"A bed!" Egrer loud-whispered. He didn't even have the energy left to talk, let alone walk properly.
He kicked his shoes off on the fly, shed his dirty pants, and collapsed onto the best bed of his entire life. What a soft mattress, what crisp white sheets, and oh, the way they crunched! And the smell! A mix of laundry detergent, soap, and starch—this was exactly what cleanliness smelled like. Egrer buried his nose in the pillow and took a deep breath. Pure bliss...
The pack was no different from their leader; they were all dead on their feet and had mindlessly faceplanted onto the nearest beds. Their numerous bags, suitcases, string bags, plastic sacks, and boxes were already piled up in the corner, a mountain reaching the ceiling. Tomorrow they'd have to sort through all that crap and actually move into their assigned room. There was way more space here than in their old studio apartment, so they could really spread out.
"This is awesooome!" Magenta sang out, staring at the ceiling. Despite the grueling day, she somehow still had the energy to be happy. "We're all together again, just like it should be. Though, I do miss our old apartment a little, we made so many memories there..."
Nobody paid any attention to her childish babble; everyone was too exhausted. But Egrer mustered his last scraps of strength and pulled a small notebook from his jacket's inner pocket. A tiny pencil dangled from the end of its bookmark string, and with it, he carelessly struck a checkmark next to the goal "Pass Initiation." Another checkmark. Felt damn good. Even taking into account the highly unforeseen circumstance of Magenta now being the leader.
*Bzzzt-bzzzt.*
Suddenly, someone's scroll started ringing, but that pathetic buzzing wasn't enough to keep them from passing out.
*Bzzzt-bzzzt.*
"Eg, pick up your fucking scroll already!" Yort was the first to crack. Weakling.
"They'll get tired of it soon." The ringing didn't stop, and a boot came flying at Egrer. "Alright, alright!" He blindly rejected the call.
*Bzzzt-bzzzt.*
"May the Grimm eat you alive, who the hell calls in the middle of the night?" He had to peel his eyes open and bring the scroll to his face.
It was "Snarky Bitch". Below the contact name was her picture: a blurry smear instead of a face, a hand reaching for the lens, and a disco ball in the background. The photo was a nice reminder that even people like her got shy sometimes.
Melanie could keep calling for an eternity, and if he just turned his scroll off, she'd get super pissed. It was better to just bite the bullet. Egrer wrapped the blanket over his head so as not to disturb the others and turned the volume all the way down.
"Hello?"
"Eee-ee-eg!" Good thing he took precautions. Not only was Melanie currently in a club, but she herself had never exactly been a quiet girl. "How's it going, did you fail? Stop showing me your ear, this is a video call!"
"Ah, hold on." He twisted his sheet into a little nest so he wouldn't have to hold the scroll. Her bright white dress and the laser show in the background were blinding, so Egrer cranked the screen brightness down too.
"You look like you've been on a bender." The image swayed, and Miltia barged into the frame. "So you failed after all, I knew it."
"Actually, no," Egrer smiled weakly, "we all passed. We're sleeping in the dorm right now."
"Hey, boys!" Melanie yelled somewhere off-camera. "He got in, you hear?!"
A multitude of voices immediately started laughing, joking, swearing, and just shouting over each other. At first, Egrer didn't even understand what was happening; there was way too much background noise. But after a few seconds, he started picking out specific phrases.
"I knew it, I knew it, yeah! I'm gonna cry!" Gelb appeared for a second with a handkerchief, but Ahmar immediately shoved him out of the way.
"The fuck are you lying for, you cop-faced prick? Cough up the fifty, you lost the bet!" the backup bartender leaned over an indignant Melanie's shoulder. "Good shit, Eg. Nobody here doubted you except for this liar! Drop by sometime, I'll whip you up something on the house."
"I'll whip you up, you hear?!" Junior yelled from off-camera. "No booze for him, or his family, and definitely not on the house!"
"Hei!" The camera jolted, Melanie jumped somewhere, and shoved the scroll right into her boss's face. "You say something too."
"You look like shit," he grumbled, pulling his signature red sunglasses down over his eyes. "Congratulations."
"Thanks, everyone." An embarrassed smile crept onto his face all on its own. Egrer had no idea so many people were rooting for him; his body filled with a sudden surge of energy, and his heart immediately felt warmer.
"Come on, spill it, what happened at Initiation?" Melanie sat down somewhere, gangsters jostling behind her.
