Chapter 43: All Occasions Inform


His eyes were fixed on the green ripples in her aura, which never left Thetis as she spoke.

"...and I have never, in all my life, taken any action, direct or indirect, which could have exposed Jacques Schnee to death, dismemberment, or any otherwise great deal of physical harm."

Thetis repeated the prescribed words carefully; her arm, gripped tightly as it was by Robyn's, never once showed a hint of any other color than truth.

Huh…

Mr. S turned a straight gaze onto Thetis. "Well -I suppose you're free to go, in that case," he chuckled, trying to stall his disbelief.

Thetis turned from Robyn, snatching her hand back, and walked stiffly towards the entrance. "I expect my servants to be released and gathered at my ship with due haste, Jacques," she paused momentarily to remark; the pressurized puff of mechanical doors signaled her departure.

It was notable, to Mr. S, how deftly Thetis had allowed her gaze to float over him, and of how strenuously she had worked to keep her eyes off everyone. And, she seemed, most of all, tired, barely able to support her own weight as she left the room. It genuinely hurt Mr. S to recollect the recent trials he'd put the woman through.

"...sir?" Schwarz's voice sounded, expectant.

"Oh, yes," he shook his head, "release the servants."

At his order, a troop of Schnee security marched in, wearing white helmets with tinted face masks. One by one, they released the Nikos servants from each of the holding cells that lined the block.

Some of the servants, Mr. S noticed, were quite roughed up, and one even paused to send him a nasty look… through the eye that wasn't blackened, anyhow.

Holy… what had Schwarz done to these people?

...well, probably nothing that he hadn't ordered; Mr. S looked up introspectively. Yeah, if anything, he probably should've taken the time to learn how his orders would translate before demanding the arrest of a whole tribe of people.

Mr. S felt himself growing very uncomfortable and embarrassed at his recent, in hindsight rather rash, actions.

He turned himself to Schwarz, failing to come up with an object of conversation as he desperately tried to avoid the judgmental looks of the Nikos staff as they were escorted out. Schwarz stood next to him, looking unapologetically at the throng. Beside her, Pyrrha stood hunched, looking as if she'd just torn her own spleen out and staring painedly at the exit.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mr. S noticed Robyn, looking very angry, in particular, at him.

He didn't even register her anger as a problem. As far as Mr. S was concerned, his entire world consisted of nothing but problems at this point, and this woman's fury was a black dot on the radar.

Because, he'd just broken the law, fragrantly, immediately after being implicated in a high profile terrorist attack… and, here's the funny part, he didn't get anything for it! It was all bullshit! The biggest red herring this side of the Twilight Zone. And he… he almost started to chuckle, now… and he'd arrested someone without trial, and basically turned the entire world against him… and she wasn't even the actual culprit! She wasn't even close! She didn't touch the cameras, she didn't know anyone who could have touched the cameras, and she didn't even know that he had been poisoned!

Mr. S turned a sharp eye onto the various security staff that mulled about on the other edge of the cell complex. They were very… armored, and he could see his white suited figure reflected clearly in the deep black of heir visors.

Was one of them, perhaps, complicit in his assassination? He couldn't rule it out. He couldn't rule anything out, now that his only lead had gone. It was all well to say his security staff were loyal, that they had a thousand years of history backing that loyalty - but, he couldn't help recalling that he'd never seen any of their faces...

He shook his head, desperate to get clarity. He had a thousand problems, and the greatest, most immediate amongst them seemed irresolvable.

He had a thousand suspects, and his greatest one was gone.

He had a thousand enemies, and all of them seemed implacable!

What was he supposed to do?

And, here, a certain, bright idea came to mind, as he slowly swiveled Robyn squarely in his vision.

"Robyn," he said cheerily, speaking with distinct avision, "would you perhaps be willing to interrogate several thousand other suspects?"

"No!" Robyn shouted sharply, "I wouldn't be willing to do this for one more suspect, Jacques! If you want to play investigator, go to the police! And I want my dog back!" She turned suddenly toward Schwarz, scowling and pointing a harsh finger at the woman.

Mr. S turned a strange look onto Schwarz at the accusation.

Schwarz hardly blinked, and snapped a finger.

Pinkamena appeared in the space between the ceiling and the floor, adding a splash of color to the otherwise monotone cell block as she fell to a soft crouch and released a small labradoodle onto the floor. The dog barked chipperly and immediately fell into a run, skidding excitedly across the metal floor as it ran across to Robyn. Reaching her, it reared, leaning its forepaws against her legs and it barked a smile up at her - wagging its tail.

"Poochie!" Robyn fell onto a knee, cradling the dog into a hug while rubbing her fingers through his soft cheeks.

The good turn of mood didn't last however, as Robyn suddenly pointed a recollecting glare onto the three of them.

"I'll be leaving now. Don't call me again," Robyn stood, cradling the dog protectively against her chest, and left.


Contingent on her release, Thetis had been asked not to reveal anything about the ongoing investigation at the Schnee Manor.

And, to her credit, Thetis had agreed - promised while under a scan from Robyn, in fact.

This was good news, Mr. S decided, it would ensure that the real suspect wouldn't know or suspect anything about their investigation.

But, the thought of Schwarz extracting promises from people only drew his mind back, unfortunately, to that certain topic he'd been unsuccessfully trying to avoid thinking about.

He was alone with Schwarz, now; she walked beside him as they travelled through the lower hallways of the Schnee manor.

"Why did you have her dog?" Mr. S asked at last.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Schwarz said, turning her black eyes so that they stared directly into his.

"I mean, Robyn's dog," Mr. S said, unsure how else he could clarify the presentiment, "why… did you have it?"

"We found it, sir," Schwarz said, straight face.

Mr. S decided he didn't want to know anything more, and he turned stiffly to face very forward, as he continued his walk.

Somehow, he felt less scared now, about the assassin.


Pyrrha walked effortlessly against the incongenial wind blasts of the starting Bullhead.

The night was dark and the rooftop landing pads were rimmed by faint lights. And all across the roof top, circular constellations sprawled out against the murky darkness.

Floating above one of those circles, the interior of Thetis's bullhead stood as a monument of light, hovering square above the speckled darkness of the manor rooftop. The ramp leading up to it was illuminated, and nothing else - an all encompassing darkness engulfed the scene, leaving it as a singular center point in Pyrrha's vision.

Thetis was there, on the inside, in cool clothing and bathed in the warm light, and she was facing away from Pyrrha.

"Mother!" Pyrrha called up, at the foot of the ramp.

