A/N: Hello again, everybody! Thank you once against to everyone who left a review and to everyone who favorited and followed. I appreciate it, truly
So, I said that the next chapter would probably not be out soon. That, didn't happen.
Just to warn you, there's a ton of dialogue in this one, sorry.
RWBY is owned by Roosterteeth and the late Monty Oum
The Beast
Chapter 2
It had been a whole three days since his… rather eventful first meeting with the Headmaster of Beacon Academy, and his lovely Deputy, when Brock received a call from an unknown number. After being kept up all night thanks to the sounds that his neighbors were making. Blaring music and… other noises.
Normally, he didn't answer such things. He was retired from being a Huntsman, and had never formally been inducted into the Knights, though he had had all the training for it, and basically felt that anyone important enough to need him would would leave a message.
But, he hadn't heard from his daughter in three years, and hadn't seen her in five. He answered the Scroll immediately after some fumbling around.
"Cruz," he drawled sleepily before he groaned as he looked at the cheap digital clock on the night stand. It read 5:00 AM.
"Ah, Mr. Cruz. Forgive the early morning call, but I felt that we should have a more, in-depth meeting, on your responsibilities as a new Professor at Beacon. I also noticed that your equipment was looking a bit worn during the interview. You could use our facilities here to repair them, if you like. Free of charge." The agonizingly familiar, and chipper, voice of Ozpin said over the line. The man had been calling him nonstop for the last three days. "Might we have the pleasure of your company today? Lots of things to be done before the semester begins, after all."
"Ugh, the fact that I fuckin' answered the fuckin', Maidens-damned Scroll at five in the morning is all the pleasure you'll be getting from me today, Ozpin!" he growled back menacingly before hanging up the call. He then rolled over and did his best fall back asleep.
The scroll rang not five minutes later.
"Aaarrrgh!" He snarled as his eyes snapped open at the sound. "What?!" he roared as he answered the call, recognizing the number instantly.
"We made a deal, Mr. Cruz." Ozpin replied merrily in an almost sing-song manner.
"Aargh, he hasn't even passed Initiation yet! Oum take it, man!" Brock snarled back vehemently, pleadingly, as he sat up from the bed, wheeling to place his feet firmly on the floor before taking his head in one massive hand as the world spun briefly.
"Well, just because he hasn't yet, doesn't mean that you can't orientate yourself with the campus, no? Learn the names of you colleagues, all that. Glynda did say that you got a little lost on the way out after the interview on Monday." Came the reply, followed by the unmistakable sounds of someone sipping from a mug.
"Ugghhh, it's too early in the mornin' for this shit. Sigh, fine. I need coffee, and I hate coffee, Ozpin." He drawled as he rubbed at his eyes. The sounds of someone banging at his door started then. How lovely.
He ignored it.
"We can provide breakfast. And tea. If you like." Ozpin offered.
Cruz grunted for a moment, ignoring the banging, and yelling, outside of his door, before answering with. "Sigh, black tea with honey, please. Waffles, eggs, scrambled with cheese, bacon. Lots of bacon. I'll be there on the first Air Bus out.
"Bullheads make me nauseous."
"Understood, Mr. Cruz. I look forwards to speaking with you. Tat-ta." Ozpin replied before hanging up.
"Uh-huh," Brock replied to the now disconnected call as he rubbed at his eyes again before staking over to the door and flinging it open to find out what this person wanted.
/ /
Damascus Morningdew was known as an asshole wherever he went. He complained about everything, cussed out anyone that got on his bad side, which was just about anyone, and, just, generally, acted unbecoming of someone his age.
He was forty-three.
He was balding, with greasy black hair, a pudgy, beer gut laden frame and a hawkish nose. He rank of beer and cigarettes all the time. He was rude, crude and a disgrace to his mother.
He was scum.
He refused to accept that his coworkers hated working with him, and that most women found his particular approach repulsive. He was a disgusting slob of a man that got by doing half-ass work at the best of times, and shoving everything else off on his already stressed and overworked coworkers at the worst of times.
He had been let go from the last three jobs he worked at for conduct unbecoming to both female and male employees, human and Faunus, and was currently in the works of being fired from his fourth after trying to get into the pants of his boss's daughter.
His sixteen year old daughter.
So, when he heard noises coming from the room next door that he found just a touch too noisy for his sake, even though he had blared Scream-o Rock for well into the wee hours of the morning, he decided to make his presence, and his opinion, known. By banging on their door at 5:05AM, accompanied by a lot of yelling and cussing.
The rest of his neighbors were awakened by the noise, and several began to open their door, trying to figure out what was going on. Though none of them tried to stop him, too afraid after what he did to Tapir sisters.
And that's when the magic happened.
When the occupant of Room 105 at The Dusty Bee Motel opened their door, Damascus was not expecting to come face to chest with the living mountain of muscles within. He looked up from a scarred, tanned chest to find the haggard-looking face and glowing red eyes of a very angry man looking, not at him, but through him.
"Can I help you?" The man audibly growled at him quietly, revealing a mouth full of great big, curved teeth.
Damascus felt something very wet start dribbling down his sweat pants as he stood there gaping at the man like a fish. The Faunus tilted his head at him as he waited, his red eyes seemingly glowing brighter.
"Um, nope." He finally said in a very high-pitch tone after finding his voice. "I, uh, just, uh, w-went to the wrong room, it seems." He started backing away while pointed back over his shoulder as he continued to stutter, "I'm, I'm, uh, ah, I'mma just gonna go now. Take care. S-sorry to disturb you. S-sir."
"Well then, be off with ya then." The man-mountain told him condescendingly as he stood there, looming over him. "And, maybe keep the noise down while you're at it. Some of us are tryin' to sleep 'ere."
"Um, yep," he answered as he began backpedaling quickly to his own room. "I'll, uh, I'll just get right on that. Sorry again for dis-disturbing y-you, s-sir."
Once he felt that he was far enough away from the Giant Faunus-Man he about-faced and made a beeline for his door as fast as his pudgy frame could allow. Panting and whimpering as he did so.
You know, he thought, now seemed like as good a time as any to check out of this place and find somewhere else to stay, like, say, on the other side of the city. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.
For the first time in his life, Damascus began to get ready for work in a timely manner.
