Egrer loved cleanliness. And how could he not, when he had spent almost his entire life in the dirt? He was also undeniably a rare neat freak, even worse than Weiss. And how could he not be, when he was raised by the most fastidious man on the planet? Naturally, Egrer forced his pack to clean every two days, otherwise Magenta's pollen would cover every square millimeter of their room (though everyone understood that was just a convenient excuse). Before, he could just order them to do it, but having lost his status as leader, he had to whine until they caved.
So, here's the thing—even with all of the above, Egrer never forced the others to clean on the weekends. Despite all his fussiness, even if his hands were itching to clean, he never did that. Because he held those two days of the week sacred, along with the right to do whatever you wanted during that time.
Beacon's administration couldn't give a damn about that, so they were forced to wash the hallways on a Sunday morning. No, he understood everything, it was a punishment, but only a Grimm would do such a thing! On the weekend! Work! Work on a weekend! No normal human would even think of that. And they certainly wouldn't send an overseer on top of it.
Groundskeeper Fill Chuckler was the most toxic man in the world. He was literally Junior squared, multiplied by the sum of the Malachite twins, raised to the power of Torchwick, with Weiss thrown in for good measure. The old geezer, who had already crossed the century mark, was a staunch monarchist,███████, ████, conservative, ███████████, ██████, █████████[1], and seemed to embody every possible flaw of humanity.
Right off the bat, he called Egrer and Illmond slant-eyed macaques. Yort got the honorable title of black ass (even though his whole Vacuo tan had almost completely faded away), and he simply called Magenta a dumb bitch.
If it weren't for the fact that Goodwitch had assigned Chuckler to them, every guy on Team Majesty would have punched him in the face. They wouldn't even be stopped by the fact that the old man's Aura was locked and he could easily die from it.
Honestly, it was a miracle he was still alive with such a nasty personality. After all, even Magenta's innate charm couldn't compete with Chuckler's innate toxicity. Neither her smile-inducing clumsiness, nor her childish naivety, nor even her cute looks were capable of melting such a black, rotten heart.
The very first thing the old man did was present a bill for the damage done to the Bullhead and the dorm window, and this sum amounted to almost half of all the money in the pack's Fund. Afterward, he personally made sure that a smiling Magenta signed several papers, while Egrer, barely holding back tears, swiped his card through the terminal.
They might not have been using the money from the pack's Fund, but the sense of financial security pleasantly warmed the former thief's soul. And now, if something unforeseen happened, their options would be half of what they could have been.
That had happened just a few hours ago, but it felt like years had passed them by. The exhausting work of cleaning the hallways without any breaks or even lunch severely dulled their sense of time. It dulled it so much that unpleasant minutes stretched into hours, and brief moments of respite, when Chuckler looked the other way, shrank to nanoseconds.
The groundskeeper took on the role of overseer with complete dedication and got a fabulous amount of pleasure from it. He constantly ranted about what useless pieces of trash they were and that they were only capable of menial labor. Meanwhile, he himself sat on a folding stool, and the hardest thing he did was raise a hand with a handkerchief to wipe his face, sweaty from non-stop yelling.
"Faster, faster!" Chuckler demanded whenever someone got distracted, for instance, to scratch themselves. As long as he was around, you couldn't even look away from your workspace without him immediately starting to grumble. "It's a pity Beacon doesn't have a dungeon, otherwise I'd hang you by your thumbs over hot coals..."
The scariest part was that he genuinely wanted that. Egrer couldn't even imagine what one had to go through to become such an absolute sadist. Chuckler constantly talked about how cool it would be to bring back "real" punishments instead of these pointless detentions, how he would wipe down shackles and lubricate the mechanisms of torture devices with fire in his eyes... Psycho. A complete psycho who belonged in a B-grade horror movie, not a Huntsman academy.
Egrer swept up clumps of dust mixed with some gravel into a dustpan and tossed it into a trash bag. Meanwhile, Magenta ran a long stick with a fluffy pom-pom on the end along the corners of the ceiling, gathering cobwebs. Something crumbled from above onto the floor, and before Chuckler could start screaming at her, Egrer quickly swept the dirt into the bag.
