You can prepare for inevitable death in many ways. Some pace back and forth in panic, unable to come to terms with the inevitable, some frantically draft a will, and there are even those who throw themselves right into its arms.
"There's absolutely no reason to worry," Egrer declared, standing in front of the door to Miss Goodwitch's office. "I mean, what's so scary about a simple conversation? Plus, she's our supervisor, so she should be on our side at least out of solidarity. And anyway, I've already been here when I asked Goodwitch about the music club. It's just a door. Nothing to be afraid of."
This calming ritual had saved him more than once. It not only granted a reprieve from the inevitable but also genuinely calmed him down a bit.
"Yeah," Ren nodded. He was the only one who had dared to escort the General Secretary on this perilous journey. Unfortunately, Egrer couldn't pawn this specific conversation off onto his deputy...
"No, I'm spouting bullshit, the union pissed her off so many times! Starting with the cafeteria agitation and ending with our very existence."
"Yeah."
"But even so, the worst that can happen is she turns us down. That's it. Nothing worse will happen."
"Yeah. Your words really put my mind at ease."
"See, scaredy-cat, nothing to be afraid of." Egrer swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened his red tie. He'd always thought this noose didn't fit the color scheme of the rest of the school uniform, but he put it on just to comply with all the standards.
Miss Goodwitch liked everything proper, right? That meant standard "Proper" attire too. Which meant he'd have a better chance of arranging for Enversion to be entrusted with the responsibility of hosting the pre-tournament ball.
Egrer was so surprised when he found out no one was handling it. According to the upperclassmen, Team CFVY was taking care of the ball prep, but they were currently held up on a field mission and it was unknown when they'd be back. So the general secretary of the union couldn't miss a chance to take advantage of this.
If the authority over such a significant event fell into his hands, he'd be able to multiply the union's popularity many times over. More people meant more public pressure. More public pressure meant a better chance of bringing back the music club. The headmaster wouldn't dare stand against such a large number of his own students, and he'd have to make concessions.
And most importantly—Egrer would be able to play his own song for all of Beacon. Not the union anthem, of course, but something else, something more fitting. He'd become famous and popular, laying the first pebble of his future greatness. In just a couple of years, his songs would be on the radio, and his concerts would gather crowds of millions of fans from all over the world. Glorious.
When this ingeniously devious plan was born in Egrer's head, he couldn't hold back an evil laugh. Luckily, no one besides the union members was around, so reputational damage was avoided.
Except it was only smooth in his head. In practice, problems arose, as usual.
The door to Goodwitch's office possessed a palpable aura of terror, driving away any visitor. This corridor was always empty, because very few people wanted to walk past this place or even just catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of their eye. Students preferred detours, even if walking through here was much faster.
Egrer fixed his hair, checking if it lay perfectly and making sure he hadn't gone overboard with the hairspray, then brushed off his jacket and pants. After that, he just stood there and stared at that damned door.
"Nothing to be afraid of. It's just a conversation. Ain't I right, Ren?"
"Yes."
"See, so don't be scared."
"Alright. Your words gave me the strength to step past my fears."
And only after all these preludes did he gather the courage to knock on the Iron Lady's lair.
"It is open."
"Miss Goodwitch?" he awkwardly peeked inside. He'd only been told "It is open," not the coveted "Come in," so he only dared to poke his head into her office.
The office looked exactly the same as the first time Egrer had visited. The brisk clicks of a metronome resting on a small stand on her desk echoed through the room.
"How can I help you, Mr. Peleni?" judging by the tone of her voice, she wasn't very happy he was there.
"I'm here about the dance prep. The Enversion club wants to take care of it."
"Step closer and repeat that." Egrer could have sworn he was speaking quite loudly and clearly. But still, he obediently did as he was told.
There was a visitor's chair near Miss Goodwitch's desk, but since he still hadn't been told to "have a seat," he didn't dare to sit down. Some might consider this overthinking, but Egrer would call it basic politeness.
So he just stood ramrod straight and stared somewhere behind the room's owner, not daring to meet her eyes.
"We wanna participate in prepping for the dance, ma'am," Egrer repeated, and added more quietly, "If you'll let us..."