/ /
Cruz watched as the scared, little man rushed off back to his room as fast as his stubby legs could take him. The man stumbled as he tried getting through the door before slamming it close behind him.
He heard the sounds of a door being locked right after.
And there he was, left standing there with the lingering scent of alcohol-tinged urine. Wonderful. This just wasn't his day.
He sighed. Had actually been hoping for a bit more of a confrontation than that after his morning.
Pity.
He turned to go back into own his room, only to notice he had attracted the attention of one of the local girls. She was eyeing him up right now.
The heavily made up woman then gave him a wink and an admiring gaze before lowering her top just enough to expose some of her decolletage. The damned things were quite massive, and they weren't the only assets she had on offer, too.
Brock gave her a small, wan smile and tilted his head at her in greeting before swiftly closing his door and locking it. Then he leaned against the door and sighed.
Oh, this day just couldn't get any worse, right?
After a moment more of suffering in silence, he went to go shower and change into his armor.
Maybe it was time he moved out himself.
/ /
Not thirty minutes later Brock once more found himself at the Beacon airstrip. This time, though, he wasn't hurling what was left of his breakfast. Mostly, because he hadn't had anything to eat yet.
Hurk. Blech!
"Urgh, n-note to self. Buy more anti-nausea medication. S-STAT. OooOOhh!" He said to himself after throwing up in a local trash can. The same one as last time, actually.
After a moment more to compose himself, and to stop the world from spinning, he stood up and made his way to the academy grounds.
He was intercepted along the way, by the Headmaster himself.
He paused at that only to shake his head and continue on. The other man falling in beside him. "Ozpin," he drawled for a greeting.
"Mr. Cruz," the silver and brown haired man replied jovially as he walked with the assistance of his cane, the Long Memory. The hair on his head was more silver than brown these days with only the tips of some unruly tufts keeping their original color.
"You are quite persistent in this ridiculous facade, aren't you? Headmaster." Brock stated as they made their way towards the dining hall, a massive building complete with almost cathedral-style, large-scale windows.
"Indeed." The man replied pleasantly, before taking a sip from his every present mug. "I hoped that you'll eventually see this from my perspective, and join us without having to go through the inanity of this wager. Your experience would be invaluable in teaching the younger generation, sip, in whatever course you'd decide to teach, of course."
"Oh, come off it, Oz." Cruz rejected tiredly, over whatever the man was pushing at this point. "As I've said before, I'd make a poor instructor. These kids today, they need a real instructor, a teacher. Not some washed up ole granny watching over them. Besides," he shrugged. "What could I even teach them that the other instructors couldn't? That the other schools couldn't?"
Ozpin got silent then as he thought for the correct thing to say. The many voices inside his head from previous lives adding their own points before the man that had been simply Ozpin said for them all, "Surviving."
Brock paused in mid step at that. He turned and looked at the much smaller, older man, unable to think of something to say, to counter that statement. Ozpin simply gave him a level stare in reply with no witty statement or joke, letting the subject stand for itself.
Finally, Brock nodded. He nodded in agreement and acknowledgement of what the other Huntsman meant. "Aye," he said at last. "Aye. I could do that, I suppose."
Then he started towards the dining hall again. This time in silent contemplation, and not mild irritation.
Ozpin let out a small smile as he watched. Cruz hadn't agreed quite yet. But he was getting there. His stubbornness might've been legendary among the older Huntsmen community, but Ozpin had all the time in the world to wear it down.
It helped that Cruz actually wanted the job. He was just too scared to accept it, without a bit of help. Pride could be such an obstacle to being happy sometimes.
He certainly knew that.
The memory of four very special girls, sisters actually, rising to the surface briefly, and on how they had broken through one of his fugues.
He shook his head at that before continuing to walk towards the dining hall himself, Cruz hardly stopping to wait for him.
/ /
On entering the building Brock was met by the sheer size of the place. He took his helm off as he gazed about the place in mild wonder.
Long tables littered the length and breadth of the room, easily allowing for the dozens of students from different years to sit in comfortably with room to spare, while the far wall in the back had several vending machines for drinks.
Several of the other professors were already eating at one of the tables as were several of the soon-to-be-graduating senior students, their trays almost overflowing with food.
He almost smirked at that, even as he tried to find some way through the clutter. No one quite knew the answer, but everyone agreed that those who had their Auras unlocked seemed to have an increased metabolism, requiring significantly more food than those around them.
The primary reason why most soldiers and police did not have theirs unlocked. Too expensive.
As he began to look around, trying to find where he could order his food, he noticed Glynda sitting at a table with a few other adults. Professors, he assumed. Two women, one a little mousy woman of brown hair and equally brown mouse ears and the other, a somewhat taller red-haired thin, frame woman, sat on either side of her. Opposite of them were three men, one with unkempt, green hair, one with striking, spiky purple hair and the third, a dapper-looking older, white-haired man.
Glynda motioned him over as soon as she noticed him. He acted as if he didn't see her as he started to try and make his way towards the kitchen area on the other end of the room, only to be stopped by the headmaster as he gently grasped his arm, saying, "Ah, good. There you are. Come, let me introduce you to some of the professors that you'll be working with."
"Ergh, knock it off, Ozpin." He barked as he suddenly jerked his arm away.
The man looked at him in surprise at the sudden aggression. He stood there, resting his cane before him, as he looked Cruz over. Finally, he asked quietly, concerned. "Is something the matter, Mr. Cruz?"
"Come off it, Professor." Brock returned again, the growl present in his tone. "There ain't nothing wrong here." He bit out as he began to try and back away from the man, needing to get away.
Too many people, too much noise.
Had to get out.
Ozpin tried to think of some solution to the sudden turn of events. Everything had been going so well. And now, this.
At that moment a couple of students past by, starling Cruz as he continued to edge backwards. He jerked back away from them as they ran past, his eyes blazing and fangs prominent. The two didn't notice as they continued on, voicing an apology over their shoulders.
Ozpin noted the way his hands seemed to shake at the sudden movement. How his pupils dilated and his eyes scrunched up as the noise briefly peaked before lessening again.
"Mr Cruz, Brock, is there anything you want to discuss before we meet the others? We might be here for a while as we discuss things." He asked pointedly, if politely.