Magenta got the worst of it. The groundskeeper constantly insisted that women should stand at the stove and give birth, that she would never become a Huntress, that it was written in her genes to be weaker than men, and he took particular delight in tearing into the fact that she was the team leader. The pressure was intense, and the rest of the pack, without even coordinating, started intentionally screwing up just so Chuckler would switch his attention to them once in a while.
"I'm going to change the water," Illmond said, picking up the bucket. Yort froze for a second, not knowing what to do with his dirty rag, and received a severe reprimand for it.
"Toddler, the work won't wait, faster, faster! Stuffed yourself with meat, but completely forgot about your brains."
Yort pretended not to notice the feeble old man, who, in his power rankings, sat somewhere between a cactus and a goldfish. And the cactus was ranked higher, because it could prick you. But you couldn't get rid of Chuckler that easily; he put on a menacing look and even stood up from his stool.
"You got hearing problems, kid? Grab the rag with your teeth and get your ass in gear, the windowsills aren't gonna wipe themselves."
"It's dirty," Yort noted, maintaining his composure. "I'll only make it worse."
"Then why the hell didn't you rinse it out earlier? Is it the rag's fault? Or the bucket's?" With every word, Chuckler pissed off the hot-headed Vacuan guy more and more, but he understood his position and stoically endured it until Illmond returned. The old man backed off and sat down, wiping his face with a rag. He was extremely tired. "I'm surrounded by idiots. Under the good old King, you would've been hanged for idleness..."
Someone turned into the hallway, but upon seeing Fill Chuckler, immediately went to find a detour. There were few people in the academy, and it was clear why—it was Sunday, after all. Despite all of Beacon's beauties and attractions, a school always remains a school: the embodiment of tedious lessons, difficult homework, and typical school problems like unrequited love and annoying bullies. Therefore, almost everyone flew off to relax in Vale, far away from unpleasant memories.
Suddenly, a reminder chimed on Egrer's Scroll. He smiled deviously, then turned to the overseer.
"Mr. Chuckler, we have a meeting with Miss Goodwitch today, could you give us a little time off?" Actually, the meeting was only for Magenta, but how would he know that? With any luck, he'd let them all go.
"You think you're so special that she'd deal with you on her legal day off? You aren't the only ones resting on Sundays, you slackers."
"Eg, are you stupid?" Yort asked rhetorically. "When she said tomorrow, she meant Monday."
Egrer understood that perfectly well and was just trying to buy them a little breather right now. He tried to convey his genius plan through subtle facial muscle gestures and a deep look, but achieved nothing. So Egrer sighed and began to act more directly.
"But what if she misspoke? It was around one in the morning or something back then. Better safe than sorry, Miss Goodwitch did say she wouldn't accept any excuses! Mr. Chuckler, you do realize that if the meeting is today and you hold us up, her wrath will fall on you first?"
The old geezer took it to heart and pondered. Even if he was also a bogeyman of the academy, he was only in second place in terms of fearsomeness.
"I'll go to her myself and ask," the old man finally replied. "Did anyone give you permission to stop?! Faster, faster! I want this hallway shining by the time I get back!"
"Of course, of course." Egrer gave a strained smile. "Everything will be in top shape!"
The moment Chuckler walked away, the pack tossed their brooms, mops, rags, and the rest.
"I'm so tired..." Illmond fell to his knees, then slowly lay down on the wet floor, "I'm going to sleep for five minutes..."
"My arms," Egrer groaned, "Gods, my arms!"
"Pfft, weaklings," Yort replied to all of them. "We've only been sweeping dust for seven hours, and you're already dead."
"Only?" Egrer echoed. "Only?! We killed almost the whole day on this! A day off! Ozpin is an absolute monster, how could he throw us to the wolves with this vile old geezer?"
Only Magenta continued working, pushing the limits of her capabilities with incredible resolve. Drops of sweat rolled down her face, and her raised arms trembled, but she kept gathering cobwebs. Besides, she was muttering something incoherent under her breath, with only a few words managing to be deciphered: "leader", "example", "must".
