Cholo Tales
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Fate's Wild Card Ch.10 (Early Access)
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 20:03:49 +0000 UTC-Neo Politan, Vale City-
Neo perched atop a shipping crate, her legs swinging back and forth in a lazy rhythm that belied the irritation simmering beneath her calm exterior. The warehouse sat shrouded in that unique late-night darkness, the kind of deep shadows that should have found her curled up next to her dear bunny boy in his shitty apartment while she played with those adorable long ears as he slept.
Or better yet, waking him up for a late night quickie so they could sleep much but much better.
But Pryce would be genuinely angry if she disrupted his rest tonight—not the playful kind of mad that she could kiss away with batting eyelashes and lots of pouting. And she didn’t want that.
Tomorrow, or more like later today, was the academy initiation that had kept him tense for days after that new weight was forced upon him.
Being the best girlfriend ever meant letting him sleep peacefully tonight, then tormenting him with twice the usual amount of teasing once his big day was over. The thought of his flustered expressions when she got particularly mischievous made her smile genuinely for the first time all evening.
That smile quickly soured as she remembered why she was sitting in this dusty warehouse instead of plotting creative ways to mess with her rabbit or finding some unfortunate wannabe gangster to practice her stabbing technique on. Their self-appointed leader had summoned them with all the imperious entitlement of someone who'd never actually earned the authority she wielded so carelessly.
Neo's fingers twitched toward the concealed blade in her parasol as she imagined introducing that authority to some very pointed corrections. The fantasy of turning that pretentious dress the same shade of red as blood was so vivid that she had to consciously relax her grip.
Across the warehouse floor, her partner paced in circles, his normally immaculate appearance slightly disheveled by the mounting frustration. His bowler hat sat at a marginally less perfect angle, and she could see him checking his pocket watch with increasing frequency.
"Punctuality," he muttered, loud enough for her "is the courtesy of kings and the obligation of thieves. Apparently, our esteemed leader subscribes to neither philosophy."
Neo snorted silently. Her partner's tendency to quote half-remembered aphorisms when agitated was one of his more endearing quirks, even if his timing often left something to be desired.
And so they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, after what felt like hours, their wannabe underground queen deigned to make her dumb entrance. Cinder Fall swept into the warehouse flanked by her ever-present lackeys, each heeled step calculated for maximum dramatic impact, it was like this idiotic woman practiced for this moment. The woman moved like she believed herself to be the star of some grand show, when in reality she was just another power-hungry criminal with delusions of grandeur with some new power.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Her partner demanded, gesturing broadly with his cane. "Some of us maintain actual schedules, actual commitments. We can't all afford to treat the concept of time as a mere suggestion."
However, Cinder's lips curved into a strange smile.
"And yet here you are," she replied. "You waited. You came when I called, despite your. Tell me, Torchwick, what does that say about you?"
Emerald and Mercury flanked her, smirking in perfect synchronization at the jab.
Neo rolled her mismatched eyes so hard she was surprised they didn't audibly click. Her partner had walked directly into that trap, his pride making him predictable in exactly the way that pretentious woman had predicted. For someone who prided himself on wit and wordplay, he could be remarkably dumb in some cases.
Her partner merely laughed and held no humor, only bitter amusement. "Oh, no. I got lost in some wordplay. How could I ever recover?"
The temperature in the warehouse seemed to drop several degrees as the bitch’s obvious mask slipped just enough to see her eyes narrow dangerously.
"Careful, thief," she warned, her hand glowing a dangerous red color. "Your usefulness has limits, and my patience has boundaries you haven't begun to explore."
Neo tensed on her seat, one hand moving to her parasol again. If this escalated to violence, she'd need to be ready to extract both herself and her partner before that bitch’s temper tantrum got this whole place crashing down on them. Much as she enjoyed a good fight, and stabbing them to death she knew that it would be foolish to recklessly fight an opponent she couldn’t gauge their strength.
Yet.