"Mel, I want to hear too." Miltia squeezed into the frame.
"Hey, us too!"
"Get back to work, you lazy shits!" Junior barked, and his subordinates instantly scattered in all directions, leaving the sisters alone. The boss's shouting didn't faze the girls at all, and they were in no hurry to find some task to do; the Malachites were a special case, after all.
"Man, I'd love to tell you everything, but let's do it tomorrow. I'm fucking dying to get some sleep."
"No. Now."
"Fine, but make it quick," Egrer surrendered. The faster he started, the faster he'd finish. "First they dropped us into the Emerald Forest, then I ran from a pack of Beowolves, hitched a ride on a professor's Bullhead, found Ill, then we went looking for Madge but found Jaune instead, fought a Death Stalker, there was a Nevermore too, and then we made it back to the cliff. Oh, and on the way, we grabbed a relic and burned down the forest. Well, Madge burned it down."
"A Death Stalker is...?" Melanie had heard the term but couldn't quite place it. Not surprising, considering she had zero Huntsman training and no experience living outside the city walls.
"A giant scorpion," the more educated Miltia chimed in. "How did you kill it?"
"Seriously, guys, tomorrow. You want me to give you a play-by-play of the fight right now?"
"Yes." Such unity...
"Hell no. I'm literally going to pass out right now." Egrer rested his head on the pillow, hiding half his face in it. God, it was so soft...
The twins looked at each other. Miltia raised an eyebrow, Melanie frowned, Miltia raised her other eyebrow, Melanie sighed. They were clearly communicating telepathically, the way only twins can.
"Alright, Eg, we'll call you back tomorrow. But we want all the juicy details!"
"Uh-huh." The call ended and the scroll went dark. Thank god they didn't ask about his team.
To them, it was completely obvious that Egrer would be the leader; it was such a given that asking would just be stupid. After all, he was the one managing this entire zoo, putting up with every pack member's quirks, and directing their chaotic energy into something productive. Egrer himself shared that opinion—who else but him? And yet, this is how things ultimately turned out. It was a massive bummer.
What was worse, it made zero sense what exactly Magenta had done to earn the top spot! Did she fight the Death Stalker? Did she help take down the Nevermore? Nope, she just torched half the forest and named her pet octopus after the Headmaster. She had zero communication skills, a head full of massive, crazy bugs, and was way too careless, naive, and idealistic. In short—totally unfit for such an important role. Even Illmond would have looked better in her place, and his social skills were completely nonexistent.
"I need to calm down, or I won't be able to sleep." Usually, if Egrer was stressed, upset, or pissed off, he'd play Baby. But wandering around Beacon at night—a place he'd only visited three times prior—to find a secluded spot sounded like way too much effort. But he had a backup plan, one just as effective as the first.
He pulled out his scroll again.
«Hey Ma, how are things over there?»
A minute passed, then a second, and a third. She must be busy.
Egrer tossed the scroll aside and fell asleep with it still in his hand.
* * *
A trill pierced his ears like a steel blade. The hopeless, alarming sound penetrated every cell of his body until it consumed everything, serving one simple purpose—inflicting pain. Without looking, Egrer slapped his hand somewhere in the direction of the alarm clock. The sound stopped, and he was able to wallow in his soft bed for a little longer. The feeling of sleep overtaking him again was so wonderful that he never wanted to get up.
A rough, persistent knocking came from the steel wall nearby.
"If you keep sleeping, you're gonna go hungry!" an impatient male voice yelled right into his ear.
Egrer sleepily propped himself up on his elbows, but the shouter was already gone. Desolation reigned around him. The morning sun barely broke through the grimy windows near the ceiling of the abandoned factory. The last time they had been cleaned was five, maybe ten years ago. Dusty, broken, and useless machines were haphazardly piled near the far wall, stacked precariously on top of each other. The floor was visibly stained with weird oily patches and deep scratches, clogged with black grime. Life had abandoned this place a long time ago.
Only their little nook was clean, illuminated by the warm orange glow of a nightlight. Three sleeping bags were huddled closely together, as if seeking warmth, and a stack of books provided a tiny sense of coziness. "How to Achieve Wealth," "Clean Code: Analysis and Refactoring," "Ninjas of Love," "City of Passion Two: The Dark Lord"—some belonged to Egrer, some to his mother, but there were no books belonging to his father here. He preferred reading from his scroll.