"Of course we will let you," Goodwitch immediately agreed, scratching a note in her notepad and handing over a ring of keys. "This is for the ballroom, the ones marked 'SR' lead to the stage room, and the small one is for the utility closet. Before spending school funds, check there first to see if there is anything useful. If need be, ask the headmaster, maybe there is something in the basement beneath his tower as well."
"Seems a bit too easy," Egrer admitted uncertainly, examining the keys in his hands.
"Leave the paperwork to me. Go, get to work, there are only a couple of weeks left until the dance. Oh, I am so glad we found someone willing to take on this task..."
"Any requirements or restrictions?"
"None. The Vytal ball is traditionally organized by the students themselves, and teacher interference is considered in poor taste," Goodwitch explained. "But keeping in mind your musical hobbies... do not blow anything up."
"Don't sweat it. Like I told you, I'm a sensible rocker."
It was easy. Very easy, suspiciously easy. So easy that it was immediately clear—this was probably another one of Ozpin's cunning plans. The headmaster wanted Enversion specifically to handle the ball prep, but why? What was his angle?
Usually, when the union or the order fell victim to Ozpin's machinations, Weiss was the one to interpret what happened, formulating a defense strategy. It's gonna be tough without her, but even knowing this was just another trap, the promised freedom was intoxicating.
But the responsibility was weighing heavily too. Even if Egrer primarily wanted the PR, ruining the party for everyone else because of it wasn't worth it. That would be a dick move.
"How did it go?" Ren asked when the General Secretary emerged from the office.
"I've got a bad feeling about this... actually, no, we're all good." He jingled the acquired keys. "Round everyone up and go check out the battlefront. I'm gonna go see the student newspaper supervisor in the meantime; let all of Beacon know that Enversion has taken on the ball prep."
***
Egrer whistled approvingly, and the sound echoed off the room's walls, repeating two more times. The ballroom was massive; there was definitely room to go wild here.
The huge empty space in the center was obviously meant for the dancing itself. You could easily park three Bullheads in here, so it wouldn't be cramped even if all of Beacon gathered here at once. Then again, that's what these dimensions were designed for.
Nora immediately began pacing out the space with wide strides, her soles loudly clacking against the diamond-shaped blue tiles. By the time she reached the opposite doors, she'd counted to a hundred.
"We could throw a royal feast in here!" she exclaimed, the echo catching her voice.
"And we will," Egrer promised, enthusiastically wandering around. He didn't see emptiness here, but limitless possibilities, a chance to make a name for himself to all of Beacon.
There were partial preparations visible that Team CFVY hadn't managed to finish. Pink ribbons beneath the ceiling wove into a bizarre pattern, using the chandeliers as knots, converging and diverging at those points. The flags of all four kingdoms were tied there as well, so guests wouldn't feel left out. On the floor lay massive rolls of black fabric, easily recognizable as curtains.
Egrer meticulously inspected the windows, which really were missing a touch of something... soft. But black just didn't fit here. It needed to be white.
Opposite the windows stood the stage, upon which musical equipment was huddled together—things like a DJ mixer, hefty speakers twice as tall as a man, microphone stands, and other contraptions. This stage could easily fit Egrer's entire music gang, along with the whole teaching staff and a church choir.
The perfect spot to perform a song that hadn't been written yet, but was already actively being composed in his head. Beacon will know what real rock is! Have to be careful with the pyrotechnics, though, since it's an enclosed space after all. And Goodwitch's warning was worth remembering too...
Behind all this clutter of useful stuff hid a locked door, beyond which was a spacious room with a couple of sofas and a water cooler.
Having finished inspecting the central and most important place in the entire ballroom, Egrer moved on. The others had wandered off in different directions.
Two wide staircases, starting at the edges of the stage, led up to viewing balconies where one could comfortably and relatively quietly observe the festivities below. Near one of the staircases stood pots with vines that had already started creeping along the wall and floor. They'd probably just been dumped here, never making it to their final destination.
Egrer went upstairs and saw a massive arched passageway to an outdoor balcony. Beautiful marble railings outlined a wide semicircle, where a crowd just as large as the one on the stage could gather.
