Chapter Nineteen
Oscar slowly blinked awake, wondering why the sheets felt wrong.
Oh yeah.
He was now a "Soothsayer for the Imperial Majesty" on assignment to read the war.
Oscar groaned and buried his face into his way too soft pillow.
One week. He'd been confined up here for one week. And there seemed to be no way to go home. With a deep sigh, he got up for the day. He checked his clothes, the ones he'd worn when he'd been drafted and that he'd washed the previous night. They were dry now, so he slipped them on. In the armoir that was part of his barrack assignment was a proper Mistralan uniform, rank: Sergeant. Oscar refused to wear it. The room was relatively small, having just a bed, the armoir, and a small table. Admittedly, Oscar had been expecting more for staying at the palace, but apparently he and the other soothsayers were just getting servant quarters. Granted, the bedding was still much better than back home, and the view from his window out on the palatial gardens was spectacular, but Oscar didn't really care for any of that. The one luxury was that every barrack room had a bathing room attached. Something about a history of a fifth son or something sneaking into baths and the Emperor of the time insisting that all staff having private baths as a result.
With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair to remove the signs of sleep and exited his room. As expected, Lieutenant Armin was there, smiling. "Morning!" he greeted, brightly.
Oscar grit his teeth. Every morning, Armin was there to escort him down to Higanbana to see Ozpin. While Oscar was rather glad not to be spending three hours a day on horseback just trying to see his father, the gilded cage he was in now wasn't really any better. It was worse.
But time with Ozpin was time with Ozpin. Oscar would not let that go.
Leaving the Imperial Palace had Armin getting a pass from the guard post, listing where they were going, how long they'd be, and expected time of return. Oscar was under no illusions that this was because he was a soothsayer and that Ironwood kept a very close eye on his personal pets. It was a short walk to the hospital, and Armin escorted Oscar to the infectious ward, choosing to stay outside of it both because he had no mask and because, to his own words, the smell bothered him. Oscar just walked his well traveled route to Ozpin's room. The nurse was just finishing sitting Ozpin up for the day as Oscar came in.
"Right on time," the nurse said warmly, readjusting her waxed robes. "We'll give him breakfast when you head out."
Oscar only nodded. Once the nurse was gone, he ignored the distance protocol in effect and reached for Ozpin's hands so he could close the magic. He did this every morning as well.
Ozpin hummed in what Oscar hoped and prayed was relief. Brown eyes wandered the room, hovering on Oscar, before staring out the window.
"Hey Oz," Oscar said tiredly. "I'm still at the palace. Lady Fria is still trying to figure out where I am in my training. She knows that soothsayers can go very fast. She mentioned you were able to have her finish her training in four years? I was hoping to just play at being a first year apprentice. Just let them give me books and patterns to study or something like that. How does training usually look? I never realized how fast you were going with me…
"Qrow sent word again. He's still laying low after getting in a fight with the military. The greenhouse and the back garden have all been cleared out, all that's left is whatever Nana Calavera has hidden in storage." Oscar looked out to the autumn blue sky and the growing cold of winter. Snow was already falling further up the mountain. "I don't know how his crows get past the aviary, but I'm glad that I have a direct communication with home. He misses you. A lot."
Ozpin hummed again, and a bony hand moved at random, out, forward, then dangling beside the chair he'd been set to.
"It's okay, Oz," Oscar said softly, coming over to put the hand back on Ozpin's lap. "Every day you're a little stronger. Your bones are mending. It's just the fever and the head injury now."
His eyes watered.
"I miss you, Oz. I want your advice. I want your opinions… I want…" Oscar leaned in, put his forehead to Ozpin's, felt the fever and whispered, "I want you home, dad…"
Then he stood and headed out.
Armin met him outside the infectious ward where Oscar washed up thoroughly, rinsed himself, then washed up again just to be safe. He was then escorted back to the Imperial Palace, went through the checks at the guardhouse that double checked where he'd been, how long he'd been there, and how quickly he'd return to his duties.
