A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Notes: We've been receiving lots of criticism on some of our methods; so we shall address two of the most commonly brought up ones below.
1) The feminism theme: We admit to being rather feministic in our ways. It's a long story, which might have to do with some bad childhood memories, but that is irrelevant. While it is true that some of our female characters are of exceptionally strong character and deserve that unequal treatment, we will be taking note of the male characters who merit such focus as well. Like Eric said, egalité.
2) Legolas: My, this is a huge point of dissatisfaction. Yes, at the beginning we hated Legolas very much, and we had our own reasons, one of which was spiteful malice (you hear that, Zeggy? You hear that, Mich?) Later, we forgot about him. Now, Lydia is beginning to spot recent potential for development in his character, and Rukuelle is going along with it for the moment, so we will see. We're not going to be mean to him anymore; it interferes with our learning process of developing into the omnipotent Voices in our literature. We still think he's a vainglorious creature and has a ego problem – but well, who hasn't?
As to the other minor points: We really try to focus on as many characters as possible, but unfortunately we haven't the experience of the people who wrote Lost. The Les Miserables we use is a fusion of musical and book canon – and unless your French is incredibly good, don't try reading the book in French before you read it in English. Alexandre Dumas once mentioned that he wanted d'Artagnan's first name to be Nathaniel, but ditched after his critic friend advised him against using it. And we don't play video games.
Also, while it is our duty to update as soon as possible and it is the right of the reader to expect frequent updates, we do have our own lives. Right now we are in the middle of some very important exams. Therefore, while we do not mind people encouraging us to update more often, we do have a problem with them coming into our personal spaces, such as Lydia's blog, and demanding to know why we haven't updated. We don't appreciate that.
Disclaimers: Songs used in here do not belong to us. Fascination is by Marchetti, the Jurassic Park theme belongs to whoever made Jurassic Park, Santa Maria del Buen Ayres is by the Gotan Project, Cry Me A River and Moon River are from some jazz illuminaries, and Franz Ferdinand and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs own themselves, and The Fallen and Man, respectively. Queen is the best thing that ever happened to the music industry, so naturally we're not responsible for it.
31. Masquerades and Mayhem
The packed schedule of an A&A&A student was liable to cause much lamentation. The first-years had just barely emerged from auditions, when they realised they had to get ready for the masquerade ball that night. So they went, amid much complaint about CCAO and fervent bewailing the fact that the masquerade was compulsory.
A slight hiccup in administration was that Galadriel had forgotten to specify what sort of masquerade it was. Some people had assumed it was the fancy dress-up sort, where you went in the most glittery costume available. Some people had assumed the only compulsory apparel for attendance was a mask. Some people, like the hobbits, had assumed it was a literal masquerade; thus all four of them were going as doughnuts of different flavours, and no one of the first two convictions could talk them out of it.
"I don't know how you managed to talk me into this," said Frodo, doubtfully eyeing his costume.
"It's hilarious!" exclaimed Merry, affixing a chocolate chip to Pippin's costume. "And so original. I mean, who'd have thought of doughnuts but a hobbit?"
Frodo sighed and turned to deal with the costume. Merry and Pippin had enthusiastically constructed all four doughnuts out of looped chicken wire, which was fundamentally simple to get into, but made walking hellish.
At least, reflected Frodo, his was chocolate, which wasn't so bad. Merry had wanted to be strawberry-flavoured. To Frodo's unassuming mind, walking around in a bright pink wire ring wasn't so much hilarious as downright tasteless.
He stuck a giant cutout raisin on his face, and hoped despondently that no one would recognise him.
The girls' dormitory was in an uproar. Every girl was dying either of nerves or mortification. It wasn't hard to see which category each one fell into.
Helen was being extremely anxious about her appearance and bemoaning it to anyone in the vicinity, which was grating on the others' nerves. In their opinion, people who were naturally beautiful should stop flaunting it by wailing about some minor cosmetic flaw, and have some consideration for those who had bigger things to worry about, like lack of figures, or blackheads, or unmanageable hair.
Arwen was wisely not falling into that trap, instead quietly helping Cosette touch up on eyeliner and kindly advising Andromache on which pair of earrings to wear.
Speaking of earrings.
"These are clasps," explained Elizabeth patiently. "You clip them on your earlobes."
Holly tried one on reluctantly, and ripped it off almost immediately. "They hurt."
"Well, obviously they do. If you had earholes you could wear earrings, which wouldn't hurt, but you don't have earholes, so you have to – "
"I'm not wearing them," said Holly resolutely, handing back the clasps.