Against the wall stood a whiteboard featuring a map of Mistral's industrial district, covered in scribbled notes like "shitty cops," "stash," "extraction." On the left hung a to-do list, every line crossed out except the last one.
Right, they were currently one step away from stealing the formula for a new drug. Corporate espionage was Roman's favorite pastime, as it forced him to use his brain, and moreover, it usually paid extremely well.
This happened a couple of months before I ran away, the thought flashed through Egrer's mind. A strange thought, out of place. He rushed to push it away.
On the right side of the whiteboard, going from top to bottom in a neat line, were their initials, which had already slid off the board and migrated onto the wall. They indicated whose turn it was to cook today, and judging by the smell of slightly burnt scrambled eggs with canned meat and the neatly written R.T. at the very bottom, Roman was at the stove today. He had never been good at cooking, but he didn't shirk his duties. However, he didn't give anyone else a free pass either.
Egrer stood up and stretched. How exhausted was he yesterday to mistake a hard sleeping bag for a soft bed? He reached toward the ceiling, his hands brushing his jacket, which hung on a nail driven into the wall. It was quite modest compared to his father's spare suit hanging next to it. That one was so white that every speck of dust on it looked like a piece of the night sky.
There was no time to freshen up, not even to brush his teeth. Quickly pulling his clothes on, Egrer hurried to the kitchen—a cluttered hallway. A portable Dust stove sat on a pile of stacked bricks, and next to it gaped a hole in the wall, into which they threw all their garbage. It already smelled pretty ripe from down there.
"Ah, the arrival of sleeping beauty." Sitting on a folding chair and using an overturned machine as a table, Roman was finishing his eggs. On the other side of the "table" lay an empty ice cream wrapper.
"Snow Whites shouldn't be coughing either." A snort came in reply.
"You used to be scared to talk back to me." He rolled his eyes theatrically toward the ceiling. "Where did I go wrong in his upbringing? Where is that terrified little boy?"
"Died from your sense of humor." He spooned some of the sludge from the pan onto a plastic plate. "And your cooking..."
"Eat what you're given. Dogs can eat the same kibble their whole lives, you'll manage somehow too." His racist remark went unanswered; Egrer was too busy ignoring the taste of the food to pay attention to anything else. If by smell it was burnt eggs with canned meat, by sight it was brown mush, blackened at the bottom, with a half-cooked egg floating on top. A person without an Aura would end up in the hospital with food poisoning from this. Or maybe even die.
"Where's Mom?"
"Come on, we've already passed this stage of training. Repeat after me: where is Neo?"
"Fiiiine," he sighed in defeat. "Where is Neo?"
"Good boy, have a cookie. She's already in the car, reading her trashy paperback." Torchwick had never liked it when Egrer called them Mom and Dad. But he was the one who started it all, jokingly calling Neo "Mommy" when she looked at Egrer having breakfast with affection. And Egrer... he was happy to be able to call someone that. Neo was too, even though her relationship with Roman definitely wasn't marital. If there even was one.
What were they to each other? Lovers? Definitely not. Brother and sister? Closer, but still not quite right. Father and daughter? Sure, Roman cared for Neo, but not to that extent. Husband and wife? Don't make me laugh... Business partners? Also not it—too official, too cold.
And what were Egrer and Roman to each other? That was complicated too—you couldn't call the kid a lackey running errands, nor an adopted son, nor a partner, nor anything else. Everything mixed together, yet nothing specific.
This ambiguity suited everyone, but one thing was absolutely clear—they could rely on each other.
"We're getting out of this dump soon," Roman said dreamily, wiping his lips with a napkin. "Oh, the hot beaches of Vacuo! How I miss them, I dream about them!"
"I dreamed about something today too. That I got into Beacon."
"Should I start worrying that you're gonna run away from us?"
"Definitely. I'm already planning it."
"No, no, no," Roman twirled his finger, "you're not going to any Beacon, heroes don't live long, Mr. Peleni."
That phrase... Egrer felt like he had heard it before, said by someone powerful and wise.
"I don't want to go to Beacon," he shook off the delusion, "I want to become a world-famous musician. A diploma from there just means nobody will dare stop me."
And that phrase was familiar too... Like it was from a past life.
"And I wanted to be an actor." Roman tipped his bowler hat in a welcoming gesture. Only, his head lifted along with it, detaching from his neck. "And you know what? Life fucked me over. If you play by its rules, the same thing will happen to you."
"I'll still try."
