Fate's Wild Card Ch.2

AN: An extra set of ears is always welcome.

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"I'm done playing games, kid," he growls, voice rough from years of drinking, before reaching out and ripping the mask off with a swift, violent motion.

Pryce hisses in pain as the huntsman actually yanks his rabbit ears as they finally are released from the mask. The tight goggles don't help either, scraping his human ears too, aura or not it still fucking hurts!

It really sucks that faunus have two pairs of ears and he wasn't one of the lucky ones who only have one pair and have a tail instead.

Like, he would have preferred a fluffy tail instead of his black rabbit ears that match his short black hair.

So of course, because the asshole hurt him for ripping the full mask off, he takes the chance to immediately spit in his face.

Which much to his pleasure lands right in the man's eyes.

"Agh, you little shit! Very funny…" Qrow recoils and furiously rubs his eyes to wipe it off, cursing under his breath. The smell of alcohol becomes stronger as he fumbles for a handkerchief from his pocket.

The blonde woman—Glynda—looks disgusted, her lips pursing into a thin line as she adjusts her glasses. Meanwhile, Ozpin merely raises an eyebrow, seemingly more curious than offended by the display of defiance.

Pryce merely grins at the duo, feeling a small sense of victory. It isn't enough payback for earlier, but it is something.

Besides, the asshole attacked first—he reasonably defended himself, so it was fair game.

Street rules. You hit me; I hit back. Simple as that.

Also, he kind of appreciated feeling the fresh air on his face again. It was getting hot and damp under the mask, quickly becoming annoying. Despite the rough way his face was exposed, he likes having his ears free. So he just moves his head a little and feels his ear twitch, adjusting to their new freedom after hours of confinement.

"You're just a kid, damn," Qrow finally speaks again, but his angry tone lowers drastically upon seeing his face. Why does his tone change though?

Also, he isn't a kid.

He became an 18 years old adult a month ago. And has been taking care of himself for years.

Living on his own, making his own money, fighting his own battles after he left the orphanage. Surviving winters without heat, dodging criminals worse than himself, learning which food vendors might give him scraps at closing time.

Although compared to them, yeah, technically he is just a kid in their eyes. Just like everyone under twenty probably seems like a child to these veteran hunters with their fancy weapons and prestigious titles.

Although unlike Glynda, Ozpin leans forward, almost like he is trying to study him more. The headmaster's eyes flicker briefly to his rabbit ears, then back to his face, calculating something behind that impassive expression.

"A faunus," he notes quietly, as if this changes something.

Wait…

He isn't a racist, is he?

No, if he was racist then he wouldn't even be in the same room as him or would have beaten him with his cane already. 

Ozpin's expression shifts to something sterner as he turns to the man. "Qrow, that's enough. There was no need for excessive force." His voice remains calm but carries an unmistakable note of authority.

Qrow just grumbles and relents, stepping back to the wall he was resting against earlier. "Whatever." He pulls out his flask again, taking another swig before shoving it back into his jacket pocket. 

Ozpin returns his attention back to Pryce, folding his hands neatly on the table. "I understand your reluctance to speak with us. Trust is something earned, not given freely. Especially for someone who has learned to survive on their own."

That new stare he gives Pryce suddenly makes him uncomfortable because it feels like those eyes are seeing more than they should. 

However, Pryce remains silent, his rabbit ears now twitching occasionally at the subtle sounds in the room—the soft ticking of a clock, Qrow's irritated breathing, the distant sounds of the police station beyond the door. His left ear flicks toward the ceiling when the ventilation system kicks on.

Hmmm, nothing of importance.

After several moments of this weird standoff, Ozpin sighs softly and stands up. He pulls a small key from his pocket and, to Pryce's surprise, unlocks the cuffs binding him to the table.

The metal restraints fall away, but Pryce doesn't move or jump or try to kick the table as some sort of distraction. Obviously it's a trap to get him to do something stupid so they can retaliate against him, but he isn't about to try anything with two veteran huntsmen in the room. It would be suicide. He simply rubs his wrists where the cuffs had been chafing, eyeing the old man warily.

"Excuse me for a moment," Ozpin says, picking up his coffee mug. "I need to attend to something." He moves toward the door with unhurried steps.