After yesterday's utter defeat, she wasn't herself. Magenta had thought deeply about what she heard from Miss Goodwitch regarding leadership and only fell asleep toward morning. She was acting quiet and was abnormally normal. It seemed that if someone were to simply offer for her to pass her leadership position to someone else, she would gladly do so. Egrer could have seized this opportunity, but he didn't dare; he simply couldn't. His soul felt vile at the mere thought of taking advantage of her depressed state.
He wanted Magenta to understand for herself all the responsibility resting on a leader's shoulders. To get scared of how hard it was, run to the headmaster, and ask him to make Egrer the leader instead. Consciously, not from a surge of emotions. And everyone would be happy: Magenta would be rid of her crushing obligations, and Egrer would take his rightful place.
But if he took advantage of this chance, she wouldn't snap out of her melancholy anytime soon, full of "what if..." thoughts.
So Egrer wasn't sad about the missed opportunity; he believed that much better options would await him in the future. Then everyone would be satisfied.
I wonder, if Weiss were in the same situation with Ruby, what would she do?
"Hey, Madge, take a break, since that prick bailed," Yort said, sitting down on the recently wiped windowsill.
"I can't, I must set an example for you guys. And also—don't swear."
"You're just gonna push yourself till you pass out, is that the example you want to set for us?" Magenta stopped for a second, but only for a second. Without saying another word, she simply continued working. "Don't torture yourself, it looks stupid."
"I want to be a good leader. So that you guys are happy."
"We'll be happy if you stop pretending to be a superhero," Egrer said. "You're practically falling over, take a breather."
Never receiving words of support, Magenta gave up and slid down the wall to the floor, beginning to massage her stiff arms. Illmond would have surely said a few words in defense of her choice, but right now he was dead to the world. They all rested, gathering strength for the next sprint, which would undoubtedly be a hundred times harder than everything they had already endured. Chuckler would definitely fly into a rage when he came back and saw the hallway in the exact same state as before.
"Hey, freshies!" came a familiar voice, making the pack sigh deeply.
"Hat, the groundskeeper is coming back soon, you should get out of here," Egrer said, while Yort rubbed his fists and whispered profane curses.
"Bullet, I hear everything." Hat tapped the brim of his hat, revealing his eyes for a second. "And don't worry about the groundskeeper, he'll be scrubbing himself off for a long time."
"What did you do to him?" Magenta asked, not with condemnation, but with a kind of hope. Apparently, even she could be pushed to the point where she wished ill upon an offender.
"A little Beacon tradition: if you see Chuckler, prank Chuckler. When you grow up a bit, you too can participate in the thrilling show 'douse the old man with a bucket of glue and don't get caught'." It seemed Egrer was beginning to understand why the groundskeeper was so utterly unhinged and without an unlocked Aura. With pranks like that, someone with a weaker psyche would have ended up in a straitjacket in the loony bin a long time ago. "Don't look at me like that, Tarzan, that guy totally deserves this kind of treatment. You wouldn't guess it by looking at him, but Chuckler himself is quite the prankster who loves dark humor. Once, he caught a bunch of spiders and shoved them into the backpack of an innocent guy with arachnophobia. Me."
"Scared of little spiders?" Yort asked snidely.
"Man, I nearly shit myself back then," the upperclassman admitted easily. "So, why did I come to you? Oh, right! Everyone's already talking about your heroic deed; you almost surpassed my first month at Beacon in badassery. Almost."
"What heroic deed?" Egrer asked cautiously.
"Beating up the Meathead and his team, smashing windows in the dorms, and the cherry on top—hijacking a Bullhead in the middle of the night! I didn't call you Tarzan for nothing, kid; the love for flying tech is in your blood."
"We only beat up Cardin," Yort corrected.
"And we only broke one window, too," Magenta added.
"Yeah? But my version sounds more badass, so that's the truth now. Gossip at Beacon has been a bit lacking lately, so this swamp needs stirring! Well... I said everything I wanted to. Catch ya later."
