A/N: Woot woot, tragic canon stuff!
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Scribbles
-washing something-
Professor Ozpin had long since given up on giving James- now a Major in the Atlesian Military and climbing ever-higher- his own room whenever he was on Beacon's grounds. The headmaster knew where the Atlesian would stay.
James was washing the dishes from the previous night's late-night takeaway when Glynda spotted it. As he moved, the muscles in his bare back flexing with each scrub, her eyes caught sight of something- a dark, messy scrawl she had never noticed before, running along the seam where flesh met metal. Leaning in close, she frowned, reading it aloud. "Anyone have a drink? Who in the world was that from?"
He sighed, raising an unamused brow. "Who do you think?"
She snorted. "Qrow Branwen?"
He rolled his eyes. "It's better than the alternative from that idiot."
"What, you don't want a label that says 'Jimmy' on you-"
"I swear to the gods, you say that one more time," he roared, only half-joking, "and I will fight you, little Beacon Huntress."
"We've proven again and again that you won't win," she snorted, appraising the writing. It did indeed belong to Qrow- she could forever recognize his writing from the million-and-one sloppy, poorly-proofread papers by him she had had to mark over the years. "How long have you had it?"
"Since our first mission together," he admitted. "I just didn't realize it until later. I'm surprised you haven't seen it yet."
"What role does he play, do you know?" she asked curiously.
"The pain in my ass," he responded without hesitation.
She snorted. Over the years, James' odd rivalry with Qrow Branwen had built up in the most ridiculous of ways. If there was ever a need for 'passive aggression' in the dictionary, a photo of those two idiots would be perfect. Thank goodness the two of them were never teammates- the Academies would've been razed to the ground by now. It was likely the fact that their personalities were so contrasting, mixing like oil and water.
It did make for a good laugh whenever they held meetings with Professor Ozpin, though.
She smiled fondly, tracing the writing upon his skin with her fingertips. Yet, her smile quickly faded into worry, and she fell silent, absorbed in her own thoughts.
James picked up on her reaction instantly. "What is it?"
"It's Qrow. It's… something's changed with him, James. I don't know what, but… something's different."
It was true. After that fateful day two years earlier when she had told the twins to meet with Professor Ozpin, the Branwen siblings had never quite been the same. Perhaps it was just them acting with newfound responsibility of bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders, just as Glynda and James had.
Perhaps it was the fact that, soon after graduation, their team had encountered a decidedly unexpected situation that put a few members out of commission- Raven and Taiyang (of all people, Glynda would never understand how it was those two) had had a baby. A little girl.
Perhaps it was the fact that the moment the baby was born, they were settled in on the island of Patch, and Raven had properly recovered, Raven had agreed to go on a mission for Ozpin.
Perhaps it was the fact that the moment she had left for her mission, she had promptly disappeared, leaving behind Summer, Taiyang, and Qrow to deal with the fallout.
Glynda didn't know. Either way, complaining about the situation wasn't going to make anything better.
"How's Team STRQ doing?" he asked lowly, sensing her discomfort.
She sighed. "The baby's healthy, and Taiyang is no longer depressed. It's good their team leader is capable- I doubt that Qrow would be able to keep them on track if both of the girls left like that."
"Indeed," he hummed.
"And you? What of the attacks against Atlas HQ?"
"Nothing of note." The attacks had been happening for years. That was what happened when you created the most technologically-advanced organized military in the world- not everyone wanted the world to be put under strict order and regimes. But James had survived them all, and that was that.
They didn't have a lot of time together. Neither wanted to spend what they did have on the tragedies, the suffering.
She sighed, patting him on the back. "Finish cleaning and we'll head out."
"Alright."
And, with that domestic peace re-established, Glynda began to get ready for the day, the sounds of running water and clinking plates hanging comfortingly in the air.
