#The man's just been ignoring the “oz” information right below everything he's ever used; out of sight out of mind

[vaxxman]

Could I request Medic having The Mom Grip on Scout’s shoulder after the speedy moron almost let a mercenary secret slip while they weee getting groceries?

Three Europeans and two Americans walk into a grocery store in New Mexico.

I hope this is the right meme.

More silliness below.

This comic is the antithesis of the "wtf is a kilometre" joke.

The faces they make when they can't quite identify the type of brown bread in the bread aisle.

You don't know how [insert nationality here] you are until you go overseas and things are different.

Spy obviously has no problems with pretending to know how much a gallon of milk is, he just peeks into his conversion chart notes, pretending it's his shopping list.

I want to think Heavy is completely fine with having to readjust to a new unit system, he just eyeballs most practical things anyways by holding them up and mumbling about how they approximately weigh like a chicken or his kettle bell etc. He's always been living in practical ignorant bliss.

Medic has a peer reviewed meltdown the first time he realises there's no uniformity in "a cup of ____" because every object has different densities. He's diligent about memorising the conversion rates for ounces, pounds, the most common things etc., and recovers ok. He goes through the same stages of grief rage when he finds out about distances and lengths.

Just remember four inches are 10.16 cm and pray no one asks you to specify anything bigger than inches.

Everyone does a mental victory lap when they manage to guess how much Celsius the weather is because they keep forgetting it's Celsius*5/9+32=Fahrenheit, Engineer reminds them patiently.

The true victories are the correct temperature guesses we've made along the way.

One time, a friend asked me if I actually knew how much a tablespoon of flour was in gramms to convince me that metric users also make use of volume based units without thinking about them. But little did she know a heaped spoonful of 405 flour is about 15g and a level tablespoon is 10g.

They claim Oolong just tastes better when it's boiled to 80°C exactly with a Bunsen burner.

You only asked for one scene but somehow I came up with a bunch of other things. This post was drawn across 2 months so the artstyle is all over the place. Thanks for your ask!

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 111:  Trusting the Seer’s Future

He shut Belle out and turned his attention to Sherwood Forest where the Sheriff had said he had been hiding. He began to work his magic. Robin Hood. The name was Robin Hood. And he had the wand. With those two pieces of information, he should be able to track him easily. And so he did. Nearly as soon as he'd closed his eyes to concentrate on him, the wand's signal magic flared again. It was close. Really close. He forced the horses to stop and looked around the forest around him. Magic had a look to it, a pulse of sorts, just as much as it did a smell and taste. He'd been living with the wand for so long down he could sniff it out like a hunting dog. It was there. In the forest. It was still a fair distance from them, but it was in the forest, off the road. They could no longer take the carriage. They'd have to go on foot.

Excitement stirred as he silently hurried Belle out of the carriage. He considered for a moment leaving her behind, wondering if what she'd gone through was enough, but the last thing he needed was to underestimate that Sheriff, leave her alone somewhere, and return to find something terrible had happened. He didn't need that kind of distraction. What he needed was to get his fucking wand back! Besides, he didn't want her to think he had sympathy for what she'd endured, or that he'd gone soft.

"What are we doing in the middle of nowhere?" she questioned when he finally got her out of the carriage and down on the ground.

"He's close by," he snapped by way of explanation, then took a breath and began to follow the scent of the wand's magic. Behind him he heard sticks snapping, branches breaking, and the ruffling sound of her dress and cloak dragging on a forest floor. It was a good thing he didn't need to hear the magic…

"You can't do this!" she called after him suddenly.

Well now, someone had finally found her voice again. How lovely to see that she'd recovered and just in time for the main event.

"I can and I will," he responded, calmly throwing the words over his shoulder before stopping and taking another breath. Up ahead and to the right.

"But it's wrong!"

"So was his decision to steal from me!" he called back. If she didn't stop screaming, he'd take her tongue too just to keep her quiet. He'd had enough time alone in that carriage with her he wanted this to be done and over with and if she spooked him away, so help him…

"But there must be a reason why! Something we don't know."

"If he truly needed it, he could have made a deal, just like everyone else in this realm who wants something from me!" That was how being the Dark One worked. If he did everything for free, he'd never have anything, and he'd look ten times worse than he did because of magic that hadn't been paid for. Not on his watch. No Dark One had ever done things that way and he wasn't about to be the first.

