Chapter Two

Oscar's entire life could be packed up in one suitcase: three changes of clothes, his aunt's cookbook, his mother's last journal and one of his father's ties, his textbooks and some novels he had managed to keep as the farm was liquidated. Ozpin had explained they would go shopping in a few days, once he was settled and comfortable, and that he was a fine hand with needle and thread if there needed to be any tailoring. Packed up, he adjusted his cap and stood at the door to his room, the bunk now empty for the next orphan. He nodded to his roomates; having said his goodbyes last night, and moved down the hall and down the spiral staircase to the main floor.

Ozpin was there, as was Miss Goodwitch. The matron studied him scrupulously over her half-moon spectacles, but her stern demeanor melted as she adjusted her petticoats to kneel down and offer a hug. "I'll be there in a few days time," she said, "to see how the match is going. But I know you'll be fine."

"Thank you," Oscar said, squeezing her back. Ozpin's head was turned to the side, giving them some privacy.

The two left the orphanage, Oscar turning back only once to trace his eyes up to his old room. Dozens of faces were plastered to the windows, kids excitedly watching "one of the lucky ones," dreaming it would one day be them.

"You can visit, you know," Ozpin said, limping along with his cane. "Living with me does not cut ties from any friends you've made."

"... I know," Oscar said. He would never visit the orphanage again though. He hadn't been there long enough to make those kinds of friends.

The walk was silent in the early spring chill. The weather wasn't quite warm, but it was warm enough to begin the great thaw of the snow piles. In the coming weeks the snow would melt into slush, and then mud and muck. Oscar adjusted the grip on his suitcase, turning to see Ozpin had fallen behind. His limp was more pronounced now that he was walking, most of the weight was on his cane and not his bad leg, and there was a tightness between his eyebrows. In the orphanage the professor was almost always sitting, and whatever walking he did was minimal, in short distances. It was only just now that Oscar realized that the man's bad leg might be just that: bad.

He slowed his pace, waiting for Ozpin to catch up, and worked to keep pace with him.

"I'm sorry," Ozpin said, his breath coming out in soft clouds. "Usually in winter it's numb enough that I don't really feel it."

"It's fine," Oscar said, watching the limp. "Is it a long walk?"

"Not very, about three milles."

"Three milles?" Oscar said, balking. That was an hour's walk even at a normal pace! "Shouldn't we hire a carriage?"

Ozpin laughed good-naturedly. "I suppose so," he admitted, "It is a special occasion after all."

It took ten minutes to flag down a rickshaw, the driver helping Ozpin up and covering both of them with a blanket before taking up position and beginning to pull the cart down the street. The wheels wobbled and bobbled, making the ride jittery, but when Oscar looked Ozpin had closed his eyes in relief, rubbing the thigh of his bad leg. Three milles later they stopped at a brownstone, four stories like every other building in the city it seemed like, and five steps up to the front door.

"Our apartment is on the second floor, thankfully," Ozpin said, exerting effort to move up the stairs by using the railing as a brace and practically hopping up to the next step. Oscar had never thought of what it would be like to be lame in the city - he saw the limp of course, but stairs never occurred to him. Were hills the same way? What if he fell, could he get back up?

Inside the brownstone was a long hallway with different doors, and at the end was a tiny, tiny old woman sitting in a chair with dark shades on.

"I know that's you, Oz!" the old woman said, her gaze down and to the side. "I could hear you hobbling up the steps from a mille - no, a kille - away!"

"Yes, it's me, Nana Calavera," Ozpin said brightly, hobbling down the hall. "There's someone I'd like you to meet; Oscar, come here."

Oscar moved forward slowly, nervous in front of a new person. There was a temptation to hide behind Ozpin, but he wasn't comfortable enough with the professor yet to do it. "Oscar, this is our landlady, Maria Calavera."

"Oh stop, Oz," the woman said, and on closer inspection Oscar realized the woman was blind. He stiffened, unsure if he should say something. "There's no need for formalities here - call me abuela, or if you don't know the language, just call me Nana. Now is the boy going to introduce himself or not?"