Her Dum Dum, however, seemed to recognize that he'd pushed a little too much. He straightened his tie with deliberate casualness, reclaiming some measure of composure.
"Of course," he said, tipping his hat with fake courtesy. "I'm merely suggesting that effective leadership involves more than dramatic entrances and veiled threats. But please, enlighten us about whatever scheme requires such... theatrical presentation at this time of the day."
Cinder's smile returned, and the glow receded back to the normal skin color of her palm.
"How refreshing to see you remember your place," she purred. "Now then, shall we discuss why you're both here, or would you prefer to continue this delightful display of wounded pride?"
At least watching them circle each other like wary predators would be more entertaining than staring at warehouse walls. And if things got truly interesting, she might even get to stab someone before the night was over.
The thought made her grin again.
Her DumDum straightened his cane with a sharp tap against the concrete floor, the sound echoing through the warehouse walls.
"Enough theatrics, Cinder," he said, his voice trying to carry his usual authority. "What do you want?"
The woman's predatory smile widened as she deliberately turned her attention away from him, amber eyes fixing on Neo.
"You," she said simply, pointing a perfectly manicured finger directly at her.
Neo tilted her head with exaggerated curiosity, as if weighing whether obeying was worth interrupting her comfortable position. After a moment of deliberate hesitation calculated to irritate their self-appointed leader, she gracefully leaped from the crate, landing in a perfect crouch before rising into an elaborate theatrical bow. Her parasol snapped open with a flourish as she rested it against her shoulder, the gesture dripping with barely concealed mockery.
"How delightfully dramatic," Cinder observed, beginning to circle Neo like a predator, sizing up potential prey, which in her opinion looked extremely stupid. "Tell me, little one—your semblance creates perfect illusions, doesn't it? So perfect they can fool even experienced fighters?"
Neo shrugged noncommittally. Her semblance had its uses, certainly, but every ability had limits that wise fighters kept to themselves. Instead of answering directly, she simply activated her power, her body glowing pink for a moment before her appearance shifted to perfectly mirror Emerald's form.
But she quickly detached herself from the illusion, leaving a clone behind as she smoothly moved to lean against a nearby stack of crates. The duplicate blew Cinder a mocking kiss, which earned it a sharp slap that shattered the construct into glittering fragments.
From her new position, Neo merely wiggled her eyebrows at Cinder's irritated expression.
"It will have to do," Cinder said through gritted teeth, clearly annoyed at being toyed with. She reached into her dress and withdrew a photograph, holding it just beyond Neo's immediate reach. "Take this."
Neo moved and snatched the picture from the woman’s fingers, her casual demeanor beginning to evaporate as she recognized the person in question.
The photograph showed her Pryce in his usual dark clothing and tactical gear, captured in the act of picking a lock on an apartment door. The image quality was far too crisp to be random surveillance footage—this had been taken with professional equipment by someone lying in wait.
Someone had been watching her boyfriend.
Before Neo could fully process the implications, Cinder produced a second photograph. This one showed Pryce in an entirely different context—sparring with a man Neo recognized immediately as Qrow Branwen, one of Vale's more notorious Huntsmen.
Her mismatched eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as she looked up at Cinder.
‘What-do-you-want?’ her hands moving in sharp, precise hand gestures.
"I don't speak... whatever that is," Cinder said with obvious irritation, turning toward Roman expectantly for an answer.
Neopolitan sighed with exaggerated exasperation, shooting her fellow thief a look that clearly expressed her frustration.
He cleared his throat diplomatically. "She wants to know what you want. It's sign language—rather useful."
"How refreshing to encounter someone with such direct communication preferences," Cinder replied, her voice dripping with false admiration. "Very well. I hired that animal"—she spat the word with particular venom—"to acquire certain sensitive information from multiple targets. He performed adequately until the final assignment, where he failed spectacularly."
Neo's expression remained carefully neutral, though she was intimately familiar with that particular job. It was the reason Pryce had been forced to enroll at Beacon in the first place.
