Glynda, being hopelessly uninformed on the ways that Mercenaries did battle, didn't question it.

"I wouldn't know." Noticing Face was about to begin explaining, probably using lots of expletives to make the point clear, she continued. "A Semblance, on the other hand, is important for other reasons. Many huntsmen bend their entire combat style around it. And each one is different. Some Semblances allow the user to run at high speed, some allow for strength, some offer a more illusion-based approach, and some allow complete bending of physics to the user's whim."

"Well, at least Mercenaries didn't have Semblances," Face whistled, scratching the back of his head as they entered the elevator up to Ozpin's tower. "Can't imagine how fucking difficult it'd be to hit a Scout with a super-speed semblance."

"Scout?" Glynda asked, raising a brow.

"Scout. I'm a Sniper, I filled one of nine roles on the battlefield. You had the Medic, the Soldier, the Spy, the Heavy, the Engineer, the Pyro, the Demoman, the Scout, and me, the Sniper. Each one did a different job on the team. Engineer built automated sentry guns and dispensers, Spy could disguise as members of the enemy team, sneak up, and then backstab them, Medic's medi-guns healed just about any wound you could ever sustain in combat, and Pyro..." He trailed off.

"And Pyro?"

Face looked at Glynda with a look she hadn't seen yet: Fear. He'd seen what Pyro could do, and obviously didn't want to talk about it. "We don't talk about Pyro." Glynda frowned, then nodded, tapping a few notes onto her Scroll as the two rode up in the lift. They were certainly an interesting duo standing beside each other: Glynda wore bright, (mostly) cheerful tones and seemed a lot more welcoming than Face's dark, gloomy black and red clothing. He seemed more like someone you'd cross the road to avoid as opposed to Glynda's almost motherly appearance.

Through curiosity, Glynda decided to observe Face in the elevator, not letting on that she was watching him. When he was in an enclosed space as opposed to outside, he seemed a fair bit less talkative, she noted, and he did look to have some level of interest in the technology around him. As she feverishly tapped away these notes on her Scroll, Face bent down slightly to examine the elevator panel. If she was describing it, he looked to be utterly bewildered by the Scroll recognition technology and touchscreen panel, but he didn't ask about it.

'Typical man,' she thought, 'Wanting to find out for himself and not looking for help.'

After a few more minutes where Glynda watched her 1960's companion being quite interested in modern Remnant technology, the lift slowed its ascent, and Glynda quickly pulled Face upright as the doors slipped open with a 'ding'. Immediately upon entering, Face saw Ozpin's desk across the room, the man himself sitting behind it with his hands bridged. The desk itself had a glass top, with constantly rotating cogs and gears beneath it for seemingly no purpose but decoration. However, this was furthered by the fact that Face could see much larger gears turning overhead, filling the room with metal clanking all the time. Face didn't think he'd have the patience to work in this room: The noise would drive him more insane than normal. Plus, he didn't ever want a desk job. The one thing Face did envy, however, was the view of almost the entirety of the school from this single office. As he and Glynda reached the desk, Face continued looking out the window. "Good view," he said calmly. Glynda shot him a look, but Ozpin shook his head at her.

"I suppose a good view is important to you," he replied.

"I guess you could say that. From this office alone, I could hit just about anybody outside their building or inside, depending on their visibility to me." Face scratched his stubble. "At a stretch? Might be able to hit the pilot of an airship approaching the landing pad from here. Of course, it all depends on wind, visibility, that kind of thing. So I envy this view." Ozpin smiled.

"One of the perks of my job," he said in his usual monotone voice, turning his chair slightly. "If I've been particularly busy one day, or have a difficult decision to make, I tend to look out of my window a lot. Clears my mind in a way I didn't think would be possible until I reached this new position."

"Hmm." Face finally stopped trying to think about wind and gravity compensation if he wanted to try and hit one of the janitors that was walking about cleaning the path almost half a mile away, and looked at Ozpin. "So, I've dropped my equipment off in the room I was ordered to, and, obviously, made it up here. What now?"

"To begin with, you won't have anything to do for the first three days." Ozpin brought up his scroll and began flicking through pages of what looked to be teaching timetables. "So if I were in your position, I would head down to the library after breakfast tomorrow and begin researching Grimm." Face nodded.

