[ Stanford says Hi, and Ozpin is utterly adrift. The last they saw each other, he still had Stanford's blood in his teeth. He was wearing the robe of a dead man. The holes punched into his hands were a half-healed mess, and he was barely steady enough to walk under his own power.
Now he wears immaculate soft gloves and has not tasted blood in weeks. He knows how Stanford's would bloom into his mouth, knows the smell of his throat and the way Ford reacts— used to react— when he puts his teeth to it.
The beat hangs far too long. ]
Stanford.
[ He has his cane in one hand, champagne in the other. It's his third, and feels abruptly like a dangerous thing to be holding. ]
no subject
Now he wears immaculate soft gloves and has not tasted blood in weeks. He knows how Stanford's would bloom into his mouth, knows the smell of his throat and the way Ford reacts— used to react— when he puts his teeth to it.
The beat hangs far too long. ]
Stanford.
[ He has his cane in one hand, champagne in the other. It's his third, and feels abruptly like a dangerous thing to be holding. ]
I'm... glad to meet under better circumstances.