"I assumed the coward had gotten himself killed during his botched operation. However, this last picture suggests our rabbit friend survived his failure and has now scurried to Beacon Academy, undoubtedly seeking Ozpin's protection in exchange for whatever secrets he's accumulated during our short association."
Neo drew one finger across her throat in a sharp, decisive motion. The implied question needed no translation.
"Precisely," Cinder confirmed with obvious satisfaction. "I want him eliminated. While he promised silence if captured, I don't trust the word of someone who's already proven himself both a failure and a coward. Dead men, however, are remarkably reliable in their discretion."
She stepped closer to Neo, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "This assignment is perfect for someone with your particular talents. A training accident, perhaps, or some tragic mishap that no one could possibly trace back to us. Beacon's initiation trials are notoriously dangerous—students die during them with unfortunate regularity."
Neo's eyes had become chips of glacial ice, but she nodded slowly. The gesture could have indicated agreement, understanding, or simple acknowledgment that she'd received her orders.
Internally, however, Neo was already crafting an entirely different plan.
An excuse to visit Beacon? An opportunity to infiltrate the academy and spend time with Pryce while everyone assumed she was there for assassination?
This was the perfect excuse for a visit.
She would have to be careful not to let her excitement show, though.
"Wonderful," Cinder purred, completely misinterpreting Neo's response as compliance. "I trust someone of your capabilities can handle one pathetic rabbit without complications?"
Neo's smile was small and sharp—though for entirely different reasons than Cinder imagined. She gave a mocking salute with her parasol, making sure that her gesture was simultaneously respectful and insolent.
Inside, she was already planning exactly how she would express her gratitude to Cinder for this opportunity.
With her stake. Repeatedly. Until the warehouse floor matched that hideous dress.
But first, she had a boyfriend to protect and a school to infiltrate. The stabbing could wait until after she'd made a new plan and excuses.
Though she was definitely looking forward to it.
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-Blake Belladonna, Beacon Academy-
Blake stared at the ceiling above her, her natural night vision rendering every detail of the ballroom's ornate architecture in sharp clarity despite the late hour. The familiar weight of sleeplessness pressed against her chest—a sensation she'd grown intimately acquainted with during her final months with the White Fang, when guilt and doubt had carved permanent grooves in her mind.
She rolled onto her side and carefully pulled her scroll from beneath her sleeping bag, angling it so the screen's glow wouldn't disturb the dozens of other prospective students scattered across the floor. The harsh blue light made her squint momentarily before her eyes adjusted.
2:17 AM.
Blake clicked her tongue in annoyance. Sleep had abandoned her again, leaving her mind to spin endlessly through recent events like a broken record player stuck on the same discordant note. That cursed surveillance mission played on repeat, each detail magnified and distorted by her exhausted psyche.
And inevitably, her thoughts circled back to Pryce.
Heat flooded her cheeks as she remembered what she'd witnessed through that window—intimate moments between the rabbit Faunus and his companion that she had absolutely no business observing. Her intention had been to keep an eye on him and she would do it as professionally as possible, nothing more, yet she'd frozen like some perverted voyeur when any decent person would have immediately looked away and left the scene.
The worst part? She hadn't looked away. Not until Amber had nearly scared her off the rooftop.
Blake pulled her second pillow over her face, fighting the urge to burrow into the floor like a mole Faunus and never emerge. What kind of hypocrite did that make her? She'd spent years fighting against the objectification of Faunus, yet here she was, reducing another member of her species to... to whatever that shameful moment had been.
"Pathetic," she whispered into the fabric, her voice thick with self-recrimination. "Absolutely pathetic, Blake."
But beneath the layers of shame and self-flagellation, a more pressing question gnawed at her: Why would Ozpin task her with watching Pryce in the first place? What made a seemingly ordinary rabbit Faunus worthy of the headmaster's attention?