"A month until your escape, right?" Egrer nodded. "Then I have time to prepare the longest profanity-laced tirade in history. Listen to it carefully."
"Okay."
Something in this conversation was off. The more Egrer realized it, the more the concrete walls and scratched floor blurred. Sunbeams fell from the windows and began to writhe like snakes, the factory started up its abandoned mechanisms, and the machines marched back to their places.
"Is this a dream?" The moment even one percent of that thought managed to form, light flooded everything around him.
This time, Egrer woke up for real. Sort of. Just in case, he pinched himself, and yeah—it wasn't a dream.
"I forgot what it feels like to sit on a bed," Magenta whispered, her eyes wide. She stood up. On the bed. "You can stand on it." She said it in such a shocked voice, as if the Twin Gods themselves had appeared before her.
"Where's Yort?" Egrer asked, yawning.
"Probably went to watch TV." Illmond shrugged, sitting on his scroll. He blew his bangs away and glanced toward the door. "Or trying to get as far away from us as possible."
"Don't remind me."
Yort had wanted to join someone else's team, so how did he react to this whole situation? Negatively, for sure, but how negatively? Is he ready to commit murder, or will he just run away and try his luck at another academy? One thing was clear—the problem had only worsened, and Egrer would have to solve it. As always.
Egrer looked at Magenta bouncing on the bed and merely confirmed his own thoughts. Relying on their "leader" was absolutely out of the question.
"By the waaaay!" she sang out, feeling his gaze. She awkwardly twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "I found Yort. Followed his scent!" The butterfly pretended to sniff the air. "Did I do good?"
"Of course you did," Illmond replied, solely to make Magenta happy. Even though he couldn't stand Yort, they were friends in their own twisted way. You couldn't call their relationship a normal friendship; it was just that Yort acknowledged that if Illmond wanted to, he could pin their entire pack to the mat, and Illmond was simply used to his company. He found it very difficult to talk to new faces and figured it was better to deal with a familiar brutish bandit than an unfamiliar well-wisher.
"Madge, leave him alone, it's pointless." Egrer didn't share a drop of her optimism. "I tried doing that for months, and it went nowhere. I don't think forcing him to come back made things any better."
He said "we" because if he said "you," it would sound like an accusation. And right now, fishing for praise, that was the last thing she needed.
"But he's back with us now! Aren't you happy?"
"I'm... not that I'm not happy, but... have you considered what Yort himself wants? He wanted to find a different team."
"He doesn't need any other team," she cut him off in the serious tone she had used before Initiation. "He needs us."
"I used to be sure of that too, Madge. But maybe if he doesn't want to see us, we shouldn't piss him off any further? Maybe we should have just let him go?"
"What are you trying to say?" Magenta frowned and jumped off the bed. Pollen drifted down from her bedhead hair.
"That we made a mistake right from the start."
"We approached him the wrong way?"
"The introduction itself was a mistake," Egrer answered sharply, forcing himself to look at Magenta's saddened face. Deep down, she understood it too. "Let him bounce if he wants to, maybe someone else will take his place."
"But I don't want anyone else. I want us all to be together, like before. For Yort to grumble, for you to grumble back, for Ill to fight off your attempts to drag him outside." She smiled, reminiscing about their daily routine. Just like Illmond, she couldn't stand change; she preferred to stay in the past. This issue was going to pop up again and again if left unchecked. "Like before, you know..."
"Everything changes, Madge, it couldn't last forever." He needed to wrap this up quickly, to rip out the thought that Yort could be brought back. "We barely got along even before. This is the natural result of our actions. Everything was leading to this."
"I see..." she whispered. "I thought you'd be the happiest of all. Aren't you happy?"
He didn't answer, and that silence spoke louder than any words. Without support, Magenta gave up quickly; she took a couple of steps back and sat on her bed. Crushed, and nearly crying.
"You made Madge sad," Illmond pointed out, glaring at him angrily. "Couldn't you just agree with her? Give her some praise?"
"I couldn't. The sooner she comes to terms with this, the fewer problems we'll have in the future." Egrer turned back to the butterfly. "Listen, you know Yort never intended to stay with us. After Beacon, he wanted to go back to Vacuo."
"I knew," she replied quietly. "I thought you'd be able to change his mind."
"I thought so too. I'm sorry." He felt awful; making Magenta sad was always difficult.
"Don't apologize, Eg, it's my fault. And you're right, I'm a complete idiot."