"You know," Armin said softly, "It might be easier for you if they brought Professor Ozma here to the palace."
"No," Oscar said firmly. "He wouldn't want that. He refused to be a part of the war. I don't have the luxury of that choice. It was either here or the front lines."
"Hey, I know it feels that way," Armin said, "but the General says that all the readings have been informative and helpful."
Oscar shook his head. He liked Armin. He was a bright optimist, someone who believed he was doing the right thing. Ironwood presented as a nice, reasonable, friendly person who only asked for loyalty. He was charismatic and Armin was charmed by it.
Oscar wasn't.
Armin brought him to the staff dining of the palace where they both sat down for a meal together. Then he was brought to the ornate door that led to the massive room where the soothsayers did their daily work.
Each entrance had one of Ironwood's attachments standing there to "organize" who saw what soothsayer. Oscar was frankly amazed that none of the sayers there realized what was going on.
Armin offered a smile and a "good luck" and headed off to his other duties.
Every soothsayer was in Mistralan uniform. Apprentices like Oscar, who barely had any experiences ranked as sergeants and more experience worked one up the ranks. Lady Fria, the Atlesean that Ironwood had brought over to organize all this was their commanding officer and Major. Lady Fria, despite her Altesean uniform, didn't care for the title of Major and treated everyone like her grandchildren.
"Ah, Oscar dear, how are you?" she said, coming over.
"I'm fine," he replied. "Who will be with Master Ozma today?"
"Vernal. Don't you worry, she'll keep his magic closed so that he can keep recuperating."
"Thank you."
"Well, let's get you set up for the day," she said, reaching out to brush his hair out of his face like his grandma used to. Lady Fria guided him through the rows and rows and rows of sand tables, dozens of sayers already sitting down across from various captains and lieutenants and doing readings to try and predict the war. Oscar shook his head.
On the far end of the space were three rooms, more like closets, that apprentices used to study. The usual seven years of apprenticeship were divided into beginner, intermediate, and advanced, with seventh year apprentices out with all the other soothsayers in the main hall doing readings. Oscar was brought to the room for beginners.
Inside were two other apprentices, and the biggest shock Oscar had since coming here.
Gasping, he looked at Ozpin's sand reader, set up against the back wall. He turned and glared at Lady Fria. "When did that get here?" he demanded harshly.
"Last night," she said, confused at his tone. "You'll need a reader to practice and all our readers are being used outside."
"You didn't ask," Oscar retorted. "Master Ozma made his stance very clear. And you went down to the office and just… what? Commandeered it? Requisitioned it? Was Mr. Lionheart there? He wouldn't have allowed this. That reader-"
"Oh, there, there," Fria said comfortingly, putting a hand on his shoulder. He pulled away harshly. "Don't you worry. It's what you're used to isn't it dearie? A piece of home and Master Ozma, here for you to connect with."
"No," Oscar growled. "It's a violation of privacy and Master Ozma's wishes. Did you just go through everything in the office? Peek into the files of all our clients? Or did you just take them for records up here?"
"Shut up," one of the other apprentices said. Twelve years old and with an attitude larger than the mountain. "You don't get special treatment here. Just sit down and get to work."
Taking a deep breath, Oscar stalked right over to the ancient reader that had once belonged to the King of Vale, and started the careful process of looking it over for damage. Fria sat with the other two, going over patterns from the books that they were studying.
Oscar took his time with the reader, emptying the sand and carefully looking over the basin, both the marble and the green sapphire, examining the copper fulcrum. A quick glance around the room had a small toolkit and Oscar used that to pull apart the fulcrum and check every part of it carefully. There was no physical damage from the transport, it seemed, for which he was very grateful. He grabbed a cleaning cloth and gently buffed out spots and fingerprints until the reader was sparking. He put everything back together, noting that the string for the pendulum was getting worn, then he went through the sand carefully, sifting it back into the reader gently and checking for any particles that may have gotten mixed into the sand. Sitting down beside the reader, he placed his hands on the basin and reached for the magic inside. He frowned.
