An hour, on the dot, passed surprisingly quickly.
SCHLORPOP
The noise caused all three people in the office to spin about, wondering what it could be.
"Kept you waiting, didn't I?" A smug looking Atin stood before them, intact and unharmed.
"...Alright, someone give me a gun, he deserves to be shot for that!" Max exclaimed.
"Spoilsport. But see, I was right. I came back. Wow, it's dark out there. Hey, how long was I, ya know, dead?" Atin wondered.
"Hour, on the dot. Wonder if that extends to anything else from death." Max had a contemplative voice, cradling his chin in his left hand.
"Let's not test that right now. I would rather not miss anything else. So, Coffee Junkie, still think we're crazy?" wandering over to wall behind Ozpin's desk, he resumed his lean.
"I may need something a bit harder than coffee," was the admittance from the headmaster. "So, if this past hour has been any indication, you both appear to be incapable of dying. Time limit or no, that should, quite frankly, be impossible. Not only that, you are also armed with knowledge that is quite dangerous, whether in the right or wrong hands. Am I correct in assuming you also hold knowledge that would prove beneficial to us?"
"That we do," replied Max. "For example, the person who lead the attack on Amber is named-" Max suddenly clutched his stomach, eyes bulging, his cheeks soon following. He appeared to be convulsing, slowly calming down, appearing to swallow something. "Ugh..."
"Well, since I suppose my friend here seems like he'll be redecorating your office, I'll tell you. The girl who attacked Amber is named-" Atin fell to one knee, also clutching his stomach, a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with disbelief, he snatched up Ozpin's trash can, pulling his hand away from his face, letting out stream of vomit. "Gross...what the fuck was that?" He demanded of no one in particular.
"Urgh...Atin, I'm starting to think there may be a couple rules we have to follow…" Max was now squatting, his head between his knees as he let the feeling of nausea pass. "Which isn't very fair, seeing as we were presumably yanked here against our will."
"RULES? RULES?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME! I swear, when I find out who did this, I'll kill them. And if they come back, I'll do it again. Putting rules on this ruins the fun." Atin's voice reverberated around the room, mostly because he was still hunched over Ozpin's garbage can.
"Are you two okay?" Glynda asked, looking concerned for the two.
"Not, urgh, not really," answered Max. "It looks like we can't share a rather important piece of information with you, yet. Which makes things...urp...a bit difficult."
"This is… upsetting. Hey, wait the guy who fought Ruby, you know his name is Roman Torchwick, right?" Atin said, leaning back from the trash can, relived he was able to get the words out.
"Of course we do," Ozpin replied. "He's well known through Vale as a criminal."
"Well that's just wonderful Max. WE CAN SPOIL THINGS THEY ALREADY KNOW! I suppose the rule is there to make us get involved and make a difference. Fuck that, I don't want to be slaughtered, that hurts. At least cracking my skull open, I don't have to feel it!" Atin raged at whoever down this to him.
"Um...okay, I really don't like that idea. Seriously, has whoever sent us here even seen us?" Max gestured to his fat and then at Atin.
"Well, maybe I'm supposed to use my, well I can't call it a silver tongue, more like an acid one, to make a difference. And you can...I dunno, be optimistic?" Atin said, sitting on the floor, back against the wall.
"Oh, sure, I have to be optimistic, after the end of volume fucking THREE?!"
"Cheer up buttercup, maybe it won't get that bad. Maybe we can make a difference through hard work and clever thinking! While I'm at it, maybe we can even learn some valuable lessons about friendship!" Atin's head thumped on the glass, making it quite clear how likely he thought that was.
"First off, don't call me that. Second, you might have a point, actually...the next plot relevant point...well...hmmm." Max sat down on the floor, his legs crossing. During this exchange, Ozpin and Glynda had simply watched and listened. "Okay, so, maybe we do have to get involved. That means that, at the very least, we can tell them when something relevant is about to happen. The more things we mess with, presumably the bigger the butterfly effect. There's also subplots to think about."