And, for the first time, Pyrrha was surprised at Thetis's response. Her mother had always been a brash, domineering woman, and always unafraid to offend. So, Pyrrha had prepared herself to accept any level of insult and curse.

What she'd never imagined could happen, however, was that her mother would ignore her.

That hurt Pyrrha more than she ever expected to hurt, and a mad panic induced her to run up the ramp. Already, she felt her earlier resolve crumbling, and she felt a thousand apologies welling up at demand.

"Mother," Pyrrha cried again when she'd reached her, moving to touch Thetis's shoulder.

Thetis again, was absolutely silent, responding only by raising her shoulders up with shivering recoil.

Pyrrha immediately released her, and she hardly noticed the various servants who looked away from the scene... and from her. Pyrrha felt her own tears start up, now that she'd seen, rather than imagined, her future status in her Mother's eyes. And she backed away with a stumble, tears warbling in her vision as she turned away and ran, disappearing into the airstrip darkness.


Mr. S felt calmed by his analysis.

Things weren't so confusing after all, now that he'd gotten his priorities in order.

First order of business would be to - once and for all - take care of this poison issue. That was, after all, the most immediate threat.

Afterwards, he'd spend the next six months ensuring he didn't get fired.

And, once he'd secured his employment, as well as his source of income, he'd be able to deal with that White Fang conspiracy Mr. Schnee had talked to him about.

That was the plan: poison first, then employment, and finally world-ending conspiracy: in that order.

He breathed a sigh of relief. It was nice, for once, to have only one problem to deal with. This poison issue seemed relatively trivial, now that he had the perspective to know it was probably the least of his problems. And he was committed to putting forward all of his energy to solving it. Poison assassins were no joke, and he had to hammer down on this, stat.

Not before another game of Tatica, however.

Bwffooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...

The simulated explosion washed over the holographic map, and again the red letters of defeat were spelled out in humiliating colors over the wooden tabletop.

And, what a frustrating event it was, to lose so many times to the same level.

Jaune let his forehead fall onto said tabletop with vuilding dissapointment. Mr. S only got angrier.

The rest of the group had been taken into the next room for a debriefing, and Jaune, having elected to stay back and get the news from Ren later, was left alone with Mr. S, who constantly hovered over him, and paid witness to his continuing losses.

"I'm normally very good at these types of games, I swear," Jaune said, looking up at Mr. S with some embarrassment.

Despite everything, Jaune actually seemed to be warming to the man, as that latest comment revealed.

Jaune had never had many friends who were willing to get into the gritty details of pointless strategy games with him, and few people seemed to appreciate the escapist elements that drew him to them in the first place. And, Mr. Schnee, though a stranger to the idea, was actually the first person who seemed genuinely interested in playing, rather than using the exercise as a poorly fabricated excuse to get him to talk about his feelings… and Pyrrha.

Jaune shook his head of the thoughts and returned to the game. He… felt desperately that he had to beat this level, and he could feel his eyes straining from the intense focus he placed on the voxel projector, sure by now that he could see into the fourth dimension. He… needed to beat this level... more than anything he had to beat this level.

He didn't know why he felt this way, he just did; although, this feeling was motivated partly by the sudden attention he'd drawn from Mr. Schnee, and the humiliating losses that had made up the entirety of his experience when playing in front of the man.

He needn't have felt so abashed, however, because Mr. S was growing hot from his own failures.

No matter what they tried, they always seemed to be half a point away from winning - a condition the game chose to interpret as explosive defeat, to tell by the large explosion that marked it.

And it was nagging at Mr. S that, despite his advice, Jaune was losing so terribly. Oh, the first time he'd offered a losing strategy, he'd at least been able to save his pride by leaning on his unfamiliarity. The twentieth time, however, started to make him feel a phantom, conical weight pressing down upon his head.

This wasn't to say he was a know-it-all: one who, despite his age, still felt a burning desire to show off his knowledge in front of other people… but...

"Ok," said Mr. S, "try again, but this time, stagger your infantry so that they come in two separate blocks. That might let you get a few extra hits with the second bunch while they're still out of range of the enemy artillery."

Mr. S didn't bother offering any more details, sure that the boy would handle the tactics better than he could prescribe.

Jaune perked up at the strategy, and started up another game to try it.

… and they lost even faster than last time.

Under his breath, Mr. S cursed, looking at the point bar, which was, again, only a hair's breadth from victory. "How hard is this game?" he grouched lightly.

"Actually, this is a user created level, I beat the game on the first run through," Jaune said, trying, by the statement, to salvage his reputation.

"Well, at least we're learning," Mr. S huffed, crouching low to get another perspective of the holographic battlefield.

It was such a deceptively simple level: a flat plain with two hills rising on either flank. And the enemy units weren't anything special, either: just an infantry division with supporting armor.

Yet, the more they played it, the more every single detail, down to the last bullet of the last infantry bot, seemed to stack itself against them like an impassable wall, one who's edge was just barely from their reach.

He looked down at the lower back corner of the voxel, where displayed the username of the level designer: (insert humorous nickname here).

Truly, whoever had created such a level could only have been the most intelligent and sadistic of monsters... how did they look themselves in the mirror… wait…

The fortunate phrasing sparked something in Mr. S's memory, from when he'd frustratedly ran through the entirety of the game manual looking for answers.

You see, Atlesian units had an equipable ability called: "Mirror". It was an illusory status effect that would make enemy units see your last move for two turns in succession, blinding them to your present movements for a turn.

The ability had a five star ranking on the sheets, and no one ever used it because it sucked.

Having your twelve-block wide army appear to be one block to the left or right hardly helped, especially when projectiles impacted statistically. Not to mention, in strategy games such as this, moves one turn apart tended to be very similar.

It did, however, convey certain, very minute, advantages in this scenario, and the more Mr. S thought about it, the more it seemed that this entire level was built around the skill…

Mr. S felt an excited thrumming bolster his heartbeats: he just knew this had to work… it felt like… it felt like he'd just solved a puzzle, and all the pieces were clicking togetherin his very hands.

If this worked...

"Jaune," Mr. S whispered, "why don't you try equipping Mirror on the next turn?"


Dr. Polendina, as if to assuage his guilt for taking the credit for Mr. Schnee's discovery, did his best to credit the man for the inspiration behind the idea, and didn't spare one detail about the importance of Mr. Schnee's support and funding to Penny's revival.

He was a genuine and trusted man, and this high praise was seriously accepted by all who heard it, much to Weiss's chagrin.