"Look," Brock said after a moment as he turned towards him, almost looming over him. Ozpin did not step back. "There's nothing wrong here."
His eyes darted about the room, lingering slightly on Glynda as she looked at the pair of them in confusion and concern, the group with her looked their way, too, briefly before returning to their plates. Then he looked at Ozpin as he hissed out, "But, there's something wrong, with me."
"How so?" The Headmaster asked, more concerned for the man than any threat he might be towards him or those around him.
Brock looked down, clenching his fists tightly, as the noise picked back up before settling down once more and said in a tone full of shame, of bitterness, "It's my Semblance. It makes me angry. All the time. I, I can't control it."
He at Ozpin then, shame in his eyes as he said, "I'm surly by nature, sir. Whether that's due to my Semblance, or simply who I am, I don't know. But, it makes me, do things, at times."
He leaned in close as he whispered, "Makes me dangerous, volatile."
He pulled back then, before looking around and said, "Especially when there's a lot of noise involved, and lights."
He paused for a moment before physically taking two steps away to distance himself as he continued, "It's why I stay away from people. From those I care about, friends and family."
He looked away, his eyes darting about as if he were trying to come up with an excuse, as he said, "It's, why I would make such a poor instructor. Something, anything could set me off. A sparring session, a back-mouthing student. Anything."
Ozpin listened to the explanation quietly as he contemplated this new information. This explained a few things he had heard over the years about the man, and about the missions he had been sent on with his team. Missions that were all but entirely redacted.
About, why he had been made a Huntsman in the first place. And, why, even though he had joined the Knights of Vale, he had never been made a full member. Never inducted in.
Finally, he said, "Well. That does explain a few things, my friend. I understand your reasoning for not wanting to join us-"
Brock nodded. "I should go. Leave you in peace."
"-But that does not mean that you shouldn't still join us as a instructor." Ozpin then finished with a smile.
Brock looked at him in silence. Stunned by the declaration.
Finally, he shook his head as he said, "Ugghh, you're impossible, Ozpin. Sigh, but, maybe that's why I like you so much." He shrugged, his exasperation obvious, as he motioned the man to follow him. "Come on, let's, just get this over with. I'm hungry."
"Excellent! Follow me." Ozpin replied with a couple of taps of his cane before taking the lead and having Brock follow after him.
He failed to note the sudden, small smile on Brock's face as he did so.
/ /
After they gather their own breakfasts, the two moved on to Glynda's table. She watched them with some small concern. She tried to reason with herself that it had something to do with Cruz's private conversation with the Headmaster, and not him actively ignoring her summons.
That would be childish, after all.
The first one to notice their approach, other than her, was Peter Port. A jolly looking, older fellow wearing a red, double breasted, hunting jacket and black pants, his weapon a blunderbuss-axe, appropriately named Blowhard, by his side.
The older Huntsman was often paired, as he was today, with his friend and traveling companion, Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck. Himself an unusually tall, lanky man, who had somehow already ruined his current dress shirt and tie, a green and yellow striped combination, with coffee from his personal thermos. A usual occurrence with the slightly manic genius.
She sighed with fond amusement at the man. Brilliant mind, disheveled appearance she thought to herself.
Upon seeing the two coming over to sit, Port shouted jovially over the background noise, "Oh ho! So, there's the new professor, eh? Quite the specimen!"
"Over here, lad!" He called while waving to the pair.
Cruz seemed to pause at the bravado employed by Port, not an altogether uncommon occurrence, before shaking his head with some emotion and sitting off to the side, almost purposefully having the Headmaster between them. Glynda frowned at that.
That was odd. He was so much more open the other day. She wondered what had happened, then recalled their brief chat before coming over. Her frowned deepened into a scowl for a brief moment before she smoothed her face into a more pleasant one.
"Morning'." Cruz said in greeting before asking, "And you are?"
"Ah, hahah! Forgive me, how rude. I, am the illustrious Peter Port!" Port announced as he gesture magnanimously to himself. "Hunter extraordinaire and master of Military Tactics here at Beacon Academy. And let me just say, welcome!"
/ /
Brock looked at the strange fellow as he somehow made a sweeping bow while staying seated. Impressive.
He nodded back as he glanced at Ozpin for clarification.
"Pete here is the resident expert of Grimm. He's hunted them for most of his life, even before he became a Huntsman. As sport, of all things." Ozpin clarified. "And, yes. He is indeed the professor in charge of Military Tactics here as well."
Brock blinked at that.
Huh. So, more than meets the eye, indeed.
He glanced over at the one he had already labeled a buffoon. He immediately noted a number of things about him. His hair, while completely white, was still thick. As was the mustache he favored for personal appearances. Dapper then, and a Dandy perhaps, but no less of a warrior in the long run.
Not if that was how he enjoyed himself extracurricularly.
If nothing else he deserved respect alone for surviving for so long. Most Huntsmen retired before his age, if they survived at all that was.
"Indeed, I cannot wait regale the youths this year with my exploits. Like the time I killed a Alpha Goliath using only a shoe!" Port exclaimed, a finger raised for emphasis, before he began going on in depth on an event that seemed laughably impossible. He noted how several of the surrounding students paused as they were eating or conversing to shake their heads before returning to what they were doing.
Brock's right eye twitched at that.
Still, though, a buffoon. Like he thought.
"Oh, come off it, Pete." The Green-haired man sitting next to Port reproached in a sort of rapid-pace, low shout. "I've heard that story at least fifteen times now. And, each time it changes, with only the ending being the same."
He then turned to Brock, showing a rather thin face and a pair of beautiful blue eyes that were forever hidden behind thick, circular glasses, and said after he had mollified Port into silence, "Actually, he did kill an Alpha Goliath on his own once. The actual circumstances were far more dramatic than he lets on, and considerably more dire! Maybe, he'll tell it to you once we all get to know you."
Then he blinked as he reached around his friend and offered his hand, still speaking in that rapid-fire pace, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir! Oobleck, Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck. I teach History and Legends of Remnant."
He then turned and thumped Port over the head with the book he was reading as he said, "Though, this one always forgets and calls me professor!"