"Oh, come on, it's only for the night! You need something to soften that crew cut…"
"I do not," said Holly flatly, "believe in pain for beauty. It's just not worth it."
Elizabeth sighed in defeat, and put the clasps away. She wriggled around on the bed to watch Anna regard herself doubtfully in the full-length mirror on the closet door. "I don't think red is really my colour," she said, fingering the Moroccan-red skirt. "But apart from that, it's really not that bad."
Elizabeth beamed up at her. "You know what? You're actually a closet clotheshorse."
"I hate the sleeves," said Anna automatically.
As Elizabeth clicked her tongue and bounced up excitedly to tackle Anna's hair, Arwen made a passing compliment to Éowyn as the latter adjusted Eponine's sash. "You look wonderful," said the elf-maiden, and then, teasingly: "For anyone special?"
Éowyn was taken aback by the comment, so much so that she nearly snapped back at Arwen. "No! Definitely not."
Arwen smiled a smile that made Éowyn want to hit her, and turned away. Éowyn fixed her eyes on the back of Eponine's neck and told herself that it was true, all too true.
Galadriel, elated at having succesfully pulled off one massive organizational event earlier in the day, was being calmly excited about tackling the next one. Celeborn was beside her in the great hall. He looked morose.
"I hope they all remember to wear something appropriate," said Galadriel calmly for the umpteenth time.
"Mmhmm," said Celeborn non-committably. He was perched on the edge of a trestle table and reading a particularly good novel that Elrond had lent him.
"Did you test the sound system, dear?"
"This very afternoon," murmured Celeborn. He was planning to sit around for the first fifteen minutes, and then elude his wife and hide in some alcove, reading good novels till it was all over.
He carefully screened that thought, of course; a marriage of immemorial length to the Lady Galadriel had made him very aware of her telepathic abilities. However, Galadriel was already thinking along those lines in the first place.
"You must dance with Evelyn. The poor dear never has anyone to dance with."
Celeborn was startled out of his reverie. "What? But how does anyone dance with her? She's…transparent!"
"Just pretend, dear," said Galadriel, sighing elaborately. "I do hope Firenze comes for once. He always misses the orientation ball."
"I suppose he can't be bothered to climb down all those steps," said Celeborn's mouth, while his brain flicked frantically through the lines in search of where he had stopped.
Galadriel leaned over and tapped the spine of the book. Celeborn looked up. A battle of wills commenced.
Eventually Celeborn, with the air of one allowing a child's whim in lieu of her immaturity, got up, shut the book, self-consciously adjusted his robes and frowned upon the world in general.
Galadriel smiled sweetly at him, and drifted off to check the lights.
When she wasn't looking, Celeborn stole a profiterole from the table, ate it swiftly, and then went off in search of somewhere to stow the book for easy retrieval later that evening.
At half-past-seven, the front hall was filling with students clad in masquerade finery. It was easy to differentiate between levels. The first-years, clustered at one end of the halls, looked largely terrified at the ordeal before them. The second-years viewed it with the uneasy sentiment of a revision test. The third-years looked more or less apathetic. The fourth-years, who had been through three of these affairs before, were completely at their ease, regarding the hysterics of the first-years with seniorly contempt.
The doors of the Dining Hall were pushed open, and Celeborn stuck his head out. "Second to fourth-years, enter."
The aforementioned levels gathered respectively and entered in their varying states of aplomb. This left the first-years alone in the front hall, and if anything, increased their discomfort.
Celeborn gave them an almost kindly look, and told them to get ready for their entrance, girls one line, boys another.
The double doors shut again.
The first-years assembled in the formation they had been directed to take. The girls, who were clad in gowns of quite a fine standard, were trying to hide their anxiety behind glittering masks and faux giggles. The boys were a motley lot; this was due to their different interpretations of the theme. The ones with lack of imagination or willing effort were dressed in tuxedos. Some of the more fashion-oriented were wearing costumes to rival their female counterparts in ornament The hobbits stuck out like, well, chocolate chips on an icing surface.
"Everyone's wearing a mask," whispered Sam. "I feel queer, done up like this."
"Aha," said Frodo dully. He had snipped two holes in the raisin cutout, so he could see where he was going. "Fortunately, I at least have a mask."
The double doors opened again, with more formal deliberation this time. Through them one could see the Dining Hall, decorated with more ornamental lighting than should be considered natural. There were the teachers at the end of it, and the seniors elegantly lining the dreadfully empty space cleared in the middle, which could only be assumed to be the dance floor. That was probably the most terrifying part of the whole set-up.