"Lady Fria?" he asked.
The major tapped at a book for one of the apprentices and came over. "Yes, Oscar?"
"The sand table is low. The magic hasn't been charged since I came here. It needs a charging wreath. Preferably with some eucalyptus."
Fria reached out and put a hand on the basin as well. Briefly, her blue eyes flashed gold. "You're right. We need to see Major Zeki. He can usually get the supplies we need."
As they walked across the main hall, Oscar focused on his feet, not wanting to see what all the soothsayers were doing. It was all too close to making and Oscar was far too aware of the consequences. On the way, Fria motioned to one of the seventh-year apprentices, Pyrrha Nikos, to go cover for the beginner apprentices. The woman nodded and headed back to the closet.
Major Zeki was tall, spindly, had hair cut so close to his head that he might as well have been bald, and had odd tattoos on his forehead. "Major Fria," he greeted politely in a sandy monotone.
"Vine Zeki, you scamp," Fria smiled. "Drop the seriousness and let yourself go from time to time."
"I do."
"Meditation isn't what I had in mind."
Zeki shrugged. "What do you need?"
Fria looked to Oscar and raised a brow.
He grit his teeth. He avoided talking to any of the military. "Sir," he said stiffly. "My reader needs a charging wreath. Specifically one with some eucalyptus. If you just take me to the gardens, I can find what I need. I won't be a bother."
Fria smiled proudly. "So I'll be taking Oscar to the garden we have. The eucalyptus though, that's something you need to get."
"Eucalyptus isn't listed as a useful supply to stockpile," Zeki said. "It's rare and expensive and only comes from the rare forests in Vacuo."
Oscar frowned. "The general store we used usually had some."
"We aren't a general store."
And Oscar didn't want anything "requisitioned" or "commandeered" like the sandtable had been. So he pressed his lips together.
"Well then," Fria smiled brightly, "this little scamp and I will be going to the gardens."
"This time you can," Zeki said. "But please know that at the end of the month all flowers from the gardens will be collected by the palace gardeners."
"Oh, that makes sense," Fria said good-naturedly. "I swear, some of these young apprentices, they don't know how to pick a flower without damaging it."
Still, they left and Fria led him through a complicated maze of halls and out to a massive greenhouse that had Mistralan guards at the doors. Like at the guardhouse at the palace gates, there were a lot of questions about where they were from, how long they'd be there, etc. And the guard clearly didn't like the fact that Oscar wasn't in uniform. That was fine with Oscar. He didn't want to wear that uniform. He'd wear the clothes he was taken in until Ozpin woke up.
Inside, Fria led them through various temperature rooms, each more breathtaking than the last, until they reached one with a lot of familiar flowers. Unthinkingly, Oscar rushed forward, checking the flowers, and leaves, looking for blight under the leaves, and checking the soil. He carefully parted stems to check deeper into each plant and making sure each was healthy.
"These haven't been pruned correctly," Oscar said, rolling up his sleeves. "A lot of these are damaged. Are the apprentices using proper pruning shears when they make their charging wreaths? Look at this one, this whole branch is going to die because of over pruning." He looked through more plants. "This one is going to need repotting and some intensive care if it's going to survive."
"Are you a new gardener?" asked a man in staff garb, stained in soil.
"I was raised on a farm," Oscar explained, pulling out the pot he was worrying about. "I'm an apprentice soothsayer now."
The man's face instantly soured. "You soothers don't know nothing. You keep ripping the plants to pieces."
"I'm trying not to," Oscar said, sitting on the ground with the pot he'd pulled out. He poked at the soil, pinching and pulling it out and taking a sniff. "Have you tried pine needles mixed in with the soil? What's your compost like? When's your watering schedule and do you use rainwater or fishwater?"