"Beautiful view," Ren said, standing there looking at the spires of Beacon. Then he leaned over the railing and looked down at the road, which forked at the walls of the ballroom and led to two symmetrically positioned entrances.
"Looks like CFVY wanted to put those pots somewhere around here," Egrer shared his thoughts. "So that everyone coming here... would probably bump their heads against the vines? Or so some dickhead like Cardin could yank 'em and bring the whole thing crashing down?"
"Or it just looks beautiful from the outside."
"Or that, yeah."
After standing there a bit longer, they headed back down.
"Alright people, gather round for a huddle!" Egrer yelled. The echo gladly caught his call and carried it to every member of Enversion. "So, I suggest we divide responsibilities. On the agenda we've got food and drinks, decorations, and prepping the musical program. Who wants to do what?"
"Pyrotechnics!" Nora exclaimed.
"That wasn't one of the options offered, but fine. Just keep it outside. We'll set off some fireworks or something."
The others didn't come up with their own options; they were satisfied with what was suggested. Magenta and Ren gladly agreed to spruce up the space, Jaune took charge of the menu for the upcoming party, and the commanding role fell, obviously, to Egrer himself.
Toward evening, when everyone more or less knew what they needed, they made a shopping list. Egrer thoughtfully read through each item.
"Before I hand this list over to Goodwitch, we should check if there's anything similar in the utility closet behind the stage."
"Doubt forty meters of table linens could get lost in there," Jaune noted. "Or a dining set for five hundred people. How many people are coming anyway?"
"No clue. If we can still count our own guys, only the Twin Gods know how many guests there'll be. Let's stock up with a surplus just in case." Egrer shrugged, then returned to the list. "Madge, run over to the utility closet, see what's actually in there."
He tossed her the keys and continued laying out the plans for the ball.
"We can set up the food table over there." Egrer pointed toward the huge window overlooking the small pond. "We'll cover the sill with flowers, and the flags of all four kingdoms will hang from above. And we do the same for every window. It'll look even better once we hang the curtains."
"Maybe we should leave the area by the windows clear?" asked Ren, who was responsible for the overall look of the ball. "And put the tables over in that space between the stage and the stairs. There likely won't be many people there, and we'll have more room."
"Renny's smart, as always." Nora nodded vigorously. "Renny wouldn't say dumb stuff."
Egrer scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, weighing this option in his mind.
"Well, that works too. Gotta see what size the tables are going to be, by the way. Or else we might stick 'em in that gap, but they'll be a hassle to approach. There's tons of space anyway, we don't really have to conserve it."
A heartbreaking shriek from Magenta interrupted all conversations. The union hurried to the rescue in full force.
"There's... there's a... Dead body in there!" she yelled, pointing a finger into the utility closet.
Did The Puppeteer already kill someone?! I shouldn't have dropped my guard like this, I gotta call Blake and Sun down here ASAP!
"Madge," Ren stated neutrally, looking inside. "It is a dummy. They have these in biology classes."
Egrer also poked his head into the doorway, deciding to see for himself. A prop skeleton, slightly yellowed with age, was lying on a pile of junk. Or maybe it just looked yellow because of the light from the old incandescent bulb, painting everything in light orange tones?
"Madge, don't scare me like that, geez," he exhaled in relief.
Nora stepped inside and fearlessly picked up the source of the panic. Picked it up and started playing with it.
"Don't shake him like a plush toy!" Magenta pleaded. "We have to bury him."
"Madge, he's not rea~" Egrer started to say, only to be rudely cut off.
"I said, we need to bury him! What if there's a ghost wandering around here? Nora, put him back right now, we shouldn't anger a restless spirit."
Talking her out of it was too much of a hassle, so a small mound soon appeared right behind the ballroom. Luckily, besides the skeleton, there were also shovels in that storage room, but that was the end of the useful items. They'd have to go grovel to Goodwitch for the budget.
As usual, Ren was dispatched on this hazardous duty. After all, he never complained about anything and wouldn't resist such a heartless disregard for his mental health.