"I'm telling you, he can fake it! He's been faking it for decades! Trust me, Ruby, he's evil, but not stupid, and if he wanted to, he could make you think he was the greatest man on earth, which he apparently already has!" Weiss turned with injured instinct, directing a betrayed look onto Ruby and the rest of her friends, who'd all suddenly taken a friendlier view of the man.

"But I think he's really cha-"

Weiss yelled with strenuous sincerity. "Don't try to lecture me about my own father, Ruby! I know him better than you can imagine, and I won't contentedly sit by to measure your opinion when you have done nothing but champion his side with it!"

"I'm not choosing his side!" Ruby said defensively.

"You've already forgotten that he imprisoned us two hours ago!" Weiss yelled, stopping herself suddenly with a calming breath, as she observed the awkward looks plastered on the rest of the group. She started up again, less loudly, and speaking more to herself. "I swear, five minutes without me and you'd all be wrapped around his finger."

"Come on, Weiss, nobody's that good at manipulating people," Nora cheered with a tipsy drawl; she marched ahead of the group and pushed open the doors into the main room.

"Oh my god!" Jaune leapt back as if in disbelief, looking at the state of the board. "We did it!" He cheered, leaping from his desk with frantic excitement, and joining Mr. Schnee in a mutual hug of correspondence.

Over the desk, a blue victory flag rose in time with the heroic brass of the hero's leitmotif.

At the doorway, Weiss was the sole outlier in the amazed, and slightly fearful, looks that crossed the rest of the team.

Because...

That… had been the first time Jaune looked happy, since the Pyrrha incident.

All of his teammates' efforts to draw even a smile out of him had failed, Ren recollected dispassionately, as they all looked upon the scene.

Mr. S, however, only looked bashfully down at the pointless game he'd played with the boy… it wasn't often he got a chance to meet with someone with matching interests. And despite his know-it-allisms and technical mindset, Mr. S did have a certain way with people, especially lonely nerds who reminded him somewhat of his younger self.

"Yeah, yeah," Mr. S patted the boy on the back, wincing slightly as the angular front of Jaune's armor pressed into him, "we did it," he said lightly.


And it was a heartfelt moment, Mr. S had to admit, one that stuck with him into the late hours of the night, as he sat pacing before the relational map.

It was a larger, higher fidelity, version of the map they now worked with.

Schwarz had modified it to be more human readable, and Mr. S was running very low on patience.

His erratic pacing took him closer and closer to the door, he felt ready to give the order, and he could feel his anticipation hanging by a tether as he repeatedly reached into his pocket, fidgeting with his scroll before, once again, pulling his hand back out with a nervous shiver.

Oh, just one word from him and every single one of them would be in a prison cell! Within the hour!

But, Schwarz stood in his way, freezing him with the horrified look that took her countenance at the suggestion.

"I don't think we should arrest any of them just yet, sir," Schwarz implored. "That'll only serve to tip off our mark, and we wouldn't be able to interrogate them in a timely manner, anyhow."

Mr. S took one look at the mountainous sea of dots that hovered over the table, as well as at the wall of staff pictures Schwarz had posted.

There were about 2500 hundred suspects, in total.

That was two thousand five hundred people that had walked through hallway B-12 at the critical moment; two thousand five hundred people who could have poisoned his meal, two thousand five hundred people they'd have to sort through in order to find the true culprit.

"Then what are we supposed to do!" Mr. S yelled. "We've been looking at this chart for hours!"

"To be honest, sir," Schwarz said with tentative pushback, "I believe you, when you say that there might have been an assassin, but, considering you said this came from a hunch, we're not left with many avenues of investigation. And I don't think the council will be willing to authorize a police investigation unless we come to them with something more concrete."

Mr. S looked fairly composed as he paced about the room. That was an illusion, granted by the new distance between him and his adopted mannerisms. On the inside, he was breaking down at the hopeless turn of the investigation. All they had was a blank spot in the security cameras! No leads, no evidence, no nothing! Whp would believe that Mr. S, for some reason, knew that there was a poison assassin in hall B-12 at the time? What, of a thousand, motives did the assassin even have? Were they white fang? The progenitors of the conspiracy? His wife?

He took a calming breath.

For all his worries, he was content to know that Schwarz was on his side, at least. And she'd even restructured the meal plan. After a brief conversation about the matter, Schwarz had come up with some deceptively simple security procedures that would ensure he wouldn't be eating poisoned food. No more need to host parties, Mr. S supposed, taking an idle bite of one of the many rice dishes laid out before them. They were still hot, though not uncomfortably so, and he enjoyed the savory meats they were laden with.

"Ok," he started, putting the spoon down and his hands together, as he lifted them in prayer form in front of his face. "What if we run through this thing as if I had been assassinated?"

Schwarz looked strangely at him, an inkling of understanding at his words.

"What I mean is," Mr. S clarified, "imagine I actually had been poisoned last Thursday; imagine I died just before the gala. How would you investigate in that case?"

"Well, firstly, the entire castle would be shut down and all visitations would've been halted, sir," Schwarz began. "Then the staff would be separated into interrogation rooms and questioned. Their statements would be cross referenced against security footage, as well as information from the relational map." She nodded at the hovering sea of dots.

"And, why can't we do that, now?" Mr. S asked.

"Well, the event did happen a week ago, so the benefits of such drastic action would be minor. Not to mention, without an impetus like your death, we'd have little support for it, at least when compared to the outrage locking the staff up might cause. And, as we are, all of the suspects are still in the castle, we shouldn't scare them off by letting them know we're investigating."

"They couldn't leave if we locked them up," Mr. S ventured idly, leaning back in his chair to puff a tired breath at the ceiling of the library.

Around them, various, short shelves of reference books stood. Besides the small spotlight of fluorescence that lit up their immediate surroundings, the rest of the vast library was dark, hardly lit by the accent lights that decorated the shelves.

"Well, not all of the suspects are servants, sir. It would hardly be an internal matter to lock them up."

"Are you saying we couldn't lock them up?"

"Well… we could… but, technically, that was the case with Thetis, as well."

Mr. S almost shivered at the memory of her arrest, and the resulting backlash

He stood up again with evident frustration. "Ok, let's go over it again: what do we have?" he asked, training his vision back onto the relational map.

"Well, nothing conclusive, sir," Schwarz said. "We can deduce that whoever tampered with the cameras knew of Thetis's arrival beforehand, and that they had enough security access to reach the camera rooms. That narrows it down to these groups," Schwarz drew a tentative Venn diagram the relevant groups. "Although, this isn't certain," she continued.

Mr. S resisted slamming his head into the table. The assumptions hardly narrowed the list; he looked down at the remaining five hundred dots, the rest having been weeded out by their "inconclusive" methods as Schwarz had put them.