"Because making deals with you always works in everyone's favor!" she choked out desperately.

He spun around just in time to see her pull her dress free from some obstacle, his teeth clenched hard in his jaw. He didn't hear her complain a little bit ago when he'd taken her would-be rapist's tongue.

"That, dearie, is the-"

He didn't finish his sentence. He couldn't. He couldn't hear magic, but he'd just heard something up ahead, something capable of distracting him from the snarl of the woman before him. He heard it again, and this time focused on the one constant thing about it. The thing he'd heard was a horse's whinny. And the sound that was constant was the sound of wheels. Unstable wheels, like those on a cart.

They were here.

He forgot about Belle and turned back to follow the sound he heard. But she didn't give up, not easily at least. "You know, it's still not too late to turn back!" she urged as they continued to move through the wood. He ignored her and moved forward. "You know I'm not going to stand by and watch you kill a man!"

"Well, you're welcome to sit if you like!" he shouted, turning back to her direction. Persistent, stubborn woman! "But you are going to watch! That's the whole point of our little expedition, remember?" There…another whinny. A horse and cart was coming. The question was, did it carry Robin, or was it coming to rescue him? "To see what your actions wrought…" he finished off-handedly, moving forward toward the noise. And a pulse. The magic was crying out for him, or maybe trying to warn its captor that he was near. Whichever it was, it helped.

The place they'd been walking suddenly dropped off, leaving nothing but a steep bank below them. They could easily get down if they didn't mind stumbling along but with the bow in his hand…it was too perfect. There he was. The thief, Robin Hood! He was leaning against a tree, probably waiting for the wagon to come and take him far from here. Probably to a place where he could sell the wand or use it for himself for whatever mysterious reason. He was so bold as to have it in his hand now, out in the open, as if he believed himself to be perfectly safe. Fool. He was about to get the surprise of his life.

"Found him!" he muttered to himself.

"He's…he's waiting for someone," Belle muttered beside him.

Odd, if he didn't know any better, he'd say she was curious too. He watched as a horse with a flatbed cart rounded a corner. Robin saw it too. He moved from his spot and quickly made his way toward it. He was certain he was going to jump on the back of it and they'd take off!

But he couldn't. As they rounded the bend, he saw that the cart was already occupied. And the men driving the cart…they didn't wait for Robin Hood. As soon as they spotted Robin Hood they unhitched their load mounted the horse as one and took off leaving behind Robin Hood, the cart, and…

"That woman!" Belle exclaimed.

That woman. He knew the woman…how did he know the woman? It wasn't simply because the Sheriff had mentioned her…was it?

"That must be the one he stole from the Sheriff," he commented, but even as he explained it, he knew that wasn't right. He'd seen her before! Where had he seen her before! It was difficult to say. She was very clearly ill, probably deathly ill. Her skin was pale and sunken. She was wrapped in blankets. Her heart rate was far slower than it should have been, except for whenever she coughed, then it beat wildly but also dangerously erratically. It was something in her lungs. And her body was working to rid itself of it rather unsuccessfully. She was familiar and yet…not. Who the hell was the woman?!

He watched as she coughed again, and Robin Hood stood by her side and moved his hand delicately over her forehead, brushing her hair away. And then there was the wand, in his hand, and he knew what he was going to do before he even saw it. Why was he wasting time? He could kill him and put the girl out of her misery before taking back his wand!

He notched an arrow, set his sights on the woman so she wouldn't have to suffer much longer than she already had, prepared to shoot and-

Belle placed her hand over his arm and gave it a shove, forcing him to lose his target.

"She's sick. She's going to die!"

"And so is he," he muttered, attempting to raise his arm again.

"Stop!" she commanded, applying so much pressure that he was forced to drop his arm. He watched the couple at the bottom of the ridge for a response to her shout, but there was none. Instead, Robin moved his wand over the woman on the cart. He felt magic radiate from that area, begin to pulse and weave. The energy was focused into the woman as the wand moved over her body.

He healed her.

Her.

Marion.

Maid Marion…

The second her skin got its color back, the olive tone was what gave her away. He'd never met her, not personally. There was a time he'd watched her for a bit once. And he'd had a vision about her...a vision where the Sheriff of Nottingham had propositioned her. But she'd turned him down, rather clearly, if memory recalled, partly because he was a pig and she hated him but aside from that...it was because she was married. She was married to Robin of Locksley.

