Chapter Text
“General Studies,” Blake mused, glancing at her syllabus. “A little vague, if you ask me.”
“I'd use ‘broader’ rather than ‘vague,” Yang replied, folding up her own syllabus into a paper airplane (much to Weiss’ chagrin, just as planned). “They had something like this at Signal. It’s sort of a first-year refresher, ease-you-into-things class. Not everyone remembers their early education. I guess Beacon figured it would be helpful too.”
“Yeah, I remember taking it myself!” Ruby beamed, crossing her arms with a satisfied huff. “Got myself a B+!”
“Truly, you are a scholar,” Weiss muttered. Louder, she continued, “Why have history as a separate course, then?” Weiss asked, her fingers itching to snatch the plane from Yang’s grip before their incoming professor noticed. “It feels like that would fall under this category, at least for first years. It’s a basic field of study.”
Blake grimaced. “I think if you called history ‘basic’ in class, Oobleck would personally have you write lines about how it’s absolutely not. ”
“...fair point. Still, I suppose it’s not the worst class we could be taking.”
“Agreed,” Ruby replied. “Still, I would’ve figured we’d start off with a combat class. I gotta say—”
—this is not how I expected my Tuesday to go.
Ugh, it’s only been three days, but it feels like time moves even more slowly here than when I’m stuck in a Bugle meeting.
Frankly, I’d take one of those over another little journey into mystery.
Just the ol’ Parker luck in action, I suppose.
At least this is something familiar.
"Welcome, class, to your first General Studies session! I think that's what Oz's calling it anyway. I suggested ‘Intro to Adulting’, but he didn’t seem to be too much of a fan."
A few chuckles rumbled across the back row of seats.
Actual laughs. What’s that, three or four out of twenty? That’s a new record. Nice work, me.
The man, sitting atop the desk at the front of the room, picked up a piece of paper to his right. Glancing at it briefly, he cleared his throat before turning his attention back to the crowd before him. "My name's Peter Parker. No need for the 'Professor' here; way too stuffy, and I’ve had enough alliteration in my life, thank you kindly. If you’re wondering why I need to read a paper to get through those two sentences…” He held the paper up, showing the blank space on both sides. “I don’t. But it looks smart, doesn’t it?”
A few more chuckles.
Parker, you are on a roll .
“For now, just call me Peter." His eyes narrowed. "'Pete' if you want detention." At the class' nervous stares, Peter cackled. "I'm kidding ! Pete's fine. So's Mr. Parker, 'hey,' and ''scuse me!', really. We're not especially concerned about formalities in this class. Just show some respect, get some respect. Simple as that."
A few whispers, a few murmurs. At least they were listening; it was more than Peter could say for some of his past students.
“This class may have been pitched to you as a remedial course, or a refresher course on your prior education. While there’s part of that in there, there’s also a little sprinkle of Home Economics and Self Sufficiency 101. A lot of you will be living by yourselves for the first time, and sure, it can be exciting! But take it from me, it isn’t a walk in the park. You might be getting a stipend here, and the cafeteria is pretty good by my account—” At this, he took a wrapped cookie out of his shirt pocket. “—seriously, go grab one of these, they’re addictive. ”
A young woman grabbed another by the cape before she could leap for the podium. “Stop drooling, Rubes.”
“Cookies, though…”
Peter chuckled lightly at the display, moving along with his speech. “Point being, you’re being taken care of here, but you’ll need to be prepared for the world outside this campus. This doesn’t just go for first-years; you may have noticed a few second-year teams here as well. We feel everyone and anyone, even us teachers, could use some reminding once in a while of how to… well, live life outside of the school routine.
“Maybe one day you decide you want to cook something because the cafeteria is closed; maybe you realize that you spent a little too much on movie tickets this month and need to figure out what to cut down on so you have enough to pay tuition. What do you do then? Well, if this class goes well, you’ll be able to solve some of these problems, on top of remembering who wrote that one book about the thing, or how gravity works. Hopefully, I’ll be giving you the keys to success. Now, you might be asking, ‘If he knows how to be successful, then why’s he here?’” Peter let out a stage sigh, shaking his head. “Sometimes, I wonder about that myself. Don’t get me wrong, I love molding the minds of the youth, but if I was fiscally responsible in my youth, maybe I’d be on a yacht giving a lecture about how much I saved on my last castle instead of sitting here with a stash of cafeteria cookies.”
Actual laughter this time, from a white-haired girl in the middle rows whose hands had immediately latched themselves across her mouth. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” Peter called out, “You’re allowed to have a sense of humor. I wouldn’t be making jokes if you all weren’t.” Her seatmates burst into hysterics, while the poor girl went red; whether in anger or embarrassment, Peter couldn’t tell. He held up a hand. “Alright, alright; let’s get down to a little bit of housekeeping before we start losing the plot, alright?”
He glanced at the paper as the laughter died down, his eyes darting across and down the page. "Now, this is where I'm expected to do roll calls, but I personally find it easier for everyone to introduce themselves. Saves some time on guessing who's here and gives me a glance at who we'll be stuck with for the next year." Propelling himself off of the desk and onto his feet, Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So! I'd like your name, your Team, and your secret superpower. And no ," he clarified to an orange-haired girl’s raised hand, "I don't mean your Semblance. I mean something unique to you, a talent you're proud of. I'll go first, as an example: I'm Peter Parker, I'm your teacher, and I'm a photographer in my spare time. Now, starting from the top row, first on my left."