He sighed tiredly and fell back into his chair; his momentum rolled him out beyond the borders of the fluorescent spotlight, and there he was shrouded in the quiet shadows that engulfed the rest of the library.

The action drew a wince from Schwarz, as if she blamed herself for his frustration. He swiveled in place to look away from her as he thought idly over his predicament.

Great, now he was blaming himself for the fact that Schwarz was needlessly blaming herself... needlessly, probably.

He shook away the thoughts. Right now, he was committed to focusing on the poison plot.

And, Mr. S resolved, no matter what Schwarz said, that he would solve this mystery by the end of the week: none of this 'years of careful investigation' bs.

Yeah, all he had to do was to solve this intractable mystery, with no evidence except a glaring lack of video evidence, no support from anyone other than Schwarz, and no believable story that would get the authorities on his side.

And he'd have to do it by the week's end, not for any practical reason, Schwarz's new security measures generally kept him safe from future poisoning attempts, but merely because Mr. S was overtaken by an instinct of purpose.

He still had the company, his daughter, his wife, his son, the fall maiden, the global conspiracy, and a thousand other problems rattling around his mind. And Mr. S was prepared to go mad if he, in addition to all of that, had to consider this stupid poison plot for even a moment longer.

So, he planned to dedicate himself, and this week, to solving it… to wrapping it up in a nice bow, and storing it away where it would never bother him again.

... and he'd do this with brilliant wit, using his magisterial intellect to… uh… you know… solve this mystery… with no evidence… and no leads… and very little support.

You know the great thing about Michael Jackson, was that he had a lot of great songs. Like, who else could have written so well so consistently?

As that last sentiment may have revealed, Mr. S, by this point, had fully checked out of the present situation, and out of Remnant entirely.

No, right now, he was running through the Michael Jackson catalogue.

This wasn't a foreign habit to Mr. S; letting his mind wander was one of his favorite pastimes, especially when he had important work to do.

But, we pay special attention to this instance because Mr. S, over the course of his day-dreaming, stumbled upon a spring-trap of a memory. Because, as he ran through the song list, he remembered: that one of Michael Jackson's hits had been, "Man in the Mirror".

"Mirror," Mr. S thought with a gentle smile, remembering fondly the winning game he'd dictated with Jaune. That had happened just a few hours ago, and the memory was still fresh enough that it drew a small smile from the man.

Schwarz perked up from her seat, noticing the change in his expression.

And Mr. S noticed the sudden attention, surprised.

"Oh, I was just thinking of the game that boy Jaune and I were playing earlier," he said, sitting up higher; the dark shadows moved over him, and the sparse accent lights shone against the folds of his clothes, creating lines of featureless light that ran over his otherwise black form. He chuckled, his sillougheted shoulders moved slightly with the motion, failing to hide his embarrassment at having been caught thinking of such trivialities.

Schwarz only smiled, however. "Yes, I noticed you'd built quite a rapport with the boy. I'm embarrassed to say I was at a loss at how to approach the situation myself, his condition seemed almost as bad as Pyrrhas."

"I wasn't aware you were paying attention," Mr. S raised an eyebrow at the comment.

"I'm responsible for everyone in the Schnee manor. It wouldn't do to overlook potential breakdowns." Schwarz said, taken aback and speaking with sterner tones. She softened however, and added, "besides, I'm rather sympathetic to the team. They've been through a lot."

Schwarz spoke that last line almost shyly. And Mr. S was stunned at how amicable the woman could be, having, to this point, spent most of his time with her in a professional capacity.

Schwarz was nice, talking to her... it was as if he were talking to a most trusted friend.

She and Mr. Schnee probably had been friends Mr. S thought, with a slight rise of guilt.

"What game were you playing?" Schwarz asked at last, seeming genuinely interested.

Mr. S described the game, as well as the intensely frustrating level he and the boy had been hammering at.

"Oh, I think that was one of my levels," Schwarz said, looking up wistfully.

"You're (Insert humorous name here)?" Mr. S asked incredulously. "You made that level?"

"Yes," Schwarz answered, "you said it was the one with two hills flanking it, right? Did you have to use Mirror to solve it?"

"Mr. S, taken aback and equally amazed, struggled so much to come up with something to say that he at last defaulted to inane observations. "I wasn't aware you played games."

"Oh, I don't," Schwarz laughed. "I just read the rules and made that level at Winter's request."

"Winter?"

"Yes, she'd finished the game and wanted more levels made. Although, I supposed she didn't technically ask that I be the one to make it," Schwarz admitted, with a technical look up at the light source. "This was about ten years ago," she said with an estimating shape to her eye, "just after I arrived here, actually."

"Oh… uh, well, I suppose we found the intended solution, then," Mr.S said, laughing lightly. "It was a meat grinder of a level, though."

Schwarz, however, was far more serious, abandoning her formerly casual nature, and taking on a more professional tone as she, as if by request, worked to recite the basics of the level. "Well, the main purpose of the level was to act as a test case for the Mirror ability of Atlesian units. It's a subtle advantage, but, It's made necessary by the constrained field of movement in the early game. Although, more generally, I suppose you could just say it's a case study for why perception is so important in combat…" Schwarz chuckled with overabundant embarrassment, remembering the collapse her security team had suffered at Emerald's hands. "If you can make the enemy see your last move, they'll act accordingly." Schwarz finished philosophically: "I guess, for most people, the world's not the thing that matters, as much as the play."

Mr. S had been nodding along politely with the train of her conversation until that last comment, when he froze stiff with imbalance, and his eyes narrowed into hard dots, as if staring into the camera flash of the sudden exposure that had hit him.

"Sir?" Schwarz asked.

"Schwarz, that thing you just said. Repeat it for me, if you would."

Schwarz, mildly confused, recalled her words: "For most people, the world isn't the thing-"

"But the play is," Mr. S interrupted, grandiose depth to his voice as he gestured out his hands. "The play's the thing, Schwarz… isn't it?" His words gathered energy like a laden train building momentum down a steep hill.

"I suppose you could say that…" Schwarz agreed.

"The play's the thing," Mr. S repeated softly, a smile coming to him, giddy energy rising in his voice as he leapt up from his chair, pacing into the light.

"That's what I said," Schwarz leant back, a skeptical look turning her eye.

"Schwarz, you're a genius!" Mr. S lauded, "remind me to give you a raise sometime!" he yelled back at her, already on his way out the door.

"Wait!" Schwarz slammed the arm rests, leaping up to follow after him. "Where are you going!"

"To solve this mystery," Mr. S answered, pausing to look back at her, "once and for all!"