"Egrer Peleni!" Weiss suddenly turned into the hallway, but upon seeing Hat, stopped immediately. "You!"
"Me!" He spread his arms wide. "How is your highness doing, Miss Snow White?" Egrer snorted into his fist; he would remember that nickname forever.
"To you, I am Miss Schnee! Call me that one more time and you're going to have problems."
"So be it, Snow White. Hat never runs from a challenge," he answered with dignity, after which he simply walked out the window, leaving an infuriated Weiss behind him.
She immediately shifted all her attention to Egrer, and he wanted nothing more than to hide, just to avoid listening to her lectures. And there was no doubt there would be lectures; she certainly hadn't come to discuss the weather, had she?
"Egrer Peleni." Judging by her voice, the general secretary was very displeased. Putting her hands on her hips, Weiss began to grumble. "Care to explain exactly why you hijacked a Bullhead and why the whole academy is talking about it?! You're casting a shadow on our entire organization. Again!"
"Oh, don't be a buzzkill. We already caught enough flak from Goodwitch."
"Well, I'm going to buzzkill anyway. Do you even realize what kind of damage the union's reputation has suffered? Use your head for once in your life and put two and two together—we're now considered absolute delinquents! What's your excuse?"
"Well, it's better than being considered the headmaster's tame pets." She completely failed to appreciate his wit. "But anyway, long story short—I hijacked a Bullhead to return Ozpinopus to his natural habitat."
The truth had an even more devastating effect than an excuse made up on the fly. Weiss threw her hands up, as if she'd heard a tired tall tale from Nora that gets more absurd with every retelling, and out of habit, almost wanted to ignore the "information noise." But then she remembered that it wasn't Nora sitting in front of her.
"You and your octopus again! How many times do I have to repeat that I won't believe this nonsense?"
"Guys, back me up here." Egrer turned to his pack, but was met only with cold silence in response. Okay, Illmond gets a pass, he's asleep, but what about the rest! "Why are you quiet?"
"Fuck off," Yort answered rudely. "Don't drag me into your drama."
"Madge, what about you?" She awkwardly looked away and started fidgeting with her multicolored hair. "Hey, it's your precious we're talking about!"
"Apparently, no one wishes to support your delusions," the general secretary noted snidely, crossing her arms. She only grew more convinced that no Ozpinopus existed.
It was unbearable to look up at Weiss from below, so he got to his feet, reversing the situation. She couldn't boast of being tall and was now forced to crane her neck slightly. Satisfied with his perceived superiority, Egrer started making excuses:
"It's all true, whatever you might think. Just remember that if Madge is involved, any logic is useless and even gets in the way," he shared his wisdom, but the ungrateful girl continued to look at him like he was sick.
"Oh really? I repeat my question—what was the actual reason you decided to hijack a Bullhead?"
"I already said." Weiss began tapping her foot expectantly on the floor. "Fine! I hijacked it to go for a joyride, happy?"
"I thought so."
Even when Egrer lied in such a manner, he was unable to control his facial muscles. But Weiss didn't know him well enough to realize why this goofy smile suddenly appeared on his face. For the first time in his life, he wasn't happy that his lie wasn't seen through.
"So, there's absolutely no doubt that I lied just to brush you off, just so you'd leave me alone?"
"Why would there be?" Egrer tiredly pressed his palm to his face.
It seemed Weiss wasn't interested in the truth; she had come to her own conclusion and simply wanted to validate her thoughts and hear a "confession." He felt hurt that she had such a low opinion of him, as if Egrer would really resort to hijacking a Bullhead for something so stupid. It was quite in character for Weiss; to her, almost everyone around was pretty much at the level of the baseboards.
"In the Middle Ages, there was a law that a confession to a crime obtained under torture was invalid," he began earnestly. "Do you know why?"
"I do. And now I'll be going, I've heard everything I wanted to hear." And with those words, she simply walked away, her heels clacking loudly.