"Ow!" Port shouted as he rubbed at the bump. "Well, you area professor!" He returned gruffly.
"Maybe so, but I didn't get the PhD for nothing!" Oobleck said as he glared at his friend while raising a finger for emphasis.
Brock sat there quietly as the two continued to bicker good-naturedly. "Brock Cruz." He said in reply then tilted his head in confusion as he turned to Ozpin and asked, "Legends? Like the Fairy Tales?"
"Indeed." Ozpin spoke up then. "One should never be surprised at what one might learn from such tales. All have at least a grain of truth to them after all."
"Indeed! Why, my recent investigations in and around the Tale of The Infinite Man has led me to believe that there was, in fact, a group called The Circle! Most fascinating! Indeed, indeed! Yes-" Oobleck suddenly interjected before spiraling off into an impromptu dissertation on the events he had discovered.
Brock was immediately lost. His mind attempting to process the information being thrown at him so quickly. He blinked and glanced towards Glynda as she moved into his point of view, hoping she could addend this somehow.
"Ahem," she smiled and cleared her throat to say over the doctor's diatribe, somehow now on the ancient weapons he believed The supposed "Infinite" Man used, while also offering her hand. "And I am Glynda Goodwitch. Deputy Headmistress and Combat Instructor. You'll most likely be working with me for the foreseeable future."
Then she smirked at him as she asked, "I hope that that okay with you, Mr. Cruz?"
He smiled back at her as he drawled, "But, of course, Mademoiselle Goodwitch. I look forward to it."
The others at the table, other than the still mollified Port, and distracted Oobleck, glanced between the two for a moment before the two women sitting on either side of Glynda smirked at each other silently as one passed a pair of Lien cards to the other. The purple-haired man merely shook his head and grinned up at the ceiling before returning to his food.
Ozpin smiled, happy to see his most trusted advisor finally getting over the loss she had felt when James had left her for his job. Even he had been a bit miffed by that, if only for how gloomy she had been immediately afterwards.
Then Glynda blushed as she remembered where she was. "I, uh. Oh, dear," She began. "I, um, I apologize for that."
"Oh, come on, girl! Don't stop now," the red-haired woman said as her brown-haired compatriot erupted in a fit of snickers. "You almost had him there. Keep going!"
"Anne!" Glynda interjected, her face flushed red, before burying her face in her hands.
In the "silence" left behind by the two Oobleck suddenly shot to his feet, saying, "I must go! There's so much more research to do! Ta-ta and farewell!"
Brock looked on as the man took a deep swallow from his thermos before he disappeared off into the distance. He almost seemed to blur even as his feet looked like they never left the floor.
"Huh, a Speed Semblance. I should've known." he said to himself as he shook his head having seen a few over the years.
"Indeed. As you can see, he's quite "devoted" to his specific career choice." Ozpin agreed. "Don't let his appearance fool you, though. He is quite brilliant. I've believed that he's written three dissertations on the history of various ancient cultures of Remnant now. Right, Glynda?"
"Four, sir." She replied instantly, not looking at anyone. "And several treatises on various types of Grimm and their way of life, too."
Brock nodded as he stated, "Impressive."
"Quite right! Those beasties won't just hunt themselves now, will they?" Port announced as well, before taking up his, rather peculiar weapon and following after his friend.
Brock watched him go in silence. Then he turned and looked at the remaining three, unknown professors and asked, "And you are?"
The red-haired, skinny woman, who he noted also had freckles, smiled at him mischievously before leaning across the table to shake his hand, saying, "Anne Green. Stealth and Security. And, I have to say, I look forwards to working with you."
She then motioned to the last woman as she said, "Thumb here has been talking you up ever since she found out about you coming to stay the other day."
The forspoken woman frowned at Green as she then thumped both fist on the table, stating, "And I can't believe none of you know about him! The Headmaster clearly does, otherwise I'd be here demanding that he hired him. On. The. Spot." She thumped the table three more times for emphasis with each word.
"Goodness, girl." Anne grinned back at her friend as she said, "Well, maybe you should actually tell us who he is then? I only know of what I see before me."
She then turned and smirked at him as she said, "And that's a big, hunk of man meat."
"Psshh! Annie!" Glynda spit-taked after trying to drinking her tea to calm herself back down. "That's hardly appropriate!"
"Oh, my Gods! How could you say that! Anne! This is so embarrassing!" The woman, Thumb,cried out as she grabbed her animal ears in embarrassment.
The red-haired Huntress burst out laughing at her friends and colleagues reactions to her, before she smiled gently at him once more, "Sorry, sorry. I just had to say something." She then turned to Glynda and said, "Especially, after that shameless flirting of yours the other day, Glyndie."
"Oh, Gods!" Glynda hollered miserably before she buried her head in her arms on the table. "I thought nobody knew about that!" She cried in embarrassment, muffled by her arms. The two other women laughed good-naturedly at her antics.
"Mulberry, Professor Harold Mulberry. Weapon Crafting and Upkeep." The purple-haired man then introduced himself.
Brock blinked as he took in the shock of hair, completely with an equally spiky purple goatee, even as the trio of Huntresses opposite of them then proceeded to descend into a series back and forth bantering alongside a bunch of giggling. Brock found it amusing, almost cute even.
"You'll be coming with me to the Forge for repairs after you finish your breakfast." Mulberry then informed him.
"Ah, well then, I best hurry." Brock said on shaking his hand. "I've kept you all too long as it is. He then proceeded to devour his food rapidly.
The others at the table initially kept to their own private conversations only to eventually sit there watching him consume everything on his plate.
It wasn't that they meant to stare. Huntsmen often had enormous appetites.
But watching a man consume three Belgian Waffles, complete with strawberries, blueberries and blackberries and top by an obscene amount of honey, an omelet, a plate of cheese 'n' eggs and another plate of bacon, they became a bit… concerned.
When he started on a plate of ham and proceeded to eat everything, including the bone. They became even more alarmed, even as they politely ignored the subtle crunching of bones.
As he was starting on his next waffle Glynda finally asked, "So, ahem, tell me, Mr. Cruz, have you discussed with the Headmaster what it is that you wish to teach here?"