"Oscar," Fria said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're here for your charging wreath."
"But the apprentices have been damaging these-"
"You're a soothsayer, not a gardener. Let the professionals do their work."
Looking up to the gardener, Oscar saw that he was intruding on someone else's work. The gardener was scowling down at him. "I know my job, boy. I apprenticed to these gardens and I've been working them for ten years. I don't need someone who pretends with a roof garden that they know what they're talking about."
"But…"
"Oscar."
He clenched his jaw shut and took a deep and heavy breath. "May I have pruning shears?" he asked.
For that, at least, the man nodded stiffly.
The yerba mate tree was clearly the most damaged and it was the only one in the entire garden, since the tree was for hotter climates than the mountain. It was the primary plant for charging wreaths. Most soothsayers had to get by with dried samples. Oscar carefully checked around the tree, looking for fresh growths that hadn't been ravaged by the apprentices.
Right. Climbing it was.
Setting the shears into his pocket, Oscar carefully climbed up to the higher branches, something he rather doubted that the other soothsayers did. Rather than the shredded lower branches, he reached the midlevel branches and carefully made his selections. Once he had what he needed, he climbed back down.
"Oscar!" Fria hissed. "Don't give an old woman a heart-attack like that!"
"The soothsayers and apprentices need to be more careful," Oscar said firmly. "I can see why we'll be banned from the gardens. If this is what they do, the gardeners are right to prevent access."
It would also isolate the soothsayers even more, but Oscar didn't comment on that. He wasn't really surprised. He went back around the flowers, carefully picking and snipping what he needed with the health of the plant in mind.
"Without the eucalyptus," Oscar said, "it's going to take more wreaths to charge the table."
Fria nodded. "I keep explaining that to Major Zeki. He doesn't understand."
Oscar sighed. He returned the pruning shears, rolled his sleeves back down, and accompanied Fria back to the soothsaying work space.
The rest of the morning Oscar stayed in that small closet of a room with Fria trying to teach patterns to him and the other two beginner apprentices. How to recognize the differences, memorizing, etc. Oscar was so far beyond it that he just dug through the books. If he was going to be stuck here, studying patterns and trying to find the ones he hadn't recognized from when Qrow had asked him questions was the best usage of his time.
Around midday, Fria headed out and Pyrrha came in to take over teaching. After a while she came over to sit with him.
"Oscar," she said, "you need to be studying."
Nose buried deep in a book, researching makers and the times they showed up in history, Oscar didn't respond.
"Oscar."
"Don't bother," the rude apprentice said. "He thinks he's above us because he was apprenticed to the mighty Ozma."
Oscar's ear twitched, but he didn't really hear it. Hmmm, this maker from five hundred years ago… There was something in the copied pattern that was familiar… If the pattern had been better preserved, maybe…
His book shut.
"Hey!"
"Oscar," Pyrrha said firmly. "You are supposed to be learning. Come join us."
"I'm researching," Oscar replied, trying to reopen his book. Pyrrha kept her hand on it, holding it shut. "Master Ozma gave me an assignment. I'm going to finish it."
"Tch," the rude apprentice said.
Pyrrha studied him. "Master Ozma has been unconscious for some time. When did he give you this assignment?"
"Before he fell." Was pushed.
The seventh-year sighed. "You know backbreaker takes months to recuperate from."
"I know. It took him a year to learn how to walk again once he was better. I want this assignment to be perfect for him."
Pyrrha gave a soft smile. "Then you have plenty of time for it. Come on, let's use the reader."
"No!" Oscar stood, almost protective in front of the reader. "If we're here to learn and memorize patterns, we don't need the reader. That's Master Ozma's. He wouldn't want it used in the war." It was bad enough that it was even brought here. "You won't use it to be soothmakers."
The quiet apprentice actually perked up. "Soothmaker?"
Pyrrha shook her head. "An old soothsayer legend," she dismissed it.
