deercountry | o3 . december catchall

Ozpin has been... rather absent from socializing, lately. He doesn't think he is likely to be blamed for it: the later days of November struck with a vengeance, and it has taken him some time to recover from the injuries sustained in that horrible little self-contained world of heat and metal and blood. For a short stretch, he wore bandages about his hands and limped heavily on his cane, and always smelled faintly of flowers.

But that isn't the main reason he has kept to himself. Ozpin's wounds are well-healed, now, aside the new scars left on his palms. The dizzying aura of Vileblood doesn't hang around him anymore. No, this is something more insidious and certainly worse: he is now wound tight with an unpleasant energy, a certainty that he is about to be discovered. He feels hunted, for no reason he can articulate, except the secret and obvious:

He still itches at the sunlight, and still craves the taste of blood.

Ozpin has made mention of this to no one. Some have plainly noticed the tension in him— Qrow, Oscar, maybe Willow. But he does not think they can guess at why. He is careful not to look at them with hunger or longing except when their backs are turned, and then he indulges in the instinct to scent the air.

This makes for rather inconvenient timing to meet Willow's late girlfriend. But he cannot very well turn her away; he has heard too many stories of Tara, and she deserves a welcome.

So: when Ozpin opens the door to his private library and smiles out at the two of them, there is an uncanny sort of flash to his eyes, like a nocturnal predator's. There is a too-sharp edge to the teeth behind his close-lipped smile. But he dips his head in polite welcome, just as he always would, and steps back to wave them in.

"Please, do join me. Tea? Cocoa?"

The tension that seems to have settled over Ozpin in the wake of November's horror hasn't gone unnoticed, but it's understandable, and easily dismissed under the circumstances as a reaction to the trauma he endured, as is his absence as of late. It's the same reason she suspects is behind the return of her difficulty sleeping as well, after her own experiences. Willow is fairly sure it will all pass, given enough time.

In the meantime, meeting for cocoa and chats in the library is a welcome return to routine, and being able to bring Tara along makes it even better. She's spoken of the other to both of them highly, and she's been looking forward to being able to introduce Tara to some of the more comfortable aspects to her life in Trench since her arrival.

She blinks as, for just a fraction of a second, she catches the way the light reflects in Ozpin's eyes when he opens the door. It passes in an instant, and she writes it off easily as her eyes playing tricks on her, before returning his smile with a tired one of her own.

"Cocoa for me, please."

It's been getting worse.

Not so drastically that he fears for anyone's safety, truly. This doesn't seem to be the sort of thing that happened in Deerington, where a person might lose themselves wholly and abruptly; this isn't a flipped switch, a sudden drop, a death by possession. It's more that he can finally put words to an appetite that has been building since he arrived, ignited in the first incident that truly hurt him.

Since the Sleeper Farm, he's been hungry.

The craving is both abstract and visceral. He can keep it at the edges of his mind but never wholly dismiss it. Every time he scents blood and body heat, he is blindsided by a flare of desire.

Put mildly: it is becoming disconcerting to chat with the young residents of his manor. His gaze lingers on them too long, pupils flared too wide, reflecting the light as a wolf's would. He is increasingly certain they will realize, and begin to hunt him as though he is mindless Grimm. So he does what Oscar always badgers him not to do: he spends his days in his secluded room, curtains drawn and doors locked. He spends his nights prowling the streets.

It is snowing lightly, tonight, and he steps out into the darkness and down the cobblestone road. There is no sound but the gentle clicking of his cane.

[ Ozpin has been... distracted, he will grant. It has been a trying month. Nothing has been quite right since the Sleeper Farm; the scars on his palms have yet to fade, and he walks the streets with the sort of wound-tight tension he hasn't worn since Deerington. The stillness, the gentle fall of snow, all feels like the last breath of peace before a trap snaps shut.

He is, on the whole, adept at avoiding traps. The snares and tripwires throughout town have yet to catch him.

But it's genuinely very difficult to spot a pitfall trap under fresh snow.

Too long a drop to catch his balance, too short a drop for a decent landing strategy. He goes down in an ungainly, long-limbed sprawl. It is not terribly dignified. There is snow down the back of his shirt, mud on his knees, and the still-healing injuries hidden under his clothes protest the treatment. Climbing back out is going to be a nuisance, but at least no one witnessed that. ]

[There's a snort and a laugh that can be heard from the outside of the pit.]

Oh my gosh- You should have seen the look on your face! It was priceless!

[It was clear who the voice belonged to and it didn't sound malicious but there was something a touch off about it. Ruby had been caught up in the hunt and she enjoying it. As any true Huntress should.]

You're okay down there, right?