Brock paused as he was just about to take a bite. He grimaced before placing his fork down, and said, with a polite cough, "Ah, well, Ahem. We haven't really discussed it yet. I've, uh, been ignoring his many frequent calls, as it were." At this he glared at the man, briefly, who merely sipped from his mug with a small, smug look on his face, before speaking again, "But I do have an idea of what I want to do."
"Yes," Ozpin then interjected before wiping at his mouth and saying, "I've come up with a bit of an temporary schedule for him as well. We do have a spare classroom for him, but it's currently being used as a storage room." He nodded to Glynda, who nodded back, and then to Brock who frowned, embarrassed, before continuing on, "It'll take a few days to clear it out, but the more pressing matter is that Mr. Cruz here has no experienced teaching. So, while we wait for the room to be cleared out I've decided to have him shadow Dr. Oobleck, Professor Port and Professor Goodwitch in their classes for the mean time. Afterwards, he'll alternative with them in addition to teaching his own classes."
He sipped from his mug before saying to the rest, "I feel that this will not out help him out by getting his feet wet, as it were. But, I believe that by doing so will ease the schedules of some of our more overworked staff members. What does everyone say to that?"
The other professors nodded and made noises of agreement/appreciation before finishing their own meals. Ozpin nodded before finishing his mug and standing up from the table. "Right, well. I have a pressing meeting that I need to get to in my office. As you were."
Excusing himself he said to Brock, "When you're done in the Forge, please, contact me, and I'll walk you to the air strip. I have a few more things to discuss with you before you leave. Understood?"
Brock nodded, "Understood."
The Headmaster then nodded at him before taking his leave. Glynda soon followed after.
The rest of the Dining Hall had begun to clear out by then, too. The various seniors and other instructors going about their business for the day.
/ /
Not a moment after Glynda had left then the young Faunus Huntress opened up with, "Oh, it's so good to finally meet you, sir! My father and uncle have talked at length about you, and how you saved their lives! Oh, it's such an honor!" she squealed like a school girl meeting her favorite movie or rock star.
And, maybe she was. Huntsmen were often quite popular, after all. Their ostentatious clothing and unique weapons making for great press even as their exploits caused children the world over to treat them like super heroes.
Brock blinked at that for a moment before chuckling quietly into his umpteenth glass of tea. "Well," he said. "Thank you, young lady."
He then smiled warmly at her as he asked, "And you are? I don't believe that we've been properly introduced yet."
"Ohmigosh!" The Huntress exclaimed, her hands clasping the sides of her face so quickly they slapped it. Brock winced at that as she went on, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Uh, uh, I'm Thumbelina Peach. Professor of Plant Life."
"Once again, it's so good to meet you, Sir Cruz!" She said as she almost launched her small frame across the table to shake his hand vigorously in a two-handed clasp.
Brock continued to smile at her politely as she shook his hand for longer than was necessary. It reminded him of the days leading up to when he "joined" the Huntsman Guild in Mistral, right after the war had ended. "It's fine, really. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Peach."
He successfully removed his hands from hers before stroking at his chin in thought for a moment. Then he asked, "Not to offend you but, uh, what good is Plant Life to in this career?"
"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Peach then replied waving a hand dismissively. "I get that question all the time." She shrugged, "I just really find Botany to be fascinating. And, as for how it might help, immensely!"
She began to get excited as she spouted out while standing up, "Why, if I can teach these kids on what plants or mushrooms are edible, just think about how much longer they might be able to survive in a life-threatening incident. Like, should they be lost out in the woods somewhere. Or, in the deserts of Vacuo, or, Gods-forbid, the tundras of Solitas!"
She sighed then as she sat back down and said into her cup of tea, "Every little bit I can impart on them is that much more of a chance that they might survive out there."
She looked up at him and said, her brown eyes gleaming, "That's all I want for them, Sir Knight. To survive"
Brock nodded in agreement then said, "I understand, Professor. And I do enjoy a few tubers myself. Potatoes are my favorite. Be real helpful to recognize what they look like outside of a store."
The other chuckled a bit at that. Brock smiled a little before saying, "Also, I'm not a knight, Miss. I was never formally inducted into the Order. So, I do not deserve the honorific of Sir. Mister Cruz is fine. Or, Brock."
He shrugged as he sipped from his last cup of tea in the sudden, awkward silence as he continued nonchalantly, " Whichever you prefer."
"Uh, forgive me for the question," Harold interjected then. "But, um. How can you be a part of the Knights, if they haven't inducted you? Isn't that like part of the rules for the organization?" He looked to the others with a hand raised for support.
Anne shook her head, not knowing, while Thumbelina looked on in confusion. Brock gave a soft smile as he began to cut up another waffle, though he wasn't remotely hungry anymore. How to answer this, he wondered.
"Officially?" He started. "It's because these days it requires at least two other senior knights to swear you in, since there are so few royals these days to do so. The Marshal, Gillaume Arc, or his siblings, could probably do so on their own as they are nobility still. But, that would require acknowledging who and what I am.
"And they don't want to do that."
"Why not?" Ann Green asked after drinking some orange juice. "What is that they have against you?"
Brock smiled again, this time bitterly, as he said, "It's a private affair. I can say no more on the matter. I made a promise not to. Sorry."
"I, I thought that the Arcs were a Pro-Faunus family? They aided the Faunus during the Revolution. Thumbelina asked, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Why wouldn't they want someone like you as a member of the Knights? It would go a long way towards showing our people that for all the shit, ahem, for all the stuff going on with in Vale these days, that there are still people-Humans!-on our side."
He sighed before smiling at her sadly as he said, "Sorry, Ms. Peach. But, I'm afraid that I can't answer that."
"I'm sorry, um, why would it be such a good thing, anyway? No offense, Brock!" Harold asked, confused, before correcting himself for the implied insult.
"Not to worry, Harold." Brock returned before he shrugged and said, "I've had far worse insults thrown at me over the years. Trust me on it."
"But, wha- You mean you really don't know who he is? None of you?!" Thumbelina asked in sudden outraged confusion as she looked all the others in turn.
"Should we?" Ann replied quickly. "Thumb, you're the only one going Gaga over him. Who is he?"
Peach sputtered and waved her hands at him in utter disbelief before exclaiming, "He's Brock Cruz!"