The main office was nearby, just next door, in fact. And it was there, with Schwarz by his side, that Mr. S commenced planning.

Schwarz, as was familiar to her, was handling the logistics.

Mr. S, for his part, was writing. He was writing in a frenzy, remembered words and original plots mixing together in his mind, churning there just before he blasted them out onto the page in ethereal inks.

For, you see, he and Schwarz had stayed up far into the night in the midst of their analysis, and today - Mr. S confirmed, looking up at the clock which showed the time to be 1:25 in the morning - was the eve of the Winter Solstice.

Now, as we've already covered, the Winter Solstice celebration, in the Schnee manor, was - by tradition - celebrated, not on the Winter Solstice itself, but in the preceding weeks of the astronomical event - this year, the celebration having been concluded on the day just before Mr. S's arrival.

The Winter Solstice itself, generally, was celebrated with a simple day off for the staff. This was done in consideration of the fact that extravagant celebrations, in many ways, were a stressful event for the house servants, who were still responsible for the set up and cleaning of said events - even those held for their amusement.

So it came as a surprise, early next morning, when, in time with the rising sun, everywhere in the castle, Mr. Schnee's voice came smoothly over the speaker system to announce:

"Greetings, friends, family, staff, and valued members of the Schnee Household;" he began with the standard greeting. "In celebration of the Winter Solstice, I would like to announce that we will hold a fete! The main celebration of which will include a play, performed by the illustrious Niger-Avalon company! This play will be held throughout the day, but, in order to show our greatest respect, we will be hosting a full crowd for the opening show… attendance is mandatory. That will be all."

Mr. S cut off the voice feed, leaning back away from the mic contentedly, and gently adjusting the "World's Greatest Boss," mug that sat on his desktop.

Schwarz stood next to him, looking sadly down at the numerous staff messages that were exploding onto her scroll screen. The head maid, in particular, seemed rather cavalier with the language she was using. Her eyes, however, were drawn away from the staff messages, as a notification set off, and she turned to Mr. S to let him aware of it.

"The actors are here, sir," Schwarz said.

"Send them in," Mr. S gestured.

Schwarz pressed a button on the desk, and a troop of individuals came in. At the head of them, were a pair of twins, one man and one woman, with matching, green, bodices and little else in common except their faces.

"Ah, Rosa and Guild, if I'm not mistaken," Mr. S said, directing the primary of his greeting to the woman. "How has your trip been?"

"Uh, rather uneventful, sir," she curtseyed, stepping out ahead of the group. "We'll be honest, this is a rather sudden call… but we're confident we can make a great show happen otherwise," she cheered, standing up just a little straighter. "We've just come off tour, actually," she said, rapidly gaining an optimistic tilt that was immediately destroyed by Mr. S's next words.

"Actually, I was rather hoping you could perform an original piece."

"Uhm… today?" her brother spoke up, coming forward to represent himself.

"Today," Mr. S nodded.

"Uh, what's the play?" Rosa asked. "Perhaps we've heard of it?"

"It's an original work," Mr. S repeated, "It's one I wrote myself, actually."

Immediately, at that proclamation, a horrified shiver seemed to go through the entire company, and Rosa in particular. Great, she thought, another noble who wanted their "personal" play adapted. Probably had an edgy, self-insert, noble as the main character, too.

"Oh, wow!" Rosa said, faking her enthusiasm. "What's it about?"

Mr. S began to explain. "Oh, it's a rather deep tragedy about a scorned prince and uh-"

"Well, that sounds very nice!" Rosa interrupted sternly. "But, we really can't do a play in so little-"

"What if I pay you?" Mr. S offered, "would five-hundred thousand lien be enough?"

"Really, Mr. Schnee, this isn't-"

"Ok, one million," Mr. S rolled his eyes.

"This isn't about the money!" Rosa insisted. "We're artists, and we want to create great-"

"One million, each," Mr. clarified, looking at the assorted company.

"When's the first show?" Rosa asked, suddenly chipper.

"A couple of hours from now," Mr. S answered. "Your costumes are in the theatre."

Schwarz called in a maid to lead them to the theatre room, and Mr. S tied up a few loose ends on his end, preparing to join them for the latter half of their preparations. And, he'd just gotten ready to leave, when the door slammed in, and Weiss burst through… surprisingly, not embracing the winter spirit.

"I am not singing!" she ground out through hard teeth. "I don't care what you say, or how much you threaten, I am not going on another stage just because you're-"

"Weiss," Mr. S raised his hand a bit, surprised to hear that Weiss sang, "I think there's been a misunderstanding but, you're not on the roster."

"What!?" Weiss yelled, "What do you mean I'm not on the roster! You need to have an opening song if you're going to hold a play! You can't just start without an Olio!" she said the words angrily, as if offended at the very suggestion.

"We are having a song," Mr. S explained, appeasingly. "We've contracted a Ms…" he pulled up the schedule for a closer look, "Damrau, to fill the post."

"Give me that!" Weiss snatched the paper out of his hand, hurriedly looking through the scattered list of events. "She's a contralto!" Weiss yelled, once she'd finally gotten a hold of this mysterious woman.

"Is that an issue?" Mr. S asked.

"I'm a contralto!" Weiss's voice nearly broke, "I'm the best one in Atlas! Why are you hiring this lady!?" she turned the paper to Mr. S, pointing at the smiling portrait of Ms. Damrau presented on it.

"Did… you want to sing?" Mr. S offered, slightly confused.

"What!?" Weiss said, aghast, "No! Of course not! What could possibly make you think I'd want to sing for you! Have you gone senile! That's exactly the thing I came here to tell you I wouldn't do! I'll never sing! I wouldn't sing if this were the last show on Remnant! I don't have to listen to you anymore! What could possibly make you think I'd sing for your entertainment!?"

"But-"

"And don't even think of quoting the family name at me!" Weiss charged, throwing the crumpled up schedule sheet at him.

Mr. S watched the weightless ball of paper bounce off his tie and skitter across the desktop - coming to a stop next to the computer.

"I'm not your little song bird, and I won't be reduced to acting as your personal status symbol!" Weiss said, all the while steadily backing away from him until she was half way out of the door. "Tell your servants to find another singer!" A loud slam marked her exit, and Mr. S was left feeling an emotion he hadn't experienced since the last time his own daughter raged at him because he showed up to her recitals early.

"You know, I really thought she and I had reconciled somewhat," Mr. S commented, looking over to Schwarz who, throughout the tirade, stood as still and uncaring as a mountain face in a thunderstorm. This, Mr. S noted, was a stark departure from her behavior when he was interacting with most other people, when she would become hyper aware, and treat every slight shift of conversation as a potential altercation.