"The first-years," said Galadriel, and smiled.
A grand music burst from the sound system as the first-years entered nervously in their two rows. Some of them observed uneasily that it was the Jurassic Park theme song; this didn't seem, to their minds, to have very good repercussions on themselves.
They came to a halt in the middle of the gleaming floor.
Galadriel had briefed them on this part. First-years traditionally opened the ball by taking the first dance. Unfortunately, she hadn't briefed them enough. Subject matter not covered would include who exactly would be dancing.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
Then Aragorn and Arwen, ever the couple with initiative, stepped forward. Aragorn bowed; Arwen, who was being dazzling in a shimmering cythère-cream gown that only she could have carried off, performed a complex obeisance that produced intakes of admiring breaths among the watchers.
Galadriel lavished a smile upon her favourite pair, and turned an expectant eye to the rest of them.
For a moment, the tensions running between both sides hovered too strongly. Then, after Aragorn's example, Faramir stepped forward and bowed to Éowyn.
The Company of Heroines, Boromir, Éomer, and other stakeholders, held their breaths. Éowyn, if she was having an internal struggle, showed no sign of it. After what seemed to Faramir like an interminable pause, she did a stiff bob. A dozen people released their breaths with a sigh.
After that, it was smoother. The established couples convened: Hector to Andromache, Achilles to Briseis. Will approached Elizabeth, who accepted with a pretty curtsey to rival Arwen's; after a frantic discussion with Harry, Ron hastily accosted Hermione, who if anything looked relieved.
Tensions rose again when both Legolas and Paris stepped up to Helen simultaneously. The looks between the two could have gutted half a fish-shop. Helen stood torn between the attentions of both, conflict spreading over her lovely face.
Suddenly, Legolas seemed to form a decision. His expression hardened; tossing his head, he stalked off abruptly.
Helen turned towards his retreating figure, a cry on her lips; but Paris, taking her arm almost possessively, drew her attention back to himself. He too seemed puzzled at Legolas's sudden desertion, but was all too willing to make the best out of it.
Eponine found herself wondering if it was too much for a girl to approach a boy. She was seriously considering that option, when Marius suddenly made his move.
She stifled a gasp as he came in her direction, and then, as he switched course abruptly and came to stand before Cosette, her heart suddenly took a plunge for the darker depths.
The world began to blur. Eponine forced it back; she would not cry. There were so many times in her life that she had made herself not cry; why not now?
Through her steadily smudging vision, she realised dimly that a figure stood before her. This so surprised her that she was able to blink the tears back with long practice, and focus on him.
Her shock was substantial when she realised it was Legolas.
Eponine stared, and said under her breath, "What the hell?"
Legolas rolled his eyes, quite spoiling the visionary appeal of his appearance. "Right," he said, equally quietly, "if you're not going to appreciate this, then I'll just – "
Eponine recovered herself. "No, no, I'm sorry. Really. I'm just...quite shocked. Sorry."
Legolas muttered something to himself, but stayed. Eponine went on staring at him, perplexed.
Beside her, Anna watched narrowly as the opposing side cast nervous glances at her. Of course, she would never admit to hoping for someone to pick her up; when her reputation was taken into consideration, that would be highly unlikely in any case. But nevertheless, it would be terrible if she was the only girl left standing. It'd be just …… disgraceful.
The boys opposite her fidgeted. Several of them glanced at Van Helsing, as if to say, She's supposed to be your problem, deal with her.
He could also feel some mental pressure at the back of his mind. He glanced up at the front podium. Galadriel was staring straight at him, commandingly.
Van Helsing sighed. Grudgingly he stepped forward. "This is only for appearances," he said under his breath.
"I am aware of that," said Anna haughtily. She curtseyed.
"You are aware I am doing you a favour?" went on Van Helsing dryly.
"Believe me," rejoined Anna sarcastically, "I am gratified beyond reason."
Galadriel checked the pairings. Trouble had taken Holly; excellent. Chix, who had managed to decently dress for once, was with Lili Frond, who was a stunner to the third mental column in excessive pink. The other boys, quite relieved to be let off this round, backed into the ring of spectators. Satisfied, Galadriel turned on the music.
Fascination hummed through the hall.
The seniors watched, somewhat critically, as their juniors began the opening dance. It was a patchy spectacle. Some of it was quite wonderful to look at; no doubt the Screen Couple of the Century were the highlight of it all. Elizabeth was also an fine dancer, and Will a good complement; Legolas was by genetic default graceful, which meant that Eponine's inaccurate footwork was sufficiently covered up. One just had to avoid looking in the direction of, say, Anna and Van Helsing, who still danced as if they were trying to akkeido-flip each other.