The man appeared to be living a quiet life with his girlfriend—hardly the stuff of covert operations. That was the only judgement she could give since she didn’t actually investigate him as much as possible.
Blake's analytical mind seized on this puzzle, grateful for any distraction from her spiral of embarrassment. Ozpin struck her as someone who rarely acted without calculated purpose; every word in their meeting had felt precisely chosen, every gesture deliberate. His interest in Pryce had to stem from something significant.
A thought struck her with such sudden clarity that she froze, pillow still pressed against her face.
What if Pryce used to be White Fang?
Not current White Fang—not one of Adam's increasingly violent and radicalized followers—but perhaps a former member from the organization's earlier incarnation. Someone who had joined when it was still her father's vision of peaceful protest and gradual change, someone who had stepped away when Adam's ideals began to take root.
The theory gained momentum in her mind with terrifying logic. The original White Fang had been about unity, about building bridges between humans and Faunus through understanding rather than fear. That would explain his relationship with what appeared to be a human woman—a living symbol of the cooperation her father had once championed.
It would also explain why he might have approached her at the plaza once they got off the airship. Recognition between former members wasn't uncommon, especially that she was a public figure in the old White Fang.
Blake's blood turned to ice as the implications crashed over her.
If Pryce recognized her, if he knew exactly who Blake Belladonna was, then her carefully reconstructed identity, that Ozpin built for her, could crumble overnight. She would transform from just another prospective Huntress into Blake Belladonna: daughter of the former High Leader, ex-partner of Adam Taurus, and a deserter trying to hide among the next generation of huntsmen.
Her hands trembled as she lowered the pillow, staring unseeing at the ballroom's vaulted ceiling. The secret she'd fought so desperately to protect—the past she'd tried to bury beneath good intentions and noble aspirations—could be exposed by a chance encounter with someone who shared that same bloody history.
But what if she was wrong? What if Pryce was simply an ordinary citizen who happened to catch Ozpin's attention for entirely unrelated reasons? What if her paranoia was manufacturing threats where none existed?
Then again, her mind countered with ruthless efficiency, what if he's not former White Fang but current White Fang? What if he's one of Adam's agents, placed here to infiltrate Beacon? What if this entire scenario is a trap?
"Stop," Blake whispered harshly to herself, recognizing the familiar spiral of catastrophic thinking that had plagued her for months. "You're doing it again. You're creating problems that don't exist."
But the thoughts wouldn't cease their relentless march. What if Pryce told Adam where she was? What if he exposed her during initiation? What if Ozpin was testing her loyalty by seeing if she would reveal a fellow Faunus? What if this was all some elaborate scheme to—
"Coward," she breathed, cutting through her mental chaos with brutal self-assessment. "Running away again at the first sign of trouble."
Blake forced herself to take slow, deliberate breaths, trying to separate rational concerns from paranoid delusions. The truth was probably far simpler than her overwrought imagination suggested. Pryce was likely just another person trying to build a life in Vale, and she was projecting her own fears onto an innocent situation.
Still, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that she couldn't afford to be wrong. Not about this. Not with so much at stake.
She would have to seek out Pryce directly—after initiation, when the immediate pressure of proving herself had passed. A simple conversation to gauge whether he posed any threat to her carefully constructed new beginning. If he recognized her, she would deal with that bridge when she came to it.
Or, another part of her mind suggested with dark humor, he could simply fail initiation and solve the problem entirely.
Blake immediately felt ashamed of the thought. Wishing failure on a fellow Faunus, especially one who might share her complicated history, was beneath her. They both deserved the chance to become something better than their pasts.
She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow, trying to quiet the endless chatter of her anxious mind. Tomorrow would bring initiation—the first real test of whether she belonged at Beacon. She needed rest, not another sleepless night spent constructing elaborate conspiracies from circumstantial evidence.
Sleep, she commanded herself firmly. Everything else can wait until you've proven you deserve to be here.
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AN: With who is our bunny boy paired with?
