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     “I hope you realize your actions today will not be taken lightly, young lady…”
     The blonde woman paced around the interrogation room, with its all too familiar concrete-gray walls, lonely wall-clock, one ceiling light, metal table, and two chairs, one of which was impossibly uncomfortable. That last one was probably a deliberate choice.
     “If it were up to me…” The woman continued. Her hair was done up in a tight bun and her stern expression was made sterner by the glasses over her green eyes. She wore a tight, white blouse with long sleeves, a black thigh-length skirt, stockings and knee-high boots. She also wore a short black cape and held a riding crop in one hand, and a tablet-sized, charcoal-grey scroll in the other.
     She made for a rather attractive, and somewhat confusing, sight.
     “You’d be sent home, with a pat on the back… And a slap on the wrist.” The woman finished, punctuating the final part of her sentence by bringing her riding crop down on the table, making a metallic slap!
     She looked like she’d done this before. She certainly had the lecture down, and it looked like she expected her audience to be sufficiently cowed.
     The tiger faunus sitting at the table, however, didn’t look cowed. In fact, other than being surprised by the riding crop, she seemed unimpressed.
Timber’s gaze shifted back and forth from the riding crop to the woman holding it.
     There was a short expectant silence.
     Finally, Timber looked straight into the woman’s green eyes. “So are you going to tell me who the hell you are, or are you just going to keep talking at me like a crazy person?” Timber asked in a condescending tone, flashing the woman an impudent smile for good measure.
     Another silence descended on the room.
     The woman blinked, “Excuse me?”
     Timber shifted in her seat. “Look,” she said as disarmingly as possible, “I haven’t had the best day today. It was hot as hell, I was kicked out of my usual spot, I was barely able to collect enough for a decent lunch, the only place in the area that would serve faunus got a new manager who wouldn’t, it took me almost three hours to find a place that would, just when I was about to finally eat some jerkwads decided to bust in and rob everyone, and after I put down those psychos, I’m put in cuffs, taken to the station, and left in this room by myself for,” Timber quickly glanced at the clock, “Six hours, and then you came in and started blabbering about ‘irresponsibility’ and ‘leaving it to the authorities’ while I’m sitting here wondering who Glasses Mc. Hottie is, cause you sure as hell don’t look like any cop I’ve seen. Oh, and the worst thing? My guitar was smashed. To pieces,” Timber leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, with her own stern expression, “So do me a favor, stop beating around the bush, and tell me who you are and what the hell I’m doing here? Please?” Timber added, exasperated.
     Another, longer silence descended on the room as the two women stared each other down, one with a defiant gleam, the other an indignant glare.
     For what possibly may be the first time since she entered the room, the blonde woman seemed to take in the young woman sitting in front of her. Timber’s straight, blue-grey hair fell down to her shoulder blades, bangs curved over her forehead and touching her eyebrows. Fair skin stretched over a long face and a lean figure, covered by a dirty white t-shirt and baggy, dirty jeans. Poking out from the hem of her shirt was a blue-grey tiger tail, and whenever the young faunus opened her mouth, the woman could swear she saw fangs where the upper canines would be.
     Timber’s steel blue eyes did not break from the green glare of the blonde.
     The blonde woman took a breath, straightened her posture and withdrew her riding crop from the table.
     “Very well, then. I suppose that’s fair.” Her tone and expression had relaxed significantly, though she maintained her stern, authoritative demeanor, “My name is Glynda Goodwitch. You may call me Professor Goodwitch. I’m here because…”
     “Whoa, whoa, waitwaitwait,” Timber said waving her hands in the general gesture of ‘hold on a moment’, “D-did you say professor? You’re a teacher?”
     Irritation flashed across the face of the woman who introduced herself as Goodwitch, “Yes. Yes I did.”
     Timber stared at Goodwitch. Not for the first time, she scrutinized the blonde woman’s attire, noting – again, not for the first time – how formfitting it was, taking in the existence of the riding crop, as well as her stern, haughty, authoritarian attitude.
     “The heck do you teach?” Timber asked in genuine bemusement, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.
     Goodwitch, to her credit, maintained her composure, though her left eyebrow did twitch slightly. “I am here, Miss Sery…
     “Ah, ah, ah,” Timber interrupted, again, “Not ‘sery’: Seryy. See-err-ree. Okay?”