Fascination was a piece of music that went on beyond five minutes. This felt extraordinarily long for some of the first-years, who tried to cover it up with conversation.
Eponine felt that there was a lot about Legolas that merited inquiry, but at the moment he was looking very forbidding as they circled the floor. She'd have to talk, though, because the sight of Marius spinning Cosette not too far off was driving her to distraction.
"Thank you," she said.
Her voice jerked Legolas of whatever higher reverie he had been engaged in. "What?"
Eponine decided it wasn't worth repeating. "Why'd you just – leave Helen? You were all over her the whole of this week."
"Yes," said Legolas shortly. "I was."
They performed an underarm turn in silence. Eponine felt like it was time to prod him again. "So? What happened just now?"
"I was enlightened," said Legolas, and paused. Eponine waited.
Eventually he did continue. "It struck me," began he, "that my fascination with Helen was not one of passion, but of materialism. I was merely in love with her, because to be so was to compete with Paris. She was no more than an object to me. And then I realised how pointless the whole affair was. Such childish competition was beneath a dignified individual such as myself. So Paris may have Helen; I care not."
Eponine absorbed this profound philosophy in silence. "So, why me, then?"
Legolas appeared to mull this over for some time. "I don't know," he concluded. "Perhaps it was because someone had just walked away from you?"
The music ended. The dancers stepped away from each other, bowing and curtseying respectively. Eponine stifled a sniff.
"You could be quite nice, actually," she told him, "if you weren't such a jerk sometimes."
Legolas stared at her impassively.
"Anyway," went on Eponine, decisively, "I think I'll sit the next one out, if that's okay with you."
"Yes," said Legolas shortly. He was secretly glad, because he had decided that dancing with sad people was bad for his nerves.
The second dance saw the introduction of the seniors onto the floor, replacing some of the less terpsichorally-inclined first-years. Faramir followed Éowyn into the spectating crowd.
"I'm not dancing," said Éowyn, irritably.
"Yes, I can see that," said Faramir evenly. "Neither am I."
They came to a stop beside the canape table. Faramir picked up something involving olives and feta-cheese on a toothpick and offered it to Éowyn. Éowyn ignored this, leaned over him and picked up another one similar to it. Faramir shrugged, and ate the one he was holding.
"You're still mad over the business in the sewer, aren't you?" he began in a deceptively conversational tone.
"Of course," replied Éowyn frostily. "You shot me."
"Well," said Faramir reasonably, "I'm sorry. But look at it this way: if it had been your team's flag instead of mine, would you have shot me?"
"Yes," said Éowyn absent-mindedly, and then suddenly realised what she had just said. "I mean, no! Yes! Well……maybe."
Faramir made a gesture with his toothpick that indicated he had proved his point and had nothing left to say. They stood in front of the canapes in a frigid silence. Behind them, two doughnuts methodically ate their way through the mushroom puffs, occasionally pausing to squabble over a particularly large morsel.
"So," commenced Faramir again, breaking the ice of silence with the pickaxe of conversation, "would you like to dance?"
"No," said Éowyn flatly. "I really meant it when I said I didn't want to."
Faramir gave her an unhappy look. Éowyn relented.
"But if you don't mind, you could pass me one of those shrimp pastry things."
The ball was well underway. The students danced beneath Galadriel's careful scrutiny and soundtrack management. The teachers danced too. Butler was dancing with Professor McGonagall, and Celeborn, looking put-upon, was pretending to waltz Evelyn and trying not to draw any attention to the fact that his hand was going through her shoulder.
Up at the soundbox podium Galadriel had used up her Tchaikovsky, her Southern waltzes, her Elvish harp dances, and any other random classicals that had been lying around – and at any rate, people were getting bored of them. While Moon River played, she sifted through her CD collection and finally came up with something – challenging.
As the dancers finished Moon River and came slowly to a halt – it had been a very, very slow dance – the silence of the break between songs was split by a sudden strident chord.
Celeborn looked up in dismay. "Please don't tell me that's Santa Maria."
Santa Maria, Del Buen Ayre resounded through the dance hall. Several of the students, especially those who had lasted through Galadriel's dance classes for four years, could identify it by name, but no one was in any doubt that it was a tango.
The floor cleared miraculously. Slow waltzes were all very well, but not just anyone was going to take on a tango piece and risk embarrassing themselves.
