Chapter 2 (Stan Crow)
Patience Saint Monica had been a model student from the moment she'd stepped onto the landing platform that opened Beacon Academy to her. Suspicions had, of course, swirled when at least two dozen weapons had gone missing one night, only to reappear the next morning in all the wrong spots, but everyone else had been blamed. Then there was the cafeteria incident, the ursa in the courtyard, and the missing statue. No one would ever know why one girl had fled the school in tears just yesterday.
None of it had been her fault. Even Ozpin wouldn't be able to prove anything.
It took but a week to observe and catalog every first year student and formulate a plan to deal with all of them. The denizens of Beacon were clearly more dangerous than the sisters of the nunnery, but confidence could blind people just as readily as naïveté.
A hand on her shoulder surprised her and she had a dagger at her attacker's throat in an instant. The distant—almost bored—eyes of professor Ozpin gazed back at her, and she lowered the weapon.
"Excuse me, Miss Saint Monica," he said, his tone light, "Might I have a word with you?"
Before most students had finished breakfast, the austere confines of Ozpin's office conspired to cage her. The headmaster rested in his chair, idly examining a file nearly as thick as Patience's arm. She just picked at her nails with her dagger. A flutter of indigo brushed her face, a not-so-subtle reminder of the third occupant's presence. Patience didn't give Professor Goodwitch the honor of acknowledgement the older woman surely wanted, idly wondering whether she shared a bed with Ozpin. But who would blame the old man if he did? Goodwitch brought milky skin and curves that didn't quit to the table. Patience had been around long enough to know that men often didn't mellow with age until well past their prime. In fact, if her past hadn't caught up with her so quickly as to provoke her recent change of heart, she'd use her own considerable charms to… persuade him… to revoke the punishment she knew was coming. She scrunched her arms together out of habit, emphasizing her ample cleavage. He didn't seem to notice.
"Miss Saint Monica," the old man began, looking at her much the way the Reverend Mother always had when Patience had been brought in by yet another officer, "are you aware of the rules and requirements we expect our students to abide by at Beacon?"
She had already considered her response. "You know how the nuns will take my return."
Ozpin's shoulder's slumped. "And you know very well they sent you here for your own benefit. But we cannot abide our students ruining the education and threatening the well-being of their peers. Considering the evidence against you, I suggest you be ready for the next airship to Fevoreaux. It leaves in," and he glanced at his watch, "forty seven minutes. I will alert them to expect you."
Patience covered the lance of pain through her heart with a yawn, and answered Goodwitch's glare with a cordial smile. "I see how it is. I really had expected you to be more a man of your word, Professor. It'd be a pity if people learned otherwise. Your reputation stretches far and wide. Almost as far and wide as my… circle of friends."
Ozpin didn't even flinch.
"Well," and Patience stood and stretched, "cloister food isn't the worst thing I've eaten in my life." She turned for the exit without a word, ignoring Goodwitch's narrowed gaze. She took the doorknob in her hand, determined not to even shiver at the thought of her failure.
The door flew open, and only years of combat reflexes allowed her to dodge it.
"Professor Ozpin, wait!" A breeze of red hair flew past her stopping at the headmaster's desk in the form of a younger girl breathing heavily as she rested her hands on the desk. "It was me, sir. All of it."
Ozpin arched an eyebrow. "Are you attempting to defend this young woman?"
The redhead turned and looked at Patience. Ah, yes—the girl with the dual-coloured eyes and slightly misshapen face. She was no particular threat, and rather unattractive, but she did have an unnerving way of always seeming to know what you were about to say. After several seconds searching her memory, Patience recalled the girl's name: "Hope."
"Yes," Hope panted. "She's completely innocent."
"Oh I strongly doubt that, Miss Harris," Goodwitch said, sneering slightly at Patience. "Our case against her is unquestionable. Someone of your potential deserves better than to be dragged down by that," and she gestured at Patience.
"My team," Hope said, straightening, "is incomplete at the moment."
"Presumably because of her," the old woman said flatly. "We have reason to believe she drove your companion out. We will assign you a new teammate. One who will work with your team, instead of against it."
"But I want her," Hope said, a finger jabbing unmistakably at Patience.
Patience's breath caught. What was this chick playing at? Was this all some elaborate ruse set up by Ozpin to dangle hope of staying in front of her, only to snatch it away by another of his casual edicts?
"And just why," the headmaster asked, rising and crossing to examine Patience closely, "would you want to take such a risk, especially this close to the tournament?"
Hope locked eyes with Patience. Patience forced herself to look positively bored; somehow, she knew she wasn't fooling the other girl.
"I want her," hope answered softly, "because I'm her only chance for long-term joy. I can't ignore my duty to her, no matter what she may have done to me and my friends."
Ozpin traded a look with Goodwitch, who glared, and then stalked out of the room.
"Very well, then," the headmaster said. "One. Last. Chance."