Suddenly he felt dizzy. Robin Hood…Robin of Locksley. And the way she smiled at him and he smiled at her…it wasn't possible! Robin of Locksley had sandy hair, a stalky build, a square jaw! The thief, Robin Hood was thin and tall, his hair was so dark it almost looked black, his chin was pointed, even the color of his eyes had been different! They were two different people. And yet…

What was the chance that dear Marion, who had been pursued by the Sheriff of Nottingham and so determined to stand by her husband in his vision would be involved with Robin of Locksely and Robin Hood? Could they be the same person? In his castle, the thief had smelled like magic, it had shimmered around him, but he hadn't known exactly what it had been. It wasn't a glamour, he knew glamour spells, he'd just put one on Regina! But if this was Robin of Locksley then whatever charm he was using certainly behaved like a glamour! He couldn't identify it.

But suddenly he could identify something else. Oh, he'd been a fool! When Robin had returned from Oz, he'd also smelled of magic; unfamiliar magic. It was a smell he hadn't had before he left. At first, he'd thought it was just the smell of jumping through portals, but now he glanced at the bow in his hand and recalled the memory to his mind of Robin telling him he'd failed. Yes. This bow had the same feeling some of that magic had! But it was only one part! The other part…

Robin Hood was Robin of Locksley.

Regina's heart.

"I'm right about him, about why he stole the wand!" Belle gloated next to him. "He did it so he could heal the woman he loves."

But not the one he'd love forever. The vision of Regina and Robin came back to him as he watched Robin and Marian stare at one another now. They'd kissed in that vision. And everything in that vision, from the look in their eyes, to their body language to their intimacy suggested it was "they" in every sense of the word. It wasn't Regina doing all the work, Robin had actively participated. "She will be his heart," the Seer had said. But he now had the feeling she would be his as well. What of Marian then?

"He's still a thief," he countered, fighting against Belle and the Seer in his mind. He'd stolen his wand. He wanted to kill him for it! He wanted to take it back and make him pay.

"She would have died if he hadn't stolen your wand!" she argued.

So?! That was life! People died all the time! Perhaps that was how it was supposed to go! Perhaps she was meant to die and that was how he and Regina found each other! Perhaps by letting the prisoner go, she'd altered time! Had she altered his way back to his son?!

"And now he gets to die!" he roared back at her, anger flaring hot within his chest. "And she can tell all of Sherwood Forest what happens when you cross Rumpelstiltskin! There!" He waved his hand, he shifted dirt and grime with his magic and buried his maid half in the ground so she wouldn't be as much a distraction to him. "That should give you a good view!"

"You don't have to do this!" she shouted as he notched his arrow and drew back.

Now he just needed a good shot even as he debated the best coarse of action. Should he kill Robin and risk the future? Or kill her and set the future back on track? There seemed to be one obvious answer.

"There's good in you! I was right about the thief, and I'm right about you!" Belle whined away.

But it was needless. As if the Seer and her visions didn't already have a grip on his mind suddenly, he felt something cease upon his heart as he watched Marian, now healed, rise up from her spot on the cart. The blanket fell away, her cloak parted…

She was pregnant.

Not due any moment now, but still obviously, heavily pregnant.

"Look! She's pregnant!" Belle exclaimed, seeing it too.

Torn. He felt torn in two. That was the problem with having so many voices in his head. The Dark Ones demanded justice. They wanted the thief dead. They wanted him punished. They wanted the girl to see it and tell everyone to stay far away, not to risk their lives stealing from the Dark One or else…

But the Seer rebelled against them. She placed image after image in his head. Some he'd seen already, others were unfamiliar to him.

Regina and Robin embracing, familiar.

Himself inside some kind of carriage-like contraption, Regina at his side, as he watched Robin and Marian and a small boy on the black road. Unfamiliar.

Robin of Locksley in the burgundy room as he lay on his back struggling to breathe. Familiar.

Robin of Locksley handing him some kind of brown crate with odd things inside that he knew belonged to his son as a wave of sorrow he'd never felt before washed over him. Unfamiliar.

Important! Intact! The Seer cried.

His son.

Not her daughter.