"So my lesson's got something to do with Grimm?" he asked. "What, like...teach them to fight?"

"You're going to be teaching students to survive," Ozpin corrected, adjusting his glasses yet keeping his expression neutral. "As you mentioned, you used to kill large, dangerous animals, and part of your payment was to be allowed to skin and eat them. The class you'll be teaching recently had an incursion with a few Ursas and Beowulves on a trip to the Forever Fall forest. While they were dealt with, they simply left the corpses for nature to destroy whilst they still had a day or two left in the forest. Upon return, a popular complaint was that supplies almost ran out and were used up faster than expected." He flicked his eyes up to meet Face's squinting glare that he often wore. "That's what you're going to prevent in future."

"Then you want me to teach them how to survive in the wilderness? They must have already learned that, right?" Face raised a brow, folding his arms.

"Not on the level I understand you can do it to. From the few Earthborns that have appeared in Remnant, the 'Osstrailiens' were the most tenacious, fearless, and absurd of them all." Face grinned.

"Aussies have a tendency to be hunters and not to wear shirts often, and also they have a solution to just about any situation that arises," he said almost proudly, closing his eyes and looking up in a noble manner. "The best solution is always to punch the living shit out of it." Glynda rolled her eyes as normal, and Ozpin almost looked as if he were considering it as a viable action plan. "Even though I'm only partially Australian, just like every other Sniper, I retain the good bits of being Australian, like punching things and having a sexy accent. Besides, they're kids. You can mold them. Manipulate them. Train them. Their brains can be hardwired to whatever you want them to do. And all it takes is a little teaching." Once again, the room went silent as the other two occupants stared in consideration and worry at the Sniper. "Being taught how to deal with animals by someone with even partially Australian blood is going to push these kids along real fast, I guarantee it."

"I certainly hope so." Ozpin stood, and reached behind him. As was reflex to seeing somebody reach behind them to an unseen place, Face quickly moved his hand to the place where his revolver holster would normally be, only to be both disappointed at the lack of gun and slightly embarrassed that he'd forgotten. However, rather than simply pulling out an Enforcer and putting a hole in Face's chest (As he'd had the unfortunate pleasure of experiencing in a Hong Kong Triad job two years before), Ozpin instead produced a small metal rectangle. It had darkened grey corners, a single split down the center with a yellow diamond shape, and a shiny black surface. "This is your Scroll, Professor Face. I'll be using it to keep in contact with you over your time here. Should anything occur to you or anyone else during a lesson, school-time, or free time, do not hesitate to call me and I will see what I can do to help." Face looked at the small device for a few seconds more, before cautiously accepting it and placing it in the inner left pocket of his jacket.

"Appreciate it," he nodded, and the room once again descended into silence. Face flicked his eyes between the two other teachers. "So, uh, is that all that we need to discuss?"

"Yes," Ozpin nodded. "You're free to go back to your room for the evening." Face nodded in return.

"If that's all, then I'll be off," he said calmly. "Ozpin." He tipped his hat to Ozpin. "Glynda." He tipped his hat to Glynda. She was tempted to give him the finger, as she had been within close contact with him for more than five minutes. Finally, Face turned, and began making his way over the room towards the exit lift. Upon reaching it, he flicked out his new Scroll, and pressed it against the sensor. It took a few moments until...

'Good evening, Professor Face. The time is eight forty five PM. Going down to lobby.'

"IT LIKES ME!" Face cheered, raising his arms over his head as the doors closed with a metallic clunk. A few more moments passed in Ozpin's office.

"I think you're going to regret this decision," Glynda said flatly, adjusting her glasses slightly and continuing to tap away on her Scroll. "I give it a week before he's killed." Ozpin turned his chair back to the window.

"No need to be so negative, Glynda," he replied calmly. "After all, he is a professional."

"You honestly believe that?" she raised a brow. Ozpin sighed, watching the small figure of Face making his way back to the staff accommodation on the darkened path below.

"I think I'm going to have to."