The others, meanwhile, went their separate ways. It was decided to wrap up work for the day; a general action plan had been drawn up, and time was not rushing them. They didn't have to stress out too much.
But suddenly a message arrived on Egrer's Scroll. A message from Goodwitch. A clear bad omen.
«Mr. Peleni, you still have not provided me with the receipts for your recent purchases for the club room. I hope you do not need to be reminded that every Lien spent from the budget must be properly documented and faxed to my desk?»
When Egrer reformed the free union movement into an official club, he didn't even imagine he'd have to fill out paperwork. And their supervisor, who, for a second, was none other than the Iron Lady herself and the Deputy Headmistress, clearly had no intention of cutting any slack. Either the club diligently fulfills its role, or it gets disbanded. And to prove they were actually working, and not just slacking off, they had to leave a paper trail in the bureaucracy.
There was nothing to be done, all plans had to be changed.
The club room had changed significantly during this time. Perhaps giving Magenta complete freedom of action in decorating wasn't the best idea. No, surprisingly, she furnished everything harmoniously and on-theme; no pink stuffed bears or eye-gouging wallpaper, but the price was steep. Poor Ren... how had he even managed to convince Goodwitch of the necessity of such expenditures?
A large mahogany conference table stood on curved, branching legs in the center of the room, surrounded by a dozen chairs from the same furniture line. Perfectly smooth and pleasant to the touch, resting your head on it was pure bliss. Provided you didn't think about the fact that you were resting on a piece worth the price of a modern Scroll.
In the corner, a color printer rested on a nightstand, and next to it was a desk with a computer. These were the only things they received for free from the Beacon administration. Come to think of it, with Ren's diplomatic skills, they could have just said screw it and spent just as many Lien on tech.
Busts of such great figures of their time as Caroling Max, Frederick Els, and Vlademar Levin stood in a neat row on the windowsill. Next to them stood a bookcase packed to the brim with their works. Naturally, no one even touched them, as if people joined Enversion to support their ideas.
No, everything was far more prosaic and banal.
Nora was here for the fun of it, Ren and Magenta joined as a favor, and Jaune was being brazenly blackmailed with their friendship. Not to mention Egrer himself, who, like a typical fat bourgeois from an agitprop poster, was simply using the working class to achieve his personal interests. Weiss, by the way, fit this image perfectly too, before she left.
Egrer sat down at the computer and planted a clueless stare into the holographic monitor. What now?
Asking himself this complex question, he began spinning aimlessly in his chair. No one in the union had the required skills for working with documents, so there was no one to pawn this job off on.
So it wasn't surprising that, in the end, the general secretary just gave up and decided to tackle it later. But while he was here alone, he decided to use this room for other purposes. Namely—for creativity.
Man, how much had he lacked a space like this before, where he could lock himself in and work on music. If he composed something in his room, someone from the pack would definitely get in the way. If he locked himself in an empty classroom, every passerby would consider it their sacred duty to follow the guitar sounds inside, ask what he was playing, chuckle thoughtfully, and accidentally slam the door. Roughly the same thing happened if he just hid somewhere in Beacon's gardens, only the part about the door dropped out.
But now no one would bother him. Enversion members treated their meetings like classes, and the club room was like a classroom to them. So they wouldn't just waltz in here of their own free will.
Egrer bit his pencil. Since the full authority over the upcoming ball rested in his hands, there was nothing stopping him from arranging a little mini-concert to happen at the end of the event. Naturally, not just with his music gang, 'cause others would want to participate too. But Majesty would play first.
He imagined himself holding a guitar.
What should we play? What song should I write?
To write a masterpiece, you had to sing about what was gnawing at your guts. Put your soul into the lyrics, imbue it with deep, multi-layered meaning. But what was tearing him up right now? The tough spot his adoptive parents were in? Jaune's personal problems, which he had stuck his nose into out of sheer stupidity?
The theme should fit the vibe of the party. Unity, equality, a happy future...
A whole hour of brainstorming and humming under his breath passed unnoticed.
