Tick tick tick tick.
"No, no, no" muttered a grumbling voice, "That won't work."
Tick-tick-tick! Tick-tick-tick!"
"Too fast, far too fast."
Tick-tick! Tick-tick! Tick-tick!
"Okay, okay, now to layer it" the voice mused.
Fingers clattered across a set of keys. The room filled with a deep thump that matched the beat of the ticks. The source of the voice bobbed his head to the beat and added another layer. Strings sang to a melody of their own, repeating and repeating and repeating. Woodwinds droned their deep notes creating an eerie atmosphere to the piece. The brass blasted and drowned the sounds beneath their great martial might. Cymbals crashed to the increasing beat of the drum.
"Okay, almost there," said the voice hopefully, "Now the vocal."
Switches flipped and the tuner turned. A small voice, hidden beneath the symphony crawled from the shadows. The drums dimmed, the brass yielded, the string served, and the woodwinds carried on quietly. The voice was smooth as honey, but had the force of a tidal wave. The maestro pushed the volume. Louder. Louder. Louder!
"AHHH!"
The world collapsed around. Sheet music flew into the air. Instruments came crashing down. The music became a cacophony of screeching and screaming. The maestro covered his ears as he writhed on the ground. Gritting his teeth and straining the maestro pushed himself onto the console. The beat of the drums kicked his chest like a crossed mule.
"SILENCE! SILENCE YOU DAMN BITCH!" the maestro slammed the console.
The cacophony died and the room was bathed in sweet silence. The room was nothing more than a studio. Walls were removed and others added. Microphones were strategically placed around the room. Instruments of various sorts were scattered on the floor. An oboe to the left, a trumpet on the console, a guitar leaning against the wall.
Sheet music was torn and scribbled out in frustration and anger. Each note was carefully planned and placed, each measure meticulously sorted. Each sheet was unique, but each was united in a single purpose. The hidden melody. Each sheet adhered to the melody and harmony only known to its writer.
"So close!" the maestro hurled the nearest object across the room and shattered it.
"Such is the muse of music."
"What the hell do you want? How did you get here!?"
A middle aged man with scruffy gray hair walked into the room. His long black cane with a jewelled handle thumped against the floor. Cold, thin brown eyes peered through this small circular spectacles. A thick dark green ascot was held in place by a dull silver cross with an obsidian centre. The devious figure smirked while dressed in his unblemished black suit.
"I am here simply because I am here" he said, "As for what I want, you already know."
"To hell with you, Ozpin. I told you I was done with you and your damn hunter shtick. Hell, I even resigned my licence."
"Consider it reissued" Ozpin tossed a long card to the maestro.
"Consider me AWOL then" he scoffed, "I told you, I'm done. Now get out. Please let the door hit you on the way out."
Ozpin sighed, "I wouldn't be coming to you if there was another option."
"There is another option, though I think she'd give you the same answer."
"Oh we already went to her. And she accepted."
"That means" his fists clenched. Every fibre of his being wanted to crash his knuckles into Ozpin's face.
"Sadly yes. Which means you are the last option. And by the sounds of that racket when I entered the room, you want this over as much as I do."
The maestro paced around the room with his hand behind his head. His breath was hard and heavy like a furious bull. Ozpin took a seat atop a pile of random assortments and patiently waited for the bull to calm.
"Why" he asked, "Why did she go?"
"To see someone you care about locked away in a room obsessing over the same thing day in and out for years on end will take its toll" said Ozpin, "And from where we stood there was only one solution."
"So you convinced her to go."
"Oh no. It wasn't I that spoke to her. Lady Goodwitch took the task."
Light laughter wafted in the smoke filled air as wine flowed from bottles. Waiters and servers glided around tables with faux courtesy and class. The light was dim and accented only by the flickering flames of the candles. Red tablecloths with black trim matched the cloth and ebony frame of the chairs. Bills happily flew from pocket to pocket to pocket.
The piano began is smooth, light tune. The deep double bass strummed beneath the tenor tones of the saxophone. The spotlights focused on the piano and brought a figure out of the shadows. The woman had long blond hair that shimmered in the light. Her sapphire dress sparkled with rhinestones. Long, silk black gloves strolled up to the elbow. She began to sing a smooth sultry voice.
"Table for two madam?" asked the maitre d'.
"No, thank you. The bar will suffice."
"Very well, madam" he bowed, "Welcome to the Red Velvet Lounge."
"Thank you. May I ask something of you?"
"We are here to serve madam."
"Please inform your employer that I wish to see her."
"Very well madam, but if you would be so kind. Whom is calling?"
"Glynda Goodwitch."
Gylda Goodwitch strode past the matire d' with purpose in each step. The light danced in her bright emerald eyes. Her shoulder length blonde hair was tied into a bun on one side and left free on the other. She was on official business and her attire reflected it. Her white long sleeved shirt disappeared into black bodice with copper buttons. Her long black skirt matched the tall black heeled boots. The reason is only known to her, but she always wore a long black cape with a violet inlay. Perhaps she wished to pay homage to her peculiar name or perhaps it was simply a fashion statement. Tonight she hid away her rectangular glasses, not that she needed them anyway.
"What's your poison?"
"Chardonnay."
Gylda swirled the white wine and took in its sweet aroma before bringing it to her lips.
"Hey!"
A hard pat on the back lurched Gylda forward. The chardonnay sloshed out of the glass and onto her lap. Gylda sighed in frustration.
"Sorry about that. Dexter! Give her another" the lady chuckled, "Then another and another and another until she can't stand straight. Oh, and expense it."
"You got it. And for you?"
"Martini, shaken not stirred."
The two ladies sipped at their drinks while taking in the sultry music. Gylda wanted to bring up the subject, but for some reason the words eluded her.
"Just spit it out Goodwitch" said the lady swirling her martini, "What do you want from me?"
"Fine, there's no going around it then" Gylda took a breath, "Do you remember your mission?"
The lady sighed and rolled her eyes, "Oh it's about that. My answer is no. Enjoy the show. And let the door hit you on the way out."
"That's a shame" said Gylda finishing off her glass, "We'll have to call on him then."
The lady grabbed her arm, "What do you mean 'call on him'?"
"Well the both of you are the only ones that know the gravity of the situation. And since you've politely refused, he is the only other option" Gylda narrowed her eyes, "Ozpin will persuaded him."
"You mean coerce" the lady swirled her drink, "What makes you think it'll succeed this time?"
"Your old friend seems to have stumbled on the solution. All that remains is to put it in action. You had the qualifications, and your… mental state is more… suited to this action. Which is why we approached you."
"You sent her out" the maestro growled, "I haven't even come close to the right – the right – the right –"
"She didn't care" said Ozpin, "You knew her as well as I did. Nothing was going to stop her once she made her mind up. And what's done is done. So are you going to sit here, or are you going to do something?"
The maestro sighed angrily, "Fine. But I need a damn team, not freshmen. A real damn team, like my old one."
Ozpin opened his arms wide, "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"He solved it?" the lady's eye perked up, "I'll be damned. Hey, if I go, do you swear you won't send him out?"
"I'll put it in writing."
"So, when do we launch?"
"As soon as Ozpin says so."