"Hey, I wasn't finished! You don't know anything, otherwise you wouldn't just walk away like that!" he called after her, but there was no answer; Weiss simply ignored him. Tsking, Egrer sat back down on the floor. "What a bitch..."
He turned a displeased gaze to the pack. In his hour of need, they had turned their backs on him, and he intended to scold them severely for it. What kind of team were they if they didn't stand up for one another? He, on the other hand, was always ready to give his last for his friends! Tonight was a shining and undeniable proof of that.
Scolding Yort was pointless; he always had his own agenda, and his principles simply forbade helping those around him, just as they forbade accepting any help from them. He couldn't get on Illmond's case either, since he was asleep, which left only Magenta, who had betrayed him.
"Why did you keep quiet? What kind of setup was that?"
"Weiss is like Miss Goodwitch, I was scared to talk about Ozpinopus. What if she yells? Miss Goodwitch would have yelled."
"Yeah... you really can't argue with that," Egrer sighed, his anger instantly evaporating at this weighty argument.
Chuckler never returned, so Egrer decided to get down to business. Not cleaning, of course not. He pulled his notepad out of his jacket and opened it at the pencil-bookmark, where chaotically scattered rhyming lines lay askew, crossing the margins and sometimes even each other. They were written tonight, unable to conquer the sudden insomnia, which was evident from the lazy, sweeping handwriting.
The task of coming up with an anthem for the union had completely captivated him, and the all-consuming creative impulse hadn't let go yet. If not for this fucking cleaning, he'd be lounging in bed right now, thoughtfully chewing the end of a pencil, not even bothering with breakfast. But this breather was useful.
Now, looking at the rhymes with a clearer head, Egrer crossed out most of what was written without regrets. These lines rhymed poorly, didn't fit the meaning, or were simply redundant. The general secretary hadn't set any deadlines, so he didn't want to rush and do everything haphazardly just "to have something done." He wanted to create a masterpiece of musical art. And that would take time.
Egrer had never written his own songs before, so he perfectly understood that the first pancake would likely be lumpy. He didn't even know which approach was better: write the lyrics first and then the music, or vice versa? But that didn't bother him; he was ready to bake as many pancakes as needed until he achieved absolute perfection. The magnum opus of a future world-renowned creator and performer.
But in an extreme case, he could turn to Weiss for help, as someone more experienced in this field. She definitely wouldn't refuse, and not even because the union's reputation, and therefore her own, depended on his results. It's just that she was always ready to help her own. Without snarky comments, chuckles, or a smug smile. After all, even she could have some positive qualities, provided you knew how to interact with her. There are no absolutely bad people.
But that was only for an extreme case. His pride simply wouldn't handle such humiliation.
Without the groundskeeper, this hallway soon came to life; sparse students walked back and forth, and even the headmaster passed by once. Seeing the slackers, he only clicked his tongue but said nothing. Illmond continued sleeping on the floor, Yort kept staring out the window, and Egrer kept writing in his book. Only Magenta heard the tap of Ozpin's cane and sprang up, pretending to work. But as soon as he left, the girl immediately returned to her interrupted activity—counting specks of dust.
"Hey, kiddos." Some adult dude jumped in through the window toward them, looking vaguely familiar to Egrer. He reeked of alcohol like a homeless man on a bender, and he looked crumpled too: a week's worth of stubble, disheveled hair, and a torn red cloak. "I got a little lost here, the dorm is around here somewhere, right? 'Cause I forgot..."
"Mister, who are you anyway to be wandering around here?" Egrer replied a bit roughly, taking a step back and waving a hand in front of his face. He wasn't going to forgive such an intrusion into his creative process.
"Qrow."
"Right, very informative."
"Eg, you forget or somethin'?" Yort asked suddenly. "That's the drunkard who trashed Junior's club. Branwen, I think."
"Exactly!" Magenta suddenly jumped up, pointing a finger in his direction. "I condemn you, you can't trash clubs belonging to kind people!"
"B-Br-Branwen?!" Egrer stuttered, then bowed deeply. The guy even took a step back in surprise, slipped on the wet floor, and nearly fell out the window. "I beg your pardon for my inappropriate behavior! Please don't kill me!"