"I never said that. And I didn't even imply it." He stood up and dusted off his pants. "No use crying over spilled milk, let's get ready for our first day at Beacon. Dibs on the bathroom first."
As he walked past Illmond, he heard him whisper:
"You happy now?"
"Calm her down." Egrer completely ignored his condemning tone and murderous glare. Illmond frowned even harder and looked away.
"I don't know how. I'm not like Madge."
"Just sit next to her and give her a hug, you can manage that." He patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be an asshole and at least pay her back this way. For everything she's done for you."
* * *
For the first day of classes, the cafeteria was suspiciously empty. Sure, there were upperclassmen and some of the new admits, but it felt like the vast majority of students were still sleeping. The pack headed toward the serving line.
The academy uniforms were something else. Egrer hadn't felt this comfortable in a suit jacket in a long time. And not only was it comfortable and durable (it was tailored for Huntsmen, after all), but it was also stylish. Black with a touch of gold always looked good, plus those epaulet-like things on the shoulders... chic.
The only flaw, to Egrer's picky taste, was the red tie. It didn't really match the blue vest you tucked it into, and it stood out way too much in the overall color palette. Egrer simply took his off—he wasn't going to embarrass himself. The dress code here wasn't strictly enforced, and some "modifications" were overlooked. Illmond, for example, had sewn a hood onto his jacket and was currently strutting around in it.
The female uniform here was also gorgeous. Egrer had to constantly rein Illmond in so he wouldn't stare at the female students, especially their legs. Some wore knee-highs, some wore tights, some wore stockings, and some just went bare-legged. Magenta decided to wear tights, which mildly disappointed the misunderstood artist. The guy had a fetish for bare legs.
"And you said 3D didn't interest you," Egrer remarked slyly.
"It's just a biological reaction, I am fighting this weakness. My heart will forever belong to 2D goddesses and those who possess Moe power." And he cast a sideways glance at Magenta.
She ignored him and was acting generally normal. Well, not normal for her, but just... normal. she wasn't particularly sad, nor was she particularly cheerful. Perhaps the sadness over Yort balanced out the happiness of the first day at Beacon, resulting in an average girl not swinging to extremes.
"Madge, what do you think of the uniform?" Egrer asked, to snap her out of her self-reflection for at least a moment.
"It's pretty." She looked at her arms and ran her hands down the fitted dark-brown jacket. The leader's badge gleamed on her chest. "And it feels soft. But I'd like something more colorful, with flowers."
"The skirt is pretty colorful." Red with black stripes, it looked nice against the dark palette of the rest of the uniform. "And the red ribbon on the neck is cute. Way better than a tie."
"I want something blue. And more gold. Maybe some pink or purple too?" To preserve his own mental health, Egrer decided not to imagine a school uniform designed by her.
Besides, it was time for something he loved even more than a good outfit. Food. There was only one person at the serving counter—the cook. He was arranging little cakes and other desserts on the shelves, but got distracted when he noticed the freshmen. Casting a seen-it-all glance at them, he poked a finger at a poster nearby and mumbled:
"Don't come crying to me later saying you didn't read it. Fill will turn you into mincemeat."
«SELF-SERVICE»
Was written by hand at the top, a couple of the final letters even spilling over onto the wall. Someone had circled the word and double-underlined its importance with a red marker, not forgetting to add several exclamation points. Below that began typed text, with explanations scrawled in the margins for the truly dense:
«Wipe your feet on the mat before eating, and wash your hands. The sinks are on the left by the wall. (Don't track mud in here, you troglodytes!)»
«Taking food outside the cafeteria is strictly prohibited, but that does not mean you can eat your own food in the hallways. (You can't. If I find one more apple core or wrapper in the hall, I'll[unintelligible crossed-out word] you)»
«All forms of martial arts, combat demonstrations, weapon displays, flexing achievements, etc., are forbidden on cafeteria grounds. (Measure your [unintelligible crossed-out word] somewhere else.)»
«Any political statements, campaigning, events, or agendas are strictly prohibited here. (Too many libtards and commies around here; one more flame war and I will personally prove to you all the benefits of an absolute monarchy! You need a King to keep you in line!)»