And Egrer nearly tumbled out of his chair in surprise when a knock came at the door. Hastily giving his workspace a working appearance, he grandly proclaimed:
"Come in." The guest turned out to be none other than Weiss Schnee herself. "Wow, look who showed up. Hi. What brings you our way?"
"Hello. I just want to see what you have achieved." She started inspecting the club room's interior.
Egrer immediately crossed his arms smugly. He just couldn't resist taking a good jab at her right now.
"Everything is just super. Magenta and Jaune joined Enversion, and the union itself is now officially a club, which is gonna help us recruit way easier. Don't think I'm saying this as a reproach, you were just too careful. Only our first rally was pretty sharp-tongued, but after the scolding from Goodwitch, it's like you were scared to cross Ozpin."
"And how could I not be afraid?" she asked calmly, without a hint of hurt feelings. "He is the headmaster of Beacon."
"Well, I wasn't scared!" the new general secretary shared proudly. "And that's exactly why I attracted so much attention. I'll even tell you more—I managed to outsmart Ozpin."
"Is that so?" Weiss laughed. "You? Him? I would sooner believe in the existence of the Ozpinopus."
"But I did outsmart him! Look, I was rallying under his tower and he came out 'cause of the noise. Using a couple of psychological tricks, he managed to turn even the most ardent radicals against me, but I didn't lose my cool! Ozpin offered to let me officially form Enversion as a club, and promised such perks that it was immediately obvious—it's a trap. He was probably counting on me to just chicken out, but I up and agreed! How 'bout that."
"Indeed," Weiss uttered. "Without me, you are going to lose everything."
"Were you even listening? I'm saying I outsmarted Ozpin himself!"
"Based on the information I know and the testimony you just gave, it is clear to me that the headmaster would have won in any scenario."
"Huh? But we're a club now. We have a room, funding, we can publish in the school newspaper."
"No, now you have integrated into the power system you are supposed to be fighting, and you are dependent on the headmaster's handouts. The only upside here is the newspaper, but it is highly unlikely you will be able to utilize it advantageously."
The realization hit Egrer immediately. He grabbed his hair and slowly lowered his head onto the desk. The empty gaze of his wide-open eyes stared straight ahead.
It became clear as day that this was exactly what Ozpin's devious plan entailed. Not only that, but the headmaster also coaxed Goodwitch into becoming their supervisor, just to make their lives a living hell. Weiss only missed this because she was out of the loop regarding the events inside Enversion.
"Such deviousness... the headmaster pretended to lure me into a trap, making me think there was no trap. But there was..."
"Precisely. It is obvious that it was reverse psychology. Do you think I was being cautious for no reason? I simply understood perfectly well who our opponent is."
"What do I do?"
"I have left the union, so figure it out yourself."
"But Weiss! I need your experience in political intrigues!"
"What am I going to do with you," the heiress to the multi-billion and corrupt company sighed. "Right now, you can only try to extract whatever advantage you can from the current situation. Backing out is pointless; I am certain Ozpin has backup plans for that contingency. We must wait for an opportune moment and lower the enemy's guard. Just pretend you are a fool who does not understand what he is doing. Meaning—just be yourself."
"Weiss, thanks and all, but can we skip this whole 'You're all idiots and I'm a genius' routine of yours?"
"It is not that I am a genius, but compared to all of you," she looked around pointedly, making it clear that "all of you" was just Egrer, "it is the truth. And anyway, I was thinking that you really are going to ruin everything. Do you want me to return?"
"Seriously? Why would you? You wanna revive the music club too?"
"No, I simply cannot stand watching the union collapse. It is my brainchild too."
Weiss wanted to help him? Just like that? Something clearly wasn't adding up here. Egrer started looking for the hidden benefit she could extract from returning to Enversion, and surprisingly quickly found it.
"You just want to participate in organizing the ball. And you brought up the Ozpin stuff to undermine my confidence and convince me that we won't survive without you."
"Astute," Weiss nodded, pretending she hadn't just been caught red-handed. "To be honest, I did not think you would guess."
"I'm not so stupid that I can't realize you're looking for your own benefit here." Any investments, be it time or effort, must always pay off—that was her motto. "But how could you do this to me? Friends shouldn't play mind games with each other! You could have just asked without all this buttering up."
