At the SDC Charity Concert reception, many upper class elites stood in the reception room. Some of them were holding drinks in their hands, some were in conversation. As Iris stepped into the room, she tried to fight a feeling of nervousness in her stomach. She hoped that no one noticed her purple eyes reflecting fear. A few servants from the Schnee family manor were carrying trays of drinks.
I feel so out of place. Iris thought to herself.
She slowly wandered through the room, calming herself by breathing until her eyes were grey. The painter heard bits and pieces of conversations as she made her way to the only people she knew. As she stood by the side, unnoticed by Jacques, his business partners, or his two children, she realized she was hearing the near end of a conversation.
"Look, no one asked them to move here." the businesswoman remarked.
"But companies like the SDC promised jobs." the businessman retaliated.
Unbeknownst to Jacques and Whitley, Weiss slipped away as Jacques turned back to his companions. "I'm sorry, I tuned out for a second, but it sounds like I'm the good guy again?"
Jacques and the businesswoman shared a laugh. As Iris continued to be a wallflower, she let her thoughts wander, her eyes turning purple once again.
Am I really good enough to be standing among the upper class elite of Atlas? What if they think my dress or my hair doesn't look right? What if they see my eyes and think I'm a freak? What if someone recognizes me and calls me out for the Painted Wall incident? What if they remind me of how I ran away from the aftermath of the fight and dropped out of Atlas? She sighed. Maybe I shouldn't be here...
As the businessman had left to get drinks, Iris breathed to calm herself and let her eyes turn grey before approaching them.
"Ah, Ms. Khloris. Glad you could join us." Jacques greeted.
"Well, I must admit, you certainly clean up nicely." Whitley stated. Iris's eyes turned green as she raised an eyebrow. The young man quickly realized his mistake. "My apologies. I shouldn't have said that. You really do look gorgeous."
"No, no, you have the right to say that." She smiled, her eyes turning yellow. "You saw me with paint stains on my casual clothes for goodness sake. And thanks for the compliment."
"You're welcome."
"So how are you enjoying the reception?" Jacques asked.
Her left eye turned purple. "Excited, but kind of nervous if I be honest. I'm not really sure who to talk to or even what to say."
"You could speak with us. We won't bite." Whitley suggested.
She lightly chuckled, her eye turned back to yellow. "I guess that's true. You are the only ones I know here, and I've never been a 'people person'."
"You know, there is something I've been wanting to ask you."
The painter gave him a curious look. "And what might that be?"
"How is it that you, Iris, have a colorful first name when your elder brothers and mother do not?"
"Ah, an excellent question. You see, the legacy of fighters in the family doesn't begin with my mother." Iris began. "No, there have been several fighters and front-liners in my family for generations. Prior to the Great War, my family was known as the Armstrong's, and they were well-revered in Atlas for military service and heroic deeds. Many were soldiers, some rose through the ranks to become leaders, and even a small few were warriors. Some were even part of the Great War. After the war ended, they changed their last name to Khloris because they couldn't think of creative first names. They also wanted to keep the tradition of recycling names.
"Due to the roll of the dice, almost all family members born into the Armstrong/Khloris family line were male. My mother was the first female to be born since the surname change. When she was born, her parents couldn't think of any names to give her, much less a creative one. So they named her the first thing that came to mind. Both of my brothers were named after their ancestors who fought in the war. William was named after Edward William Khloris, our great-grandfather while Alexander was named after Alexander Henry Armstrong, Edward's brother who was promoted to general during the fifth year of the Great War. He fought bravely in the Battle of Aramoor, but sadly perished at the hands of the Grimm.
"Since females were born so rarely in the family, no one was expecting another girl for at least thirty to sixty years or possibly longer. When my parents learned they were expecting me, mother was trying to figure out which war hero to name me after, only for dad to remind him that I could be a girl. And so the two made a bet; if I was a boy, mother would name me and if I was a girl, father would get to name me. They even went in blind to make things interesting." She smirked. "Needless to say, mother lost that bet." She sighed contentedly. "Unfortunately, I have no memory of that day as a newborn infant, but my father always told me that the look on her face was priceless and he wished he had a camera. And so, dad named me Iris, after his favorite flower."
"So fighting runs deep in your blood." Whitley concluded.
"Yeah, it seems inescapable sometimes. Trying to be anything but a fighter." She sighed, her eyes turning blue. "It feels like I'm fighting the world at times."
