ąųdįţǫŗę (mentori) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-07-09 20:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, ezio auditore da firenze, qrow branwen |
Who: Ezio & Qrow
What: Two professors celebrating that it's summer quarter
When: Before Ezio left for vacation in Italy
Where: An out of the way sea shanty bar
Rating/Warnings: Some depressing talk, but low
Status: Complete
When he went out to imbibe alcohol, the last thing Ezio wanted to do was run into his students. He adored most of them, and he loved his job (he felt a calling to teach, somehow), but there was a time and a place for things. On occasion their paths might cross though, despite how large the county truly was, but considering it was summer break and he did not need to know what they did with themselves when they weren’t impressing him with their scholarly aptitude, he would avoid the bars near campus that he knew they frequented. The dark, dank bars where you could walk in and order a cheap ice-cold beer, use the pool cues as weapons in a bar fight, and sing terrible karaoke (or just be compelled to sing anyway - that was Orange County for you). No, when asking a fellow professor in the History department if he wanted to celebrate the end of the quarter by grabbing a drink, Ezio deliberately picked something out of the way for them to enjoy. Mere steps away from the Pacific, an actual ivy-covered sea shanty, it was shabby in the best possible way - very quaint and rustic, looked like something out of Lord of the Rings or whatever that endless series was. The alcohol was cheap, too. Also a bonus. Even if The Double Tap was still his favorite bar. He’d mix it up a bit, but in the end, he would always come back to that dive for the ambiance and the fond memories of helping to run the place after Dan bled out in Ezio’s bathroom. “Thank the saints,” he sighed when his drink arrived; it was a martini 50/50, equal parts vermouth and gin. Ezio did not only drink wine or Italian spirits - he was versatile when it came to alcohol. Though you really couldn’t go wrong with a good glass of heart-healthy wine - this was just not the place to order one. “Next time I will take you to mio amico’s bar. There is no way we would run into anyone from campus.” They were probably afraid to walk in, honestly. Qrow was pretty much the opposite when it came to drinking after hours in bars. Most of his students knew he drank (and drank heavily), and those that didn’t usually found out because they would bump in to him at any number of establishments. Any illusions they had that teachers and professors had no life outside their classes Qrow had no problems destroying for them. He didn’t mind if any of his students approached him with a “Hey, Professor B! Whaddya drinking t’night?” Or a “Hey, Professor Branwen, why don’t you do a couple of shots with us?” or even the occasional, “Professor Branwen, that lecture you gave last week on such-and-such? I didn’t really understand xyz. Do you mind going it over again real quick?” These interactions usually consisted of Qrow raising his glass back to them and announcing whatever drink he happened to favor that night (he wasn’t picky), or joining them in one or two rounds of shots before finding some excuse to leave them alone and not further blur the line between professor and student. In the rare instance a student actually wanted to talk about class, Qrow was willing to go over the subject matter with them (if he wasn’t already three sheets to the wind). He made it clear that he had actual office hours, and if they still had questions, they should stop by his office then. There was also no usage of any first names. Ever. He called them “Mr. Soandso” or “Miss Thisorthat”, just as he would in class, and they (usually) called him Professor Branwen, or some variation thereof. Any shouts of “Qrow” across a bar by anyone under the age of 25 were ignored. Mostly, though, Qrow generally kept to himself and was left alone to drink. Except for tonight. Tonight he’d been asked to join a fellow history department professor for a couple of drinks now that the summer break had officially started. Qrow had avoided any kind of bonding with his fellow professors for some of the same reasons he avoided bonding with any of his students. He was bad luck. Bad things tended to happen to people he was around. That being said, Ezio seemed to have his own brand of bad luck. At least that’s what it had seemed due to Ezio’s recent hospital stay. There probably wasn’t much Qrow’s little curse could add to that. No one had ever simply keeled over from mystery illness in his presence. Small miracles. Plus, it was kind of hard to say no to the flamboyant Italian professor and Qrow was never one to turn down a night at a bar. He was drinking brandy tonight. Nothing fancy. A simple glass with two melting ice cubes – leave the brandy bottle please? He smirked faintly when Ezio mentioned this bar his friend owned. “Oh really?” He quirked a brow. “That because it’s too high class?” He took a swig of his brandy, “Or an absolute dive?” No offense to the friend of course. No, Ezio’s bad luck with pneumonia was simply due to dream crossover - and he was dead in those times, so it really could not get much worse. Spending time with Qrow, with a bit of malady befalling him here and there was nothing compared to turning blue and being unable to breathe, having to be rushed to the hospital. Merda, how embarrassing. He was better. Perhaps not at one-hundred-and-ten percent yet (pneumonia took awhile to fully recover from), but that would hardly stop him from doing what he wanted to do. It was just that he got tired earlier in the evening than he would like, his body haven taken a