"Oh! S-sorry!" Oscar said, worrying his hands again. "I'm… I'm Oscar Pine. It's - It's a pleasure to see - I mean meet! - meet… you…" his words trailed off.

"Why Oz, he's a skittish little deer! Come here, child, let me get a good look at you."

Oscar fumbled, uncertain what he was supposed to do. He glanced up to Ozpin, and he nodded, face soft and encouraging. Oscar stepped forward to the tiny woman, beckoning with her hand. Nana Calavera leaned forward, and Oscar knelt down and the old woman took his face in her hands. Weathered, calloused fingertips swept over his features: his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the ridge of his eyelids, the shells of his ears.

"He's kind, Oz," Nana Calavera said. "Soft, just like you - I can see why you fancied him. You'll have to break him of all that shyness, though."

"Of course," Ozpin said lightly, putting a hand on Oscar's shoulder. "For now I'd rather get him settled. This way Oscar, the stairs are just behind her."

"And keep a decent rhythm this time!" Nana Calavera said. "If you can't keep a good beat there's no point listening to you!"

Ozpin laughed outright and agreed. Oscar watched Ozpin struggle up the stairs a second time, frowning. "Don't worry," Ozpin said brightly. "Going downstairs is much easier. Our apartment is the third door on the left."

Oscar followed directions, darting ahead to the third door on the left. One more and they would have been in the front of the building, but here they were just shy. Oscar turned the knob but it wouldn't open - and he mentally kicked himself as he remembered that locks would of course be more common in the city. He waited patiently for Ozpin to make his way down, one hand in his waistcoat pocket before pulling out a small ring with five keys. "This one," he explained, "Is for our apartment. I'll have a copy made for you in a couple of days so you can come in at any time. This key," he said, holding up a second, "is for the building and for the roof. Nana Calavera says there's a communal garden up there, but the stairs are too steep for me to climb so I've never been able to judge it's quality. As the building's new farmer I expect you'll want to take a peek soon enough."

Oscar's new guardian wasn't too far off, his hazel eyes already trailing up above them, wondering what kind of garden they had up there. Food or floral? His hands itched to check soil, but instead he followed Ozpin into his - their - home.

The space was narrow but long. The first room was obviously the sitting room: two worn leather chairs that were obviously used gently in their life - one had a stool in front of it, Ozpin's so he could put his foot up. By one wall there was a writing desk filled with glass jars of dried flowers, paper, quill, books, and some kind of stones.

There was no hearth but there was a stove, black iron piping to whip the smoke up the chimney. Ozpin opened the hatch and began piling wood inside, striking a match and closing it, letting it heat up. Oscar had only seen stoves in pamphlets, the farm had a hearth and brazier, this was a positively modern marvel, and he saw circles in the flat top of the stove - surely for pots and pans, and a separate hatch to act as an oven and oh, cooking would be so much easier here…!

Beyond the stove was a double wide bed just peeking out from a privacy screen, a chest of drawers on the opposite side. There was one window, a small narrow thing, and beyond it was a plain brick wall, nothing to see. Ozpin gently pulled Oscar's briefcase out of his grip and placed it on the bed, moving around to the window and drawing a thin slip of linen over it, offering privacy but not blocking the light. Oscar wondered what a brick wall was going to see, and his question must have shown on his face because Ozpin smiled and adjusted his tinted spectacles.

"My eyes are sensitive to light," he said softly. "In just over an hour it will be too bright in here for me to work without a headache. For now, the left side of the bureau is yours. I know you don't have much but I hope that will change in time. Coats and hats go in the closet in the back corner, do you see it? When you feel comfortable, come to the front and we'll start your lessons."

"I'm sorry… my lessons?" Oscar asked.