"Why would you be fighting the world?" a familiar male voice asked.
Iris didn't answer as Jacques greeted, "Ah, General Ironwood. I thought you said you weren't coming."
"That was my original intention, but after a brief debate with myself, I decided some fresh air and time outside the office would do me some good." he responded.
As their conversation continued, Whitley bit his tongue and did his best to keep a straight face. Oh crap! I forgot Ironwood was going to be here! If he reveals the truth, my plan is ruined!
He snuck away from them and looked around the reception room. There were three servants passing out glasses of water and various beverages. He noticed Iris standing aside and taking some hor d'oeuvres a butler was passing around. Whitley turned back to Ironwood.
I need to get him out of here. But how?
He looked over at Irving, who was hiding behind a curtain in the upper left corner of the room adjacent to the door. He turned away from him.
The distraction would have to be outside the room. But it's not like I can slip out of the room to distract Ironwood and give Irving the signal at the same time. I need someone else to distract the general.
Whitley looked at Merla, one of the many servants, as she walked around with a tray of glasses filled with fruit punch.
Perfect. She'll do nicely.
As soon as the last drinks were taken by guests, he subtly made his way over to the maid and gently, yet swiftly grabbed her arm and took her behind a large potted plant in the upper left corner of the room.
"Master?" Merla asked in confusion and alarm. "What's this about?"
"I mean you no harm, Merla." Whitley answered. "I just need you to do me a favor..."
"Okay. What is it?" He gestured for her to come closer and whispered into Merla's ear. The maid raised an eyebrow with a look of disgust and confusion. "You want me to do what?"
"Keep it down." Whitley whispered. "I know it may sound scandalous, but I need you to distract General Ironwood outside the reception room. And don't tell anyone I set you up to do this."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me?"
He smiled at her in curiosity. "What is it that you truly desire?"
Merla hesitated a little. "I... I want a raise. I've been working for Jacques for over a year but yet I haven't gotten one. Is that too much to ask?"
The young man answered, "I wouldn't say so. Alright, since you want a raise, I'm willing to make you a deal. You keep Ironwood distracted for as long as possible and I will personally send in a request for a raise on your behalf." He held out his hand to her. "Do we have a deal?"
"Deal." She shook his hand and afterwards gave him a salute. "I will do my best to keep him occupied."
"Excellent. As soon as Ironwood exits the room, I want you to follow him and once he's far away enough, distract him by any means necessary."
The two continued to hide behind the plant as they waited for the general to leave. A few minutes later, Ironwood exited and Merla followed a few steps behind him. Whitley came out of his hiding place, looked over towards Irving and gave him two thumbs up then tapped his thumbs against the curled index fingers twice, almost as if he had joy-cons in his hands. Irving quickly repeated the gesture and dashed off to fulfill his part.
Whitley made his way back to his father's side.
"I'm surprised that they haven't brought out a painting to serve as the centerpiece for the art auction." the businesswoman remarked.
"Where is Irving? He was supposed to have already chosen a painting before the concert even started." Jacques said, clearly irritated.
"Yeah, where is it?" Weiss asked.
As Irving was coming around the corner, holding a painting in his hands, Whitley came up to them and said, "Well, well, what have we here?"
Iris looked up in surprise. "They chose my painting to display?" She stood there, momentarily speechless. "I... I don't know what to say."
Whitley smiled. "Sometimes words can't describe the beauty we have here."
As the servant placed the painting on the wall for everyone to see, the guests looked at it in awe and reverence.
"It looks beautiful. What is the name of the painting?" a woman asked.
"It's titled, The Gladiator Girl." Irving answered.
It was an image of Pyrrha Nikos, with her spear and shield in hand. There was a bright green background behind the semi-pro huntress as she stood there in the air, ready for combat. The green background helped to highlight her wavy crimson hair and sash. Her emerald eyes showed confidence, the right arm holding her spear extended and her shield held up over her heart. The image was beautiful, and there were many fine details, some easily noticeable and others that were hard to see, all of which brought the painting to life. Iris put a lot of tender, loving care in making it. It was hard to believe it had been created in under a month. And it was so good that it brought many of the guests to tears, including Weiss.
Perfect. All of the pieces have fallen into place. With Ironwood distracted by Merla, he can't reveal to the guests that Pyrrha is actually alive. Father doesn't care enough to mention anything and I have already succeeded into making sure Weiss doesn't find out the truth.