"Kid, why did you flinch so hard at my last name?" Suddenly it dawned on him, and he pointed a finger toward the guy's eyes. "Ah, you're Mistrali, probably heard about my brutal sis? I'm not a maniac like her, so don't be scared."
"Honestly, you won't kill me?"
"What have you done to me to warrant killing you right off the bat? Here, take a swig, calm down," Qrow chuckled, unclipping a flask from his belt.
Egrer didn't dare refuse and took it in his hand. A terrifyingly alcoholic stench emanated from it; he had never smelled anything so strong in his life, his eyes even began watering. But despite this, he obediently took a sip. However, before this terrible liquid could reach his throat, it was mercilessly spat out.
"Cough-cough!" Egrer leaned against the wall and started rubbing his tongue with the sleeve of his jacket. Magenta rushed over, but she didn't know how to help and just fluttered around nearby. "What the hell is this?! Methanol?!"
"Moonshine," Qrow explained, almost laughing, "my secret recipe. So, did it calm your nerves? Where's the dorm? I don't exactly have a lot of free time."
"If from here," Egrer finally cleared his throat, "then go straight, there will be a cherry tree, then left."
"Right, the cherry tree." Qrow nodded, then started climbing back through the window, whispering barely audibly. "How could I forget?.. I shouldn't drink so much..."
"Eg, what are you doing?" Magenta hissed. "You can't help him! That villain is definitely planning something terrible."
"I beg your pardon," the aforementioned villain protested, pausing for a second. "I just came to visit my nieces. Well, catch ya later, kiddos."
As soon as he left, a mop quietly leaning against the wall came down with a rustle onto Illmond's head. He looked around in confusion, scratched the spot where it hit, and then fell back asleep.
"Wait," Egrer suddenly realized, whispering in panic. "Nieces? Does that mean someone from his sick family is at Beacon? The Branwens are studying right under our noses?!"
"Cool," Yort said frivolously. "I'd like to spar with 'em. It'd be good experience."
"What are you thinking? First they'll chop you up, then roast you, and finally devour you right in front of Goodwitch, and she won't be able to do a thing. They're all psychopathic serial killers!"
"This one seemed normal enough."
"Usually the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but he just rolled into a ravine."
The conversation died down on its own; everyone went back to what they were doing. But it didn't last long. The thought that Chuckler was gone for good hung ever more clearly in the air, and soon they decided to just bail.
It was a little scary to leave the detention site, but they didn't want to just sit there any longer. Their workday would have ended soon anyway; they just left an hour early. No one would even know.
After a hard day's work, they were wildly hungry, and the pack headed to the cafeteria, quietly complaining to each other about aching muscles.
But there they were met only by dead silence.
Looking at the empty benches and sterile, clean tables, it felt as if Beacon had died out. Dinner should already be in full swing, but they were met only by the barely audible squeak of a janitor's cart wheels. Humming to himself, the worker passed by them, not even noticing the intruders. As soon as he left the cafeteria, the lights immediately turned off, plunging the room into semi-darkness.
Not understanding what was going on, the pack approached the serving station, but it was almost empty. Not counting a couple of dried-up hot dog buns (which were reflexively snatched and eaten by Egrer), there was nothing there.
"Hey!" The sudden shout made the students hide behind Yort's broad back, while he only twitched an eyebrow. "Whatcha doin' here?"
A cook stepped out from the door leading to the kitchen. He was wiping his wet-to-the-elbows hands with a towel and looking at them suspiciously.
"Where's the food?" Egrer asked the main question.
"That's it, ain't none."
"What do you mean 'ain't none'? There always was, and now there isn't?"
"The free ride's over, kids, from now on you're on your own and gotta cook for yourselves. Dinner is only served here for the first month, and that's it." The cook set the towel aside and leaned on the table. He beckoned them with a finger. "Every floor in the dorms has a lounge, and a kitchen right next to it. But you gotta buy whatever you need yourselves, you ain't gettin' a stipend for nothing. Go for it."