Galadriel watched the space keenly. Then there was a burst of cheering as Alejandro and Elena from the fourth year stepped out, the latter looking even more magnificent than usual in a heavily-ornamented ball gown of black and blood orange. The applause rose when Christian and Satine moved forward, both a vision of Parisian decadence. Satine spun on her heel to take Christian's hand, making her trailing train of French rose plumes flare out behind her, and cast a coy look past her rose filigree mask in Elena's direction; the latter returned it with a knowing smile. Several of their batchmates were whooping and catcalling; clearly the reputation of these two couples had preceded them onto the dance floor.
There was muttering among the ranks of the other years; this wasn't the fourth-years' ball. Then the first-years cheered as their representatives, Aragorn and Arwen, emerged and took up their positions.
"Come on," hissed Elizabeth suddenly, tugging at Will's hand.
"What?" exclaimed Will, caught off guard.
"Don't you want to try?"
"Do you know how to dance the tango?" demanded Will.
"Probably," shrugged Elizabeth, and pulled Will out of the crowd. In the meantime, another couple that Will couldn't recognize had joined the daring ones in the middle of the hall. The boy wore a mirrored mask that covered nearly his whole face, and a trihorn hat fairly dripping with feathers, while his partner was clad in a sequinned black dress riding up to her thighs, that was even now causing some sensation among the evening-garbed spectators, and a glittery feathered mask-and-headdress ensemble.
When one cuts out the long costume descriptions, this entire process took a mere few seconds, and the six couples were already assembled when the tango came into its second bar. Will followed the examples of the others and dropped Elizabeth into an alarmingly fast series of one-armed dips.
While of course, he would never have considered Elizabeth to be anything below a good dancer, he was quite astonished to find out that she was an exceptional dancer. She spun and curved as if she had been learning the tango from young, and not simply improvising.
Unable to keep up with the creative flow, he contented himself by being a very good picture frame.
The whole dance was over faster than he had expected, for which he was secretly relieved. He looked around surreptitiously as the spectators applauded; Satine was involved in some complicated-looking acrobatic pose, and of the mysterious couple, the girl had lowered herself into a perfect split. Will wondered how on earth she did it in such a short skirt.
He led Elizabeth off the dance floor, and suggested that they should take a break. When they reached the biscuit table, their fellow masked dancers were already there. The girl was eating a strawberry verona in an almost predatory way. Her partner looked up as Will and Elizabeth approached, and greeted them in an unbelievably familiar voice.
"How's it going, mate?"
"Jack?" said Will incredulously, trying to see behind the mirrored mask.
Jack took off the mask, so that he could grin at Will and eat a double chocolate milano at the same time. He crunched it, and went on, "Say, you mean you didn't recognise me?"
"It must be the mask," agreed Will.
Jack waved it. "Thought I should do some gettin' into character for tomorrow, see. You met my date yet? This is Velma, mates. Velma, this here is Will. And this is Elizabeth."
"We've met," said Elizabeth. Now that she knew, she could identify the sleek black bob, and the supercilious quirk of the full lips. Velma acknowledged this with a sultry smile.
"I see you finally managed to steal someone's girlfriend," observed Will disparagingly.
"Watch it, kid," replied Velma. "I was no one's chick. I'm not one for commitment."
Will was about to say, "Jolly good, neither's Jack!" but he stopped himself in time.
"Well," said Jack, finishing the squid, "we'll be off, aye? Music's starting up, and we can't miss the tide."
And he was off. Velma blew Will a kiss past Elizabeth's outraged nose and swanned after.
"I didn't know he liked older women," remarked Will, in a daze.
"Well, she obviously likes younger men," snapped Elizabeth, snatching a mint Brussels off a plate. "It's so her type."
Aragorn and Arwen, quite understandably exhausted, took a break from the dancing for some time. Mingling with the spectators, they were critically inspecting the drinks section when they encountered two familiar figures inhabiting the shadows behind the yoghurt table.
"Well," said the marquis de Carabas pleasantly, "if it isn't the alluring little Arwen. And the boyfriend too, I note. What a pity he's not a scriptwriter; it rather spoils the criteria – but we can't all be over-achievers, can we?"
Aragorn stared at him; people not tuned to the marquis's aloof style of discourse tended to be bewildered by the mordacious undertones.
"He's an ODACian," remarked Hunter shortly, from where she was reclining against the wall next to the marquis.
"I see," said the marquis. "Which grants him more heroic potential than Jack Driscoll, and therefore makes him marginally more useful. On a whole, darling, you've done quite well for yourself," he concluded, patting Arwen benevolently on the head.