Oscar wouldn't have that. "No. Soothmaking is a perversion of soothsaying. A sayer always guides. Everyone who asks a question is asking for a truth. A sayer gives the truth that needs to be heard. The person still needs to make choices on their own, it is not a soothsayer's place to say what will be, only guide to what might be. Makers say what they think should be and the person is cursed for it. It causes a Grimm."
"Yeah, right," the rude apprentice said.
"Read the histories," Oscar retorted. "Makers leave tragedies." He took his book back from Pyrrha and sat down at Oz's sandreader, hoping to prevent anyone from trying to use it. He had more research to do.
The afternoon droned on, lunch delivered by Fria, and most of the apprentices happily left their closet of a room to eat out in the main hall with the soothsayers. Oscar stayed by Ozpin's reader, sipping his soup and reading another history about the same event he'd found earlier.
"Ah, there you are, dearie," Fria greeted. "Hiding in here?"
Oscar looked up. "I'm busy."
"Hmmm, yes it seems you are. Always reading and studying." Fria came and sat on the other side of the reader. "You know, given how much you're buried in books, I thought you were still new to soothsaying."
"I've only been at it for a little over a year."
"But dear old Ozpin has explained makers to you," Fria's blue eyes sparkled in curiosity. "And with enough detail for you to understand their danger."
Oscar looked at her over his book. For all that he didn't want to be here, Fria, like Armin, was very likable. Her grandmotherly way, her gentle pushes just reminded him of Oz and how he taught, just without the mischief. "He did."
Fria gave a thoughtful hum, then looked at the basin. "You know, I haven't seen this reader since I graduated and Ozpin gave me my license. I've never seen another reader so beautiful."
He gave a soft smile. "Yeah. I see those readers outside. None of them look like this."
"Most apprentices learn to make their own reader around the fifth year or so."
Oscar actually perked up. "Make a reader? I thought it was passed down. Master Ozma said this was his master's reader."
"Oh, a reader does get passed down to a designated heir," Fria said. "But most soothsayers will have more than one apprentice throughout their lives. "Ozpin has had five that I know of, and that's not counting his students at the university who didn't have the talent to be a true master. No, every sayer learns how to make a reader."
Huh. Granted, Ozpin had stated that Oscar was going to inherit this reader, but he hadn't realized that there was an actual method to making one.
"Tell me, did that old brat ever have you do a reading?"
"... Just small ones," Oscar said carefully. "Simple questions, like when did he learn he was a soothsayer." He wasn't going to give any of these people an inch. He needed to stay where he was to do his research.
Fria nodded. "I think you're more advanced than memorizing patterns. But I'm not sure you're really ready for intermediate."
"I'm fine where I am."
"We'll see. I may need to test you a bit, but that will have to wait. That dear brat Ironwood likes things on his own timetable."
Oscar frowned. "I'm fine where I am," he repeated.
Fria nodded. "Well, I will say, you're going to need to let the others use this piece of art."
"No."
"Oscar," Fria said softly, "you're being unreasonable. Pyrrha and I won't be asking questions for the war. We'll be teaching. Questions like what Ozpin had you read. That's not making, that's teaching."
Oscar weighed his options. He, frankly, didn't want the reader to leave his sight. He didn't trust any of the soothsayers here, as they didn't seem to understand the restrictions on them and just what Ironwood was doing. But for all his obstinance, he wasn't exactly making friends here. If he was going to have to be here until something could be done…
With a heavy sigh, Oscar ran a hand through his hair. "Fine."
"Teaching only, dearie. You have my word."
Oscar planned to stick around to ensure that.
"Now, I was wondering-"
"Major?"
The two looked over to see Captain Bree standing there, scowling. "The General would like to see you."
"That impertinent little scamp," she chuckled. "I'll be along in just a moment. It's getting harder and harder for these old bones to get moving."
Oscar was finally left alone, but for only a moment. Pyrrha came in to set up for the afternoon lessons. She set out the books, checked over the papers of the two apprentices, and then sat across from Oscar at the reader.