“Russel Thrush, CRDL. I… I’m a musician, I guess. Still practicing.”
“Oh? What instrument?”
“Been learning some guitar.”
“Well, we’ll see if we can hear a few tunes before this semester’s out.”
“Lie Ren, JNPR. I study poetry.”
“Nice! I feel like I can knock out a haiku here and there myself.”
“May we discuss poetry sometime after class then, Mr. Parker?”
“Sure, but uh… I might know some more obscure ones than you do, as a heads-up.”
“Velvet Scarlatina. CFVY. I… I’m also a photographer.”
“Well, what do you know! Do you work with a DSLR or a scroll?”
“Oh, well, DSLR mostly! I actually have a few models with me on campus…”
“We’ll have to talk shop later, then.”
“Ruby Rose, RWBY. I… make weapons?”
“Inventor type? Not the biggest tech head myself, but I know my way around some hobby DIY.”
“Really?! Then can I ask you for some pointers?”
KER-SHUNK.
“Ms. Rose, I would be glad to, but please do not ta KE YOUR WEAPON OUT IN CLASS WHY IS IT WHIRRING —”
“I’M SORRY I PRESSED A BUTTON I JUST GOT EXCITED—”
“MISS ROSE, DROP THE—”
Peter grumbled, taking a hearty swig of his hot chocolate. “Oz, you do realize a good portion of your students are way too young to be swinging around axes and shotguns the size of their whole bodies, right?”
“So I’ve been told, yes.” Ozpin took a sip of his own drink. “I also was told you were used to this sort of thing.”
“In small doses! I’ve dealt with a Young Avenger here and there.”
“Fascinating.”
Peter leaned back in his seat, taking in the vista views from Ozpin’s window. “You don’t have Avengers here, do you?”
“I’m afraid not.” Ozpin smirked wryly. “Mind if we borrow any?”
“If you can open an interdimensional portal, be my guest.”
“If you had asked me that a long time ago,” Ozpin mused, “I may have been able to oblige.”
“That so?” Peter chuckled. “A regular Dr. Strange, aren’t you?” he muttered, taking another sip.
“ That name I do recognize.”
Peter’s eyes went wide, and the window became lightly stained with hot chocolate. “You do!? ”
“Yes. He was on a training sabbatical; decided a world of monsters that faded into oblivion upon defeat would make for good practice. Lovely fellow, if a little grandiose.” Ozpin reached into his coat, tossing a handkerchief over to Peter. “He’s the reason you’re here and not in a jail cell; I remembered a tale he had about the two of you saving your… ‘New York’ from some kind of Grimm-like dragon. It sounds like you had a rough time of it.”
Grumbling, Peter swiveled his chair and wiped the dregs of his drink off of the window. “‘Rough,’ he says. Good ol’ Fing Fang Foom tossed me through three different bodegas in a row, across four different streets, so… yeah, you could say that.”
“You don’t look much worse for wear.”
“I’ve got experience in that.”
Ozpin hummed, placing his cup down on his desk. “Now, to business?”
“If you can call it that, sure.” Peter scooched his chair back around to face Ozpin, crossing his arms. “Most would call it blackmail.”
“I’m merely doing my part to keep the Council off of both our backs. It is not in either of our best interests for a vigilante to be left to his own devices in a world he knows little about, especially not with the rumors and intelligence reports I’ve heard… and we just so happened to run into each other at an opportune time for… well, myself at least.” Ozpin’s gaze narrowed, and he placed his palms flat on his desk. “That said, you are welcome to decline if it truly is something you feel strongly against— your work for the academy would suffice, if push came to shove. I’m no slave driver nor evil overlord.”
So he says. Peter shrugged, letting an elbow rest on one of the chair’s arms as he settled his chin into his palm. “I’m just sayin’. Feels like a real ‘if-you-scratch-my-back’ kinda deal.”
“I merely wish to protect the world I love, and it sounds like our mutual foe is going to make that difficult. It also allows you a chance to take direct action against this…”
“Kang,” Peter supplied, morosely. It’s always something with that guy…
“Quite. Among our… other concerns.” Ozpin raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you wouldn’t try to save this world on your own, then?”
Peter shook his head. “Not what I said, Oz. Just not especially fond of chess… or at least, bein’ on the board as opposed to one side of it.”
Ozpin sighed, shaking his head. “I see. I suppose Stephen had the right of it…”
Peter chuckled. “Oh? What’d he say?”
“That you had issues listening to authority figures.”
Peter put a hand on his chest, gasping in mock shock. “What? Me? No, never! I love authority, and especially bureaucracy. Nothin’ better. I spend my free time at the DMV, y’know.”
“Well, then…” Ozpin met Peter’s gaze. “Perhaps you’d like some of your own, then? Authority, that is.”
Peter blinked. “Say what now?”
“Allow me to explain a little… experiment I’ve been toying with. I’ve never had a good avenue to begin the experiment, given the nature of those involved…” Ozpin smirked, an unnerving expression. “But you have quite the experience dealing with criminals, do you not?”
Peter blanched. Oh, hell. I was wrong, before. There's the Parker luck in action.