Unlike the others, Hunter and the marquis did not look much different in this ball setting than they did normally. Neither was wearing a mask. The only changes the marquis had made were switching his usual coat for a higher-collared one with a greater abundance of lace at the cuffs, and polishing his boots somewhat. Hunter was not complying with the dress code at all; she was still wearing her leather outfit, and the only modification to her appearance was her long hair, which had been carelessly twisted up into a distant cousin of the chignon. It was quite surprising that Galadriel wasn't on to the two of them yet.
"Have you danced yet?" inquired Arwen, ever social.
Hunter gave a short laugh. The marquis shook his head. "Of course not. We never dance, Hunter and I. Firstly, we'd constitute a danger to others on the dance floor; secondly, she's a head taller than me, and that would look ridiculous; thirdly, we're not actually a couple. We're just covering up for each other."
"How so?" asked Arwen, slightly perplexed.
The marquis sighed theatrically. "The problem with balls is that they're such conventional dos. To explicate, they only allow boy-girl couples, and we, alas, do not swing that way."
It took them both some time. Aragorn got it a second before Arwen did. "Oh," he said.
"Oh," said Arwen. "Oh. That's why Jack Driscoll's never very concerned about you letting Ann sit on your sofa, isn't it?"
"Very astute, our Arwen," commented the marquis in an aside to Hunter, who raised an eyebrow. "Not like that Roxie. About as sharp as a butterknife, poor girl. Two years in the club and she's the only one who hasn't caught on yet. Even Ann realised it before she did – I was truly quite surprised, considering how innocent she looks."
"I'm sure Driscoll told her," said Hunter dryly.
The marquis leaned over as Foaly passed by and nicked a carrot from the bowl the centaur was carrying. He broke it in half and offered one half to Hunter, who declined wordlessly. The marquis shrugged, and bit into it. "Well, I shan't keep you from your ball," he continued through a mouthful of carrot. "Run along, children."
After Aragorn and Arwen had left, still bemused, the odd couple wandered through the shadows behind the refreshment tables, until they unexpectedly encountered two doughnuts, who were trying to consume the cherry gelato.
The marquis de Carabas was not often taken aback by surprise, but this time he was. He mastered his expression quickly, of course, and exclaimed, "What the hell are you?"
"Doughnuts," said Pippin reproachfully, as if this should be obvious. Which it was, except people tended to need to confirm what they were seeing.
"Why," asked the marquis de Carabas, voice dripping with mordant inquiry, "are you doughnuts?"
"Because it's a masquerade ball," answered Merry.
Hunter rolled her eyes. "And these," she remarked acerbically, "are your juniors?"
"Comic relief," muttered the marquis. Recovering himself, he applied a grin to the beaming hobbits. "Are you bored?"
"No," said Merry around a mouthful of gelato. Pippin nudged him and whispered something. "Yes, actually," rectified Merry. "No one wants to dance with doughnuts."
"I don't blame them," agreed Hunter.
"Really now," said the marquis, looking pleased. "I have a task for you then, my confectionery comrades." He fished in his extensive pocket collection and dredged up a bunch of CDs that looked a little too thick to be hiding in pockets. "The current range of classical music irks me. Go change it."
"What's in it for us?" demanded Merry, pragmatically.
The marquis shrugged. "The fun, I guess. Of course, if you don't feel like it……"
The hobbits made a lunge for the CDs. "We'll do it," sang Pippin, as they danced off in the direction of the vacated soundbox.
"You're very into this junior-corruption thing, aren't you?" said Hunter, as they watch the hobbits circle the podium and plan an attack strategem.
The marquis spread his hands in a gesture of self-vindication. "What is life, but a series of uninspired follies?" he quoted. "The trouble is to find them to do."
Hunter stared at him.
"Pygmalion," explained the marquis, feeling miscontrued. "George Bernard Shaw."
"I hate your literature moods."
The hobbits twain were clutching their CD stash, and trying to figure out how to operate the sound system without anyone noticing, when they were surprised by the other two doughnuts.
"What are you doing?" enquired Frodo, who always found it good to be on the suspicious side with his cousins.
"Changing the soundtrack," said Merry, inspecting the wiring.
"Oho," began Sam self-righteously, "if the Lady catches you, you're – "
"What," said an all-too-benevolent voice behind the four of them, "do we have here?"
Merry and Pippin spun around guiltily. Frodo and Sam tried to look like innocent bystanders who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Gandalf the Grey stared down at them, bushy eyebrows flaring. Technically he was Gandalf the White tonight, because he wore white on special functions, such as this occasion. This made him no less darkly terrifying.