The witch's daughter, the unreal pirate's daughter, two halves, one whole! Important! Intact! Preserve it! Guard them!

"You are not the kind of man to leave a child fatherless!"

The Seer spoke gibberish, but then there was Belle beside him. She was half-buried in the dirt, but her voice was just as strong as ever, just as clear as the Seer she didn't know she agreed with.

The future is a puzzle with many pieces to be sorted, in time you will learn to separate what can be from what will be.

Neither familiar nor unfamiliar…that hint was a memory of his own. And as he looked over the scene before him, Marian and Robin of Locksley, somehow disguised as Robin Hood, happily embracing with a child between them, he knew. His future, seeing his son again, was only what could be so long as they stayed alive. Why and how...he didn't know that yet. But he had to trust one day he would, just as he had to trust that one day, he'd learn why Belle mattered so much in all of this and what a chipped teacup had to do with it.

The Dark Ones squabbled and squawked at his decision at the thought that he'd get away, but he silenced them, took aim at the cart just behind them, and let the arrow fly.

Belle cried out as he did it, but he watched as it embedded itself in the wood just as he wanted. A warning. One that was received. The couple parted, Robin looked frantically around the wood for where it had come from then murmured a quick "we have to go" to Marian. They mounted the remaining horse and left together.

He had a feeling that though they would meet again one day, it wouldn't be in this realm. For now, he would leave them be. He'd let fate run it's course, whatever course it may be.

Belle, on the other hand…

"What happened?" she questioned, her voice half-filled with fright and half with confusion.

"I missed," he grumbled before waving his hand so that she could stand on her own two feet again. All he wanted to do was get back to his castle. He hadn't heard Regina's call for days now, if she'd given up on summoning him, then she'd be on her way to his castle to have him break the spell. He should be there when she finally arrived. They should go. "Get back to the carriage. I'm bored with this forest."

"You're…you're not going after him?!" she questioned further. Women! Would he ever understand them? One moment she wanted him to go back to the carriage, and now that he'd released them, she was the one who just couldn't let it go!

"He's not worth the efforts," he lied. His future told him he owned those wands and yet…as he stared he realized…that wand hadn't been part of his vision. He was destined to lose it…and gain another.

"You spared his life," Belle stated, sounding confident in her victory.

He wasn't looking at Belle but he could feel her smile, feel her gloating beside him. She beamed brighter than any woman he'd ever met before, and while that might have been impressive to some at the moment, today it was just downright annoying.

"What?!" he roared, trying to shake himself out of the future and ifs and maybes and back into the present. When Baelfire was on his mind, it was difficult to do. "I did nothing of the sort."

"That bow has magic in it. It never misses its target," she trumped.

Honestly…the woman had no sense of tact.

"Well, perhaps the magic just simply wore…off…"

She was closer than he'd thought she was. Probably because she'd been screaming at him since they arrived, now that she was speaking normally he expected her to be a distance away, not right there at his shoulder. And the look on her face, it wasn't one of gloating or winning as he'd thought it would be, but rather pride. Not in herself. For him. She wore it well. How had she-

Suddenly thoughts of the past and questions of the future faded away. He was in the present again. Pulled violently back into it by a set of arms flung tight around his neck. For a moment he was caught off balance by it, he worried he might fall backward as he tried to adjust to the extra weight and the instability of a forest floor, then he felt the world stop as she lingered. He felt one of his hands around the wood of the bow and the other…it was just hanging there in the dead space. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

He could remember hugging Baelfire, bone-crunching, hardy hugs that left him breathless. He could remember putting his arms around him and trying to leave the same impression on his son but with her…he already felt like he couldn't breathe and it was so light. He wasn't sure what to do with that extra hand! He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him, much less-

And then it was over. She backed away from him and settled back on her feet. He hadn't even realized she'd been on her toes. He felt his mouth go dry as her happy smile continued, and she patted down a part of his cloak that she'd upset and then turned to walk away, leaving him feeling odd. Empty.

What the hell had just happened?

She paused suddenly and looked back over her shoulder at him as he continued to stare. He felt as though he'd just been struck by lightning. How was he to recover from that? What spell had she cast?

"Aren't you coming?" she asked, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

Coming...

Back to the carriage.

Yes!

Back to the carriage that would take them home, to the castle.