     “…Because of the incident you were involved in earlier today.” Goodwitch finished, keeping her expression stonefaced.
     Timber shrugged, “Okay? You here to congratulate me, or…?”
     “Congratulate?” Goodwitch scoffed, “You needlessly involved yourself in a crime in progress, endangered yourself and others acting out foolhardy heroics, and you caused unnecessary damage to private property.”
     Timber blinked, “… Run that by me again?” she said flatly.
     Goodwitch sighed, “Earlier today, when the café you were in was being robbed, you took it upon yourself to intervene and neutralize the would-be robbers. While I admit it’s impressive that you took out six assailants, one of which had rudimentary aura knowledge, you still took the law into your hands, destroyed the café’s property – which includes the large pane window – and put the lives of bystanders at risk, and caused a scene in public. You should’ve let them take whatever they wanted and let the police handle it.”
     Timber looked at Goodwitch. The ‘Professor’ looked back, probably expecting her to hang her head, apologize, say that she learned her lesson and won’t do it again.
     Instead: “Okay, that’s great and all,” Timber said haughtily, “But what actually happened was that six bozos barged into the café and started taking people’s cash. They didn’t like that I spent all the money I had on my food, so one of the idiots decided putting a gun to my head would fix that. Of course, being the idiot he was, he left the safety on, so I just ‘relieved’ him of his weapon, then took care of his friends when they tried to take it back. The last guy came at me with this… shock… mace… thing, and he knew how to use aura, so it took me longer to get him to eat dirt. Or asphalt, since he hit me through the window into the street.”
     Timber leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Point is, Glasses, I didn’t ‘take the law into my hands’: those jerks tried to kill me, and I stopped them. And they broke all that stuff, not me.” Timber added quickly, “If anything, this is self-defense, and the fact that I was arrested and thrown in here is complete bull.”
     Once again, emerald bore into unwavering steel blue. It was clear Goodwitch was unused to being spoken to in such a way. The fact that Timber hadn’t shrunk back in terror by itself probably threw her for a loop.
     “Is that how you interpret today’s events, young lady?” Goodwitch’s voice was strained.
     “If by that you mean ‘that’s what happened?’ Then yes, it is.” Timber’s tone was comparable to that of an impudent teenager, “Seriously, isn’t there a report you can read? Or, better yet, didn’t the café have security cameras? You can’t look up footage on your tablet-thing?”
     “I would appreciate it if you didn’t take that tone with me.”
     “And I would appreciate it if I wasn’t arrested for something I didn’t do, but that sure as hell didn’t happen, now did it?” Timber shot back. She knew she was probably digging herself deeper, but she was too irritated and hungry to care anymore. Besides, she hadn’t broken any of Vale’s laws, except when she had to, but there was no way the cops could know.
     Goodwitch’s expression eroded into an angry scowl as she finally lost her composure, “Now listen here, young lady…”
     Both women jumped at the knock at the door. Goodwitch gave Timber an annoyed glance before walking over and opening the door a crack. There was a short, quiet pause before, taking a calming breath, she turned back to Timber, her stone-faced look restored. “There is someone here who would like to speak with you.”
     Goodwitch stood to the side as she opened the door for whoever knocked.
     Standing into the threshold was a man who looked like he was in his thirties or forties. He wore a black suit-and-vest combo with dark-green trousers, black shoes, and, strangely, a thick, dark-green scarf. He had a pair of round glasses hanging on his nose, barely hiding his brown eyes, and a tuft of silver hair. In one hand he held a strange-looking cane and in the other was a white paper bag.
     The man calmly walked over and sat at the table. He made it look like he’d done this before.
     “Sorry I’m late,” the man placed the bag on the table in front of Timber, leaning his cane on the edge, “I thought you might be hungry after what happened today.”
     Timber’s gaze shifted from the man to the bag. She noticed it had grease stains on it.
     Cautiously, Timber took the bag and peered inside. Covered in paper wrapping was a sandwich, along with a chocolate chip cookie in plastic wrap.
     ”It’s a tuna melt,” the man said, “I apologize if my choice offends you, but I wasn’t entirely sure what you…”
     He was interrupted when Timber ripped the bag open, tore off the paper wrapping, and chomped into the sandwich, a look of bliss sweeping across her features as she chewed. A few minutes passed as the man and Goodwitch watched Timber devour the tuna melt in record time, the blonde woman giving a look of disapproval at Timber’s lack of table manners.
