Prologue/ Proof of Concept
Ozpin leaned on his cane, trying to keep some weight off of his bad leg, resting before once again moving slowly up the stairs. Technically, he could afford a much better location to work than the fourth floor of this building, but if things kept going as they were he knew his financing would fall away sooner rather than later, and he had decided long before this all started that he was going to be frugal in all things financial. His suit was a dark charcoal, his turtleneck an emerald green, both second-hand and then tailored to his tall frame.
He pulled out his pocket watch: twenty minutes to make the climb. As it was he was outright limping down the hall until he found his number, pulling out his keys and opening up his place of work.
Ozpin leafed quickly through his schedule, posted on a chalkboard by the door so guests would know when he was next free for a walk-in. He had precious few of those once he started, but he never wanted to turn someone away simply because they didn't meet prior. He had just over an hour to do some minor cleaning: despite his best efforts sand would sometimes spill to the floor and he was aesthetic enough to find it detracted from his sensibilities. Lighting some lavender incense for relaxation, rose for energy, and sunflower incense for alertness, the floral scents started to fill the small space, and he wiped down the window of invisible traces of soot.
Everything was dark wood, pine mostly, and simple white plaster above the wainscoting. His certification hung on one wall, signed off by the King of Vale mere days before his death. Ozpin winced at the memory as he always did before shaking it off. The reader was cleaned and centered, Ozpin tweaking the balance with precision and delicacy. His last reading yesterday had pulled a lot out of him, and he had forgone cleaning up after himself.
He had just enough time to sit at the front desk and fill out his ledger of the last week's clients, articulating their readings and the income each one brought. The regulars always paid well, but Ozpin knew it was only a matter of time before the war started to encroach on everyone. He made some notes for next week, thinking about what advert he would put in the paper, when his first appointment arrived with a polite knock on his door.
Ozpin stood, his leg better for the rest, and moved to let the client in. It was a girl, long black hair and bow, gold eyes narrow and suspicious.
"Miss Belladonna," Ozpin said with a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I confess the tone of your letters led me to believe you were much older."
"... You couldn't tell?" she asked, her tone as suspicious as her eyes.
"As I wrote to you, soothsaying doesn't work that way," he said gently, hobbling back to let her in. She obliged, removing her black coat and hanging it on a peg behind the door. "Come, let's have a seat and talk before we begin."
"So you can figure out what I need to hear?" Ms. Belladonna asked.
Ozpin smiled, shaking his head. How many times had he heard that… "I find it's a courtesy," he said, "but if you prefer we can get right to the point."
"Please," she said. Ozpin led her to the side room, and she sat at the reading table after adjusting her petticoats.
Ozpin nodded and took his seat opposite her. "If you are comfortable, take my hand," he said softly. "I find it helps with accuracy."
Ms. Belladonna's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she did not offer her hand.
"I confess," Ozpin said gently, "that I am a little confused why a girl so suspicious of soothsaying is even here - and no, I don't already know, because the reading hasn't begun."
His client colored, cheeks puffing out slightly, and she looked away. Ozpin gave her the privacy, running his fingers over the reader, making sure the sand was level before Ms. Belladonna took an audible breath through her nose. "How does this work?" she asked.
Ozpin gestured. "Place your hand on your side of the fulcrum, as I will mine. As I said, holding hands helps in accuracy but is not necessary. As our hands affect the fulcrum, the pendulum will begin to move and draw patterns to be interpreted. My personal preference is to wait until the pattern is complete before explaining the reading." He offered a soft grin. "I prefer to read the whole story, as it were, that I may tell it with the appropriate flourish. The reading itself should last at most twenty minutes, and after that you can ask any questions you want. Most people want a very specific question answered, but you were rather vague in what you wanted out of this reading. May I ask what it is now?"
Ms. Belladonna frowned, her eyes narrow again. She pursed her lips in and out, vacillating, before finally saying: "I want to know if I'm doing the right thing."
Ozpin nodded. "Then let us begin."
He placed his hand on the scale, Ms. Belladonna doing the same, and Ozpin felt the thrill of magic tingle up his spine, down his arm and to the reader. The pendulum started to sway, and he closed his eyes and let the magic fill him, overtaking his senses and telling him what was to come, what could be, and what the young girl's role would be in it. He saw it all, every detail, the important players, the fire, the golden dragon, the deadly bull, roses and snow, pain and blood, trial and tribulation, so much pain, and then so much life…
He took a breath, needing a moment to breathe in the scents, replant himself in his office, anchor himself to his place of work. Ms. Belladonna was looking at him, face much more open, curious, before her eyes fell down to the pattern in the sand. Ozpin didn't need to look at it, knew the exact interpretation of the design, but he did anyway and marveled at its intricate brilliance.