His castle!

His mind began to work again as he collected the quiver of arrows he suddenly couldn't remember dropping and glanced back up at her to see if she'd noticed. She blushed, smiled again, and turned her back to return to the carriage.

He felt himself smirk but couldn't bother to question it. Because at the same time he made the decision to follow after her, the Seer whispered the oddest thing he'd ever heard in his head.

To the ends of the earth and the Edge of the Realms…

[moonsandstar-s]

one safe haven.

When Ozpin speaks in his mind, it is often to tell him of his great destiny, of what he must do, of what lies in wait, and the terrible things that are coming. Other times, it is of his memories, vibrant and terrible things that blur through Oscar’s mind like pages caught in a high wind.

Tonight, it is neither.  xx read on ao3 xx 

Ozpin had been silent for a while.

Ever since Oscar had boarded the train and left his farm, auntie, and Hazel behind, his head had been filled with silence. It was a welcome change— Ozpin’s constant nattering in his head was, admittedly, getting old— but it was unnerving. He’d become almost used to his incessant prattling, and without it, it felt like something was… off.

I believed you did not wish to speak with me, Oscar. I can sense your disillusionment... your indecision at leaving your home and coming out here. It was a brave action on your part... though I know this is not what you wished to do with your life.

Right, Oscar thought back with gritted teeth. So now you show up, huh? I guess you’re not here to make pleasant conversation...

No, Ozpin said, almost regretfully. I wish it were so, but our paths twine in different ways.

Whatever you say, Oscar said.

Oscar, I'm not here to idly chat. Ozpin sounded faintly sharp; Oscar could imagine him in his head, eyes piercing, back straight. A matter has come to light, one of most urgent importance. Do you remember the Huntsman I spoke of to you?

Yeah, yeah. Sure. 

Oscar, stop walking. He’s within the building in front of you. You have to speak to him, and you have to tell him, Ozpin said as Oscar stopped on the sidewalk, looking up at the sky, where the white Mistralian moon hung in a shattered pool.

“Tell him what?” Oscar scowled. ��You haven’t even told me his name. Now you want me to go in here?” He looked up, uneasy. He was outside of a grimy-looking bar, and it was all but abandoned, with a solitary figure hunched over the bar within.

His name is Qrow. He almost died while you— while we— were traveling to Mistral, but… I digress. You must go inside, Oscar. We must. There is so much to say.

“If it’s my body and you’re just hitching a ride in my thoughts, it’s ‘me’, not you.” Oscar hovered at the door, indecisive. It felt wrong to go in— not just because he was a minor, but there was a persistent part of him that was uncomfortable with every little bit of what he’d been doing lately. Running away from home, consorting with powers greater than he was, and now striding carelessly into some gross back-alley bar. Call it conscience, but either way, it was annoying.

Oscar, please, Ozpin said in his thoughts. I am aware that I have asked much of you, but of all things urgent and all that matter, this is important. I promise you. There was a note in it, faint and unrecognizable, that Oscar had never felt from the old headmaster before. It felt a bit like urgency, like when his auntie was yelling at him to hurry up with the menial farm chores, but a different sort— something more desperate and hurt in it.

I don’t understand why you expect me to make your speeches for you, Oscar thought back, faintly bothered. He knew he was being petty, but it was hard not to be. Especially after a disembodied voice in his head, from some crazy, dead headmaster he’d only ever heard about in the newspapers, forced him out of his comfort zone and into a lonely, dangerous wilderness, filled with people much greater than he is. Huntsmen and Huntresses and monsters seem like towering myths compared to an inconsequential farmhand. It seems like everything’s always ‘wait for it’, or ’it’s complicated’, right? He couldn’t help but be sour. Because I’m the one who has to have a gods-damned ghost in my head. Whatever I’m supposed to be, it’s not this! Why do you want to keep playing this game, running me along a string like your puppet?

Believe me, it’s no game this time. I know you’re hurt. I know I have pushed you… perhaps far more than necessary, at times. For that, I apologize, but there is— you do not understand what is at stake. You have to tell him everything, Oscar. The memories I shared with you. The battle below the school, what transpired in the vault, the Maiden, and…

The thought broke off, and faltered, and Oscar winced as a flash of pain shot through his head. Hard as it was to feel sympathetic for Ozpin sometimes, he could pity him now. It was hard to consider that he was technically dead.