"Weiss has always held her freedom in particularly high regard," Schwarz said. "I feel we may have offended her with the recent detainment, as well as the confiscation of her and her friend's scrolls."

"Hmm…" Mr. S leaned back with a thought. Now that he'd gotten the ball rolling on the play, he felt a bit more comfortable with assigning his mental resources to other, less immediate problems, such as his relationship with Mr. Schnee's daughter, and their numerous house guests.

And, admittedly, the imprisonment had been a rather giant step back in that regard. People tended not to look too kindly on that sort of thing, Mr. S imagined.

This, Mr. S realized, was a conundrum that required a subtlety of thought… a gentle tap of a percussive hammer.


And, never call Mr. S a pessimist, because he became convinced that this was something he could solve on his way from his office to the theatre.

Namely, he took a detour to where the security cameras told him his guests were, arriving just in time to meet the long train of presents he'd had Schwarz order.

Gift giving was a mark of the winter solstice, after all. And, what he lacked in thought for or familiarity with the people he was giving presents to, he made up for with money.

And Mr. S had a lot of money to play around with.

Weiss, Ruby, Blake, and Ren were huddled together in one of the corners, recalibrating Nora's kinesthesia, when Mr. S arrived through the doors.

They all turned in unison to look at him, unsubtle as he'd been, leading a long train of servants with gift boxes in their hands.

Pyrrha was in a distant corner, pretending to meditate, and Jaune claimed for himself the vast space between her and the rest of the group, huddled against a beanbag as he played on a hand-held.

Jaune blinked back from the glowing screen he'd been entranced with, looking ahead just in time for Mr. S to announce himself:

"Greetings! I come with gifts!"

Weiss immediately scoffed, seeing through the blatant ham-fistedness of the attempt to gain their favor.

Ruby dashed over to the line of servants, feeling herself gaining favor with the man. "Ooh, presents! What is it? What is it!?" she yelled, falling more intense with each use of the word.

"They're a surprise," Mr. S said proudly, cutting off Nora's similar exclamations as she appeared just behind Ruby. "And," here he looked down at his watch, "I actually must be going; I have an appointment with the theatre staff. Farbe, here, will present them in my stead."

And with a calculating wave, Mr. S soon left off, taking Schwarz out with him.

And Farbe took his place, standing regally in her monochrome server's outfit as she looked steadily down at the six cue cards she'd been given, each detailing a small script to be read out with the bequeathment of each present. It was a great honor, to be so entrusted with presenting the words of the House head.

It could also be a tedious honor, however, and often redundant when talking to those familiar with them.

"Ok," Farbe said, "so, I can either read these out, or you can just take yours whenever you want. Either way's fine with me." She held up the flashcards with the dense print covering them, so that all could see.

Farbe had hardly finished her sentence before the cold sound of undone wrapping filled the air.

Ruby and Nora were excitedly giggling in the corner, as they sat cross legged, the yet unopened boxes resting just in the crux of their hooked feet.

"I can't believe you two," Weiss crossed her arms and looked offendedly through the nearby window.

"Come on, Weiss, we just want to see what's inside," Ruby pushed back.

"Are you seriously forgetting that he imprisoned us!?"

"But we couldn't leave the castle anyway, because of Raven," Ruby pointed out with an innocent, though calculating, look in her eye. "Besides, he did give us a lot of video games."

"He took away our scrolls!" Weiss insisted. "You know, the one thing that allows us to communicate with people that aren't him! We should be pawning these off in the nearest drug store!" Weiss shook vigorously the plastered box which had just been handed to her by the approaching maid.

"Weiss…" Ruby said with a horrified look, "gift giving is sacred! Don't you remember the legend of Ongo Bongo!?: How, he treated with respect the present given to him by his greatest enemy, and how that forms the basis of the code of Chivalry to which all Huntsmen, all over the world, are bound!

Ruby continued: "Like, don't you remember when general Canus received a present from the humans on the winter solstice, and, even though it was the height of the faunus war, he didn't suspect any sabotage when he received the package, and didn't attempt to use the gift to harm the enemy army, even though he could've? And, don't you remember how they even managed to negotiate a cease fire for twelve days after the fact?

"It even spells it out in the fairy tale-" Ruby continued, glancing every so often at the maid, Farbe. "The rules are that, when receiving a present, you are not allowed to give it away, or trade it, or sell it; you are not allowed to use it to harm the person who gave it to you, and you can not touch the person delivering it. Not to mention all the rules for the other party, such as how you can only give gifts that do not harm the receiver. Don't you remember that? Don't you, Weiss? It seems like you might have forgotten it there for a moment, which is surprising considering the almost religious level of reverence every hunter has for the code of Ongo Bongo - which has many other rules other than the gift giving procedure - so much so that we never talk about it, because we all already know it so well."

"Yes, thank you for that bit of exposition, Ruby; but I'm not sure why you felt the need to lecture to me like I didn't already know it!" Weiss bit. "Of course I know about the code of Ongo Bongo! Everybody knows it! So I'm not sure why you thought reciting the text book passages would in any way impress the maids enough that they'd date you."

"What!?" Ruby denied, blushing, "I was j-just-"

"Don't try to lie to me Ruby, I've dealt with better liars than you. And, frankly, I'm tired of pretending to believe that you have just such a wonderful sense of everything in the world, including, apparently, my own father!" Weiss said, a sudden bitterness sparking in her voice. "Oh, you don't know anything, Weiss," Weiss said, mimicking Ruby's voice with startling accuracy, "the last eleven years of your life don't mean anything! Your father's just misunderstood! It just took someone as absolutely brilliant and intune with herself as me to see, in one conversation, what you've missed over the course of your entire existence!"

"Now… Weiss-" Nora said, with soft admonishment, trying to offer a cushioning sense to her words.

Weiss hardly listened.

"Frankly, I wouldn't take your analysis coming from a family therapist, much less someone who spent her entire education worm farming!" Weiss yelled. "And, the faunus war cease fire wasn't for twelve days, it was for twelve nights and eleven days! Not that I'd expect better from a-"

It was at this point that Weiss finally turned to look at Ruby, and halted her words like a breaking circular saw.

Ruby sniffed, trying to keep the welling tears from falling. "I- I was only trying to help-" she said, sounding guilty in a way that made Weiss's chest weigh bitterly against her heart.

"… okay," Weiss sighed, gathering herself and prescribing her next words carefully. "Ruby; I… shouldn't have reacted like that.…"

"Then why did you?" Ruby sniffed, like an innocent deer, confused at the buckshot.