The next morning, Face decided to skip breakfast, as per usual Mercenary routine. Often, they wouldn't have time for food in the morning, instead being awoken by the sound of the mysterious Announcer coming over the speakers to warn them that they had BLUs incoming. That meant two meals a day: Lunch, and dinner. For Heavy, that changed to fourteen meals a day if you were to consider how many goddamn sandwiches he could eat. But, Face was in the majority, so he walked straight past the food hall and made his way directly to the library. He was fully kitted out today; Revolver in holster, weapons belt hanging loosely over his waist with the SMG clipped onto his left hip, Kukri in his back sheath, and his beloved Sniper Rifle held by its strap over his shoulder. He looked like some kind of predator as he walked Beacon's grand halls, with the students he walked past giving hardly fleeting glances at him. Many stopped and stared at the tall man with the guns.

Of course, he knew for a fact that more than one of these students might be able to beat him in a fight, and he could respect that. His only problem was that he didn't exactly think that they were man enough to take the challenge should it arise to them. As he walked by the eighteenth dorm access hallway entrance, he didn't notice a red-haired girl that was smaller than all the others watching him, open-mouthed with shock. As soon as he'd passed the corner that led up to the library, Ruby quickly began to head towards the food hall.

Perhaps she could tell the others just who'd made himself present in Beacon's halls: She was certain that she knew two people that would want to hear it.

Face didn't react much to the books around him, nor to the fancy polished woodwork, desks, hyper-advanced computers, or the size of the library. He'd been to Mann Manor and seen the fairly impressive library there, so he didn't exactly care much for books. Plus, every time he'd sat down to read, he had either been shot in the head, stabbed in the back, blown to hell, or hit by the ever-present Market Gardener Soldier.

It was almost like reading was illegal, and it was a terrifying fear to have.

But here, he was at least able to look at and interpret words without the threat of a man with a pink beard and party hat falling from the sky and smiting him with gardening implements. Upon entry, a few of the students present decided to shoot him a glance, but then return to whatever they were doing, giving Face the impression that all of them were seeing if he was worth mugging later, or that all of them just didn't give a shit about him. Remaining silent, he approached a nearby guide to find the section he was looking for. "Grimm...Grimm...G..." he trailed off, moving his free hand's finger down the list of words. Finally, he tapped it: Grimm, Section 11. "Bingo." Somehow keeping his footsteps quiet in spite of the fact that he was wearing a pair of heavy cowboy boots against wooden flooring, he followed the central aisle down the hall between the rows of computers, ascended up a wide set of stairs and hung a right after making his way to the top. There, he began looking down individual sections for the 'eleven' he was looking for. It didn't take long, however, until he saw a ginger girl, probably about seventeen or eighteen, trying to reach a book on the middle shelf. She was fairly small for the age Face would expect students to be at the school, and she was wearing a black, white, and pink outfit with white and pink shoes as she stood on her tip toes to try and reach the book she was after. After considering watching her struggle, Face sighed finally and walked over. It was blatantly obvious she hadn't noticed him, since she continued to make admittedly adorable 'nngh' noises in an almost child-like way as she attempted to reach the copy of 'DUST 101' on the shelf. It was the only book that was relevant to anything in the school, as far as he could gather, so Face simply leaned over, grabbed the book, then lowered it down to a height that the girl could reach.

"Ah!" The girl squealed with delight, almost snatching the book. "Thank yooooou!~~" She had a sing-song tone, which almost died when she turned to see the six foot tall gunman standing behind her. "Uhhh...hi?" She was forcing a smile, the blue eyes darting to try and assess Face. "Are you a student? You don't look familiar."

"Substitute teacher," Face replied. "Replacing Professor Port whilst he's trapping Grimm for a week or two, then I'm around for other things." The girl smiled, surprisingly.

"Oh, cool, I guess I'm the first one to meet you!" she beamed. "I'm Nora, Nora Valkyrie. I'm a first year student, I don't think I'll see much of you. Nice to meet you, though, and thanks for the help!"

"No problem," Face nodded calmly. As she sat down at a table (Her legs didn't even touch the ground on the chair, proving that she was way smaller than expected), the Sniper turned out of the small section and promptly to the left.

And, as luck would have it, section eleven was right beside him.

Smiling to himself, he headed into the bookcased area, placed his gun down by the side of the table, and began to look for as many titles to do with 'Grimm' as possible.