"Yes," Ozpin said. "You don't yet know what your apprenticeship will be, so I want to make sure you'll be equipped for whatever you choose. For now, we'll need to expand your vocabulary. Your farmer accent is almost completely gone but to be safe we want you to sound as articulate as possible. You mentioned figures were sometimes hard for you, I'd rather a more thorough assessment so I know where to start."

"But… isn't that what the schooling is for?" Oscar said, uncertain.

"Yes," Ozpin said, "but that doesn't mean we can't make the schooling easier in any way one can, does it?"

Oscar shook his head, and Ozpin moved to the front, sitting at his desk and opening one of his jars of herbs. The space was starting to warm with the stove going, and Oscar pulled out his meager belongings to put in the four drawers that were designated to him. Opening the closet found the three coats he had seen the professor wear, and several scarves that were varying shades of green. Turning, he saw there was some kind of area rug under the bed and - he froze, staring.

Slowly, Oscar knelt down and pulled up the blankets of the bed: the rug was circular, and had a floral pattern he knew very, very well. This rug was in his room, under his own bed. He could still remember rolling around as a child, fascinated by its rough but soft texture. He pulled off a glove, running his fingers over it, and indeed it was the same. He hadn't expected to find a piece of home here, and his eyes watered as he remembered his aunt.

After some time he sniffled and wiped his face, standing again. Past the boundary of the bedroom he saw, between the privacy screen and the stove, an ovular, high walled bucket with a washboard for laundry, and a bookshelf groaning under the weight of books with the exception of one shelf that held more glass jars, this time obvious cooking materials. Oscar paused, realizing the scent of the apartment was soft, floral, soothing. He looked over as Ozpin, at his desk, twining dried flowers together into some kind of wreath, mouth moving silently as he did so. The walls were plain plaster, nothing special. Nothing hung from them except a mirror by the door, obviously to check appearances before leaving.

He moved past the heat of the stove and Ozpin turned, putting the dried flowers down.

"If… if it's all the same to you," Oscar said, "I wanted to see the roof garden first. With spring almost here I want to see what kind of soil we have up there and what seeds are already planted."

"I understand," Ozpin said, nodding as if expecting the request. He pulled out his keyring again and worked one off. "Here, this will give you access to the roof. Take the stairs all the way to the top - you'll know you're at the roof access when the height of the stairs change."

Oscar nodded and moved back to the door. He turned, looking out over the new apartment. It wasn't much, but it was home now. He took a breath and left, trailing back to the stairs and then up.

The roof access was practically a ladder not a set of stairs, and no rail for Ozpin to use as support - no wonder he couldn't make it up. He opened the door and was met with the brisk chill of between-season air. The roof was expansive, with eight apartments on each floor giving the roof plenty of area to play with. The greenhouse encased four chimneys, using them as pillar supports and taking up most of the roof. Oscar moved around the perimeter until he found the door. It was unlocked, and he entered. Inside were several wide garden tables.

Unfortunately, it was patently obvious that the gardens had not been used in years. The soil was old and dry, untilled and with dead plants rotting in different patches. The heat of the greenhouse was perfect for growing, and Oscar pulled off his gloves again to start examining the soil. He would have to ask Ozpin, or more likely Nana Calavera, who was in charge of the greenhouse and when its last use was.

He did find a watering can - three in fact - and some gardening tools that looked to have rusted. He would have to scrape it away and oil them, but they were still serviceable. Clay pots for new growth, and an old woven hat that was beyond repair.

Satisfied for now, he stepped back out into the chill and moved to the edge of the roof. He could see greenhouses and gardens on several other rooftops, smoke creating a grey haze to the afternoon sky. At the far end of the roof was another structure, and Oscar frowned, curious if it was a garden shed. Maybe there would be better tools there…?

He moved down to check the tool shed, but as he approached he heard noises: crows. An aviary? Up here? He slowed in his approach, not wanting to scare the birds. One black bird exited from somewhere on the far side, flapping up and then coasting down to land a few feet in front of Oscar. He crouched down, wondering if the crows were friendly. At home… at the farm he had to chase them away, they were pests unless they carried a message. Did crows fly wild in the city, or were they all carriers?