"Subplots you say….perhaps we can mess with the ships? For our own enjoyment, of course."
Atin seemed to perk up a little at thought of annoying vast amounts of people .
"What do ships have to do with this?" Glynda asked.
She went unanswered as Max continued to think out loud. "Yeah, yeah, sure, just don't mess things up too badly, Atin. So, if we can operate under what I believe to be a logical assumption, we can probably avoid a good chunk of the bad shit in volume 3. We become violently ill when we attempt to disclose main plot relevant information that has yet to be revealed, it seems. Our only option, then, would be to try and be as near to the action as possible to give the quickest updates possible. But what determines what's relevant and what's not?"
"Hell if I know. I'm not keen to investigate either, if it means more of that." Atin gestured towards the now ruined garbage can.
"You two are oddly calm about all of this," noted Glynda, the two turning their attention towards her finally.
"Well, I mean, why wouldn't we be? We have literally died. We know the most important things that are going to happen. Also, might be more than a little shock." Atin slowly stood up, taking in comfort in the solidity of the wall.
Max looked at the ground for a bit, then looked back up to Ozpin. "So, uh, can we stay here? I dunno, maybe work for room and board?" he asked. "Basic janitorial work or something?"
"We could also do like TA work. Make copies, grade papers, that kind of stuff." A displeased Atin commented, having already had his fill of janitorial work.
Ozpin closed his eyes in thought, leaving the room in complete silence for the moment. Upon reaching a decision, he opened his eyes, looking from Max to Atin and then to Glynda. "I suppose we probably could. A trial period, of sorts, to ascertain if you will be able to give us this information that may determine the very course of the future," the headmaster said. "Glynda, have we any spare rooms we can put them in for the time being?"
Glynda consulted her tablet, her eyebrows raising in surprise, telling them, "Yes, there happens to be an open suite of rooms... at the end of the hall from team RWBY."
"That's...oddly convenient," Max noted.
"Almost like someone wanted us near us them. But I'm sure it's just a coincidence." Atin chimed in, once again failing to reign in his sarcasm.
"Well, there we have it, gentlemen," Ozpin said. "We'll look into getting you scrolls as faculty members and see how things go from here on out."
"Oh, also we're gonna need some help. With…. pretty much everything. We know basically nothing about this world. Also, we don't exist here. No bank accounts, no phones, no money, no clothes. Apparently being a wisdom dispensing Oracle only has the perk of not dying. Hey Max, if we starved to death, would we come back still starving?" Atin trailed off, looking contemplative.
"I dunno, Atin, how about you take three weeks to find out?" Max replied.
"Ask a legitimate question, get an asshole answer. I thought that was my job." He would never admit it, but Atin was overjoyed that Max was embracing the glorious path of sarcasm.
BEEP-BEEP-BEEEEEEEEEEEEP
A constant beeping pervaded the separate rooms of the Beacon's newest faculty members.
"What is that noise…. It sounds like a cartoonishly stereotypical alarm clock, something I don't have. Why is my bed smaller? Why isn't the sun shining in through the rear facing window directly into my fucking eye like it usually does. Most importantly, why am I talking out loud?" Atin quickly realized that in addition to not stopping, the beeping was not located in his room.
"Turn off the fucking alarm, asshole!" came a shout from Max.
"You fucking turn it off, it's not mine!" Atin shouted back.
"Bullshit, it's not yours!"
Atin slammed open the door of his room, taking in the room he was too tired to pay much attention to last night. It was an apartment not unlike the one he had lived in until only two years before. It had what he assumed was a full kitchen, a large fridge, a small sink, and an even smaller dishwasher. Separated from the kitchen by a waist high wall which doubled as the countertop, was a small living room, with a couch that could generously be called used and small table with two rather uncomfortable, if solid looking chairs. The final piece to this area was a thirty-two inch flat screen television with a piece of paper with 'Out Of Order' written out on it, taped over the screen, the tv itself resting on a dusty wooden television stand. He turned his attention to the middle of the floor, where the alarm clock was resting. The bright red numbers read '6:30 AM'. A note was taped to the top over the off function.