[There's the sound of something tipping over and it's clear there's a large jar at the mouth of the pit now. A strange black and brown liquid starts to pour into it. A few seconds later another starts to pour down the other side. Coating the hole in a slippery yet sticky substance. It smelled and tasted like chocolate.]

[ Ah.

Right.

Of course. ]

Yes, Ruby, I am fine.

[ He manages a good-humored tone until she upends something into the pit. The smell hits, and— he makes a broken-off little sound of exasperation, incredulity. Ozpin touches his fingertips to the stuff drizzling down to form a puddle by his shoes. ]

You're attempting to drown me in chocolate? I didn't think my fondness for cocoa was that bad.

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.

[It was like treading on thin ice.

Death wasn't unknown to Oscar, but being adjacent and having had a role in a particularly violent one that his boyfriend had to endure was not something he had prepared for. Although he personally didn't have much in the way of physical injuries, his prosthesis was a wreck-- and he still jumped at any shadow or sound that was at all reminiscent of Hazel.

Thus, Oscar coped in True Remnant Fashion: Repress everyting until he had a chance to deal.

Small miracle it was that Willow provided an excellent distraction that Oscar was quick to latch onto. Sneaking into Oz's study as quietly as he could on crutches, he made himself comfortable and waited for Oz to enter-- as he was wont to do on these endlessly dark nights.

Upon spotting the Wizard, he offered a sassy grin in lieu of greeting.]

Hey, Ozpin. What's this I hear about Night Walkers?

[ He can tell Oscar is coming. Once Ozpin is listening for it— though listening is not quite the word— he can feel the fluttering of the boy's emotions at the edge of his awareness. There's a wound-tight tension there, but not one he cares to comment on. It may invite Oscar to do the same.

Though it's a bit late to avoid that, isn't it. ]

I can assure you, it's... not so salacious as Willow makes it sound.

[ This is mostly true.

Well. A bit true, at least. But there's an odd hesitation in his voice, a half-beat of falter. ]

[It was hard for either of them to hide the truth from each other, and Oscar had long noticed Ozpin's own tension but had let it go without comment. Such was the nature of having their souls blended together as if they were pastels on paper, and it was the little things that allowed some degree of privacy for them that had the most value.

After Willow's commentary, Oscar couldn't let it pass much longer.]

So you're not looking to them for cheap comfort, right? I thought so.

[He heaved a sigh of relief. That wasn't something he wanted to deal with at all.]

Nothing so crude as she seems to be picturing.

[ That, at least, he can say and mean. Even if his intentions are... concerning, it's plainly the influence of the town. It is a very Deerington problem to have, and one he still hopes may pass with time. ]

I suppose I should thank you for defending my honor.

Not knowing Ozpin, Tara can only assume his manner is normal...if not familiar in a way. That sort of predatory air that was hard to pinpoint, but once recognized, was hard to dismiss. At present, after the fallout with the Blood Zealot, she was unable to be as astute as she once was. A number of her instincts had gotten rusty, as she had to adapt to this new world and new threats. So looking for vampires, that didn't really occur to her.

Given how far out of her element she is, it's difficult enough to not revert to her former self during college. Shy, unassuming Tara. At least the stutter wasn't back. So while she ducked her face behind her hair and smiled softly, she still could answer in a stronger voice. "Tea for me, please." And added, "It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." He smiles, closed-lipped and gentle, which does not give glimpse of canines he fears may be slightly too sharp. Still, despite the tension in the air, it isn't a lie. "Unusual though our present circumstances may be, I'm glad you've come to join us."

Which is a very polite way of acknowledging that they are variously dead, reborn as squids, and likely to be facing monsters or worse for the foreseeable future. It is, at least, a good sight more stable than Deerington.

Ozpin waves the girls towards the chairs and couch along the fireplace, and goes to put the kettle on. The little library is old but cozy, and the grand picture windows of its far wall are still bracketed by morning glories that have long escapes their pots. Around them are the scuffed and half-empty shelves of books that make up his growing personal collection.

We both know you're not going to go around doing taxes with strangers.

[Said with some sass-- he might be younger that Ruby, but he did get that particular nuance. This didn't stop Oscar from looking up at him curiously, however. They had... a lot to discuss.]

What are you doing out there, anyway?

[ He quirks a smile. ]

Taxes rather lose their charm at a certain point in one's life. I think I'm much too old to seek out that sort of diversion for its own sake.

[ Much too old being, you know, in the thousands. But it's never been much of a priority in this lifetime, if he's honest, even when he was young; even before he was himself.