«Furthermore, the academy administration frowns upon conflicts within these walls—for duels, please use the dueling hall. (Not the cafeteria—the dueling hall! If I see one more food fight happen on my watch, I'll go unlock my Aura! And then you're all [unintelligible crossed-out word])»
«Clean up your trash. If you drop food or spill a drink, you will find rags, mops, and trash bags near the sinks. Keep it clean! (If you yell something like 'Hey, barkeep! Clean this up and bring more ale,' I will not be held responsible for my actions)»
«And remember—the Beacon service staff are ordinary people. Take it easy on us! (Break even one rule, and you're toast)»
"Wow, they take this seriously," Egrer nodded, having carefully read the poster.
He piled everything a growing body needs onto his tray—salad, mashed potatoes, some meat, and fruit. It was hard to believe all this was free. He just wanted to grab as much as possible, but he was no longer a poor orphan from the poor orphanage in a very poor neighborhood. He had outgrown that. He had power and control over himself. He could control his impulses.
"Eg, what are you doing?" Illmond asked, holding a slice of cake in each hand. Magenta, meanwhile, was piling meat and anything meat-related onto her tray. She disliked sweets and despised vegetables and fruit, and the only plant-based foods she ate were watermelon and raisins. Such was their carnivorous butterfly.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't have any room left."
"Motherfucker," Egrer cursed. While he was indulging in high-minded philosophical thoughts, his body had done all the work for him. Reflexes, damn them. "Well, I'm not putting it back..."
The cook watched in surprise as one student carried away two trays loaded to the brim. A small pyramid of ten cups of fruit punch barely wobbled when he set the food on the table.
"Act like they just crawled out of a famine," he shook his head and went back to work.
"Well, bon appétit to us." Egrer rubbed his hands together. He didn't look upset that he had definitely grabbed more than he could fit inside himself; on the contrary, the sheer volume of food filled him with happiness. He'd eat it somehow.
But before they could begin, Yort walked into the cafeteria. He walked right past them, as if the pack had never existed. Egrer tried his best to ignore him, but cast a sideways glance a couple of times anyway. Magenta, however, stared at him all the way to the serving counter, as if hoping for something. A miracle.
And it happened. Having gathered a balanced meal, Yort plopped down at their table, triggering an uncontrollable bout of exchanged glances among the pack. For a moment, there was total silence; only Egrer was mechanically swallowing his food.
"I went to the Headmaster," the disgraced Vacuo prince finally said, "asked to be transferred to another team."
"I see." Magenta looked saddened and put down her knife and fork.
"He refused. So for now, I'm stuck with you guys." He bit into a piece of bread. "Ozpin said I need to at least give you guys a chance. The bastard made a convincing argument."
"Wait, hold up!" Egrer stood up from the table. "Are you saying you're staying with us? Like, for real? You won't start fights with Ill over minor shit, and you'll stop upsetting Madge? And you'll actually listen to me, for once?!"
"Why the hell should I listen to you, you vegetable? She's our leader." Yort blindly waved his spoon somewhere in the direction of their butterfly. She beamed with happiness and practically bounced in her seat. "But yeah, basically."
"First of all, let me clarify something!" Egrer raised a finger. "Magenta is the leader of team Majesty, but I am still the head of our musical band. And the Pack Fund stays under my control!"
"I don't give a fuck," came the meaningful reply.
"We're all going to be together again?" Magenta vibrated with excitement, not even noticing the profanity. "Like before? Really, really?!"
"Yeah, sort of. We'll give it a shot." Egrer fell into a stupor. In a single conversation, the Headmaster had accomplished what Egrer had failed to do for months and had already deemed impossible—he convinced Yort to stay on their team. Absolutely mind-blowing.
Ozpin is a fucking wizard.
Rolling this thought around in his head, he met no particular resistance. All the facts aligned, the complex puzzle was solved, all threads now led to a single point. Ozpin is a fucking wizard.
Egrer continued swallowing his food, but he could no longer taste it. He just noted that the trays were getting emptier and emptier, and some substance was entering his stomach. He was probably doing it unconsciously, his mouth moved by the same reflexes that had piled on such a mountain of food in the first place.
Is this issue closed? Like, completely closed? I don't have to stress about this anymore or figure out how to calm Madge down? Quest complete? We won?
His hand energetically shoveled food into his mouth while his brain tried to find a place to file away this thought. It was all-encompassing, and he couldn't just put it on a shelf. And how could you treat such a thought like that anyway? It needed to be placed in the most prominent spot, so that every passing neural impulse would be imbued with its majesty and run along its path with a profound sense of dignity.
