deercountry | o3 . december catchall

The changes in Ozpin has been becoming increasingly alarming. At first, Willow dismissed it as him needing to take some time for himself to recover from what happened at the Sleeper Farm, but after he recovered from his injuries, his behaviour has become harder to find a rational explanation for. If had been just for him being withdrawn, perhaps that could be explained away a little more readily, but the way the light catches in his eyes, and the occasional uncomfortably long stares are a bit harder to rationalize.

She can't remember the last time she's seen him in daylight.

She keeps her suspicions to herself - she doesn't want to raise the alarm until she's certain, and she knows very well that there is absolutely no sense in just trying to talk to him about her concerns. She does not want to venture too far away from her own sleeping form, or from Tara, until she gets to the bottom of this, so she just stays home and watches.

Sleep hasn't been coming easy lately, and most nights she doesn't hear him leave. Tonight, exhaustion means she's fallen asleep early, and by the time he steps out of his room, she's already changed, and she's up as soon as she hears him at the front door. It's a rare opportunity to see what he's up to, and of course she can't pass it up, so she quietly creeps down the steps and, at a distance, follows him out into the snow.

He doesn't notice the wolf. She hangs back and downwind of him, scent dampened by the biting cold, and he is too out of practice at keeping an eye over his shoulder for the Grimm. There has been no cause for caution until rather recently.

More recently than he's admitted to the others.

With no one around to see, he allows the limp to show through. He has kept quiet his recent fight with a Sleeper, his would-be hunter; it was short but jarringly unpleasant. In the continued absence of his Aura, he may be fortunate to have gotten off as lightly as he did. He has suffered only deep bruising at his hip, shoulder, and thigh. Nothing that can't be hidden and let to heal.

He could, of course, visit the Blood Ministers. He could do a great many things.

Ozpin limps out into the snowy night, then slows to a stop when he reaches the edge of Gaze. There are two paths he might take, two options. One leads towards the healers' district, which shall be all but silent at this time of night.

The other leads to Cellar Door, with its constant throng of nighttime crowds. There are always Night Walkers and their clients; there are a great many people he does not know. It is not the sort of place he has ever had cause to visit. He will not be recognized, and may not be noticed at all, should he... indulge an urge.

He turns towards Cellar Door.

The limp comes out and Willow's ears go back in irritation. Of course he's hurt - either again or still - and hasn't let on at all. Again seems more likely, and she can't help but wonder if it's connected to whatever secret it is that he's hiding from them. Either that, or maybe he just fell on a patch of the treacherous black ice that seems to be far too common in the city lately, and simply didn't want to admit to it.

She follows him to the crossroad, maintaining the distance, and keeping to the shadows and she fully expects him to take the path to Lumenwood. It would make the most sense, she thinks, especially if he's hurt - a quick trip to the healers to set him right again. Completely understandable, and it suddenly feels like there's a good chance this is going to be a completely unenlightening trip.

Except he heads for Cellar Door instead.

What.

Well, that's much more intriguing. What's he doing going to the entertainment district? She quietly pads after him to find out.

He doesn't do much of anything, for the moment, except walk and watch the crowds. With the intricate detailing on his coat and cane, Ozpin blends in uncannily well, given a district that eschews practicality for pleasure.

And it is, certainly, the pleasure district. Ozpin pays no mind to the businesses with their doors open, but there are Night Walkers on the streets. His gaze lingers too long on a rare few of them, men and women and neither.

He is looking at Darkbloods.

It's harder to track Ozpin through the crowds on the streets in Cellar Door. She's not sure what she's expecting - maybe he's going to visit one of the businesses here, maybe he's supposed to meet someone, but no. He just seems to be strolling along with the crowds. She feels a little more out of place here and a little more conspicuous, but she tries to keep far enough back that she thinks she's likely to be able to go unnoticed.

It comes as shock when she catches him staring at the Night Walkers.

Oh.

Oh no.

This is why he's been so reclusive? He's lonely?

It has to be some bizarre effect Trench, or the moon, or something is having on him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time any of them had experienced an unusual shift in mood, or behaviour. It hits suddenly that she's caught him staring at their housemates on occasion.

This was a mistake.

This, at least, is a safer context in which to prowl the streets and eye strangers with a touch too much intensity. He is too horribly restless to stay in, and perhaps too much a danger, at this rate.

He knows how to heal the limp. He could go to Lumenwood, yes; or he could satisfy the hunger. It is deeply inadvisable, easy as it would be, to call any young person into the quiet of his library. It is deeply inadvisable to call Qrow, who knows too well how to hunt monsters.

In weaker moments, he thinks Qrow would allow him. It's a betrayal he will not commit.

Someone spots him in his lingering, and sweeps forward to speak with him: a civilian of no noteworthy blood. The young man is advertising some musical event. Ozpin makes polite conversation, but his attention plainly isn't in it. Darkbloods are rare among Sleepers, and profoundly rare among Night Walkers, and now that he has caught a scent he is inclined to follow it.

At the first opportunity, he slips away again into the warm darkness of the pleasure district, and resumes his hunt.

Willow observes him quietly. Part of her wants to turn around and leave, since she's already suspicious about what, exactly, Ozpin is up to, and it's way more than she ever wanted to know about him.

She just stands there in the middle of the sidewalk and stares as he tries to make enough conversation with the young man to try to escape without drawing too much attention to himself. It seems clear to her what's going on here, and where his interest is. She really doesn't need - or want to see anything more.

She turns to go and blunders straight into the legs of a man coming out of a building, and bowls him over. She takes a quick glance around as several other people move to help him up and dashes off.

He is not so deep into his curse that he pays no mind to his surroundings. There is a brief commotion from behind and off towards an alleyway, and Ozpin turns. He cannot catch the scent from here, not among so many people and so many shades of blood— but he thinks he catches a familiar flash of movement, a loping shift of movement that feels like something he knows.

Ozpin watches for a long moment after it. Long enough to lose the trail.

It's for the best.

Lingering here shall come to no good. Perhaps it would be better to spend his night pacing among the few shops still open in Willful Machine, wondering at the rumors of bottled Darkblood.

As the crowd calms and resumes its usual flow, Ozpin slips away.

o3 . december catchall

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