Fine, fine, I’ll go in. Don’t start crying on me. I don’t want to have an old man crying in my head.

Rolling his eyes, he swung open the door.

Thank you, Ozpin said, his voice touched with genuine relief. That made Oscar feel a little less wary about the whole situation. Go in and talk to him. He will not harm you.

He stepped into the bar hesitantly, dusty floorboards creaking under his feet, the door swinging shut behind him. “Hello?” Oscar said, his voice sounding high-pitched and young in the silence. The Huntsman instantly snapped around in his seat, and Oscar’s feeling of surprise and fear battled with Ozpin’s… whatever he was feeling. Oscar didn’t really want to discern what it was, but it made his heart sound too loud in his ears.

What exactly am I supposed to be saying? Oscar thought as he walked forward. This guy looks scary. He could probably snap my neck in less than half the time it takes to say my own name. He’s all scarred up and he looks… angry. And tired. Wait, didn’t you say he almost died a little while ago? Why is he in a bar, instead of resting in a hospital or something?

Ozpin sounded exasperated. In that last sentence, you have captured all my frustrations with this man, and you’ve effectively encapsulated his thought process. If there’s one thing that keeps him alive, it’s his love for a drink. But he will not harm you, Oscar. I can promise you that much.

He loves drinking, but what else, huh? You don’t seem like the type of person to hang around with alcoholics… or well, you don’t seem like you used to be.

Oscar could sense Ozpin’s surprise. As good of a question as any, I suppose. There’s always greater depth to a person than what you might see at first glance, Oscar. To answer your query, I believe it’s his love for his found family, and his profession. There are many things that make a person tick, and I think that you may find that if you look hard enough, every single person in this world has something they care about more than anything. Some people regress to terrible actions in a vain effort to protect themselves from losing what is dear to them, unwittingly costing themselves their humanity in the process. Even those with darkness in their hearts all have something to lose, Oscar.

Whatever you say.

Oscar flinched nervously as he realized he had been staring wordlessly at the Huntsman— Qrow— for the past minute. The dark-haired warrior was looking at him like had more than a few screws loose.

“If you’re going to just stand here and stare at me, we might have a problem,” he rumbled. “I’m not here for you to gander at.”

“Sorry,” Oscar apologized hastily. “I’m not here for that, sir. I’m actually here on behalf of someone else.”

“Spit it out,” Qrow said, eyes narrowed.

Tell him who you are, Ozpin murmured. Tell him about the night Beacon fell, and—

“I’m supposed to tell you that I’d like my cane back,” Oscar said instead, cutting Ozpin off. He could almost feel the headmaster sighing in his mind, and he smiled. He knew he was being petty again, but it was so easy to mess with someone so formal, and if he was going to be plunged headfirst into some crazy new life, the least thing he could do was poke a little fun at it. “I don’t think he’s real happy about the fact that you, you know, stole it out of Beacon Tower. And I don’t think you really know how it works, either. It’s not just to help me hobble around like some invalid.”

The Huntsman froze, as if Oscar had struck him, before saying slowly, the syllable pronounced with shock, “Oz?”

“I also go by Oscar.” Oscar’s confidence wavered as the Huntsman continued to openly gape at him. He could imagine who Qrow saw standing there in his place— he knew what Ozpin looked like; after the headmaster had started yammering in his head, he’d dug up old newspapers to see who, exactly, he was— and he knew that in his place, the Huntsman was seeing the shadow of flyaway silver hair instead of his own rumpled black hair, a taller, more noble stature, coppery-gray eyes instead of mottled, ugly ones, the color of withering grass and leaves.

“Well,” the Huntsman exhaled on a long sigh. “There’s a great deal of things I didn’t expect to see tonight, and I can say with certainty you’re one of them. Oz told me about his little mind-jumping power before. I didn’t expect him to crop up in some kid from Mistral who’s still wet behind the ears.”

Oscar ignored the insult. “To be honest, Ozpin doesn’t really seem like the type to be expected,” he informed the other man. “I wasn’t expecting a voice to start talking in my head, either.”

The Huntsman swallowed, an old scar on his throat bobbing with the movement. “So when did old Oz pop up in your mind, kid? You don’t seem like the type to have a headmaster talking in your thoughts.”