"Yours is a full life, Ms. Belladonna," he said, removing his hand from the fulcrum, his client doing the same. "You have faced great challenges in your life, fought many battles to get where you are - your parents taught you many things, and all of them have helped you and brought you to the point where you needed to see me. Yes: you are doing the right thing. I would recommend you leave the bull as fast as possible, he was never the man you thought he was. You and he have the same challenges, yes, but where you were born in a healthy home and know how to handle the battles you fight, he was broken at an early age and thought he was nothing. The bull found validation with your cause, and validation is all he seeks, over and over. He does not believe in the equality you crave, but absolute power, where all bow to him and praise him to fill the emptiness he has buried so deep."
His client was staring at him, eyes wide.
"If you choose to leave, leaving will not be simple," Ozpin continued. "You already know that criticism of any kind wildly affects the bull's mood, spite is his greatest emotion, and if you leave he will deny your right to leave in every way that can possibly hurt you. You will have support, however, though you might not notice it at first. If you leave the golden dragon will be your champion, the rose will teach you how to fight anew, and the snow will learn from you and you from them."
There was more to be said: the return of the bull, the damage he would bring to Ms. Belladonna's champion, the fight to reunite with her true companions. The death of the bull, all the details he had seen. But he stopped there, withheld the whole truth, just watched as Ms. Belladonna absorbed what he had said.
"I… I didn't expect so much detail," she said, frowning.
"It is a skill, interpreting these patterns," he said, gesturing at the intricate design in the sand. He pulled out a sheaf of paper and ink brush and began copying it. "I find that even the smallest waver grants nuance to the reading. Here, this is the bull, and you can see how much of your immediate future he rules, but here is the golden dragon, blocking him from affecting your entire life."
"I don't see how that's a bull and that's a dragon."
"I would be surprised if you did," Ozpin said genially, brush sweeping over the page in his copying. "These are not pictures but patterns, essences distilled to truths, and that is what you have come to me for: the truth. Here, keep this with you if you wish. I find that physical reminders of a reading keeps the missive's in the client's mind, and they recognize the important moments easier as they come. Now, do you have any questions?"
Ms. Belladonna took the paper copy of the pattern, frowning as she studied it. "... No," she said. "What you said about Adam…" She shook her head, hair swishing slightly. "I believe more of what you said than I thought I would. I'll keep the rest under advisement."
They settled the invoice and Ms. Belladonna left. Once alone Ozpin made a copy of the pattern for his own records before erasing the sand table for his next appointment. He got up from the reading table and moved over to his desk, opening up one of his journals to inlay the pattern with Ms. Belladonna's name and a small entry on how the reading had gone and a few notes on the reading itself that would be lost in his hand drawn copy compared to the art in the sand.
He leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath of the incense, and looking inside himself. The magic was still humming in his veins, and he explored the sensation as it faded, meditating slightly before the next client arrived.
Isolation and misery.
He was so… tired...
He wondered if the Grimm looming over his life would ever break.
Author's Notes: Oh, look. The twins have a new toy to play with. The fic is started but not complete - with the school year officially started we have no idea how full our lives will be. Last year we were hanging on by a thread with the hybrid bullpucky but this year is still a pandemic. No hybrid teaching but who knows... For now we're just going to post this - it's not actually fic related, just a proof of concept to see if we knew the world we were working in, so not everything here will pop up in the work itself.
To set expectations: there are a lot of IDEAS (TM) in this fic - inspiration comes from things like Violet Evergarden, anti-war films, xxxHolic's one story about a fortune teller with a sand basin, the occasional gesture to the French Revolution and of course a couple echoes from the RWBY show itself. If that mess of images sounds interesting to you, enjoy when it comes out!
Visually we're taking a pretty anachronistic "period" view. Technology is loosely from the 1600s to the mid 1800s, clothes look like the 1890s with eastern flourishes since Haven aka Mistral is based on east Asia. Medicine is just about 1850s. The fic is split into four arcs and we've just finished writing the third arc. Fingers crossed we finish the final arc relatively soon to we can start posting this monster - it's already 370 pages on the GDoc!