     With an audible gulp, Timber finished the sandwich, leaning back in her chair with a contented sigh.
     “Feeling better?” the man asked, amused.
     “A bit,” Timber said with a shrug, “I mean, I’m still under arrest for bogus charges and in an interrogation room with Glasses here trying to lecture me on self-defense, but at least I’m not starving now.”
     The man gave Timber a grin, “I suppose that’s something.”
     “Yeah, so,” Timber said, “Are you here to tell me I can go? Or do I have to explain how this is all self-defense, again?”
     Goodwitch handed the man her scroll. “Actually, Miss Seryy,” he said as his finger tapped on the screen, “I’m curious as to what happened in this.” The man placed the scroll flat on the table. On the screen was footage of Timber sitting in a café with other customers, café workers, and six armed men, five of them wearing trench coats and the fifth a black two-piece suit, pants, shoes, hat, and a red tie and sunglasses. Two of them approached Timber, one pointing a handgun at her. The next couple of minutes showed Timber proceeding to disarm and dispatch each of the trench coat wearing assailants using what looked like grappling and takedown techniques. The footage ended with the sixth man taking out an electrified mace and sending Timber through the café window with a blow.
     Timber looked from the scroll to Goodwitch, a scowl on her face. “You actually had footage showing the fight? Footage showing that it was all self-defense? This entire time?”
     Goodwitch gave Timber her own scowl as the man gave a dismissive wave, “I had asked Miss Goodwitch not to refer to the available information until I arrived. Now, the footage shows you using rather advanced combat techniques, such as what’s taught in combat schools such as Signal Academy and Atlas Special Forces. There’s also this.” The man replayed the part where Timber was sent flying by the man in the black suit and red sunglasses.
     “You where thrown nearly fifty feet, through a window, by a man trained in aura wielding a modified electro-mace, and, according to eyewitnesses, proceeded to fight and win against him. And yet here you are, barely scathed. The only possible explanation is that your aura was unlocked.”
     The man leaned forward, placing his elbows in the table and resting his chin on entwined fingers, his eyes shining with interest. “I’ve spent the last few hours searching through the student databases for combat academies in all of the kingdoms, and none of them have had Timber Seryy graduating or even attending them at some point. And you’re too young to have Special Forces training. So, where did you learn to do this?” The man tapped the screen of the scroll for emphasis.
     Timber gave a noncommittal shrug, “I was home schooled.”
     “…Home schooled? That’s your answer?” Goodwitch asked incredulously.
     “Yeah,” Timber said curtly, “My mom taught me.”
     “Was your mother a huntress?” the man asked.
     “No idea. Never talked about it.”
     “Alright, what did she talk about?”
     “Nothing. Never got along. Left when I was sixteen, never looked back.”
     “Oh? Interesting. Could you tell me your mother’s…”
     “Look, I’m sure this is interesting and all,” Timber said, “But is there a point to this? Or are you just here to tell me I’m going to lockup in the most complicated way possible?”
     The man stared at Timber for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Do you know who I am?”
     Timber looked the man up and down, taking in his black suit, glasses, and thick green scarf. She shrugged.
     “An old guy who likes to wear scarves in summer?”
     Goodwitch rolled her eyes in irritation. The man just smiled.
     “I am Professor Ozpin. I’m the headmaster of Beacon Academy.”
     Timber blinked, her expression noticeably frozen. “…Say what?”
     The smile actually widened. “I and my colleague Professor Goodwitch teach at Beacon Academy.”
     Timber’s gaze shifted between Goodwitch and the man now known as Ozpin. “Beacon? That Beacon? You two are hunters?”
     “Huntress.” Goodwitch said pointedly, “And yes, we are. I teach combat classes at the Academy.”
     “And I just run the school.” Ozpin added.
     “Oh, okay” Timber said, “Cool.” Timber took a moment to gather her thoughts before plowing on, “So exactly why is the headmaster of a school of monster hunters talking to me?”
     Ozpin shrugged, “I came to see if you want to come to my school.”
     Both Timber and Goodwitch blinked, staring at Ozpin as if he were crazy.
     “…You can’t be serious, Ozpin.” Goodwitch breathed, her expression the definition of shocked, “You can’t seriously be considering allowing this… delinquent to become a huntress.”