Glynda soon follows, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. Qrow pushes off from the wall to join them, but she stops him with a hand on his chest.

"Stay here," she says firmly. The door closes behind them with a soft click.

"Oh great, I'm stuck with you," Qrow mutters, crossing his arms.

Pryce is still facing one hunter veteran who already showed he could destroy him without breaking a sweat. But now that his hands are free, he takes full advantage, stretching his legs up onto the table and lacing his fingers behind his neck, leaning back in the chair.

He is going to wait it out. They can't hold him forever with or without charges.

However, Qrow watches him for a long moment before speaking. "You know, I gotta wonder why you even bother with this whole tough guy thing." He gestures vaguely at Pryce. "You're young. Got your whole life ahead of you. This path you're on? It isn't worth it. Crime is never worth it, kid."

Pryce rolls his eyes as the bad cop tries to put on the role of the good one. It's almost funny how predictable these people are. First threats, then sympathy—like he hasn't seen it all before in the streets of Mistral.

"The pay must be decent," Qrow continues, seemingly undeterred by his silence. "But trust me, whatever they're giving you, it's not worth where you'll end up. Prison, or worse." He takes another drink from his flask, grimacing slightly as the liquor burns its way down. "And whoever sent you after those files? They're playing a game you don't understand."

Corporate games, not his problem.

Qrow lets out a heavy sigh, leaning against the wall and tapping his fingers against his arms. "Look, kid, I get it. Faunus have it rough out there, I’ve seen it plenty of times. Vale's better than most places, but that's not saying much. Atlas is a nightmare, and even in Mistral..." He trails off, noting Pryce's unwavering silence and flat stare. "Fine. Have it your way."

Minutes pass in tense silence, Pryce's ears occasionally twitching at new sounds as he pays attention to the footsteps approaching the room. And as expected, the door swings open as Ozpin returns with Glynda, who's carrying a substantial stack of papers.

She drops them in front of Pryce with a loud thud that makes his ears flick backward instinctively.

What is all this paperwork?

The headmaster takes a seat, adjusts his glasses, and grabs the first document from the pile. He clears his throat before reading. "Terrorism. Espionage. Conspiracy against the Kingdom of Vale. Threats to public safety. Accessory to attempted murder. Sabotage of critical infrastructure..."

The list continues, each charge more serious than the last. Pryce's composed facade cracks as his mouth drops open in genuine shock.

"Bullshit!" he finally speaks, slamming his hands on the table as he abruptly stands up. "I didn't do any of that! Breaking and entering, fine. Theft, maybe. But terrorism? Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Ozpin just smiles placidly, setting the papers down. "I can charge you with all of these, Mr. Locke. And I will because the people you have involved yourself with might be very dangerous and the consequences will hurt a lot of people. As a councilor of this beautiful city, I cannot let this slide."

What the fuck, this isn't how things are supposed to go! Trust my ass! This isn't some normal interrogation—these aren't even cops! How can a school headmaster file terrorism charges against him?

Pryce frantically looks around the room. Glynda's expression remains ruthless and unmoved, while Qrow just shrugs, taking another swig from his flask. The asshole clearly knew this would happen.

It's an extreme position he didn't think he would find himself in. With a loud sigh of defeat and impotence, he relents because he is actually trapped with no way out.

"Pryce Locke," he mutters, the words feeling like surrender. "My name's Pryce Locke."

"A good start," Ozpin nods, satisfaction barely visible behind his composed demeanor. "Now, about those files you were stealing."

"I was just breaking in to get some profiles," Pryce explains, his voice bitter. "A woman just wanted them. Didn't say why, just paid half up front with the rest coming when I delivered and gave me the target. My best guess was normal corporate espionage or looking for witnesses. That's what everyone usually wants with me."

"Do you know where this woman might be?" Ozpin asks, leaning forward slightly.

"No. Never ask questions. Just do the job and leave." Standard practice for survival in his line of work.

"Mmm," Ozpin hums thoughtfully. "Did she give you a drop point?"

"No."

"Would she contact you after you found the files?"

"Yes."

On a burner phone that he'd already mentally written off as lost.

"Then perhaps we could—"

"No. Fuck you." Pryce's ears stand straight up in defiance, his hands balling into fists.

