Disclaimer – I claim no ownership to the characters used in this fan work. The characters rightfully belong to their creators such as Monty Oum and their other respective owners at Roosterteeth.
Professor Torchwick
Chapter 9: Melodic Melancholy
Heading down the crowded afternoon halls, Roman walked with his cane. Under his other arm was a large enclosed orange envelope. The thief muttering a few begrudging complaints as he passed a series of classrooms. Walking by, his eyes first look at the room numbers before glancing up at it's corresponding nameplates above the doors.
Upon reaching the end of the hall, the criminal stared at a blank wall. "Oh, come now." The male complained. Looking around, he reassessed his bearings in hope that he had missed something and made a mistake. "Tall, blond, and scrawny said she was heading to the school's West side music room."
A thought just occurring to the man, he stopped his search. "Why would a combat school have a music room?" The well-dressed crook voiced out loud. "I swear, if that kid was screwing with me I will wring his pale little-"
Turning around, Torchwick was about ready to leave when a room he had glossed over caught his eye. Shifting his gaze up to the nameplate, he saw that it had partially been defiled. The first three letters of Music Room had been scraped off, leaving only -ic Room, probably why his brain had skipped it.
About to enter inside, the rouge saw that an immature student had carved in a letter before and after the first half of the sign. A 'D' in front with a 'k' after the 'c'. With a shake of his head, the thief took his first few steps inside. "Kids." He remarked with contempt.
Beacon's music hall was no slouch. The front of the class had a long extending chalkboard that took up the wall's entirety. In the back corner, an elegant black piano sat on a partially elevated area of the floor. A curving fleet of foldable chairs made up a majority of the room. An adjustable stand with music sheets in front of each one. On every other wall of the room were rails which held two of every instrument from wind to brass. Near the back corner, there was a small door which either led to a storeroom or connected to an adjacent classroom.
Although the clutter in the halls had slowed down, the thief was still discontent. Turning around, he shut the door behind him. With slow strides, he gave the room one long inspecting scan. Stopping in the center of the class, he released a built up huff. "Just where did that kid go?"
Out of possibilities, the eyes of the white clothed criminal landed on the massive ebony instrument in the front corner. After a moment of brief consideration, he walked over to it. Resting his cane and envelope on the side of one of it's legs, Roman pulled up the case which protected the teeth. Pressing down on the left most key, a beautiful chime echoed blissfully. Noticing a complete lack of even the faintest spec of dust, it became steadily apparent how well kept the instrument truly was.
Taking one last look around in precaution, Torchwick bent down and pulled out the seat. Stepping around and in front, he gently sat himself down. Stripping off his gloves, he rested them beside him. Lifting both arms up, he went through the motions of playing as he tried to reacquaint himself with the feeling. Disgruntled at the result, he made the decision to remove his coat. Unbuttoning it, he slid the regal clothing off and folded it up, placing it next to him beside his gloves.
Exposing his tight and black long sleeve shirt, Roman loosened up his ascot. With a relaxing breath, the man hovered over the teeth once again. Without hesitation, his right hand expertly danced over the ivory keys. A deep booming hum proceeded to reverberate throughout the room. While the pace was slow at first, it picked up as the man became more comfortable with his finger strokes. When a steady somber tone had been established, he started adding several light chimes with his left hand.
"You're really quite good." A young woman's voice entered from the adjacent corner. Glancing over, the thief found one Pyrrha Nikos standing at the room's side door. At her presence, the criminal's keystrokes came to a halt, the slow melody fading out across the room. "Sorry. Please don't feel the need to stop. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just running an errand, you see." The youth apologized with a smile.
"I didn't intend to." Roman reassured with a seemingly callus glance. Reaching down, he picked up the envelope he placed near his cane. Leaning back up, he hurled it across the room like a frisbee. "Apparently I'm a delivery man now too." The male scrutinized as he turned back to the reflectively black instrument. Picking up where he had left off, the pace had quickened greatly, the once dower tune now much more lively.
Catching the tossed envelope with her offhand, the redhead steadily approached the piano. Undoing the seal, the athletic student pulled out a letterhead which she read silently to herself. "Have you played long?" She asked amiably.
Not wanting to divide his attention, the captured criminal stared forward as he responded. "No. This is something I picked up in prison." The man lied dryly in sarcasm. "Shame I can't make a living with just this."
The pony-tailed teen's friendly attitude seemed to flatten at this subtly. "Perhaps you can, once you've wrapped up your service." The youth suggested optimistically.
His fingers slipped a bit at the other's proposal. Recovering almost instantly, the thief couldn't help but release a few rude chuckles as he continued to play. "I think you've got the wrong impression, Achilles." This comment earning the instructor an unfavored frown. "My service doesn't have an expiration date. I've commuted a lot of robberies in my lifetime."
The career criminal was practically boasting at this point. Growing a proud smirk, the music shifted to an upbeat and jazzy scat. "I've accumulated multiple life sentences. Because of this, the city's decided that instead of spending my days in what they believe to be a cushy jail cell, I should give something back. For now, that entails teaching a bunch of snot nosed kids at a ritzy school, proper weapon engineering."
The egocentric looked over toward his student for the first time since he resumed playing. "I'd apologize deary, but I'm not sorry, and I would just hate to seem insincere." The thief played up with his still constant smirk.
"I see." The younger of the two replied with a small and partially forced polite smile. Clearly she was not intimidated by the captive felon. "Then I'll leave you to it." The other concluded, taking her exit. Most likely growing weary of the disgruntled man's poor company.
Instead of winding down, Torchwick's tempo had only grown wilder since he first began. The sounds of music suddenly became that of an extravagant if not violent cacophony. The keystrokes chiming out in a jamboree of mixed clatter. The pianist and his wild hand movements were a hot mess. Dextrious hands rose the momentum further as the music cranked out like a like a fair; a self-serving carnival of tumult.
"As far as I can tell, there's only three ways out of this." The far from introverted man lead on, stopping the other in her tracks mere footsteps from the door.
"One..." The thief began without being asked. "...I do all that I can here, or the city decides my services could be of more use elsewhere." His hands were both placed on the right side, he then all of a sudden, energetically slid them down to the opposite end.
"Two..." He continued, following the same format he just established moments ago. "...I take one step out of line that those above don't approve of. Thus sending me back to prison. Or worse." Temporarily playing with just his left hand, the crook dragged a thumb across his throat, displaying the decapitation gesture.
A short time had went on without finishing his original thought process. It was doubtful that he had simply forgotten his point or of his student's presence. It was more feasible that he had briefly gotten swept away by his admittedly complex and hurried melody.
Taking a step away from the door, Pyrrha turned to face her instructor completely "And the third option?" The teen asked inquisitively.
Rhythmically slamming his hands against the ivory keys for a few sets of chords, Roman came to a bombastic if not abrupt end to his private concert. Slowly, he turned over his left shoulder to reveal a wide and conniving grin. His emerald eye greedily pierced the younger. "The third is the most obvious and preferred." The man informed. After another pause, his grin crept larger still. "I escape."
Author's Notes:
The people demanded some JNPR chapters, this is the best I could do. Want more? Give more detailed submissions 'cause I have very little to work with when concerning these guys...
I took a lot of liberties this chapter.