Weiss blushed slightly. Obviously, that thought simply hadn't occurred to her.
"A direct request lacks the charm hidden within a game of hints," she found an excuse. "Do not take it to heart. And besides, have you not played mind games with me? Remember that girls' night out which was supposedly my idea?"
"That's different," Egrer replied without a shadow of a doubt. "But you hurt my feelings. Don't do that anymore, scheming over little things won't lead to any good."
"I cannot make such promises. It has long since become a habit, and I do not control it. But do not worry, I will not demand the transfer of the general secretary's powers to myself."
"Gee, thanks, really. What would I ever do without your mercy?" Egrer rolled his eyes. "But why do I need a competitor? I doubt we share the same vision for an ideal dance, and I double-doubt that you're just gonna stand on the sidelines while I do everything my way."
"Aha," Weiss smirked. "A second ago you were saying I could have simply asked, but now it turns out you absolutely would not have taken me back if I did."
Now it was Egrer who blushed.
"I didn't say I wouldn't take you back, I just said we probably have different visions for the party," he came up with an excuse. "I meant that you're gonna have to engage in dialogue and compromises."
"As you wish, I will engage in dialogue and compromises." Egrer raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Weiss corrected herself with annoyance. "I will try to engage in dialogue and compromises."
Completely unconvincing. So unconvincing that only a miracle or a great need could force him to accept her back.
The mountain of documents on the computer spontaneously came to mind.
"Alright, personnel dictates everything in this world, so fine, I'll enlist you for old times' sake." Besides, the union was pretty boring without her. And Jaune will be happy. "But don't expect to instantly become my secretary! I'm not gonna remove Ren from that post just because you decided to come back after a week. You'll start out like everyone else—as a grunt."
"Excuse me?" Weiss fumed. "But given my skills and experience, I should be the secretary to your secretary at the very least."
"I figured your ambitions wouldn't let you settle for less. Fine, I'll appoint you as Secretary to the Secretary of the General Secretary, and so we don't break our tongues, we'll use the abbreviation 'SSGS'."
"That is the bare minimum. Is there really no higher position available?"
"Only the secretary to the general secretary himself. And why are you flexing your rights here? You left on your own, but the second you saw a chance to take part in an event like this, you immediately came back. You'll probably leave again as soon as the dance is over, so why should I give you a higher position? Alright, get to your duties, SSGS."
"And what do they entail?"
"Helping Ren help me. But you can start with filling out a couple of reports for our supervisor—Miss Goodwitch. Have a seat." Egrer stood up and, like a true gentleman, seated Weiss at the desk. "I think you'll figure out what's what yourself."
"And where are you going?"
"To prepare for the ball, of course," he said, walking out of the club room.
Egrer grabbed his guitar from his room and, humming under his breath, headed to the ballroom. It seemed to him that if he composed the song in the place where he would eventually play it, it would give him extra inspiration. Then the end result would be an absolute hit, a masterpiece of musical art.
And at the same time, he'd get used to the stage in advance and be able to goof around, picturing himself in front of a huge crowd of fans. That kind of thing was better left unseen by outsiders, otherwise Egrer would burn from shame... or get rid of the witnesses.
The greatest musician of the near future shook his head, driving the images of a bloody massacre out of it. Right now he needed to focus on writing the song, because losing such a benign mood is very easy. As ancient wisdom dictates—strike while the iron is hot.
However, it was best not to get his hopes up too much for creating a masterpiece. Egrer remembered perfectly well how Weiss had torn the anthem he invented to shreds, steamrolling over every aspect of it. And even though her main gripe was that it wasn't an anthem at all, there were plenty of valid complaints too.
"What's this?" he muttered, approaching the ballroom doors. Dozens of bouquets lay near the entrance, and it was highly unlikely one person brought them all. Apparently, the people of Beacon decided to thank Enversion for their efforts. "Man, how nice is that!"
"Sup, Tarzan," Hat was walking to this spot too. In his hand was a small bouquet of black-and-white carnations. "I'm just here to pray for your souls."
With those words, he carefully laid the flowers by the door and folded his hands in a gesture of prayer.