Glynda's eyes narrow dangerously, her riding crop twitching in her hand.

"Yes, fuck you and you and you," Pryce continues, pointing everyone in the room. "Fuck you all. I won't get involved with this shit."

Pryce, even still being in a dangerous position, has his pride and won't be used like that. Something he learned very well from Mistral gangs—because it is NEVER one single job when you give them the leash. First, it's "just wear a wire," then suddenly you're a full-time second class member with a target on your back and can only lower your head as they abuse you.

He's not stupid enough to fall for it. Better to take the rap for what he actually did then become someone's disposable tool against people he doesn't even know.

Ozpin sighs, taking off his glasses to clean them with a small cloth from his pocket before putting them back on.

"Understandable position, Mr. Locke, but we did obtain valuable information even if it was small. So for that we are grateful." His voice carries a gentle finality that somehow makes Pryce feel like he'd already lost a game he didn't know he was playing.

Then he grabs the stacks, dividing them into two piles and pushing them toward him.

What are those things? More charges?

"I wasn't lying about finding potential," Ozpin continues, his voice carrying a quiet confidence. "And I do believe strongly in second chances. Sometimes the most... unexpected individuals can become our greatest allies."

He leans forward, hands folded on the table, eyes studying Pryce with a new intensity that makes him want to squirm.

"So why won't you let me guide you? You possess natural talents that could be honed and directed toward something greater than mere survival. Your quick thinking, adaptability, and resourcefulness are qualities we look for in Huntsmen. The fact that you've survived this long on your own, developed your aura without formal training, and managed to evade detection in operations that would challenge even my students speaks volumes."

Ozpin takes a sip from his mug before continuing, his voice taking on a more reflective tone.

"The world is changing, Mr. Locke. The dividing lines between kingdoms, between human and Faunus, between the privileged and the desperate—these are constructs that serve only to weaken us against real threats. At Beacon, we look beyond these artificial boundaries. We see potential where others see problems. I've watched promising young people from all backgrounds transform into defenders of humanity. Some began as criminals, others as lost souls, many as outcasts."

His eyes meet Pryce's directly, as if peering into something deeper than just the present moment.

"You stand at a crossroads. Continue down your current path, and I can promise you it ends in one of two ways: prison or an early grave. Or take this opportunity—grasp a purpose greater than your next meal or your next job. Become someone who protects rather than takes. The choice may seem forced upon you now, but I suspect you'll find more freedom in this option than you've ever known."

“Please join my Academy.”

"Oz?!" Both huntsmen turn to look at him in surprise, their composure breaking for the first time since this interrogation began.

"Ozpin, I strongly advise against it!" Glynda's voice rises with genuine alarm. Her riding crop thumps against the table with emphasis. "We cannot simply admit somebody with potential ties to our enemies!"

Qrow pushes himself off the wall. "Are you serious? My nieces are also joining Beacon!"

He has nieces? 

That might be useful information for later.

Ozpin holds up a hand, silencing them both with the casual authority of someone who's been ending arguments for centuries. "It all starts with a little trust, my friends. Otherwise, I wouldn't have allowed any of you in the academy decades ago."

That shuts them up fast. The room falls into a tense silence.

That also catches Pryce's attention a little. His ears perk up despite his best efforts to remain impassive. Because that would mean that these two were criminals in their younger days.

And their expressions do imply that even further.

"Of course, if you refuse," Ozpin continues, a slight smile playing at his lips, "then you will go through the normal legal process of Vale with the real crimes you committed, not the others. You have my word that it will be a fair trial."

And he is handed a pen, and he looks down at the two contracts one with the official Beacon Academy emblem prominently displayed at the top and the other the emblem of the VPD. 

Pryce stares at the documents for a moment.

Beacon? The prestigious huntsman academy? Him? It has to be some kind of trap or joke. Street thieves don't become hunters. 

Orphan faunus don't get invited to elite schools either. Nobody is that lucky.

But as his eyes scan the papers, the academy scholarship offer seems legitimate. And far better than going to trial and potentially facing prison time.

Although, the headmaster tried to charge him with a lot of bogus crimes just to get him to talk, so he is an asshole.

Still, something about this feels too convenient, too neat. Like he's being steered toward a decision that was made long before he ever broke into that apartment.

What should he do?

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