Hello world! I am Enchanted Mask, and I hope you're enjoying this FanFiction as much as I am!
I'm sorry, it'll be difficult for me to upload frequently, with exams it's pretty difficult to keep on writing when there's so much to do!
Trust me, it's pretty difficult being a writer and a singer at the same time XD People keep telling me to pick just one hobby, but screw that! You can do anything you want if you really put your mind to it, so I really want to try my hardest to produce quality content instead of quantity, which means it could honestly be between weeks or months in-between chapters, which I know isn't what many people want to hear. I hope you all read, follow, and review my work and tell me what you like and/or what you think could improve it (although I can't say I will follow every single recommendation, otherwise it wouldn't be my stories!)
Love you all,
Enchanted Mask
XOXO
(Let's start this story!)
Qrow Branwen was more than your average drunkard. True, he kept his flask of Mistral Spirit close by; ensuring he took a swig before and after every daily activity he had, but Qrow wasn't your average man. He was a Huntsman. Defender of Remnant, higher than the Police-forces, and Qrow was also a very infamous huntsman, a former member of the renowned Team STRQ. But Qrow was also notorious for another thing; his strong tolerance to alcohol. He was quite literally, ALWAYS drunk. He fought whilst drunk, ate while drunk, slept whilst drunk, and woke up, still drunk. And Qrow's drinking habit, led him to The Poison Arrow, which is where, kind reader, we begin our story.
Qrow looked up from under his hood, the Tavern's cracked sign read, "The Poison Arrow- Inn & Bar". Perfect. It was 10:50pm and raining outside, which made Qrow slightly surprised at how many people were inside. The warmth of the large yet cosy room made his defined features glow after the change from the recent cold. He made his way over to the bar, a fat man in a greasy, stained-brown apron turned around to sneer at him. He had a bushy face reminiscent of a brown Ursa, and had beefy arms and a scar over his right eye. The innkeeper gave another disapproving sneer, before shaking his head and re-focusing on drying a glass. Qrow decided that this was the time to finally communicate.
"What's a guy gotta do to get some service around here?", he laughed with his mischievous grin.
"I'll get one of the waitresses to serve you", the innkeeper growled, not turning around to face the huntsman.
Qrow shrugged it off, he knew that the locals around here were pretty aloof. He chose a table on a balcony above the room; he liked to observe the others in the bar, and it let him watch the door if any unsavory people walked in. Qrow had a lot of enemies. That was another reason he chose to separate himself from his family, from his beloved niece. Qrow knew she was starting at Beacon soon along with her sister Yang; he could always find an excuse to visit Ozpin on a "business meeting".
The swinging of the staff doors from behind the bar pushed Qrow's head out of the clouds. Out from the back of the inn came a girl in a black, short-sleeved Qi-Pao top and a matching-short red, embroidered skirt. And although Qrow had never properly looked at another female since…. his beloved Summer Rose, this one took his breath away at first glance. She was absolutely gorgeous, long curled dark hair, big grey eyes and soft features. On her head was a thick black silk ribbon which worked as a headband that kept everything in place. As the girl came into the open room of the tavern, a few wolf-whistles emerged from the men about the room.
She glanced at the bar, took a deep breath, and nervously walked to the innkeeper. The bulging man shoved a tray in her slightly-shaking arms, and lade it down with glasses and liqueur bottles, and then whispered something in her ear (which made her turn profusely pink). She glanced about nervously, meeting Qrow's stare. She gulped, hesitantly. The innkeeper slapped her on the backside, sending her quickly forward to the set of stairs while dodging tables and spilt drinks. Several men tried to reach out and grab at her, but she nimbly went around to avoid the clearly-unwanted attention.
Qrow reactively smoothed his black hair back out of his eyes, before realizing he wasn't as young as he once was, and that this beauty certainly didn't play about with older males.