It cawed and spread its wings, trying to look intimidating. Wild, then.

Disappointed, he lifted a hand to swat it away. "Go away," he muttered. "I'm going to turn this place into a garden and I don't need you stealing things."

The crow squawked in absolute indignation, gaining the attention of the other birds in the shed, and all of them were suddenly flying out and crowding Oscar.

"Shoo. Shoo!" he insisted, unafraid of a couple of pecks.

Beyond the caws and crows was a loud crash, and Oscar stilled as the birds flew away, the door to the shed opening and a man rolling to the roof. The man groaned and flopped his limbs around, straightening out with several pops and cracks of his joints - Oscar winced in sympathy of all the sounds. Three crows landed by him, one on his knee, and as the man sat up and rubbed his face the crow complained bitterly. The man's dark hair was streaked in grey, face unshaven for obvious days, work pants dusty and one suspender missing. Everything was covered in bird droppings. Wasn't he cold without a coat?

The man turned and a red gaze pinned Oscar where he stood.

"Hey," he mumbled, deep baritone carrying easily through the air. "Are you the chump messing with my birds?"

The aggressive tone froze Oscar further, eyes widening as the man shakily stood up, towering over Oscar like so many other adults. The man swayed slightly, and there was a bottle of something in his hand as he stepped forward. "You don't get to mess with my aviary, pipsqueak," he slurred, waving a hand. "This is my roof and you get the hell off before I decide to make you."

"I'm sorry!" the phrase tumbled out of his mouth before he could think. "I just moved here… I wanted to see the greenhouse and - "

"And nothing," the man said, having closed the distance and giving Oscar a heavy shove, making him stumble back. "Get the hell away from me!"

Oscar lost his footing and fell down, turning and scrambling up to his feet and darting back to the roof access. The crow man was following him, bellowing curses between gulps from his bottle. Fumbling with the door, Oscar failed to open it three times before managing to swing it open. He all but leapt for the stairs, forgetting how steep they were and missing the second step. He slid down the stairs, fanny hitting every step before he finally made it to the landing.

Nana Calavera was there, tracing the wall with one hand. "Who's up there?" she demanded.

"Ma'am!" Oscar said, crawling back up to his feet.

"Oscar?" She motioned for him to join her and he did so readily. Her head was cocked to an odd angle, before tsking and looking up the access stairs. "Qrow!" she shouted. "What do you think you're doing scaring little kids! Get down here this instant!"

"Fye on you, Maria! I told you the roof was mine!"

"I said it could be yours only if you stopped drinking you burned out lush!" she shouted, all fire and sass. "I can smell the whiskey from here and I'll bet twenty lien you can't come down those stairs without falling! Now come down here and apologize!"

The man, Qrow, loomed over the roof access, little more than a silhouette. Oscar held his breath, uncertain what was going to happen.

He heard a scoff, and the man moved down the stairs, slowly. "Didn't fall, Maria," he slurred. "You owe me lien."

"Of course," Nana Calavera said. "I'll just deduct it from the rent you owe. You're two months behind, did you know that? I thought you had gone vagabond again but now I see you were hiding on the roof to scare little boys!"

The man scowled before his bloodshot eyes took in Oscar. He squinted, taking it all in, before his eyes widened. "Fye and filth," he cursed, "You are just a kid. Brothers…" He took a long several-gulp draw from his bottle, exhaling with a burp. "Sorry kid," he said, swaying again. "Didn't realize you were a kid."

"Uhm, it's fi-"

"You call that an apology, Branwen?" Nana Calavera demanded. "Sober up and try that again in a few days. I swear to the Brothers you've got less sense than that sister of yours. Come on, Oscar, let's get you back to the professor. I can smell him cooking dinner as we speak - little more than boiled potatoes, mind, he's not much of a cook. Oh, and I bet he's forgotten to tell you the well's out back, along with the outhouse. He'll have long forgotten because I have to bring up the water for him and he has to use an old chamber pot in the middle of the night. Not you, Qrow! You stay up here at least ten minutes - I still think you're going to fall down the stairs and I don't trust you to bowl us over before we get the boy settled. Come along, Oscar."