The others looked at her and shrugged, confused. Thumbelina rolled her eyes as she exclaimed, "Oh, my Gods! The captain of the Black Vanguard?! You know, the most infamous division on the Faunus side in the war. He fought as one of the leaders of the Faunus Revolution!" She turned to Anne and pointed at her accusingly as she continued, "How could you not know, Anne! I talk about him all the time! Like you said."
Anne Green had the right to be ashamed as her friend pointed out that fact to her. She shrugged and scratched her head as she said, "Well, uh, I mean, I kind of just tune you out since you talked about him all the time?"
"Bu-wha-Annie! Why!" Thumbelina asked despondently as she began to cry anime tears. Anne began to wave her hands about as she tried to comfort her friend after insulting her.
While she did so Mulberry nudged Brock with an elbow, saying, "Come on. Now's the time to go while they're distracted."
Brock nodded as he got up and followed the man out. All that was left in the Dining Hall were the two Huntresses and a few students trying their best to remain unnoticed by the pair as they finished their own meals in a hurry.
/ /
As the two made their way towards the Beacon Forge Mulberry also pointed out the small farm and chicken coop off to the side, saying, "In case you were wondering how the milk and eggs can taste so fresh."
Then he led onwards in silence.
After a while the found the building. Already the fires within were burning as the Forgemaster began his work for the day, his apprentices doing the same. Brock winced at all the noise of hammer on metal before he said, "I didn't know that Beacon also trained smiths. Thought they all went to another school?'
"Ah, yeah, well, you see. Beacon does things differently than the other academies." Mulberry said by way of explanation. "There's also a course for those more interested in the business side of things, too. You'd be surprised at how many Huntsmen have their own agents. Helps get more notoriety, and better missions."
He paused for a moment before asking, "You ever face off against General Lagune? At The Battle of Fort Castle?"
"Ach, no." Brock countered with a smile as he rolled his shoulders before walking into the Forge, braving the noises and sounds within. "Different division. Different assignment."
"Hm, pity." Mulberry said as he walked in beside him. "Maybe you should say that you did in the future. In case, anyone asks. Might get you a few marks of respect among the students."
Brock turned to him and grinned as he said, "I cannot tell a lie. It's part of my Oath."
"Mm, pity." Mulberry replied once more, but said nothing else.
/ /
"Huh, an' who're you su'pose to be?" Asked an older, balding, grey-haired Ram-horned man aggressively as he loomed over the small anvil before him, his voice like that of gravel pieces being ground together. Brock blinked in surprise, both at the sudden accusation and the darker room. He had been expecting more light.
He was not one of the many Faunus blessed with superior Night Vision, his hearing and smell on the other hand.
Well, they weren't doing so well in the tight confines of the Smithy.
"Hrm, Brock. Brock Cruz." He finally said once he was able to adjust to the increased noise and pungent odors within.
"Oh, you're th' one Ozpin said be comin' in." The man grumbled to himself in thought, scratching at the clump of curling, grey hair at his temples, then he barked at Brock commandingly, "Well? Let's 'ave it! Sho' me wot ya got. We'll repair it better'an'new, or mah name's not, Braum!"
Brock blinked that for a moment before leaning over to ask Mulberry, "Is that his first or last name?"
Harold looked back at him and shrugged, saying, "I don't know. I once asked if his last name was Gruff as a joke."
Brock looked at him in confusion, so he shrugged and said, "You know, like Billy Goats Gruff? The story."
Brock blinked at that, then asked, "What happened?"
Mulberry shuddered as he remembered. "I woke up the next day somehow sealed inside own my classroom. Somehow, he had carried me, and my whole bed into the room without waking me. Then, he had relocked the door before burying it under a half a ton of slag.
"All, without waking me up, or setting off the fire alarm!"
Brock stood there with his eyes widened in silence. Then he glanced at the old Ram still crouched over the anvil with a hammer and tongs in hand before looking back at Mulberry. "So, don't make him angry?"
"Don't make him angry."
Brock looked at the older cantankerous-looking Faunus for a moment before turning and asked in a whine, "How?"
"'Unno, give him somethin' interestin' to work on, I guess?" Mulberry returned with a shrug, as he started speaking in the same dialect as the Forgemaster.
"Urgh, you're no help." Brock replied. Mulberry shrugged before he clapped the man on the shoulder with a smile and laughed as he walked out of the Forge. Brock shook his head at the man in amusement before turning and walking over to the Forgemaster.
Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about being trapped in a room later on. He guessed.
He drew the blade strapped to his back and presented it to the Forgemaster for inspection. "Oh, naew, wot hav' we 'ere? I've not seen a design quite like this be'ore!" Braum said as he looked over the blade. He looked at Brock in a new light as he asked, "Wot be 'er name, Lad?"
Brock crossed his arms as he watched the master smith look over the weapon in silence.
The blade was longer than he was tall but with a gradual curve to its gunmetal grey and brass coloration. It was a hand's width across at its widest, his hand's width. It bore no real crossguard but a thick slab of metal did connect it to the hilt. The black leather grip was slightly unusual in that it bore a trigger and trigger guard like a gun and had an open slot for putting Dust cartridges in. The sword's heavy pommel was designed both for bashing the heads of enemies and to counteract the tremendous weight and recoil when using the Dust mechanism.
It was a beautiful looking weapon. As well made as the day it had been forged. Over twenty-five years ago. He thought about that for a moment, and the about the one who made it. Then he said, "Salamandastron."
"OoHhh, naew tha's a name, Lad." Braum said tremendously with a gape-toothed smile. Then he frowned as he asked, "Wot it mean?"
Brock hesitated a second before saying, "Mountain of the Fire Lizard." He then uncrossed and recrossed his arms and shifted his feet bit nervously as he said, "It's not mine. Was a friend's. I'm, keeping it, in honor of them."
"Aahhh," the Faunus smith said as he nodded, knowing just how much the blade meant to the man then. "Well, Ah promise to take good care of 'er, 'kay?"
Brock nodded silently. He didn't bother to wipe away the tears suddenly in his eyes. He just let the man think that they were sweat instead.
He wasn't fooling anybody, though.
Braum looked over the weapon with pleasure, finding no faults in the blade or its edge, or with the channel at the back for when the Dust was activated. A bit dirty and gummied up, but otherwise serviceable.