Unless…
He shook himself, hoping that this inn wasn't that sort of place he had unknowingly come to. Something caught his sharp eyes, as she drew nearer up the balcony. She had a massive bruise over her right eyebrow, similar to the fat innkeeper's scar, but she had cleverly covered it up with pale powder, only so that if you looked closely, you could spot what she was trying to hide. The waitress stood in front of him, at Qrow's table. Her eyes flickered over the enormous scythe that rested on the chair, and instead set down a strong glass of spirit and poured it out for him. Qrow wanted to say something, but for once his sharp tongue was out of clever conversation starters. He wanted to ask her about the innkeeper, about that bruise, and about why she was here. She met eye-contact with him, while she effortlessly poured his drink without looking.
And although she was clearly well-rehearsed in her profession, there was no denying the slight tremble her hand made as his drink was poured.
The waitress then quickly turned around and went back the way she came, leaving Qrow irritated at himself for not speaking up. A crash was heard from downstairs; his spoken waitress had dropped her tray and a glass had shattered on the floor. She immediately went on hands and knees trying to pick up the pieces, without concern for harming herself, and began crying, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" in a pitiful, desperate plea. She had a soft voice, which wavered a little as if she was about to burst into tears; and yet none fell. He made a note of what she sounded like; soft, yet with the aura of someone with confidence (although it was clear that what confidence she had, had been clearly now struck from her)
"Don't worry love, I wasn't plannin' to finish tha' one up anyway" A man who had previously playing cards smiled down at her. She put the shards back on her tray and gave a frightened glance to the innkeeper, who's greasy upper-lip tightened, but said nothing.
Qrow gave a curious stare. He knew something was going on here. Sinister signs or not, the huntsman remained at his table for an hour, before two other girls dressed in similar outfits began ushering the remaining men outside, to lock up the tavern for the night. Qrow decided to stay, he rarely left any bar without finishing his beverage, even when the workers were kicking him out. The three young women forgot about him up there, so when all the rest had left, the innkeeper turned.
"You, come here" He commanded. Qrow's red eyes watched a girl, the one who dropped the glass, walk shakily to the beefy man. She feebly looked up at him, but not daring to meet his eyes. He pointed to the backdoor, leading to what Qrow assumed was a kitchen, and he marched the scared waitress, inside. The two other girls exchanged fearful looks, as they blew out some of the lanterns that lit the inn and headed to steps leading downstairs into the basement.
Qrow lingered for a moment, not knowing whether to stay and listen or to leave for the night. And then he heard an almighty crash. It rang out through the empty hall, eerily quiet except from the fight that came from the back. A mix of shattered glass and splintered wood met Qrow's ears, and the sound of fist meeting with that poor girl's face. He seized his weapon, flung on his cloak and drained his glass in a matter of seconds. He flew down the stairs, and unsheathed his blade to prepare to defend her from whatever the innkeeper was bringing down. Suddenly, the noises stopped. Qrow listened to the door, silencing his breathing to strain his ears further, and jumped back in surprise when it opened.
She came out, and met his surprised look with her own eyes after the shock of finding him here after closing time. Qrow re-slung his scythe onto his own back, and noticed. Her beautiful black shirt had one of the sleeves ripped violently open, exposing the corset underneath, and a small trickle of blood ran out from her nose and down onto her crumbled clothes, staining the dark satin. Qrow's eyes wavered at the strap of her corset, but he managed to drag them away to look at the girl in front of him. She opened her mouth to say something, before shaking her head as if consulting Qrow's aid was futile and instead her small, delicate figure brushed past him and to snuff the remaining lanterns without tending to her bloody nose.
Qrow peered into the kitchen, finding it dark and empty. He glanced back at the beautiful girl blowing out the rest of the candles to leave the room in darkness, as he assumed, and left through the door to head to his rooms in the town. And as he walked back, with his hood pulled up to keep him from the summer storm, he promised to himself; He, Qrow Branwen, would return to The Poison Arrow the following night and fix whatever was going on in that strange place.