"What do you mean, for our souls?"
"It ain't that big a secret. Just gotta keep your ears open."
"What are you even talking about?"
"When CFVY's leader gets back from the field, she's gonna chop off the head of anyone who dared touch her work while she was gone." Egrer gulped. "Scared? You should be. Especially be scared of her handbag. It only looks normal on the outside, but if she hits you in the balls, which she definitely will, you'll feel a hundred kilos of iron. I ain't joking, a hundred kilos of iron. Exactly."
"Are you trying to say all this..." He waved vaguely toward the pile of flowers.
"Yeah. We're burying you guys."
"What did I sign up for... On the other hand, the game is worth the candle." Big deal, the fate of a eunuch isn't that scary! If he'd be able to make himself known to all of Beacon, and at a party like this no less, it wouldn't even be a pity to give up an arm.
Actually no, better a leg. Egrer needed both hands to play the guitar.
"I dunno what game you mean, but I can only wish you luck," Hat waved goodbye, but suddenly remembered something. "Oh, right! There's a way to increase your chances of survival. Go see Gunner, that's the head of the dueling club. You've probably seen that show-off, loves talking in rhymes."
"Yeah, seen him a couple of times."
"He and Fashion Police walk in step. Maybe he can give you a tip on how not to die from a fractured pelvis."
"Thanks, I'll take that advice. I think I will, right now."
The required mood had vanished from news like that anyway. Egrer wouldn't write a masterpiece if the thought of his impending demise kept running through his head over and over. So first, he needed to take care of his own safety.
A separate building was built for the dueling club near the arena, which isn't surprising, since duels are what Beacon breathes. And judging by everything, they are handed astronomical budgets, given that they managed to build such a mansion. This wasn't just some "Club room," but a real estate that any rich person would envy.
Egrer hadn't had the chance to visit here before. Walking past the majestic statue of a Huntsman, he awkwardly stepped inside, not entirely sure that the massive wide-open doors were an invitation.
A spacious foyer met him with a long row of banners bearing the dueling club's symbol—a crossed rapier and an old-fashioned single-shot pistol. At the end of the improvised corridor stood an actual reception desk with a small bell. Hesitantly giving it a ring, Egrer waited for God knows what.
"Hi." Some punk with a red mohawk stepped out from a closed door. The business suit looked like a trophy on him; it was slightly too big and didn't really suit the owner's thuggish appearance. Considering the tastes of this club's members, it most likely was a trophy.
"Hello," Egrer began formally. "Can I see... uh... your boss?"
For some reason, it suddenly seemed to him that if he called their leader by that nickname, he'd be immediately challenged to a duel. And against this upperclassman, he clearly didn't stand a chance.
"Well, like, yeah, you can. Lemme check." The upperclassman picked up the receiver of a real, actual landline phone. With a rotary dial, a coiled cord, and everything. "Hey boss. You got someone asking for ya. Hell if I know, some cringe dude or whatever. All twitchy, looks like he's tripping on something."
"Hey, I'm not tripping on anything!"
"Bro, I'm just trolling, don't get butt-hurt. Huh? Okey-dokey, consider it done." He hung up the phone. "Alright, zoomer, stomp your way upstairs, it's the left door."
"Thanks," Egrer somehow managed to squeeze out.
"No prob, shorty." And with those words, the punk retreated back to his room, his mohawk grazing the upper doorframe.
Following the instructions of this weird receptionist, Egrer found himself in the office of the dueling club leader. The decor here was old-fashioned, to say the least, albeit luxurious. Except the whole vibe was ruined by the members of the club itself, who resembled thugs in both faces and behavior.
About four goons in business suits were standing by the wall playing darts, using someone's skull as a target. Two more were currently arm-wrestling, while a third was picking his nose with a throwing knife and drinking beer.
Adding to the surrealism of the scene was the fact that they were all wearing old-fashioned jackets and trousers. Some wore hats or epaulettes.
Egrer just froze in the doorway, not daring to step into this hotbed of anarchy. But he was spotted by some bearded upperclassman cosplaying as a biker who was cosplaying as an upstanding member of society from the last century.