"It's just that it's all kinda unexpected..."
"The headmaster said somethin'... like 'shared domestic life helps strengthen team bonds'. And we ain't arguin' with him, we don't need extra work." The cook turned around and went about his business, muttering barely audibly. "Look at 'em, troglodytes, wantin' dinner served to 'em on top of everything."
Egrer scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. A kitchen, huh...
"Alright. Does anyone know how to cook?" Silence in response. "Ill, even you? You're a man of broad horizons and hobbies."
"Cooking was never one of them."
"Madge?" Egrer continued to press. "You baked cookies once. Can you at least whip up some scrambled eggs?"
"My mom only taught me how to bake desserts."
"Cool, but that's not quite what the body needs after a hard day. Oh well. With our combined efforts, we'll somehow manage to cook up something."
***
"Madge, haul the fire extinguisher over here!"
"On it!"
"Ill, bring the blanket!"
"Got it!"
"Yort, make sure they don't screw this up!"
"Why the hell should I listen to y—"
"YORT!"
"Understood."
The bacon and eggs didn't pan out; the stove caught fire. How it happened was unclear, but the fact remained—the fire had already swallowed half the kitchen and was creeping up the wallpaper toward the ceiling, and the fire suppression system wasn't working.
With tears in his eyes, Egrer watched as their food was reduced to nothing but embers and vile black smoke. Looks like they'd have to borrow a bit more food from Team JNPR.
"Step back!" Magenta came running, but what she held in her hands was far from a fire extinguisher; in fact, it was quite the opposite. Egrer leaped aside and hit the floor, covering his head with his hands.
A dense stream of water-fire burst from the nozzle of the flamethrower.
"Yort, drop dead! Where the hell were you?!"
"My bad, I was chasing after this guy." The Vacuan gangster pointed to Illmond, who was slumped over his shoulder. "He hit his head on the doorframe."
"He's got Aura to spare! How did he manage to knock himself out?!"
"I put it out!" a happy Magenta shouted.
"No, you replaced normal fire with abnormal fire! When did you even manage to run to the armory?"
Just then, a lightbulb flickered, and with a distinct electrical zap, the lights in the dorm went out. The wet fire had reached the wiring, whatever that meant...
"God fucking damn it! Yort, find a normal fire extinguisher!"
"And what good will that do?" He pointed at the "burning" stove. The water-fire was dripping from it onto the floor, resembling napalm, only it didn't burn, but made things wet. But even this weird fire required matter to sustain itself. And therefore, even a seemingly safe fire could become a problem.
"Madge! Give Yort the vial of ice Dust. I said give it to him, don't you dare fire! You'll just replace one fire with another again! Yort, go grab your brass knuckles, quick!"
Meanwhile, one floor up
"Well, there we go," Ruby grumbled, looking at the blown lightbulb. "Uncle, you're doing it again..."
"You know I can't control it. Alright, I've congratulated my nieces on getting in, met your little friends," Qrow nodded toward Weiss and Blake, "time to take my leave."
With those words, he climbed out the window, the same one he had used to enter their room.
"You're just running away!" Yang shouted after him. "It's always like this, and then we have to clean up the mess."
"Why are you so sure your uncle is to blame for this?" Blake asked skeptically.
"He always brings bad luck to everyone around him. Fine, since he's my uncle, I'll take responsibility and run for a new lightbulb."
"You and responsibility?" Weiss chuckled. "I'd laugh, but mocking a disability is uncultured."
"Don't be a buzzkill, Weisscream." The nickname made her recoil, and Yang darted out of the room with a laugh.
One floor down
The fire had been dealt with. Even though it was Yort's first time working with ice Dust, he could easily manage just waving his hand in the right direction. Granted, he gave himself severe frostbite on all his fingers, but the main thing was that the job was done.
"And now we will go back to our room and pretend nothing happened here. If there are any suspicions pointed our way, blame it all on Cardin."
The pack nodded in agreement, standing in the center of the iced-over kitchen. They went to bed hungry.
[1] fascist, Nazi, misogynist, racist, homophobe