Weiss looked again at Ruby, and then back at Farbe, who stood still against one of the walls, trying to hide her embarrassment as she surveyed all the empty corners of the room. "...look, it's just... a very unnatural way to speak… nobody really talks about obvious things like that out of the blue…" Weiss again reminded herself that she was talking to a friend, and, ceased her attempts to maintain the upper hand in the conversation. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Ruby," she said at last. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I was just frustrated because of what you said earlier about father."

"But, why is it unnatural?" Ruby, for the moment forgetting her earlier sadness, looked curiously up at Weiss. "I was just trying to not look… well…" she glanced up again at Farbe, turning away her gaze with a speed that told that her first look had been involuntary.

"Uhm…" Weiss wasn't quite sure how to answer the question, and looked to her compatriots for help in the matter. Only skeptical stares answered her. "Well… reciting the entire history of the code of Ongo Bongo… it's just not something you do unless you're in a classroom… in kindergarten."

"Even if you're trying to show off?" Ruby asked confusedly.

"Show off what, exactly?"

"That you're a good student!" Ruby answered.

"How would that prove you're a good student?" Weiss asked heatedly.

Ruby responded with characteristic zeal, and sat up, looking straight ahead as if reading off a note card embedded in her memory. "Well, the whole point of education is to create loyal citizens. And it is the duty of every citizen to memorize the key passages of the foundations of our society, for that, more than dust, is what keeps the creatures of grimm at bay.

"And, In order to best serve this purpose, rigorous study, hard work, and low cycle times on the deliverable products, whatever they may be, are-"

"Are you autistic?" Weiss asked at last, a worried scrunch to her brow.

"What-" Ruby sputtered. "No!" she squealed, arms raised as it shield from the accusations.

Weiss had already forgotten her however, and now stood, leaning her upper body out of the window she'd pushed open.

"Yang!" Weiss yelled, directing her voice to penetrate the open hangar of the bullhead that was still parked in the far corner.

"What!" Yang's answer was immediate, as she hopped out onto the open ramp, skidding on one foot as she combed through her hair.

"Is Ruby autistic!?" Weiss yelled over the heads of several passing servants, who looked up to take note of the proclamation.

"No!" Ruby's softly cried denials were eaten up by the air.

"What?" Yang asked, confused.

"Is Ruby autistic!?" Weiss asked again, louder.

"Oh, no!" Yang yelled back with growing horror. "Is she reciting stuff from school again!?"

"You call that a school?" Weiss was almost offended. She turned back to Ruby. "What school did you attend?"

"The Ryn Aand school of education," Ruby answered, formally deferring her glances.

"Look, Ruby!" Yang's voice filtered through the now open window. "I know this is the first time you've spent time with people without me there, but just don't say anything I wouldn't say… and actually, don't say some things that I would say, either! Just, try not to talk so much. We'll get back together, soon, I promise!"

"Is she autistic or not!?" Weiss asked, frustrated at the continually unanswered question. "We have counselors for that, you know!"

"No, I'm not!" Ruby denied. "It's just sometimes, our personalities clash! It's like a wrong-handed, trigger-play spring-rivet assigned to the same body as an ambidextrous manual safety lever!"

Weiss took a brief look at the sentence, and once again directed her words outside. "She's autistic, isn't she?"

"No! She's not! Really!" Yang yelled back. "It's just that crazy school! Everyone that comes out of there is at least as bad as her! She's just not used to talking with people when I'm not there to cover for her!"

"Then how come you're normal?… relatively speaking," Weiss asked.

"I was homeschooled," Yang answered.

"Then why wasn't Ruby homeschooled!?"

"You know why!" Yang sounded almost angry, inciting Weiss to pause a moment in thought.

"Oh, right!" Weiss snapped, "she was still too young for school when your-"

"Ixnay, on the Mead Doetheray!" Yang yelled.

"Wow, Yang, I didn't know you spoke Atlesian!" Ruby yelled, peeking up so that her eyes filled the lower corner of the window.

"... look, just be patient with her!" Yang pleaded.

Weiss felt a new habit forming, as she rubbed at the space between her eyes. "Very well," she said with strained resolve, turning away from the window.

"Actually," Yang yelled, "would you mind helping me get-"

Weiss closed the window shut, and saw Ruby retreating as she took her customary seat at the table. "Ok," Weiss sighed, looking up and blinking open her eyes, "we're getting you a tutor."

"Weiss," Ruby said with patent exasperation, "I don't need a tuto-"

"Uhm… Farbe," Weiss turned, focusing her eyes onto the maid's name tag. "Have you ever worked as a tutor?"

"Just as an assistant in the castle," Farbe answered.

"So, you could tutor Ruby?"

"Well, yes," Farbe said.

"You know, actually, I think I could brush up on some subjects, now that I think about it," Ruby slyly added.

"Then it's decided," Weiss said with a nod, and almost unconsciously shifting in her seat as she took up the present lying on the table before her.

The movement did not go unnoticed, for how sternly Weiss had kept away from any contact with the object up to this point; all eyes trained onto her, as everyone struggled now to keep their minds occupied against the weighty curiosity that the boxes inspired.

"You knoooowwwww," Nora said, stretching back against Ren as she said the word, lifting her hands uncoordinatedly into the air above her head and allowing her box to rest against her thighs and belly as she said the word and turned her inverted gaze onto Weiss, "the code of Ongo Bongo doeeees say we can't disrespect presents, hmm…"

"It doesn't mean we have to accept them!" Weiss said, almost throwing her box as she placed it back on the desk.

And, for a minute, everyone sat in stalemate, hounded by the almost painful curiosity the boxes elicited.

What kind of presents, after all, would a man like Mr. Schnee chose to offer, especially on such spurious and immediate grounds?

What kind of presents would a man of his wealth be able to afford?

And, as an immediate assuage to everyone's guilt for thinking these thoughts, it was Weiss, at last, who first said:

"Ok, maybe we can just take a look at them, though!"

And immediately, everyone, save Pyrrha, tore at their presents.


Undoubtedly, this was the most expensive present she had ever received, Blake decided, as she held up the 400,000 Lien, cutting-edge, military-grade, Atlesian Made, night vision goggles that had been gifted to her.

"Uhm… it's very… well constructed..." Nora said, eyebrow in the stratosphere as she dangled the O-type, lightning-dust necklace in her hand - guaranteed to protect against up to one lightning strike, the packaging read.

"Yeah," Jaune said, hesitatingly, "mine too." He held up, for display, a handheld game system, identical to the one he'd been playing on, earlier.