beating in the form of crippling illness. That was life, no? Now, he was ready to drink. To forget about the stress of his upcoming visit to Italy (of course he wished to see his kin, but introducing a romantic partner to them was always nerve-wracking) and forget about the dramatics that Elijah’s famiglia caused just by existing. “High class,” Ezio chuckled, shaking his head - that was a good one, Qrow. It brought him back to the present moment, which was welcomed. “No, no. More of a dive, certamente. Danilo is a good friend. I have made a few close ones, since moving here. You will too, I am sure. If you do not regret it yet.” Because that didn’t sound ominous or anything. Qrow laughed. “Heh. Maybe,” he said in his deep gravelly voice. “I’ve been here a long time, already. Making friends is not something I’m really good at.” Although, it came as no surprise that Ezio had already made a number of friends since moving here. He was the type of person that seemed to be able to do that kind of thing easily. Regrets? Yeah, Qrow had a long list of those in his past. Settling in Orange County, working on getting an actual job, supporting his nieces (and at times their father when the man couldn’t seem to pull himself together)? He had no regrets about that. Now the online forum he had recently signed himself on to while up late one night draining a bottle of Jack Daniel’s dry? Yeah, he may regret that a little bit. But now that his eyes were open to what really went on around here, he couldn’t unsee them. And weird as-shit-Dreams aside, he’d rather be in the know than not. “Your buddy owns a dive, huh?” Qrow poured a little more brandy into his glass to keep his ice company. He grinned, the booze loosening him up as it usually did. “Sounds like my kind of place.” He raised his glass to his lips, but paused a moment to give Ezio a quizzical kind of look. “What did you mean before when you said ‘if I don’t regret it yet’?” It was very strange how you could live in the area for quite some time and see what happened, but not really see it. Not until you were enlightened - which sounded like those who dreamed of another life were part of a cult (and which made explaining it somewhat difficult). Like right now. How was Ezio supposed to explain it now? Then again, he’d noted his fellow professor on the network. It was only a matter of time before the madness of this place became more personal, and not just something he read about. “You have seen a group of people who talk about their specific, odd dreams that settle in the mind like how memories do, yes?” he asked, taking the alcohol-soaked olive that came with his martini and biting into it. Reminded him of home, in Tuscany, by the family’s old-world, stone villa right in the heart of an olive grove. “If you have not already started experiencing your own, you will. They can be...tiring.” Qrow was surprised, and the look overtook his face, making both brows raise up towards his mussy grey-black hair. “You’re on that weird forum too, huh?” he said. Then made a noise like a “tsk” and shook his head. “Jesus, you know, it seems as though everyone I know these days is. I even saw a few of my students on there. And my nieces…” he trailed off as again that memory of Yang and Ruby as little girls in the woods doing a strange not-reenactment of Goldilocks bubbled up. It wasn’t alone either. Qrow’d had two more weird dreams set in that different world. Time had moved up. Yang and Ruby were teenagers now, attending a school that trained -- for lack of a better word -- heroes. Qrow nodded. “Yeah, I’ve had a couple,” he said, lifting his glass to drain it. “They’ve been...interesting.” An empty glass needed a refill. Ezio caught the bartender’s eye, and he inquired about another drink for the two of them - by the time they were ready, he’d have drained his martini. And why not have another? He could drink gin all night. Take a cab or Uber home and fall into bed, only to wake up with a hangover and eat a hearty breakfast - that was the way to celebrate the beginning of summer. “Interesting, now that is a word for it,” he exhaled a puff of air that could have been a dry laugh. If you did not laugh, you might throw things. That was his motto. “What were yours about? They usually have some similarities to what we experience now.” Eerie similarities. Ones he didn’t like. Those similarities meant he ended up with half his family slaughtered no matter what. “Is that so?” Qrow asked. He furrowed his brows together thoughtfully. “I haven’t seen any similarities between these dream memories and my real life. Except for my nieces, maybe. But even then the only similarity is that they are there. They are training to become huntresses at a school. Huntresses and huntsmen are a type of warrior class in this world. Kind of like knights, I guess. Only instead of serving a single lord, they more or less serve the country they live in. And, you know, actually protect the innocent.” His glass freshly filled, Qrow took the liberty of quickly emptying it again as he spoke. “I think I’m one of them. A huntsman, I mean. I’m not really sure. My first dream was about me saving Yang and Ruby when they were little from these creatures called grimm. Nasty things drawn to negative emotions. Fear. Anger. Hate. ” And there were many different kinds of grimm as there were negative emotions. They were savage killing indiscriminately, lacked souls and were ridiculously long lived. “And for the most part, huntsmen and huntresses fight them. Yang and Ruby, at six and four years old came up on a nest of them in a little abandoned cottage. It was straight out of Goldilocks.” Qrow set his newly emptied glass down on the bar again and waved the bartender over