He means to dismiss the question, but honesty presses up and out of him like steam escaping pressure. ]

I am just... trying to relieve a nighttime restlessness. I imagine it will pass with time.

Willow takes a seat on the couch so Tara can join her, instead of her usual chair. Aside from tales of some of their experiences in the dream, what she's said about Ozpin probably boils down to 'don't worry, Oz's great, you'll like him.'

She glances at the red and blue morning glories that still refuse to be contained and the drapes that block the sun. It feels darker than usual in the library, and her mind immediately goes back to October and the migraines that were a near constant battle. Dark rooms and zero noise helped to keep the discomfort to a somewhat more tolerable level.

"Hey, are you feeling okay? It's, uh, kind of dark in here, don't you think?"

Oh good!

[She sits at the edge of the pit and looks down at him. Oddly serious considering the circumstances.]

Not quite! I just know that you're like super skilled so I have to keep you from getting out.

Plus everyone else was running around with candy in their hair and that. I wanted to get in on that.

Edited 2021-12-31 20:32 (UTC)

I am flattered. [ And, now, a bit sticky. Ozpin tries to brush a few stray droplets from the ends of his hair, and frowns at his fingers. ]

I confess I haven't noticed the trend, though we now seem to be a part of it.

[ He looks back up at her with the air of a man awaiting the punchline. ]

Is there a particular reason you'd like me to stay down here?

[The honesty was much appreciated. It made Oscar's job easier-- he wanted only to help Ozpin, not cause undue frustration.]

You know... I'm awake at night. Plenty of others are, too. You don't need to look for strangers, you know.

[ There is a flare of emotion from him through their connection: a twinge of repulsion, something adjacent to self-loathing.

He shall not look at Oscar that way. Taxes may not factor in, but even so. He is too afraid that he wouldn't be denied, and one must draw a line somewhere. ]

While the thought is appreciated, I find the fresh air somewhat freeing.

[ There's truth in it, somewhere. It is mostly a lie. ]

[Oscar cast him a worried look-- a worry that was obvious through their connection, and one that he didn't even bother trying to hide.]

It can be. I like the owl shape because of it. But...

There's more than sleeplessness bothering you, isn't there? Ozpin... we've come this far by working together. You can talk to me.

[ He has a point.

That is the difficult element of it, really. The longer Ozpin keeps this to himself, the more it becomes a secret worth keeping. But this is Deerington, or its shadow, and these things have always been cyclical. ]

This... restlessness. [ He exhales a slow breath. ] It isn't natural. But I'd prefer not to interrogate it too closely just now, Oscar. The month is nearly finished, and I suspect it will pass with the changing of the moon.

But... you'll tell me if it doesn't, right?

[Because the others were noticing as well if Willow had to send out a message on their private chat-- and once those wheels started spinning, they tended to not stop until something crashed and burned.]

If it carries on too drastically, yes. I will let you know.

[ He certainly won't want to, but Ozpin knows well enough that he owes the boy this. That this is what they've talked about. His expression softens slightly. ]

Perhaps that will be enough to keep Willow from her speculations.

I don't know. She's speculating already, you know.

[Perhaps it was their shared Paleblood, but he sensed that her mind was already spinning around something that he couldn't quite define.]

...And if she is, other's might be too.

[Like the Pines. Dipper, if he weren't bedridden after events earlier in the month, would be all over this if he knew.]

Oh, I'm well-aware.

[ She didn't lock it from him. Hard to say whether that's better or worse. ]

Then we will simply have to hope it passes quickly. Thank you, Oscar.

If it doesn't pass quickly, please tell me sooner instead of later.

[Oscar poked, clearly worried.]

Willow is wound up about this, and I don't know why. It's a good reason to be a little more careful.

Willow is being reasonably cautious.

[ Said like a man who isn't deeply annoyed to be followed at night. ]

If it gets out of hand, it's likely you'll be the first to know. Give it a month, Oscar. We will see what passes with the color of the moon.

She joins Willow on the couch, still careful not to get too close, even with the added layers she has on. Jeans, long sleeve shirt, sweater, socks, no bare skin as much as she can manage. Even with all of that, she still worried about something happening to cause a blowback of her abilities.

Oz seems to be someone she can feel at ease with. He's kind and welcoming. There wasn't any reason to doubt he would be, but the last time she was brought into a group as Willow's girlfriend, there had been some minor conflict. This was nicer, but hot chocolate and tea were always nice.

She looks up at Willow's question to Oz, suddenly realizing it was a bit strange how dark everything was. She hadn't noticed it but the sudden mention triggered some sense that something was off. She just couldn't name it. "We just need to clap our hands..." the nonsensical thought popped in her head. What was that?