Then he took in the hilt itself and immediately found the problem. He grasped the handle and jiggled it while holding the blade. It wiggled. He turned and eyed the man before him, weighing him as he did, taking in the frazzled hair and beard, the black circles under his eyes. Then he asked, "Wot be th' problem wit' the sword?" Sir."
"The blade keeps coming loose after I use the Dust mechanism one too many times in a row. I'm afraid that one day, it's just going to come apart in my hands when I try it." Brock answered. He shrugged after a moment's contemplation and said, "I think it's the Fire Dust. It's too hot for the metal."
"... 'Ave ya tried other Dust types?" Braum asked quietly as he began to separate the pieces of the pistol trigger and chamber.
"Aye. Most don't work, though." Brock replied. "Ice Dust makes for a great extended blade, but ultimately falls short of what I need. Earth and Stone Dust only add unnecessary weight to an otherwise already heavy blade. Wind Dust would be useful, if I couldn't already generate Air Slashes with my Aura alone." He shook his head then, saying "Hardly necessary."
"Heheh, Ah can sees your problem. Don' worry 'bout nothin'." Braum said with a grin. "Leave the blade 'ere. Ah'll improve it fo' ya. Stronger grip, mor' powerful mechanism. Com' back in a week, yah?"
Brock nodded at that, saying, "A fair deal." He then motioned to the black residue on his person, asking, "Any ideas on how to fix my armor?
The ram-horned smith looked at him critically for a moment before saying, "Vinegar."
Brock blinked at that, "What?"
Braum threw his arms down in irritation as he sighed before saying, "Vinegar, wa'er, and Bakin' Soda. Homebrew recip' for varnishing tarnished silver. Mah ma gave it to me, Gah rest 'er soul."
"Oh, thank you." Brock said after a beat, embarrassed yet again. Then he asked, "What about improving the Dust mechanics in the armor?"
Braum paused as he was pulling out parts and materials to reinforce Salamandastron's grip. Then he looked at the Huntsman before him curiously as he asked, "Th' armor can use Dust, too? I thought only the Atlesians had tha' tech. Their power armor, they calls it."
"Well," Brock replied while scratching at his head in embarrassment. "It was a friend's design. But I've improved on it over the years. Kind of a, homemade power armor, kind of thing. I guess."
Braum got up from where he was crouched and stalked over to the Huntsman, wiping his hands with a grimy cloth as he did so. As he came closer Brock realized that the shadows in the Forge had hidden just how massive the balding man was. While over a head short than himself, he was nearly as broad.
He looked over the armor, scrutinizing it closely. Sure enough, there it was. Slots for Dust cartridges or vials in the gauntlets and chest piece, hidden by varnished silver residue or by the Emblem itself, which was of some kind of dark reddish coloring. He also noted the retractable claws built into the fingers of the gauntlets.
"Boys!" He shouted out. "Come 'ere and see this work o' art."
Within seconds, Brock found himself surrounded by a group of students, apprentices of the Forgemaster as well as other Huntsmen-in-training, there to learn the trade as well under a master smith. Brock tried not to let his discomfort show.
But, again, he wasn't fooling anyone.
Pretty soon the various students began exclaiming excited as they looked over the power armor of the knight in front of them. Brock distinctly heard from one, though as he shouted right by his ear.
"Look there! You can see the channels beneath in the body suit to draw the Dust to where it needs to go!"
"Oh, I bet that's a bitch to clean." Another exclaimed while crossing his arms and giving a smug look at the armored man before him.
"Shut yer yap, Brody! Or Ah'll do it fer ya!" Braum boomed.
"Sorry, Master!" The one called Brody said quickly before uncrossing his arms and running back outside.
"Alrigh', alrigh'." Braum said as he clapped his hands a couple of times. "Stop crawdin' the man, and git back to work!"
"Yes, sir!"/"Yes, Master!" came the collective response from the apprentices and Huntsmen-in-training.
Braum smiled behind them as the group of ten students, eight boys, and two girls, quickly left the room and began to do their tasks again. Braum nodded in satisfaction himself before turning to Brock and saying, "Warms mah 'art to see 'em so 'appy. Makes life worth livin', ya ken?"
"Aye," Brock said a bit thickly. "That it does."
"Well, listen 'ere." Braum said as he took Brock by the shoulder and started to lead him out of the room. He followed without pause, wanting out of the noisy, smelly room, anyway. "Ah'll get your weapon reforged and refined by th' week's end. Yah 'ave mah word on that. As for th' armor, do wot ya ken naew, and in, say, a week's time wi'll work on getting' it ah prettied up for th' semester. 'Ow tha' sound?"
Brock looked at him and nodded. "Just dandy, sir."
He held out his hand to shake as he said, "Mr. Braum. It's been a pleasure. What do I owe you?"
Braum clasped his forearm in a warrior's salute before saying, "Nothin'. Even if th' Headma'er had said o'erwise. Ah couldn't bring mahself to charge yeh. They is works o' art, sir."
"Well, thank you." Brock returned earnestly. "I look forwards to seeing how my sword looks in a week. And, as for the armor. If you want it, you have my aid in the repair and refit."
"Than' ya. Ah'll hold ya to tha' then." Braum returned with a smile and a glint in his pale yellow eyes.
/ /
Ozpin was enjoying the afternoon as he was making his way back towards the Dining Hall. That's when he found Cruz wandering around aimlessly. He blinked at that. He had given a direct order to Mulberry and the others to watch over him. They were usually so good at following directions.
He wondered what happened?
"Mr. Cruz?!" He called out as he made his way over to the man. Cruz stopped and turned to face at his call.
"Headmaster." He said on greeting with a tilt of his head, his multicolored hair shining in the afternoon sunlight. "How went your meeting?"
"Ah, it wasn't a meeting actually. Merely a casual conversation with my niece." Ozpin reply, a smile blossoming on his face at the mere mention of the girl
"Huh," Cruz said. "I didn't know that you have a niece. She doing well then?"
Ozpin's smile widen as he nodded. "Honorary niece, as it were."
"And, she is doing well. Not to make it sound like nepotism, or anything, but she's here at Beacon on recommendations."