“Honestly? A couple weeks ago. It scared me, at first. I thought I was going crazy… but he doesn’t seem crazy. And he doesn’t seem evil, either.”

“He’s not evil, and he’s not crazy, for sure,” Qrow said with a frown, “but he’s not the kind old teacher I expect you think he is.”

Deep within the recesses of Oscar’s mind, Ozpin stiffened, and Oscar let out a sigh. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not as experienced as all you Huntsmen, but I’m definitely not an idiot. He’s not— possessing me, or anything. I’ve still got a say. But I wouldn’t let him in my mind if I didn’t trust him, at least a little bit. He doesn’t seem bad. I know he’s not some innocent little schoolteacher, but if he wants to fight for what’s right, for the greater good of Remnant— well, isn’t it just my job as a good person to help him?”

“The greater good,” Qrow echoed, bitterness dancing in his eyes. “Well. I can definitely see him inside of you.”

“He seems noble, in a way,” Oscar said reluctantly, and he could almost feel Ozpin’s surprise. "Don't you know that?"

Oscar, if I didn’t know better, I would almost go so far as to say that sounded like a compliment.

Shut up, Oscar thought back. I’m trying to talk.

Ozpin shut up. Oscar went on. “He’s not arrogant, really, but— self-sacrificing, and smart. If what he’s told me is true, I can see why he died trying to save Beacon.”

“He died because I didn’t make it back to the Tower in time.” The Huntsman considered his shot glass, tossing back the rest of the amber liquid in a neat flip of his wrist, but his eyes were full of pain.

I never blamed you for it, Ozpin’s voice said in Oscar’s mind, shattered with anguish, before he recomposed himself, evidently remembering that his voice was not one that was spoken aloud any longer. Oscar—

“He misses you,” Oscar said, and the whole room went still, Qrow’s back straightening in surprise, Ozpin’s every thought stiffening in Oscar’s mind.

“He misses you every day,” Oscar continued, his brow furrowing as he looked at the floor, trying to speak from himself and not the part enveloped by someone so much older and wiser than he was. “Every single day. I’m not him— I never have been— but I can feel it, you know? It’s like someone put a hole in my heart, and every day I wake up, it just gets a little bigger and a little deeper, and it never quits hurting. Some of his feelings change, like his hope or optimism, and sometimes his memories and the people in them come and go through my own mind— a woman named Glynda, a girl named Ruby— but the one thing that’s always constant is the way he misses you.

"I'm not really an expert on this kind of thing, that's true... but I can try, can't I? It's hard to remember what normalcy felt like, in the middle of all of this. But feeling his humanity helps me remember. This is all so screwed-up and crazy, and I have a ghost in my head, for gods' sake, but still... I'm not saying it to just say it, but he wants you to know. He misses you more than he misses life."

Oscar, Ozpin said. That's enough.

“I could tell you to tell him that I miss him too,” Qrow muttered, his voice deeper than a growl, “but I expect he already knows, and you can’t really miss someone who failed you when you needed them the most. If I’d been there, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be gone, you’d still be back in your cozy little farm, and we’d all be a little safer. Not being there to save a man’s life— it’s not something you can make up for.” Qrow ran a finger around the frosted rim of his shot glass. “You should get out of here, kid, and take him with you. I don’t think there’s anything he’s got to say to me, not after the Fall.”

“You’re talking like I don’t know you,” Oscar snapped. “I don’t, not really… but if Ozpin’s a part of me now, then I do know you, at least partially. Like I said, he's talked about a woman named Glynda, and a girl with silver eyes, and a bright, shining school... but I think I know you the most, from what he's said. It's not easy to have someone in your head, but the memories he's given me... I think I can trust you. If you’re someone he missed, you must be a good person.”

“Of course he would say that,” Qrow growled. “Ever the optimist— but I expect you know that by now. Always wanting to see the best in everyone, even when their worst far outweighed it.”

Oscar, Ozpin murmured. It was one word— one simple, unassuming word— but Oscar knew what he was asking for. Not demanding, but asking. Perhaps there was a part of him that pitied the old headmaster, or maybe it was just a part of him that wanted these two to get it over with, but he let Ozpin take over, their minds reaching a mutual equilibrium. With that, the headmaster’s words cascaded out of him, the anguish and urgency finding an outlet.

