Qrow has a problem.
Not the drinking. That's not a problem, that's a vice. Nah, this problem's a girl. Woman. Whatever. Her name's Winter… Shiny? Shi-nee. Sssschnee. That's it. And even though she's about as cold as they come, she's still a little too hot for an ice queen. Hot-headed, that is, 'cause Qrow's not interested in much else. Not the way she sashashays around all high and mighty, with her high-thigh boots and a coat cinched just at the right place to exonerate… exenerate… accen…
Shit. Curves. She has 'em. But Winter's so damn proud of herself it makes Qrow wanna… it makes him wanna… it makes him wanna puke. And that ain't the alcohol, that's pure conceit. If she wasn't so full of herself he might not wanna killer so bad. Kill her. No, wait, he doesn't wanna do that, no. Waste of a good body.
Yeah, no sense in denying that much. Winter may be stubborn as hell but she's attacked… attract… yeah, attractive. Sometimes. Whenever she shuts that perfect pink mouth, anyway. Yeah, that's it. Qrow just wants her to shut up and listen. Let her weapon do the talking. So if he challenger—challenges her, maybe he'll be able to admire that whoa!
He stumbles and curses and blames Winter. Yeah, fuck Winter. What was he thinking about? Wait, that was exactacly what he was thinking about. Or at least he is now. Whoops. Another corner rounded and he's ready to consider the impost—impossibilities. What's the harm, right? He can do whatever he wants in his mind's eye and nobody's the wizened. Wiser. Whatever.
No, wait. He's heading to Beacon to fight her, so he should be thinking about fighting. Yeah, fighting. Battle. Got it. But they're not so different, war and love. Except it's not love at all, because Qrow hates Winter and Winter hates Qrow more. Not love. Making love where love doesn't exits. Exist. Sex-ist? No, just sex. That's it. Just sex. Yes yes yessss.
It's not the first time he's condo… concier… considered it. Sometimes he thinks about her. Sometimes when he's alone. Usually he starts out thinking about himself and finishes up thinking about her. All roads lead to Winter the Haughty. Winter the Hottie. Bet she's still a virgin, all twenty-something and persis… presti… pristine. After all, nobody in their right mind would wanna touch her. But then, Qrow ain't in his right mind.
Damn it. Time's up. Time to problem-solve. He's not sure whether this is really happening, 'cause maybe he's still imaginining things. So he's gotta play it safe and do what he came here to do: make war not love. No telling how Winter might react to anything else if she's not a fantast… phantas… if she's really there. Hey, says Qrow, or maybe he just thinks it real loud. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Ice queen. And he gives her his most piercing stare.
This is gonna be fun.