"Why," said Gandalf, still sounding benevolent, "it's a stack of CDs! Tired of the current soundtrack, are we?" He took the CD stack from Pippin's unresisting hands and began to flip through the albums. "Franz Ferdinand? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? What sort of a name is that? Nirvana? What do you young people listen to nowadays?" He finally stopped, and pulled out one album. "Queen? Ah, that's more like it." He dumped the other CDs back into Pippin's arms, removed the disc and pressed a few buttons on the dashboard panel. "This, you fool of a Took, is how you change a soundtrack."
The previous music, which had been Cry Me A River, stopped. As heads looked up, mystified, all over the hall, it was replaced by a rousing chorus of Queen.
Oh, won't you take me home tonight?
Oh, down beside that red firelight?
Oh, you got to let it all hang out
Fat-bottomed girls, you make the rocking world go round.
Gandalf strode off, looking pleased and nodding to himself.
The four hobbits looked at each other in consternation. "Right," said Merry quickly, "if anybody asks, we saw Professor Gandalf do it. Okay? Let's bolt."
They dropped the CDs and ran for it.
Anna and Holly, famously dance-floor spinsters, had wound themselves back onto it, out of curiosity to the new sound.
There are many ways you can hurt a man
And bring him to the ground
You can beat him, you can cheat him, you can treat him bad
And leave him when he's down
"I wonder who changed the music," said Anna out loud.
Holly made a gesture of not-being-able-to-hear. Anna repeated her question over the noise created by Freddie Mercury and a hall-ful of gyrating students.
"I have no id – " began Holly, but was interrupted by someone on her eye-level. "It was Professor Gandalf," said Merry.
"Yes it was," supplemented Pippin. "It was him, not us. Not us in the least."
The latter statement earned him a smack about the head from his older cousin.
"Wonderful of you," said Anna. "I hate slow music."
Merry and Pippin beamed at her. Sam looked wary. Frodo tried to fade into the crowd – not an easy task to do, if you're a doughnut with a raisin for a face.
When the hobbits had wandered off, Holly said: "I think I need a drink. I'm going to get one. You coming?"
"No," answered Anna thoughtfully. "I'm going to check out the soundtrack. They might have something even louder."
She made her way through the energetic crowd to the soundbox. A stack of CDs lay scattered before it. She bent down and picked one up.
"The Yeah Yeah Yeahs?" she read aloud.
She straightened, and encountered a horribly familiar sight. "What the hell are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
"I wanted to look at the soundbox," said Van Helsing truculently.
"Funny how I was thinking the same thing, isn't it?" Anna snapped back.
"Yes," rejoined Van Helsing, "funny how you're always thinking how I think."
"Are you – " began Anna hotly, but froze on the expression on Van Helsing's face. She turned around slowly.
The Lady Galadriel fixed her with an inquiring expression.
"Professor Gandalf did it!" said Anna's mouth on autopilot.
"Did what, pray?" asked Galadriel gently.
"Er…changed the CDs," said Anna, feeling slightly derailed.
"So I see," said Galadriel. She extracted the Yeah Yeah Yeahs from within Anna's yielding hand. "How wonderful. I was just running out of CDs. Will you do me a favour, dear ones?"
"What?" said Van Helsing, who was perturbed by the implications of 'dear ones'.
"Seeing as you two are, oh, not too fond of dancing, while I have been yearning to dance all evening – would you mind the soundtrack together? You may pick songs."
Anna stared. There was something wrong with this, but Galadriel's smile was dazzling her ability to spot the flaw.
"Sure," she said. "Of course."
"Lovely, darlings," said Galadriel graciously, and swept off. Anna and Van Helsing, still standing in shock, watched her bend down at the side of the teacher's table. "Would you do me the favour of a dance, Inspector Javert? You have not danced the whole evening……"
"Right," said Van Helsing, as Another One Bites the Dust drew to a close, "who's going to pick the next one?"
Anna's eyes narrowed. "Is that a challenge?"
Van Helsing rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Woman, you always assume that every statement I make is a challenge. I see no reason why we cannot settle this in a civilized manner."
"Like what?"
Van Helsing considered this. "How about…rock-paper-scissors?"
Anna nearly choked from the hilarity. "Are you kidding?" she scoffed.
Van Helsing frowned at her. "No."
Anna scrutinised him. He looked, for all the world, perfectly serious. This was incredibly odd. Anna was so intrigued she decided to go along with it to see where it was all leading.
"All right."
Ten seconds later, she was exclaiming "Yes!" as her rock killed Van Helsing's scissors.