"Freshman, get the fuck outta here. We're having a meeting, can't you see?"
Now everyone was looking at him. Including a fourth-year with small, neat sideburns, who greeted him with a sympathetic smile. He waved him over invitingly.
"Whom do my eyes behold, my pale and trembling friend!
Perhaps you did not know, but you approach your end.
Before the sun has set, before the night is drawn,
We'll hear your dying wail upon the morrow's dawn."
Gunner was clearly amused by this situation. But while he limited himself to a simple smile, the rest bellowed with laughter, showcasing just how low their cultural development was compared to their boss.
"I'm already aware, that's exactly why I came here." Egrer stepped further into the room but didn't dare sit down without permission. He felt like he was in a beast's lair and didn't relax for a single second. "I was told you might be able to help me make sure a certain Fashion Police doesn't kill me."
A chorus of disapproving clamor rippled through the room. The guy who'd been picking his nose with a knife threw it at Egrer's head, but Egrer managed to dodge it.
"I cannot fail to see the mark of one so foul,
Who disrespects a name and answers with a growl.
By bending you to think in such a shameful way,
He brings you to the dark, and leads your soul astray."
"Alright, yeah," Egrer nodded nervously, having decided that being in this room full of cutthroats was too hazardous for his health. "Well, I um... won't interrupt your meeting with my petty problems. I'll drop by some other time."
The second he turned around, a mob of gleefully hollering thugs caught him and forcibly sat him in a chair.
"Boss didn't say you could leave."
"Wook at shish pwetty golt toosh," someone lisped nearby. The knife-thrower himself squatted right in front of Egrer and proceeded to scrutinize Egrer's nervous smile. His own toothless grin induced shivers. "I want ish fow mayshelf."
Gunner's cough saved the unfortunate guest from a bloody reckoning. Everyone instantly calmed down and simply walked out, carefully closing the door behind them. They were left completely alone.
It was terrifying to imagine what kind of unbelievable strength this fourth-year with the kind smile possessed if he could dismiss a mob of those psycho brawlers with a single gesture. How does Goodwitch even allow such a contingent to exist at Beacon? Or was it an intentional measure, to gather all the hooligans into one club and force them to gnaw at each other?
Sounded like a cunning plan of Ozpin's. Yes, that's exactly how he must have planned it.
"T-thanks... So, about Fashion Police~"
"Call her as I do—Coco Adel."
"Okay, fine." For some reason, the surname Adel seemed vaguely familiar to Egrer. "So, I dunno... do you have a tip? Or something? And could you maybe start talking normally?"
"To lead a chat in rhymes is hard, believe you me,
So drop the petty quips—how is the concert meant to be?"
"Like the ball? Well, it's kinda like a concert, you noticed right there. I mean, the whole ball won't be a concert, obviously, just at the end they'll play musical acts from anyone who wants to perform. And then we'll turn on music that isn't really for ballroom dancing, but for something more energetic..."
After a brief overview, the upperclassman imparted to him, in his own fashion, the tastes and preferences of this very Coco. About what music to play, what decorations to use, what food to buy, and so on. But he placed a special emphasis on what to avoid at all costs.
And primarily, he had to avoid the hope that if Egrer did everything perfectly, he wouldn't catch a handbag hit between the legs. This Coco was still going to whack him simply out of resentment that her job was stolen.
But in any case, Egrer wouldn't be able to satisfy such an extensive list of demands without sacrificing his own vision of the party. So he just needed to accept the inevitable and relax.
Before leaving, he asked:
"And uh... I'm just curious. Don't you get tired of constantly speaking in verse? If it's so hard, maybe talk like everyone else?"
"Ah, if I spoke like mortal men, in prose mundane and grey,
Then dull and utterly mundane I would remain today!
My Semblance is no curse, no heavy load to hold,
Thanks to this gift of mine, my power is uncontrolled."
"Alright, got it, thanks. With your permission, I'll exit through the window, okay? I don't wanna bump into your... subordinates in the hallway."
Well, at least Egrer wouldn't have to cater to anyone. The ball would go down exactly the way he wanted it to.
The only question was, at what cost.