Whitley recalled what was written on the note he gave to Iris;
-48 x 60 canvas
-Subject; Pyrrha Nikos
-Add. note; Shield and spear must be in hand
-Any color except red
Weiss's sobbing continued. Whitley saw this and smiled to himself.
Such music to my ears. He looked at Iris's painting. With this painting Iris painted for the art auction, Weiss is now subjected to the subject of her torment. I may not know why Weiss is so saddened with Pyrrha's 'demise', but with it, she is alone. If my memory serves me, there were 1,228 people from Atlas that signed the online petition to see her thrown in the slammer before the CCT system went down. Roughly half of them were in this very city. And there's almost certainly many more that may not be known to us. Surely, someone in this room must hate her. Now all that's left is for someone to badmouth Pyrrha. Once they do, Weiss will undoubtedly lose her cool, slap the man or woman who insulted Pyrrha in the face, and she'll lose her title of 'heiress'... And the position of heir to the SDC will finally be mine.
The scene switched to Ironwood stepping out of the restroom, with Merla peering from around the corner.
Time to do what Whitley asked of me. she thought.
She approached him and greeted him. "Hello there, General Ironwood."
He turned around to face her. "Oh hello there." He looked closely at her. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Probably not." the maid answered. "I am just a humble servant in the Schnee family manor."
He raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you here and not serving the guests?"
"I needed a break from the many requests I was being given." She smiled sweetly. "Also, I wanted to see you. I've always admired you Ironwood. Your confidence, your courtesy, your courage. So many C words to describe you." Her look shifted from sweet to curious. "Since you've never written an autobiography, I've always wanted to know- why you decided to join the military and become general? Or in other words, what inspired you?"
"You know, many people have asked me that question over the years, and I always tell them that it's a long story."
She chuckled. "Don't worry about that. I have all the time in the world, so that is not a problem for me."
"Very well then. It started when I was..."
Back in the reception room, many people were depressed with seeing the painting of the falsely-deceased Pyrrha Nikos. Many, including Weiss, were crying softly. One woman was even sobbing hysterically. This had continued for a few minutes.
Come on... Somebody badmouth her! Whitley thought.
"Really? This is the painting they chose to display?" a woman asked.
A few guests turned to look at a woman with tanned skin, a beauty mark on her face, blonde hair in a bun and light purple-pinkish eyes. She wore a black dress, a pearl bracelet and white earrings. She also had a glass of champagne in her right hand as her husband, a man with tanned skin, brown hair and blue eyes in a business suit, stood stood by her left side.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Weiss quipped.
There we go. Whitley thought to himself.
The trophy wife answered, "The featured painting here shows Pyrrha Nikos, the criminal who destroyed Penny Polendina and started the Fall of Beacon."
Weiss was angered. "How can you say that?! She was a hero!"
Yes... Now we're getting somewhere! Whitley mused silently.
"A hero? Why would a hero purposely kill one of our own?" the trophy wife asked.
"Uh, Honey..." her husband began.
"What? You said the same thing last night. Pyrrha was uncontrolled, unbound and a destroyer of peace and unity."
"That's not true." Weiss told her. "I knew Pyrrha during her time at Beacon. She would never purposely do this."
"Can you ever really know someone?" the trophy wife retaliated. "This was probably her plan all along. If you ask me, she deserved it. So long and good riddance."
Several nearby guests gasped at her rude and demeaning statement. The heiress glared at the trophy wife and screamed even louder, "How dare you!"
Everyone had eyes on the heiress.
"Weiss..." her father sternly began.
Yes! We're getting closer... Whitley internally screamed.
Back in the hallway, Ironwood was concluding his backstory to Merla.
"And that's how I became General of Atlas. Now if you excuse me, I should get back to the festivities."
"Ironwood! Wait!"
He stopped, but the maid was running out of ideas on what to say to keep him occupied. She closed her eyes and without warning, grabbed his collar, pulled him in and kissed him. He widened his eyes in shock as her lips were pressed against his.
This is for that raise. This is for that raise! Merla rapidly thought to herself. Gods, I can't believe I'm doing this! He's probably going to hate me now...
Much to her surprise, the general didn't push her away; he returned the embrace, putting his arms around her. She let her hands fall before throwing them around his neck. His hands slid to her waist.
He looked at her with a strange mixture of curiosity and desire. "Young maid, who are you?"