He knew how Ozpin felt, as the secondary one in a mind. He was not important anymore. It was like looking out a small window, unable to move or do anything except to think his own thoughts at Ozpin, and hope he listened. It required an immense amount of trust and faith, and for a moment, he could appreciate just how much trust the headmaster had placed on him.

Talk to him, Oscar thought, but get it over with, will you? This feels weird. I don’t like it, and I want my body back in one piece, thank you very much.

I will, Ozpin thought back, his voice reverberating— louder, somehow, when he was solely in control. Oscar?

Yeah?

Thank you. / / / 

Qrow looked down at him, and frowned.

The boy, Oscar, was gone— behind his eyes, there was Ozpin’s soul, not his. Physically, he looked the same— dark skin, tangled hair, the smooth, unhardened look of a kid who hadn’t yet learned the real way of the world, but his gaze spoke differently. There was the age of centuries there.

“Didn’t expect you to choose a Mistral boy, Oz,” he said. “Your options are a lot more limited now, aren’t they? This kid’s still softer than a kitten. Hell, I bet he can’t tell the hilt of a sword from the point, let alone try to save all of Remnant.”

“He’s scolding you,” Oscar— Ozpin— said, sounding sorrowful. “I can hear him, in the back of my mind… this is how I must sound to him all the time. Just a disembodied voice in my thoughts. It is a poor life, one that is confined to being something even more insubstantial than a spirit.”

“That is a terrible fate,” Qrow said at last, in agreement; his voice flat and inflectionless, “but it doesn’t matter. Why did you choose him, Oz?”

“You should know by now that the one who takes the obvious route is more the fool,” Ozpin responded. He sounded different, of course. The comforting rasp of his voice, the wisdom and the familiarity of his face, were all gone forever. There was just this short, uncertain boy from the farm, with his wobbly, youthful voice and his strange eyes— but he could hear Ozpin in him. His wisdom and the firm, certain weight of his words. “I’m sorry I could not tell you sooner, but this was the only way.”

“You didn’t want to die,” Qrow burst out, whipping back around, his hand cracking down on the counter. “You shouldn’t have died. If I had just—”

Oscar’s hand, with Ozpin’s weight in it, rested on his shoulder. “Blaming yourself only causes more harm in the end. No one wants to end their time on this earth, but it comes about for everyone… just a little later for me, that’s all.” His voice grew softer.

“Gods help me,” Qrow choked out, running a hand through his hair, closing his eyes, but he could feel hot tears pricking them— emotions that the alcohol had failed to eviscerate. “I can’t be talking to you like this. You’re dead and gone, and I have to live with the unbearable realization that you’re gone, just like Summer, gone like the person I loved and the savior we all needed. You’re gone, swallowed up by the unescapable grip of death. You’re gone, and the only thing I’ll ever see will be a pathetic copy standing in your place, a copy who isn’t you, whose life isn’t yours and never will be— one whose life will be kinder and safer, but a copy all the same.

“I’m sorry.”

It was spoken quietly, and Qrow looked up, biting back a heaving breath, spent by his grief. Ozpin, standing small in Oscar’s body, looked immensely old, and immensely tired, his eyebrows drawn down, hair cast over his eyes, strange, dappled shadows dancing over his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I… I can make careful calculations, I can try to understand people and the way they tick… I can do everything I can to try and foresee all outcomes, but I always forget to account for emotions… always. I should not have subjected you to such grief. I never blamed you for anything, Qrow— not in this life, or any ones previous. Things have turned out heartbreakingly for you, and I’m sorry for that… but maybe this time, we can go our own way, and heal Remnant. Your path winds long, but I think you may find the end of it.”

The boy reached out, brushing his hand, his eyes so full of Ozpin that Qrow’s heart broke.

“Goodbye, Qrow,” he whispered, his voice full of finality, his face mournful, as he brushed Qrow’s hand before turning around and leaving the room of shadows and dancing firelight, the moonlight spilling in with the rush of cold night air as the door opened. Qrow watched him go, his heart beating loud in his throat, and he let out a quiet breath. A sense of bittersweetness filled him, and two words bubbled up and spilled out from the part of him that he kept under careful lock and key, unreleased except for the few dormant hours in which he slept soundly enough to dream.

“Goodbye, Ozpin.”