to refill it. Yang was a little like the titular character. Long curly blond hair and a precocious nature. Qrow shook his head. “The two dreams I’ve had after that centered around a fighting tournament my niece’s school -- Beacon -- is hosting for the other three schools from the other three major kingdoms. I’ve been sitting in a bar in Vale watching.” A bar called the Crow Bar. Very funny. It was always interesting to hear of other people’s dreams - they varied so much, there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason. If you could imagine it, someone could dream it. Ezio found that fascinating, though he was less thrilled about his own dreams. They’d changed him, literally, gave him some perks when it came to the Assassin lifestyle and path he was beginning to traverse again - but they were filled with such hardships too. “You are a Huntsman?” he lifted a brow, studying Qrow - he could see that. “Is it something you chose, or did you fall into it? And these...Grimm. Where do they come from?” Not like he was questioning the validity of this. Really, when it came to Orange County, not much was impossible. Qrow was quiet a moment looking at the amber colored liquid in his glass, the way it coated the side when he swirled it around. “I’m a Huntsman, yeah.” He confirmed in a murmur. Qrow had started drinking in his teenage years and had been a hard drinker all of his adult life. Three drinks in and he wasn’t anywhere near wasted, but whenever he thought about these dreams -- these memories -- he kind of felt as though he were, even if he hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol. They had a way of messing up his head. He was lost in thought a moment, studying his drink before brownish-red eyes darted up at Ezio again. He grabbed up his glass and took a hearty draught of it before setting it down again. “I had to have chosen to be a Huntsman,” he said. He twirled the glass between his palms. “I don’t think it’s something people can just fall into. It takes years of practise and training. That’s why we have schools to train the next generations of Huntsmen and Huntresses. So I must have chosen to become one. Although why I did, I don’t know.” He smirked at Ezio, “I’m about a big of a lush in Remnant as I am here.” Another pull and the glass was nearly finished. It was back between his palms. “As for the Grimm, no one really knows where they come from. There are stories. Myths. Legends. The only thing they agree on is that the Grimm have been around for as long as humans have, maybe even longer. And for as long as there is history, the Grimm have sought to destroy humans and everything they create.” The ice in Qrow’s glass was melting and watering down what was left of his drink. He pushed the glass away. “I don’t have any idea why I know more about the Grimm than I do about why or how I became a Huntsman,” he said. “It’s like the Dreams give me certain knowledge, but skimp on the rest that may actually be important.” A pause while the bartender picked up the glass and Qrow asked for a fresh one with fresh ice cubes and more brandy. After the bartender had finished filling Qrow’s order, he started to make his way towards the other end of the bar to attend to another patron who was patiently waiting. He’d gotten about two steps when his foot slipped on either a piece of ice or a wet spot on the floor and nearly took a catastrophic tumble onto the floor. It was only the man’s quick reflexes in grabbing the bar that kept him from going down. Qrow sighed and slid off his bar stool. “Let’s get a table,” he said to Ezio, nodding his head to one tucked in the corner and away from everyone else. “Si, these dreams can - well, it almost seems like they have a mind of their own, hm?” Ezio chuckled darkly. “I am sure the rest of the gaps will fill in. They often leave at annoying cliffhangers and do not always go in order.” His own seemed to but he knew Elijah’s did not - and that was frustrating, to just see things and not have a rhyme or reason for them. This person you remembered was supposed to be your other self and sometimes you just did not know or understand what they were thinking. Irritating. He watched the poor bartender nearly faceplant, and one eyebrow quirked up toward the ceiling. That was not a coincidence, or so said the nagging feeling. “Is this...that was not you, was it?” he asked, picking up his glass (he could get a refill when they were sitting - though hopefully without tripping and falling on his face; Assassins were supposed to be much more graceful than that) and moving to a table secluded from the other customers. Qrow cast a weary glance over his shoulder towards the bartender who was apologizing left and right for his “clumsiness” while the patrons remaining at the bar asked him again and again if he was alright. A moment later his gaze shifted towards Ezio. “Maybe,” he said. “Probably.” He didn’t expand on this until the two of them were safely seated at their table a safe distance away from the poor bartender and everyone else in the bar. Qrow set down his glass and the bottle of brandy he’d had the bartender leave for him before easily sliding into one of the seats. He rattled the cubes in his glass a little bit as he watched Ezio take a seat with him. It had been a long time since anyone had looked directly at him and called him unlucky and Ezio hadn’t exactly said the words, but he got the meaning of what the other man had said. “In a lot of cultures crows are considered unlucky,” he said once Ezio was seated. “And that’s how I got my name. I have no idea why my parents chose to spell it the way they did, but…” he shrugged. “They weren’t exactly the kind you could ask those kinds of questions to.” “Hmm - “ Ezio made a thoughtful sound, tapping his fingers on the side of his glass. Why would two parents automatically associate their child with bad luck? They must have been extremely superstitious even back then. “It depends on the culture, I suppose. In some, the crow is more positive - in others, he is the messenger of the gods.” So like most things, it was a matter of perspective. Maybe the bad luck was the prominent feature in this instance but he wasn’t about to get up and run away screaming, however. That would just be ridiculous. “Is it like that in your dreams too, or is it too early to tell?” Ezio wasn’t the first person Qrow had explained this to. Anyone outside the Family (really nothing more than a tribe of roaming gypsies) usually just shrugged it off as superstitious nonsense. However, it was always just a matter of time before someone got sick of the “coincidences” or little “accidents” and Qrow found himself on his own again. That was fine. He was used to it. He’d been tolerated by the Family only as long as his bad luck had been useful. Qrow knocked back his glass. “Little early to tell,” he said once it had been drained and set back on the table. “But if what you say about similarities is true, then I’m probably a bad luck charm there too.” He reached for the bottle. “What about you, what kind of dream memories do you get?” Ezio smirked at the question - like he was inwardly chuckling at a private joke. He needed a drink refill so he went to get one and then just did like Qrow, and kept the bottle - a nice one of whiskey, he could drink it neat. “Renaissance Italy,” he started, pouring some of the honey-colored ambrosia into a glass. “I come from a noble family and it is all about throwing around money and getting laid until my father and brothers were killed - I saw the public hanging. It was botched. They struggled.” He wouldn’t go into detail, but he saw that in his nightmares often - about as often as he remembered the bloodstained house, the night those same family members were murdered in this world. “Then I became an Assassin - something my father had been. Not exactly the kind you may have heard of here, it was more political than anything else. But still with much killing and still something I did to avenge my family, and protect our lands from Templar control. This continued for awhile until I made the decision to settle down and have a family. I was retired for the most part, when I contracted some kind of chest infection. The pneumonia advanced and I died of a heart attack in my early sixties. So, you see, after being dead and also being sick here? Because, yes, of all things - it crossed over to find me?” The Italian swallowed a mouthful of his drink. “I am not afraid of a little bad luck.” Qrow listened to Ezio’s story with rapt attention. It was clear to him that there was no rhyme or reason about the when or where people Dreamed. Which in itself was maddening. It also seemed painfully obvious that there was a running theme of violence in what everyone dreamed. This was what concerned him most of all. Not for himself. Nah, he was a tough son of a bitch. He’d been handling violence in his life for a while. What worried him were what was in store for his nieces. Yang had already suffered once. She’d bounced back, yes. But Qrow couldn’t protect them from what happened to them in their sleep, no matter how desperate he was to do so. “That’s fucked up,” he said rather bluntly once Ezio had finished talking. He had never seen a hanging himself, bit before his time, really. But as a history professor he had certainly done quite a bit of reading to know that a botched hanging was definately not a way he wanted to go himself. Fuck that. “Like, that whole story is fucked up. Not gonna lie,” Qrow said. His hand closed around his bottle and he poured himself another glass. He was feeling the effects of the alcohol now. In his head, through his shoulders and down his spine. A relaxing hum had set into his muscles and bones. “At least you got to retire, though. I guess. Lived to what would have been thought of as an old man in those days. And you’re not actually dead here. That’s a plus.” He set the bottle down and raised a brow at his fellow professor. It wouldn’t have been fair if he held Ezio to his word. Call him jaded if you wanted to, but a “little bad luck” was not quite doing justice to whatever bad sign Qrow had been born under. Ezio was a good guy. Qrow didn’t really want anything to happen to him that hadn’t happened already, especially if it could be avoided. “Yeah,” he nodded with something of a laugh. He raised his glass to gently clink it against Ezio’s. “I wouldn’t think that you would be.” “I was old and had accepted my death - it was my time to go, so I didn’t fight it,” Ezio said. His only regret was that he wouldn’t get to see his children grow up, they had been so young when he died, but he knew the bloodline obviously continued. Thanks to the appearance of Desmond, anyway, who was quite far down the line. But violence, death, gore, trauma. It did seem to be a theme for people - hardly anyone dreamed of happy things, which was a shame. There was always something going on. Here it was different. Here he’d fought death tooth and nail because he still had a lot to do in his life. “So that is to say, even if we do not dream of the same thing, I understand how terrible they can be - some of them are extraordinary, it is a glimpse into an extraordinary life we once lived but we have little desire to repeat exactly. I am always around if you need to blow off steam, how Americans say.” And yes, he would be there. He’d just have to prove it to Qrow. But don’t worry - Ezio was stubborn enough to do just that. |