"I'm... I'm Merla..." she meekly answered.
"Merla..."
The two leaned in for another kiss, but before their lips meet again, a scream and a crash was heard from the reception room.
"Oh no..." Merla stated in dread.
Moments earlier in the reception room, Weiss's blood was slowly boiling in anger as she and the trophy wife continued to argue.
"You don't have a clue! None of you do!" Weiss scolded. "You're all just standing around talking about nothing! Worrying about your hair, your money, your stupid problems that don't mean anything! And in doing so, you're forgetting the heroes that risked their lives and even died trying to defend Beacon!"
"Weiss, that's enough." Jacques scolded.
Almost there... Just a little more... Whitley thought.
Jacques grabbed her wrist, and she struggled to pull away.
"Let go of me!" Weiss protested.
"You're embarrassing me!"
"I said let go!"
Weiss broke free of her father's grasp with a harsh tug and accidentally knocked him into the potted plant. Whitley looked at his father in concern as he went airborne and crashed into the plant and quickly ran to him. He looked up as a glyph manifested next to Weiss, summoning forth a white Boarbatusk. She looked at it with wide eyes, her jaw dropping. The Boarbatusk charged toward the Trophy Wife, who barely got out of the way in time and nearly everyone ran away from the Grimm summon. The trophy wife screamed and a crash was heard as the Boarbatusk crashed into the wall.
This may have worked too well... Whitley thought.
Jacques glared at Weiss. "Don't just stand there! Do something!"
"I can't!" Weiss answered fearfully. "I don't have my weapon!"
"Where the hell is Ironwood?!" a businesswoman asked.
Ironwood and Merla's footsteps were seen as they ran back towards the reception room. Meanwhile, Weiss's Boarbatusk continued to wreak havoc. Some of the walls were dented and the Grimm creature was destroying the room. A few were injured, and one was injured critically. Whitley stood by his father's side as Jacques angrily glared at Weiss, who hung her head in shame. Everyone tried to move out of the way, but there was one person who hadn't.
The camera shifted to Iris, standing in the middle of the room. She felt the chill of pure terror vibrate throughout her entire body. Her eyes were purple as panicked screams and crashes were heard. She closed her eyes and the camera zoomed in on her fists, which were now clinched up. Without opening her eyes, she ran forth.
"Iris!" Whitley cried out.
She payed no heed to his call. The painter opened her eyes again, but they were red.
The Trophy Wife had her back to the wall nearby the painting, cowering in fear. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please just leave me alone!"
She closed her eyes in fear and braced herself for the end. The Boarbatusk charged towards her, only for Iris to dash in front of her and create a violet aura shield. The audience gasped in shock and marvel at her feat. But Iris wasn't done yet. She stood her ground and pushed the Grimm back. As the Grimm charged towards her, Iris pulled out Prism, devoid of dust, and slashed the Grimm in side, causing it to be injured. The Boarbatusk spun and charged towards the trophy wife again, and the former Atlas student put another aura shield in front of her, and jumped in front of the creature, punching it right in the face and she swiftly dashed forth and impaled the Grimm's underside with her dagger. The Grimm summon dissipated until nothing was left.
She soon turned her attention back to the trophy wife and angrily walked towards her, her dagger still in hand. The crowd gasped. Iris's eyes turned purple as she realized what the audience was thinking.
Iris dropped her dagger and her eyes turned red again as she turned back to the trophy wife. "You have no right to talk! By saying that, you have insulted the painter who created this lovely artwork and the subject of the painting! You may not know this, but I'm the one who painted the artwork that you so rudely insulted! I didn't have the advantage of having several months to make my masterpiece! Do you know how much time I was given?! Twenty eight days! That's less than a full month! I put countless hours of hard work doing a multi-month project in four weeks! And I barely met the deadline! This painting has never been more important to me, and yet you come in trying to rip it apart! And as for Pyrrha, she was not a villain! She was a hero who was loved by everyone! And I know she wasn't a murderer! I may not have participated in the tournament, but I saw the footage with my own two eyes! She was terrified after her duel with Penny! Terror is not the look of a killer! If she was really as malevolent as you believed her to be, she should have been calm! Or dare I say happy! But she wasn't! She risked her life to defend Beacon Academy, and what have you done in return?! You condemned her and didn't give a fuck about her tragic demise! You treated her death like shit and defiled a grave that she doesn't even have! You have no right to speak, you thrice-damned bitch! So shut your damn mouth and pay your respects!"