Van Helsing scowled at her, but went off to sit at the side of the podium. Another odd thing, thought Anna. Why is he letting me have my way today?
Perhaps he couldn't be bothered. And Anna found that she, too, would not have bothered to start a fight tonight, had the occasion presented itself. It must be the masquerade mood.
She randomly picked a song off the back of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs album. It was called Man, which was the most uniquely short song title she had ever seen in her life.
She inserted the CD, moved it to the right track, and sat down on the podium a metre away from Van Helsing. "So," she began cautiously, "about the – "
Violent sound blasted from the speakers.
I got a man who makes me wanna kill
I got a man who makes me wanna kill
I got a man who makes me wanna kill, and
THERE HE IS! THERE HE IS! THERE HE IS! THERE HE IS!
Anna winced from the volume. Across the hall, people clutched their ears and shuddered.
"For God's sake, turn it down!" yelled Van Helsing, pulling his hat down over his ears.
Anna stumbled over to the volume control and lowered the volume, much to everyone's relief.
"I like loud music," said Van Helsing reproachfully when she returned, "but even I have my limits."
"It's not so bad," retorted Anna defiantly. "It's really quite…catchy…if you listen to it long enough…"
We're all gonna burn in hell, sang Karen O, I said we're all gonna burn in hell……
"Why, I'm sure it is," said Van Helsing sarcastically.
Anna found she could not summon up the will to hit him for that sarcastic comment. She simply leaned back into the podium and closed her eyes. She was suddenly very tired. This whole first week had been exhausting.
She let herself drift with the music; although with art punk rock, such a movement would probably be less of a drift and more of choppy whitewater-rafting. It really was good rock, she decided after some time, and put it under Songs to Listen to When Angry.
"It's a good song to listen to when you're angry," remarked Van Helsing from the other end of the podium.
Anna's eyes flew open. "How did you know what I was thinking?"
"What you were what?" said Van Helsing, confused.
Anna gave him the narrowed glare she reserved for Lady Galadriel, when the latter was in a psychic mood. "That," she said coldly, "was what I was thinking."
"Well, pardon me if I happened to be thinking the same thing," retorted Van Helsing sardonically. "I am so dreadfully sorry if my mind thinks common thoughts, oh yes I am."
Anna rolled her eyes.
"But really," went on Van Helsing in a more normal tone, "why do we keep thinking the same things? Do you remember the first day of school?"
"Yeah," said Anna. "I met you at the coffee machine. And the fruit juice machine. And I said – "
" – that I was stalking you," supplied Van Helsing. "I honestly wasn't. I suddenly decided I didn't want coffee, that was all."
There was a long and uncomfortable silence, which was also in part reflective.
"That's how this whole thing started, isn't it?" realised Anna, with growing dread. "Because we think alike. We started a feud because we think alike. That is…so…"
"Stupid?" suggested Van Helsing deprecatingly "Inane? Imbecilic?"
"Something like that," agreed Anna. She ran her fingers through her hair distractedly. "Oh, damn. I just wasted a whole week hating you."
"Glad you realised," remarked Van Helsing dryly.
This conversation of revelation was disrupted by the violent conclusion of Man. "Your turn to pick," Anna told him, almost glad of the interruption. The whole thing was getting uncomfortably edifying.
Van Helsing sifted through the CD selection and picked at random the Franz Ferdinand album. Anna shut her eyes again as he changed the tracks. The Fallen began to play.
Some say you're trouble, boy
Just because you like to destroy
All the things that bring the idiots joy
Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?
"I'm beginning to like the range of song selection," mused Anna. She said it aloud.
"Just what I was thinking," said Van Helsing wearily. "Sometimes you disturb me."
The masquerade ball ended at midnight. Slowly but surely, Galadriel urged all her students, whether exhausted, tipsy or simply on a high, to go to bed. The hobbits, doughnut suits looking slightly crushed, stumbled upstairs on extended stomachs. Anna and Éowyn found each other in a state of profound cognitation; if only they had asked, they would have realised how similar their subjects of thought were. Jack and Velma had mysteriously got drunk, despite Galadriel ensuring that nothing on the dessert counter included liquor, and were showing it in a way that made Will cringe.
Somehow or other, though, they all made it back to bed. The glittering finery was laid aside, and they shed the masquerade for their usual nightclothes. Next morning, they would all wake up and pack away the gowns, the hats, the masks, and go about their Sunday.
Now, though, they were all too exhausted to do much but fall asleep the moment they stepped into the dorm.
They all fell asleep more or less instantly, and woke up very late the next morning.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming…Congregation and Consternation