The Candidate looks in horror at the form of the Master, which twitches then stills in the snow.

From the sidelines, their faces white, their noses red, the Accepted watch the cold training yard in shock. A steaming sigh replaces their jeering taunts.

“Most regrettable,” says the Dean. Eyes filled with warm compassion meet those of the Candidate. Silent tension broken by gentle wisdom.

“I did not mean….” Trailing off, the Candidate looks down at his feet. His big clumsy feet.

“It’s not your fault. You clearly faced a Master who didn’t take you seriously enough. The most dangerous opponent is an untrained one.” The last spoken for all.

The Dean approaches the Candidate, and hands over a tidy bundle containing the school uniform. “We accept and will train you.”

The newest Accepted doffs the red foam nose and yellow polka-dot bow tie. The white makeup will go on later.

“Now I’m going to insist that everyone practice one critical skill: How to safely take a pie to the face, and not suffocate.”