     “Yeah, what she said.”
     Goodwitch turned her baffled gaze to Timber, this time joined by Ozpin’s raised eyebrow.
     “Is there a problem, Miss Seryy?” Ozpin asked.
     “Since I don’t want to be a huntress? Yeah, kinda.” Timber looked at the expressions of the two Professors. This was probably the first time they had this happen. “Look,” Timber said, “I have nothing against hunters…”
     “And huntresses,” Goodwitch said.
     “…Or huntresses. You guys make sure the Grimm out there don’t come in here and use our insides as sunscreen or playground equipment. You want to do that? That’s great! Good for you! But definitely not for me.”
     “That is what you truly feel, Miss Seryy?” Ozpin asked.
     “Look, Ozzy,” Goodwitch scowled. Ozpin grinned. “I’m not a huntress. I’m a musician. A guitarist. Or I would be, if my guitar wasn’t smashed. I’m flattered, real flattered, Ozzy, but I’m gonna pass. Plus, you know I’m nineteen, right?” She added, “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, seventeen to get into Beacon? Or any hunter school?”
     “On the second point, Miss Seryy, you’re correct: seventeen is the usual age for applicants.” Ozpin said, “But I accepted an applicant who was fifteen the previous year, so I see no reason not to accept one who’s two years older.” He waved a dismissive hand, his expression becoming more serious, “But the actual issue here is much more serious than the question of age.”
     “…How d’ya mean?”
     Ozpin looked at her apologetically, “Miss Seryy, I’m offering a place at my school not just because I think you’d be a good student,” Goodwitch softly scoffed at that, “But as an alternative to a prison sentence.”
     “…I’m sorry, what?” Timber’s tone barely contained the indignant rage that was threatening to explode. “Prison? For what? I didn’t do anything wrong!”
     “I agree,” Ozpin said, “The incident at the café was, for all intents and purposes, a case of self-defense.”
     Timber blinked, the anger building up inside her derailing into a smoldering train wreck. She hadn’t expected this, for someone to actually agree with her, but then she didn’t expect a lot of the things that happened that day.
     Ozpin took up the scroll and tapped on the screen, “You see, Miss Seryy, while there is no record of you at any of the combat schools – or even medical records beyond three, four years ago – I did get results from the database of the Atlas City Police Department.”
     Timber’s face fell, her steel-blue eyes bulging and her shoulders slumping. “You did?” She said in a nervous voice.
     “Oh yes. You’ve had quite the… career, these past few years, Miss Seryy.” He tapped the screen a few times, “You’ve been arrested multiple times for petty theft, disturbing the peace, loitering, and a few counts of aggravated assault.”
     Timber stared at Ozpin with a deer-in-the-headlights look. “There were extenuating circumstances?”
     “I’m sure there were,” Ozpin’s voice carried a complete lack of irony, “But unfortunately, there is one charge that is most troubling.” Ozpin tapped the scroll again, placing it in front of Timber on the table. On the display was the image of a young woman with long, dark brown hair, tanned skin, blue eyes, and wearing a long, flowing green dress.
     If the kingdoms actually had kings, she’d be a princess.
Timber glared at the image, a look of pure rage on her face and her hands balled into fists. The headmaster kept his expression passive. “This… young woman’s family has levied a serious charge against you, Miss Seryy, and I am aware that you immigrated here from Atlas illegally.” Ozpin’s tone seemed almost apologetic, “The kingdom of Vale is obligated to deport you back to Atlas, where I assume you would be tried in court and, most likely, sent to prison.”
     Ozpin paused, studying the tiger faunus across from him. Timber remained still, her gaze still on the scroll, the look of barely contained anger still dominating her expression. When she said nothing, Ozpin continued, “Unfortunately, because your aura has been unlocked, you won’t be sent to the ‘usual’ kind of prison.” Ozpin gingerly retrieved the scroll, Timber maintaining her gaze where it was on the table, “Instead, you would be sent to a ‘special facility’ designed for aura users. I can’t disclose the procedures of these facilities. Suffice it to say, you don’t want to go there.”
     There was a moment’s pause.
     “… Bullshit…”
     Ozpin raised an eyebrow, “I’m sorry?”