One of the other three doors opened to reveal Max, hair disheveled. "The fuck is that?" he asked, yawning.
"'Your day starts in 30 minutes, be ready when I get here.' And it's signed by 'Your New Boss'. Dibs on the first shower!" Suiting actions to words, Atin dashed towards what he hoped was the bathroom.
Max shrugged, walking back into the bedroom he had initially come from. He decided to go into the drawers and was surprised to find clothing. "When...when were these put in here?"
Minutes later, both now showered and dressed, Atin was sitting on the couch, enjoying the feeling of wearing clothes that hadn't been slept in. "Man, these fit great! Wait...how did they get our sizes? We never got measured, and we went straight to sleep. Or, at least I did. Did you hear anyone come in Max?"
"No. I didn't." Max himself was sitting at the table, just staring at the wall.
A series of sharp knocks at the door interrupted Atin's train of thought. "Well, that's probably our new boss. Time to disappoint them!" Atin did his best to put on a chipper smile, despite the early morning hour. He swung the door open, to see Goodwitch standing there, looking as stern as ever.
Max walked over to greet her. "Morning." He suddenly squinted his eyes a bit, leaning forward slightly. "Um, did you sleep last night? You look a bit, er, tired."
Glynda pulled out two scrolls, handing one to each of the young men. "There was quite a bit of paperwork to be done in order to have you enrolled as on call faculty. These scrolls will act as keys for you in the school. Ozpin's and my own numbers are pre-programmed in. A map has also been added, to aid you in navigating the school," was her reply. She quickly turned on her heel. "Come along, now. For today, we shall be splitting you two to assist two of our more well known faculty members in their classes, to introduce you all to the students. Best to get it done now rather than later, so as to avoid confusion among the student body."
"Well, makes sense I guess. Sooooo who am I working with? And what am I supposed to do? I'm used to just sitting around an office, grading papers, making copies, getting coffee. That kind of stuff." Atin, while not thrilled at having to work, at least it was easy. He hoped.
"I'll let you two figure that out. The faculty in question are Peter Port, in charge of Grimm studies and who you met last night, and Bartholomew Oobleck, the current history and politics teacher."
"Why? Why would you do that to us? We know what they're like. Why are you sticking us with the comedic relief?" Atin's face began to lose its chipper demeanor, realizing what he was in for.
"It's not that bad, Atin. If you want, I'll help Port in his class," Max offered, shrugging.
"Sure. I suppose I can deal with Oobleck. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?" Atin hoped it was nothing.
Max facepalmed, shaking his head. "Anything horrible that happens today is completely and one hundred percent your fault now."
"Oh come on. It's not like this a story. Saying that doesn't actually cause bad things to happen, Max!" At least, Atin hoped that was the case.
Max opened his scroll, looking at the map, giving a low whistle. "Wow, surprisingly user friendly." Navigating through the scroll's functions was surprisingly simple, the map of the school soon on his screen. "Huh. Their rooms aren't too far apart. This school isn't anywhere near as large as I figured it would be, though." His scroll suddenly dinged, a notification in one of the corners. He tapped it, opening up what appeared to be an inbox of messages. "Student registry? You're just giving that to us?"
"Why wouldn't they? After all, we are now employed by Beacon, a highly respected teaching institution. It's not like they would just hire anyone who walked in with a crazy story and no discernible combat or teaching skills." Atin didn't even bother to try and hide the sarcasm.
"Unusual circumstances call for unusual solutions, I find," Glynda replied.
"Why are the students' individual measurements in here?" Max suddenly asked, eyebrow raised. "Do you just stick the medical records in with the registry?"
"It's a combat school. Easy access to things like blood types is probably a good precaution for the teachers. Along with medicinal allergies, prior medical history, all that stuff is really important for proper medical treatment, in the field or out of it," Atin interjected distractedly, busing flipping through the student directory.
"Ah, alright, good point." Max conceded the point, bringing his map back up. "Alright, guess I'll go meet Professor Port before class gets going."