There was complete stunned silence after Iris chewed out the trophy wife. Her eyes turned purple as they began to water. She broke down to her knees and started to sob. A door was heard opening, and from Iris's back, two shadows were seen, Merla and Ironwood. The latter approached the painter and asked her, "Are you alright?"
Iris's troubled look on her face was shown. She hesitated as she answered, "I.. I'm fine."
Ironwood knelt down, placing himself so that he could see Iris's face. Her right eye was blue and her left eye was purple. "Really? Because your voice- and your eyes- say otherwise."
The painter's other eye turned blue. "I always was a bad liar. To be honest, I'm not fine."
The general noticed her dagger, lying on the ground next to her. "You're still carrying your dagger?"
Iris picked up her weapon, and looked at herself in it through the glass. "Who ever said that I stopped?"
"So why do you still have it?"
"Well... If be honest, I kept it in case I was ever attacked again, but I never was. Also, it serves as a reminder of what happened the last time I used it before just a few moments ago... After... the incident... I never thought I'd have to use it again." She looked at the shocked crowd around her and her eyes turned purple in fear. "Oh no... I'm in so much trouble..."
"You are not in trouble, Ms. Khloris." Jacques spoke. He turned to Weiss, glaring at her as she tensed up in fear. "You however, are in a lot of trouble. You're coming with me, right now."
He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out of the room. She tried to escape his grasp, but to no avail.
Checkmate. Whitley thought. I win. And Weiss still doesn't know... He laughed internally, a smirk on his face that no one noticed. The heir-to-be walked over to Irving. "Move the painting to the auction room."
Irving complied with his order and walked away to the door in the upper left corner of the room. As Ironwood made a call for an ambulance for the victims, Whitley then turned his attention to Iris, who pocketed her dagger as she stood in shame, her eyes closed. "Iris? What's wrong?"
Her eyes were blue, and she was trying to hold back a new stream of tears. "They think I don't deserve to be here. They all see me as a freak."
"A freak? Why would we think you're a freak?" an upperclass woman asked her.
"Because of... my eyes." Iris said, with one eye blue and the other purple.
"You're not a freak." another upperclass woman told her.
"You're a hero." an upperclass man said.
Iris faintly smiled, her eyes turning yellow.
"That woman insulted Pyrrha and your painting." a businesswoman stated. "You had no reason to save her and yet you did. Why?"
"I... I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. I..." Her eyes turned blue as everyone stared at her concerned. "I couldn't let another innocent person die."
"Are you a huntress by chance?" she asked.
Iris nodded. "No."
"An Atlas academy student?"
She nodded in the negative again. "No."
"Well why not?" Henry Marigold asked. "You should be. Atlas could use someone like you."
"But... How can I... how can I go back?"
"Go back? What do you mean?"
"Wait a second. I know you." the upperclass man stated. "You're Iris Khloris, the semi-pro huntress who ran away after the Painted Wall incident."
She hung her head in shame. "Yes. It was my fault. I unintentionally lead the Grimm to Mantle due to an argument with my teammate about a painting I was creating. I couldn't face the devastation and deaths I caused, so I ran from the scene like the cold-blooded coward I am." She turned away from the crowd.
Whitley took one of the glasses of fruit punch from a nearby waiter and approached her. "Iris. You are not a coward. You're a brave, selfless, ambitious artist and warrior, who stepped in when no one else could. You learned from your mistakes, and look," He gestured to the crowd and she looked at them with grey eyes. "they see you as the hero you are." He offered her the glass. "And heroes deserve to be rewarded."
She took the glass, her eyes turning yellow as she faintly smiled. "Thank you."
The rainbow eyed girl began to sip on the punch. Upon finishing her first sip, her smile became brighter. In the background, ambulance workers got the injured victims out of the reception room as Iris finished her glass.
"Are you feeling better?" Whitley asked.
"Yeah... I am." she answered.
"Good to hear. Now come, the auction should be starting soon."
He held out his arm to her, and she accepted. The crowd cleared a path so they could get to the door in the upper left corner of the room, where artwork was to be auctioned for charity. As the two made their way forward, Iris smiled contentedly and so did Whitley. As soon as no one was looking, Whitley's smile shifted to a smirk. For the painter and heir-to-be, they had come to the end of the dream.