"Hey, this is the copy my school made me memorize!" Ruby said, eyes glowing as if she'd met an old friend when she held up in her hands, the gold bound tome: The Code of Ongo Bongo. Still, she couldn't help lifting the book higher, looking underneath it and into the box for something a bit more substantial.

Ren hardly commented on his color-changing mood ring.

And, for Weiss, as she held up before her frightening gaze… a very expensive, gold-leaf voucher for singing lessons.

"What did you get, Pyrrha?" Nora asked, looking away from her necklace, and at Pyrrha, who still sat quietly in the far corner, away from them all.

Nora said the words with nervousness.

Immediately, everyone looked away from their presents, and fell silent at the opener.

This had been the first time Nora and Pyrrha had exchanged words, since the attack. As far as they knew, this was the first time any of them had spoken to Pyrrha.

Pyrrha's countenance was cold at the remark. She placed her unopened box on the ground beside her and rose steadily; quiet footsteps carried her to the door, and she left, clicking the door closed, softly, behind her.

Nora took a deep, audible breath filled with sorrow.

Ren reached out to console her. Before he could, however, the speakers started up again, and all were summoned to the theatre.

Stunned as they were by the recent event, everyone stood up at the command, eager for some escapism.

Weiss, even through her wounded pride, didn't have the heart to protest against the idea. And she, too, rose, guiding them to the place of the play.


Backstage, it was terrifying.

Everyone had rehearsed once or twice, and no one knew their lines.

Mr. S could feel the pressure building, as all the actors fitted their costumes, and all the stagehands rushed nervously about, lights flickering in testing flashes above.

Well, it wouldn't be him on stage, he thought gladly.

Still, he wasn't without empathy, and rushed to support the impromptu team, which greed and bravado had drawn to accept this impossible task.

Gathered before him, all the actors focused intently down at the scripts in their hands, mouthing along to the lines as they hastily tried to gather some sense of understanding of their parts.

On many of their faces, rivulets of nervous sweat could be seen dripping, and shaky hands were the ones burdened by many pages of dialogue.

Rosa's hands were shaking, however, for quite a different reason. She'd never been one to get lost in the words, and was one of the few not overwhelmed enough by the circumstances that she was unable to recognize the genius that lay before her.

"This… this is amazing-" she whispered with breathless tunes, looking up at Mr. S with wild eyes. "The sonnets are masterful, and "To be or not to Be!?" the entire soliloquy! The entire play! How did you write like this?"

"Well, It's an idea I've had for a while; I just took a little time to pen it out," Mr. S said, proud at how well he'd been able to integrate his own changes… mainly by turning the play into a prose piece with the occasional, plagiarized, section hacked into place with a sledge hammer; but it seemed to be working out, to tell by Rosa's amazed reaction.

"But, surely this must've taken months' of craft, of-"

"Forgive me, Rosa, but I must interrupt you. All of you," he raised his voice gathering the attention of the actors, watching as they, with not too little annoyance, forced their gazes up from the scripts in their hands. "Put those scripts down for the moment, you won't do yourselves any good under the current circumstances. Besides, there will be a teleprompter screen in the back - if you forget your lines, just look to the audience."

A sigh of relief seemed to go through the actors, and Mr. S turned back, seeing this as a time to give them an inspirational speech… but, what to talk about...

"Sir, sorry to repeat the same point, but," Rosa paused, "how did you write this... in so little time?" she held up the script pleadingly. "I must know."

Mr. S could feel the curious gazes, and endeavored to avoid the curiosity

"Just, uh, just write," he said.

The actors only looked at him, and at each other, with wide eyes.

Then the starting bell rang, and Mr. S ran over to peek beyond the curtain. The room, able to seat over 2500 hundred people, was nearly full, and, as he and Schwarz had planned it, contained the entirety of their suspect list.

"Well," Mr. S smiled, looking back at the gathered, troupe, "that's the signal to start. We'll all be watching you. Have a good play, and remember, if you forget your lines, look to the back wall!"

Quickly, he and Schwarz left the stage and ascended up to their private box.

And, as the lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed, Mr. S caught a glimpse of Weiss, her clothing bright in the growing darkness, surrounded on all sides by her friends.

"Sir?' Schwarz asked, drawing his attention "are you certain this can work?" Despite her complete support, there was a slight hint, a moniker of doubt. in her words, one which inspired a nervous suspicion in Mr. S.

But, then, he took a quick glance down at the day's Schedule - a copy of which had been placed in every seat.

And, after looking through the various entertainments planned for the next several hours, he finally found, center stage, the title of the play, spelled out in bold, formal letters that took up half the page.

"The Tragedy of Yakov, King of Dnosa"

Author - Anyonymous

Except for the actors, the plot of the play had been carefully hidden from anyone not a part of Mr. Schnee's security team.

And, despite the extra time, it had taken Mr. S a while to come up with a suitable synopsis.

And, looking down at it now, as it made its first public appearance on the schedule sheet, Mr. S had to admit: he'd made a pretty good one.

"The old kind of Dnosa has been the victim of a failed assassination. Upon being saved from the attempt by one of the conspirators, who defected to the king's side, Yakov, although in a poison to immediately destroy all of the conspirators, holds off, and instead torments them with the knowledge of what will happen to them once they are found: most notably, by making them watch a play depicting their failed attempt and future punishment."

A disturbance brought his attention back to the theatre.

"What do you mean I can't go!?"

There, in one of the two hallways that led to an exit, a short woman was nervously arguing with one of the guards.

"No, you see, I really, really must be going!" she said, nearly yelling with a stumbling voice as she tightly waved the schedule sheet in hand, crumpling between her fingers. "I've… uh, left the oven on, I think!"

The guard whispered some words to her, shaking her helmeted head.

The woman attempted to muscle her way through, and thereby a short scuffle issued, drawing the attention of the audience.

"Just take her out of here," Schwarz whispered, touching her scroll.

The guard held her earpiece firmly against the side of her head, and nodded. And, with sudden motion, the woman suddenly found herself in the grip of two guards, who took each of her arms and dragged her out through the exit door, briefly flooding the theatre with the white light of the interior hallway.

"What! What are you doing!? Let go of me!" The woman's struggling cries could be heard fading into the distance, disappearing finally when the door clicked shut onto a suddenly very quiet theatre.

The conversation soon picked back up however, with an even greater fervor as everyone gossiped about the recent disturbance.

"You know, Schwarz," Mr. S said, smiling down at the still opening curtain, as the first act started, "I think this is going to be a very illuminating play."