     “This is bullshit!” Timber raged, slamming her fists onto the table and forming two small dents into the metal, “You want to get me for all the apples, bread, and sodas I had to steal? Fine, I did all that – I was hungry and couldn’t get any cash, but yeah, I did that. You want to lock me up for breaking a few sickos’ arms? They tried to get into my pants, but I broke their arms, so go right ahead. But that?” She pointed to the scroll, venom dripping in her voice, “That is a God forsaken lie. That never happened. I would never hurt her. I didn’t hurt her. The only reason I’m even in Vale is because she is a lying, backstabbing little bitch!”
     Silence descended on the room: a tense, uncomfortable silence. Ozpin had barely reacted during Timber’s tirade, while Goodwitch had taken a defensive step back, her riding crop raised. Now the two watched Timber tensely and calmly, respectively.
     Timber slumped back in her chair, closing her eyes. She let out a long, shaky sigh as she stared at her hands.
     After a couple of minutes, Ozpin leaned forward. “Miss Seryy…”
     “It’s been years since I’ve gone to school.” Timber said, rubbing her sore hands. She looked up, the resigned look in her eyes making her look much, much older and tired. “And I don’t have a weapon.”
     “Well, Beacon Academy has just entered its two-month summer break. We can give you a crash course over the next few weeks, to make sure you’re ready. As for the weapon, you won’t have time to build one yourself, so you may have to make do with something more… standard.”
     Timber shrugged, “I can use the pistol and knife from the café. They’re the first weapons I’ve touched in years.”
     “I’ll speak with the authorities, see what can be done.” The headmaster tapped the scroll a couple of times before passing it to Timber, a document entitled ‘Beacon Academy Application’ on the display.
     “I just need you to fill out this application and give the scroll to Professor Goodwitch. Don’t worry about paying tuition: you’ll be listed as a scholarship student.” Ozpin stood up as Timber absently started filling in blanks, her demeanor downcast. “I wish you good luck in the coming months, and look forward to seeing you at the initiation. Welcome to Beacon Academy, Timber.”
     “Hooray for me. Living the dream.” He heard her say as he left the room, her voice tired and devoid of emotion.

( * * )

     Ozpin hadn’t gotten halfway down the hallway before Goodwitch caught up with him.
     “Professor Ozpin,” Goodwitch’s tone was worried, her face full of concern, “Are you certain about this?”
     “You asked me the same question concerning Miss Rose last year, remember?”
     “Yes, but Ruby wasn’t a fugitive from another kingdom, had a record of her background and life, didn’t have… emotional problems, and actually wanted to be a huntress.”
     “Yes,” Ozpin admitted, “Miss Seryy is rough around the edges, to be sure…”
     “That’s not the phrase I would use.”
     Ozpin peered and Goodwitch for a few moments, thinking. “Glynda,” he said softly, “You remember what happened a month ago? During the Vytal Festival?”
     Goodwitch didn’t answer, instead looking sadly down at the floor.
     “We came close – so close – to losing everything we’ve worked to protect and preserve our entire lives.” Ozpin’s voice was uncharacteristically soft and quiet, “It was only through the efforts of Miss Rose, her team, and their friends that we are not in the midst of a bloody and destructive war, and even then they had barely succeeded, and not without great cost.”
     “…What does Timber Seryy have to do with this?”
     Ozpin raised his voice, “We have defeated a great evil of our age, but that doesn’t mean evil is gone. Eventually, someone else will take Cinder Fall’s place, someone who is perhaps more powerful, cunning, and deadly than she was. I have no doubt that Miss Rose, Team RWBY, every warrior who vowed to stand against the darkness will rise to the challenge. But I’ve realized that, as much as we need hunters and huntresses like Team RWBY, JNPR, and even CRDL, we also need a wildcard, someone who comes into play at a time and with methods no one, not even us, would expect.”
     Goodwitch looked at her colleague, trying to read his expression. “And Miss Seryy is this wildcard?”
     “Her, and some other candidates, if they can pass the entrance exam and initiation.”
     Goodwitch let out a resigned sigh. “Very well. I’ll see to it that Miss Seryy gets settled in at the Academy.”
     “Tell her she has tomorrow free, as long as she stays on school grounds. We all need a day to prepare ourselves for the work ahead.”
     Goodwitch nodded and walked back to the interrogation room. Ozpin stayed where he stood for a few moments more before continuing down the hallway, steeling himself for the work still on his desk.