"Lady Fria said you've been answering small questions?" she asked kindly.
"Yes," Oscar said distractedly, having found his place again.
"Then I'd like to see how you do."
Blinking Oscar looked up. "What?"
"I would like you to do a reading," she explained. "Clearly I've not been meeting your needs. I thought by asking you a question I might have a better idea on how to teach you."
Oscar hesitated. "The reader has a very low charge," he said. "No one changed out charging wreaths when I was brought up here."
She pushed her long tail of red hair back over her shoulder, and gently touched the basin, her green eyes flashing gold. "True," she said. "I was thinking a single, simple question. Open your magic for a moment, let the reader do what it's supposed to, then let it charge again."
Making friends, Oscar, he reminded himself. He sighed and set his book aside. He placed his hand on the fulcrum and offered his hand. "Would you like to take my hand? It helps with accuracy."
Pyrrha gave an indulgent smile and reached out.
Oscar had to admit, feeling the magic hum in his blood for a reading felt better than closing Ozpin's magic every morning. Brothers, he wished Ozpin was better.
"How did the war start?" Pyrrha asked.
For a moment Oscar stiffened, because he already knew the answer to that. "I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?"
The redhead smiled. "Oh, don't be nervous. It's fine. Just focus on the question. How did the war start?"
Oscar took a deep breath and let the magic flow, watching the pendulum swing from the fulcrum, tracing out the ugly, familiar pattern of the Grimm, hideous mask covered in only two patterns. Isolation. Misery. Then he let go of the fulcrum and Pyrrha's hand.
"The war started because of a maker," Oscar said softly, looking at that terrible pattern. "I won't be any part of making. No one can read a war."
Pyrrha stared at the basin, eyes wide.
Oscar pulled out the leveler and in one swirl, cleared the sands. Then he got back to his book.
Pyrrha was distracted for the rest of her lessons, but Oscar didn't really pay attention. He just sat at the basin and kept reading through the histories.
At dinner time, they were all brought to the staff mess hall again. Oscar ate mechanically and just wanted to go back to his books. Unfortunately fully licensed sayers went back to keep doing last minute readings for the day and all apprentices were to return to their rooms.
Oscar went about what was becoming his routine. A bath had been drawn for him and he drew a bucket of water from it to clean his clothes. Especially with digging around the gardens this morning, he had to scrub his clothes clean. He set them out to dry at his table, still refusing the uniform, and then finally took his bath, the water only lukewarm.
Brothers he was tired. He never knew just reading all day could be so exhausting. But it shouldn't be. Back home he'd been devouring books to try and find anything about soothmakers, and even with Ozpin, he could spend long stretches reading because Oz had the most interesting books. It must be the environment. Sitting in the tub, Oscar just felt his eyes get heavy. Tomorrow would be more of the same. Visit his father, more studying, more resisting what was going on. Preferably by maybe making some friends. One week in and he had to deal with the fact that this was going to be the new normal for a while.
Maybe he should wear the uniform?
No. He couldn't. He couldn't wear a symbol that he'd capitulated to reading a war.
He wouldn't.
But it was getting colder. And with fires in the halls, the smaller closets didn't get a lot of warmth. Even Oscar's tiny room didn't have a stove. He hadn't realized how much that banked stove in their apartment kept them warm in the winter. He could already feel how much cooler it was now compared to earlier in the week.
Speaking of chills, he shivered and his bathwater went from lukewarm to ice cold. With a sigh he got up and toweled himself dry vigorously before putting on his nightshirt.
He wasn't expecting to find someone in his room when he exited the bath.
Someone taking the clothes he'd set out to dry.
"Hey!"
The serving maid turned quickly, feet widening to what Oscar almost recognized as a fighting stance. Taller than Oscar, black hair, cut to a bob, yellow eyes narrowed. "You?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"
"Who are you?" Oscar demanded.