"What's up, freshmen!" An upperclassman clacked his spurred, high boots as he stopped in front of them, resting his hands on his hips. From under the brim of his wide hat, only a bright smile was visible. "Got a minute?"
"Hey." Egrer waved a pancake, his mind still lost in his thoughts. The others greeted him too. "Yeah, I guess. You need something?"
"Nah, nah, I just came to check out the fresh meat. Call me Hat." He tapped the brim of his, well, hat. For a brief moment, kind blue eyes peeked out from underneath, but only for a moment. "Umm... You're gonna be Tarzan."
"What?" Egrer snapped out of his daze and looked around, searching for an explanation. He realized with horror that the entire cafeteria was watching them with interest. "Aaaah, I get it. You're the local top dog, handing out street names to everyone."
"Top dog? Street names?" Hat doubled over laughing. "Where did you even crawl out from?"
Egrer realized he had just said something incredibly stupid, and in front of everyone, no less. He had never felt such intense embarrassment; his jacket suddenly became unbearably hot. Yort looked at him with disapproval and whispered:
"Even I don't drop criminal slang that hard, you moron. They're about to clown on you hard."
"Alright, alright." The upperclassman shook his head. "If you don't like Tarzan, you can be Inmate."
Yort was right; they were already starting to clown on him. Which meant he had to bare his teeth and assert his dominance.
"How about we just use our actual names, huh? Giving out nicknames is kind of childish."
"A name is a... fluid concept," he waved a hand vaguely. "But a nickname instantly tells people what you're all about." Clearly, Hat had spent quite a few sleepless nights pondering this philosophical question.
Someone from the hall shouted:
"Give up! You can't out-argue him!"
"And how exactly does 'Tarzan' tell people what I'm about?" Egrer ignored the advice of the other student. He had to defend his right to his own name!
"Let me think." The upperclassman playfully tapped his chin. "You flew into Beacon dangling from a ship's rope," — Damn, rumors travel fast! — "and during Initiation, you hitched a ride on a professor's Bullhead. Hah! Nobody has ever thrown Professor Port for a loop like that before!"
"Oh no." Egrer buried his face in his hands. "You guys saw that?"
"Yup, they had a bunch of cameras set up in the former Emerald Forest, they broadcast the Initiation to our scrolls. There was a pair on Port's Bullhead, and your mug was front and center on one of them. You'll never take me alive, scumbags!" Hat chuckled, mimicking Egrer's raspy voice, which only made Egrer bury his face deeper into his hands. "The original Tarzan, of course, didn't have such a strong affinity for flying vehicles, but he was always swinging from something crazy too. So there you go. What's your choice?"
"Give up!" that voice yelled again. It really seemed to Egrer that arguing was pointless here.
"Tarzan." He sighed.
"Perfect." The upperclassman tapped the brim of his hat again, and for a moment, his blue eyes flicked toward Magenta. Having inspected her, he delivered his verdict. "A lovely lady with an outstanding hair color. Let's overlook the state you were in during the Headmaster's speech; 'Sooty' doesn't suit you anymore. You'll be Flower."
"Aw... I thought I'd be Butterfly."
"That works too. You want Butterfly, you'll be Butterfly, babe~" Every male member of team Majesty shot Hat a hostile glare. He flinched and hurried to move on to his next victim, turning his head toward Yort.
"I'll break your kneecaps." The Vacuo gangster bristled.
"Whoa, whoa, edgy as a blade, fast as a bullet. Bullet it is." Ignoring the growl, the upperclassman used his signature move to look at Illmond. "This one's obvious too—Dr. Hentai."
"Huh?" Illmond tore his eyes away from his scroll, where he was sketching something right at that moment.
"One hundred percent accuracy." Hat nodded to himself. "Well, kiddies, my dark work here is done. Time to find the rest of the freshmen." He strutted out of the cafeteria with a swaggering gait, his heels loudly clacking against the floor. The entire hall immediately went back to their interrupted activity—eating.
"Yikes." Egrer commented on the situation. "I propose we forget this episode like a bad dream. What's our first class?"
"Grimm Studies with Peter Port," Magenta read from her scroll. "The one you hitched a ride on. Why were you so mean to him?"
"That was metaphorical, Madge, I didn't even touch him."
"Are you saying you dropped him with the power of your mind? You unlocked your Semblance?!" Magenta was back to being Magenta; what a relief, but what a headache!
"Gods, I can't wait for classes to start..."