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[h2][color=9e0b0f][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7MYdr8Fkah0]We're Talkin' About [i]Practice.[/i][/url][/color][/h2]
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Jericho was sure that Professor Iderson wouldn't mind the modifications he'd done to the training drones.

In the days of old, before Jer's transfer, the Beacon shooting range had been a decidedly staid affair. It wasn't tall, but it was wide, encompassing most of the width at the end of the field between it and the obstacle course. Apparently no one had ever realized that the ideal range for long-range engagements wasn't the range at all, but rather, the space atop the fourth and fifth upper bars towards the end of the obstacle course. That was more accurate when you pictured what a sniper's nest was. Of course, the drone patterns in Beacon lacked imagination, too, as Jer had learned with a mounting pout during the night he had spent - and slept - out in his future domain. 

So, the minute that the senior faculty had left him alone with administrator access to the range, he had called Speer and shared those same privileges with [i]him.[/i]

Which...

Was it morally lacking and diplomatically risky to share the hyper-sensitive codes for a military installation from another kingdom, in the heart of that kingdom's greatest school, with an anti-establishment CCT shitposter? Well...maybe. 

...Yeah.

But as long as nobody ended up shot to death on his first day, he was sure that Rowan and Ozpin would appreciate the pragmatism.

With the help of his combat data, Speer's programming savvy, and about an hour and a half of midnight troubleshooting, the drones on the firing range had gone from the lazy patterns used at every mom and pop gun range from here to Mantle - side to side, front to back - to targets that possessed a full range of motion and were even capable of outfoxing him on rare occasions. He'd left PE twenty minutes early, under the guise of a TA's exemption that said that he needed to prepare for his first day as lessons.

In reality, he'd just changed as soon as he got here and then started sniping for fun. He had his noise cancelling earbuds in and a playlist curated at random by one of his friends - it was Tuesday, meaning today was Shiloh. This was the first track in twenty minutes that wasn't some suggestive Panic! At the Disco deep cut, God help him - cycling through as he unwound, firing at the drones that his Scroll's administrator privileges hired. Speer's idea to actually feed them [i]his[/i] personal combat data was a stroke of genius - and Beacon's tech wasn't too shabby, either, as the marriage of Atlesian ingenuity with the equipment available to him as a Practice instructor had actually resulted in two potshots in fifteen minutes. 

It was comfy.

So comfy, in fact, that he had long been ignoring the urgent beeping of his Scroll, informing him that his pre-class warm up had actually crossed over into 'class time' territory, and by now a minute-and-three-quarters had gone by since he was supposed to report inside for the opening of class.

[color=9e0b0f][i]Ah, hell...[/i][/color]

Most of it was probably Rowan's spiel about him anyway. They wouldn't be reporting to the field, would they?

...

Was he going inside or were they meeting him out in the field? 

Rowan had said they did most of their work out in the field.

[color=9e0b0f][i]Awwww hell I'm gonna get caught.[/i][/color]

He picked up his Scroll hurriedly, the ropes between the up-and-over bars shaking precariously as his movements became more rushed. His fingers danced along the touchscreen quickly, deactivating all combat protocols and returning the drones inside the range with minimal fuss. He had no idea how fast they would move, even with the improvements he had asked Speer for - software only went so far in the face of sheer hardware limitations. He was going to cut it close.

[color=9e0b0f][i]Act natural![/i][/color]

As his fellow students began to file outside, they were met with the sight of their erstwhile TA dropping down from the up-and-over bar at the end of the obstacle course. He was dressed comfortably for training, all in black, with a sheer tank top that didn't put any pressure on his bandaged left arm, a pair of compression pants, and minimalist shoes. His long hair was done back in a wolf's tail to avoid distractions.

Distractions like the garish Atlesian sniper rifle he hadn't gotten a chance to stash away.

He could see a girl near the front of the horde of students touch down, wings stretched out luxuriously and then furling as she began her stretches. She looked expectant. Rowan must have already told the class who was handling their Practice lectures from here on out.

[color=9e0b0f][i]I should have been a shitposter.[/i][/color]

A neckbeard would have gone a long way to disguise how cute he was.

Jer didn't smile, but he looked faintly - and sheepishly - amused at the approaching student body, and he tossed the sniper rifle over his shoulder and up onto the ropes where he'd made his sniper's nest, as though he were trying to discreetly toss away a piece of garbage. 

[color=9e0b0f][i]Say hi. Say hi to your students. Just like Speer coached you. H and I.[/i][/color]

[color=9e0b0f]"I know we're all coming back from PE or Survival. I'll give you guys one minute to catch your breath. Then we start."

[i]Ah, shit.[/i][/color]