"You are Professor Ozma's apprentice, right?"
"I am," Oscar replied. "Why do you have my clothes? I want them back."
"Why are you here?"
"I got drafted," he snorted bitterly. "It was either here or the front lines. Not much of a choice. I have to look after Professor Ozma somehow."
"He's not better?"
Oscar rolled his eyes. "Backbreaker. That doesn't just clear up in a week. I thought everyone here knew that. Now give me back my clothes."
"You have a uniform," she replied. "People have been complaining that you're not dressed properly for the palace."
"I live in the foothills. I'm not exactly rolling in lien. And I'm not wearing that uniform."
The maid said nothing, staring at him. "Is it true that Mistral is using soothsayers?"
Oscar rolled his eyes again. "No one can read a war. You need a person on the other side of the table. A war isn't a person. A country isn't a person. General Ironwood grabbed every soothsayer he could and is trying to read something impossible. He's going to end up putting a Grimm over all of us."
"A Grimm?" the maid shook her head. "You won't wear the uniform?"
"I will not. They'll have to drag me out of here in my nightshirt tomorrow if you don't give me back my clothes."
The maid paused, eyes flashing in thought and for a moment, Oscar wondered if the yellow turned gold or not in the candlelight. People were known to have flashes of insight, after all, and that was just a person's own magic connecting dots. "I'll need your measurements," she said.
"What?"
"I'll get you something else to wear. But I need your measurements."
Oscar stuttered, wondering what all this was about. "I seriously doubt the palace tailor is going to make something for some tiny little first-year apprentice."
The maid smiled like a cat. "I'll be heading into the city tomorrow. If I happen to see a tailor friend of mine, I'm sure we can get you something."
Suspicious, Oscar hesitated. "Why?"
"Professor Ozpin guided me once. I know I'm on the right path. I'd like to pay him back." Her grin widened. "Do you have any messages for anyone while I'm in town?"
Messages? But he always sent one by crow… Then Oscar understood. "Give me an hour to write it all down. No crow can carry that much. It needs to go to Crowmaster Qrow Branwen. He runs the post at Nana Calavera's building."
The maid nodded, setting his clothes back down at the table. "I'm Blake," she said, offering her hand. "I'll help you however I can."
Author's Notes: Only one scene, but wow a lot was covered!
Anyone out there ever sat with someone in a waking coma? We did, and pulled a lot of that experience with Oz as he continues to be out of the picture. He's lost a lot of weight, if he makes it to recovery it's going to be a loooong recovery.
But really, this is about Oscar and establishing his new environment for this arc. He's in a place he doesn't want to be with no way out of it, and he desperately WANTS out of it, so he's trying to show resistance in the ways that he can: hiding his abilities, refusing to wear the uniform, etc. But the environment is hostile to him - and not in the way that one usually thinks the word "hostile." There's all this pressure to conform, to accept that this is how things are and there's no changing it - no one in his chapter is mean or unlikable or sitting twirling a mustache. In fact everyone aside from an angsty teen apprentice are all overwhelmingly nice and friendly. That makes the pressure he's under worse, in a way, because he looks like his unreasonable person who's obstinent over nothing. He's the only one who sees just what is going on, but BECAUSE he's the only one who sees it he's the one drawing any negativity.
Oscar is now in a position where he has to be exceedingly careful, and he has to constantly judge who is and isn't trustworthy because the very environment he's in puts everyone in doubt. He chooses to trust Pyrrha (and has good taste in doing so) but not in Fria. More on her later. He also discovered the ally in Blake.
Also: Blake! Hi, you finally made it! Team RWBY is now complete. Blake far and away has a lot to do in this arc given her obvious position, but the girls are now established enough to start being used in the fic. As stated before, they never make it up to main character status like Defining a Life, but it's nice to see them stretch their legs now. Speaking of:
Next chapter: Blake arrives as Nana Calavera's. I wonder if there's anyone there that'll be surprised to see her (or visa versa :D)