"Oh," said Cruz. He eyed the headmaster as he asked, "No need for Initiation then?"
"Indeed, yes." Ozpin started before clearing his throat as he said, "Ahem, okay. It definitely sounds like nepotism-"
"Uh-huh."
"-But it's not! She just, uh, really talented. I mean, yes she's currently living in Beacon Tower with me. But, what else was I going to do? Let her continue living in that broken down apartment in Downtown Vale? No." He coughed, politely.
"She, and a few other recommended individuals are already here." Ozpin continued by way of explanation before flushing and looking away from the man that he was basically attempting to blackmail into working for him.
"And, are they also family?" Cruz asked, still scrutinizing him.
"Oh, what? N-no, no. They are merely, the children, of some of my closest associates… Oh dear." Ozpin replied earnestly before petering out and shaking his head as he realized what he had done. He paused, standing there for a brief second before turning to face Cruz as he ask, "I've made a right ass of myself, haven't I?"
Cruz looked at him in a judgemental silence, proverbial thunderclouds overhead, before suddenly smirking as he started down the path again, chuckling as he said, "What do I know, Ozpin? You're the one who knows yourself the best, Professor."
Ozpin stood there, stunned, for a moment before he too began to chuckle to himself at the situation. He quickly caught up to the other man. From there, they walked in a companionable silence for a while, before, finally, he said, "Alright, alright. You know what, you're right. I'll have the four of them take the Initiation as well." He shook his head with amusement. "Honestly, I think that they'll appreciate it. They were all complaining in one way or another about the special dispensation we were giving them."
"Mm, good kids, then. Honorable, trustworthy." Cruz drawled quietly. Ozpin nodded in agreement.
"So, how did the rest of your meal go, then? I'm hoping that everyone got along with you." Ozpin asked softly, not wanting to upset the man more than he had recently. He seemed… lost, when he found him earlier.
"Oh, good. It was good." Cruz replied absently as if he were deep in thought. Then he smiled softly as he said, "Seems I have a bit of a fan in Ms. Peach, apparently. Knew about my time with the Faunus Revolutionary Forces."
He looked off into the middle distance then as he said, "Pity those days are long gone."
He blinked before focusing on Ozpin as he continued, "From there, we talked briefly about my time with the Knights before Mr. Mulberry and I made our exit from the table while Ms. Green and Ms. Peach were engaged in conversation."
Ozpin laughed out loud at that before saying himself, "A wise decision from Professor Mulberry then. Professor Green and Peach have been known to talk for hours about their interests, often getting Professors Mulberry or even Oobleck involved in them at times."
"Hmm, seems like you get a good crew here then, Headmaster." Cruz returned.
"Yes, indeed. It took a few years to find such a trustworthy and hardworking team, but they make it seem so effortless at times. Heh, is it any wonder that they are so overworked these days?"
He motioned with his hands, one still holding his cane, as he proclaimed, "Beacon Academy is the best in the world. Everybody wants to come here!"
He shook his head then as he said, "But, not just anyone can join. It takes hard work, training, talent, and just a bit of luck to even be accepted. And, even then, you could still fail. Whether, that be at Initiation, or the classwork later on. Or," his eyes darkened, "on a mission."
The two walked on in silence after that. Both deep in thoughts. Had they the ability read each other's mind they would find it to be along similar thoughts patterns.
The losses in their pasts, of friends, colleagues, and family.
Finally, a chime from Ozpin's Scroll brought them back to the present. "Ah," he said on reading the message. "Good. It seems that Professor Port has finished clearing the Emerald Forest of any seriously threatening Grimm. Should make for a relatively safe place to induct the Initiates."
"Mm." Cruz said in answer.
"Oh, that reminds me. I see that you don't have your sword. Is it being treated by the staff at Beacon's Forge?" Ozpin asked as he put away his Scroll after sending a message to both Glynda and Port.
"Mm, Braum said he'd have it ready by the week's end." Cruz said in answer. "Said he'd do it himself."
Ozpin paused momentarily at that. He had hoped that Braum would help, even if it was in his usual abcertic way. But, to go out of his way to do it himself? He must've seen something special in Cruz, or his weapon. Speaking of which, "Oh, that reminds me. Do you need a temporary weapon in the meantime?"
"No worries," Cruz replied as with a snikt! a set of retractable claws unsheathed themselves from his gauntlets. He shrugged as he stood there. "I came prepared."
Ozpin said nothing. He merely shook his head as he walked away. This man.
Cruz followed after him. Smiling.
/ /
"So,"Ozpin asked as the two stood at the Beacon Landing Pad. "Have you decided on what course you'll be teaching?"
Brock pondered the answer for a moment before answering, "Aye." He then turned to face Ozpin as he said, "Survival."
Ozpin nodded and smiled, "A good answer."
"Mm," Brock replied stoically, then his eyes briefly flashed with unease as he saw the Air Bus coming in for a landing.
Ozpin thought to himself for a moment then said, "You know. While there won't be all that much room. I think that I can get you a room on campus. Perhaps in one of the student dorms. What say you?"
Brock turned and looked at him for a moment in silence. Then he lowered his head as he said with embarrassment thick in his tone, "Alright."
"Excellent!" Opzin replied, once more tapping his cane in approval. Then he pulled out his Scroll as he recalled something. "Oh, yes. Right. We'll need you to reapply for your Huntsman license. A simple practical exam should suffice."
Brock nodded, fully aware of what he had to do. Should be easy. All he had to do was kill a certain number of Grimm in a certain amount of time. Ozpin continued as he handed the Scroll over to him to look at, "But, while I was writing up the paperwork for you, I noticed something odd about your profile. So, I looked into it and this in your profile."
Brock took the Scroll and read over the information, then he blinked in confusion and read it over again. He paused and looked up at his new employer, saying, "That, is a lot of zeros."
A/N: You guys still here? Whew, thanks for that.
So, good news, next chapter we will finally be in RWBY proper and reintroduce all our favorites from both teams. Maybe we'll even see a few more familiar faces, too. That being said, I'm probably won't be working on it for a while. Gonna try and bang out the first chapter of the last story I have on my profile first.
See you all next time.
Essiter out.
And remember you're awesome, stay awesome!