"Uhh...sorry, bad Peter Pan joke...I think..."

"I thought it rather cozy, given the weather." This isn't particularly a lie, but it's not so much the snow as the glare that's been bothering him. But they do not need to know that; he doesn't want anyone prying ever further into his condition, truly. Just as with the curses of Deerington, it will pass with time. "Shall I start a fire in the hearth?"

To Tara, he casts a faint smile.

"I'm not sure I know that one. But I've become something of a collector of folklore; if it's a story, perhaps you could tell it sometime."

"Yeah, a fire sounds like a good idea - especially with how cold it is out there," Willow answers, with a small smile. She decides not to push back on what feels like an obvious redirection with Tara there and just lets it go.

The Peter Pan comment is enough to get her to refocus on Tara instead, and she blinks, unsure where the reference came from. She manages to recover after a moment, though, and smiles. "Yeah, it's a good story. Classic fairy tale stuff."

She wants to duck her head the way she used to when she was first in college, feeling absolutely mortified she had lost control of her thoughts like that. Instead, she gave a grateful smile to Oz, relieved he didn't act as if she was weird. "It depends on the version of it you get. He's always depicted as a boy who never grows up, living in a far away fantasy world. In the books, he's sort of an anti-hero, helping kids to learn how to fly while also intending to keep them, like kidnapping. Others, he's just eager for adventure."

She's rambling, but it's probably the only time she felt on stable ground in this place. She doesn't understand the magic, the history of how they're here or what was up with the squid stuff, but she knows Peter Pan.

"Sorry, dork moment."

For as briefly as he's known her, it is genuinely sweet to see Willow's— to see Tara open up and smile. He finishes with the kettle and goes to set logs in the hearth while she talks, then turns back with an approving nod.

"You'll be in good company." He sweeps a hand to the shelves of books. "Perhaps I can go looking for copies in the local shops or Archives and see what I might add to the collection. I had a reasonable number, back in the dream, and it will take some time to build that back up again. Many of my copies did not come through the shift unscathed."

Which seems an opening for some rather grim considerations, so he adds: "One of several new hobbies I've taken up here, I suppose."

Willow glances between them and grins. "Ozpin has pretty much the same concept of a reasonable number of books as we do - so, basically a library."

She looks to the empty shelves, and it's hard to think back to the end of the dream and all the harm it rained down on all of them. She doesn't want to linger on those memories either, or get into too many questions about it.

"We'll keep our eyes open too for anything from home you might like," she answers with a smile.

It's cool and hip. Trust me.

[Ruby's expression gets a little more serious but still relatively light hearted.]

Yeah. I had a few questions to ask you anyways.

Willow says you've been acting a little weird.

Weirder than normal.

Hanging around Nightwalkers and stuff.

Anything you want to tell us?

[ This again? ]

I would appreciate if Willow did not take it upon herself to assume. It is really not so salacious as she imagines.

[ Which isn't answering the question, really. ]

[This again.]

I'm not going to argue with you about that.

But she's worried about you. We're all worried about you.

And we'd probably have to worry a little less if you were more open about what's going on in your life.

Which I know isn't really you're thing. I get that.

But it might save you some trouble with your family if you lightened up on that just a little.

[ Ozpin draws himself up in building irritation, but then she says your family and takes the wind out of him. He exhales heavily and the silence hangs. (Not quite silence; the chocolate drips slowly down.) ]

I suppose I do understand the concern. Must we really have this conversation from within the chocolate pit?

[Ruby taps her chin in thought and then looks down to him seriously.]

Do you honestly think we could have had this conversation if I didn't drop you down into a pit?

Like really?

I take your point.

[ He folds his hands over his cane and regards her wearily from the bottom of the apparent intervention pit. ]

Still, I think sentiments of concern can be expressed just as readily over warm drinks in the comfort of a private space. Perhaps we'll give that a try the next time you find yourself worried.

I thought you would.

[And after a pause she drops a rope down the side of the pit for him to grab onto. THe she positions herself at the edge of the pit. One hand on the rope and the other offered to help pull him up.]

I'll keep that in mind. Are you saying it's okay if I build a pit in your study?

[ He sighs, pointedly but without any actual bite, and steps forward to take the rope. Ozpin swings himself a step up the chocolate-sticky side, and grasps her hand without hesitation. ]

My study has been through more than enough. Let's keep to outdoors construction only, shall we, Ruby?

[ Beat. ]

And perhaps keep to drinking chocolate instead of wearing it.

o3 . december catchall

[ early december, willow and tara. ]

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[ mid-december, willow. ]

[ late december, ruby and ford. ]

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Action; Late December, after a Very Special Announcement.

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