[ It is not a terribly welcoming garden. When Ozpin enters, he finds himself physically struggling to push through a rosebush, the thorns catching at his clothes. It takes a moment to extricate himself, less elegantly than he'd prefer.
But he does insist, and so now here he stands: leaves in his hair, his weapon in hand, frowning out at the seemingly endless tangle of hedges. Every time he steps forward, he seems to meet another dead end. ]
hedge maze for bastard grandpas
But he does insist, and so now here he stands: leaves in his hair, his weapon in hand, frowning out at the seemingly endless tangle of hedges. Every time he steps forward, he seems to meet another dead end. ]