A little breathless at the brass of Nana Calavera, he followed in mute shock down the stairs back to the second floor. The landlady patted Oscar's back before knocking.

All at once he was back in the one room apartment, Ozpin standing at the stove and spooning out potatoes. "Oscar!" he said brightly, "Is the garden serviceable?"

"It will be in a few days," Nana Calavera said, "Once we get that dusty old crow sober and tell him he has to share."

The first two months were the adjustment phase by all accounts. Oscar was an early riser with his farm life, up at the first signs of light, while Ozpin was a night owl, working by candle light. Oscar was constantly woken up by the sound of a shifting seat or scrap of the professor's stool as he tried to adjust his bad leg. Eventually he could tune out the sounds, and Ozpin in turn learned to sleep through Oscar waking to get water from the well, use the outhouse, and dump Ozpin's chamber pot.

There were chickens in the common area out back, and Oscar had fresh eggs every other day for baking and cooking. Ozpin was scrupulous in how he spent his money, he explained that work didn't bring in as much as it used to, and he had to make his savings last as long as possible. Oscar wondered what his new guardian did but sensed that asking was a sensitive question. Breakfast was leftover bread from the prior day, soaked in eggs to soften them up. Then it was putting out the fire, cleaning whatever was left over the previous night, and off to either school or work.

He started school a week after moving in, after Ozpin had very thoroughly assessed everything Oscar did and didn't know. It was a different school than the one he went to at the orphanage, there was more emphasis on figures and literacy, apparently Ozpin thought Oscar would be better placed as some kind of desk clerk or accountant. Neither appealed to Oscar, but he also understood that maintaining greenhouses were only for the rich and any chances of getting that kind of job were slim to nil.

Oscar saved all seeds from whatever vegetables Ozpin brought home at night and after two months had several peppers, onions, carrots, celery, and tomatoes sprouting in the greenhouse. More than a few neighbors in the building heard about getting a gardener, and when he got home from schooling someone would come up while he was watering and checking on the plants and he taught several of the mothers some basics on maintaining a garden. In two weeks he had a schedule worked out and posted by the door of the greenhouse on who watered when and tentative dates on when certain plants would be ready for harvest. The first two years would be lean as he reworked the soil, but once everyone knew what trash was compostable he knew he'd have plenty of good soil and good water to make it work.

The aviary he summarily ignored. He knew when the drunk was there based on the sounds of the crows, and kept well away.

After gardening it was back to the apartment for homework, which he tried to get done in an hour, and then setting up for supper. Ozpin had two cookbooks - one from each side of his family, he said - and Oscar learned very quickly who's recipes were superior. If Ozpin came home early enough, he would help as he could, cutting vegetables at a small side table by the wash basin or giving directions on how to enhance flavor.

More often than not, however, Ozpin was home late: Oscar would have dinner cooked and ready, kept warm on the stove, but instead he would be down on the first floor sitting with Nana Calavera, waiting for the distinct sound of Ozpin coming up the front steps.

"It's the nature of work these days," Nana Calavera said, blind gaze always slightly off to the side. "It gets harder and harder for everyone, and in Oz's case fewer and fewer people think they need him. He has to take more and more clients to keep up with the bills, and the energy it takes… He's come home ill more times than I can count since moving in, and he never complains."

Oscar frowned, looking down at his hands and thinking about the meal upstairs. "Do you know what he does?" he asked.

Nana Calavera turned to look in his direction. "You mean he hasn't told you?" she asked, incredulous.

Oscar shook his head before realizing she couldn't see it. "No," he offered.

"I swear to the brothers!" she cursed. "He's stubborn as a mule sometimes! I have half a mind to throw him out just for the headaches he gives me!"

"... I don't understand," Oscar said, worrying his hands.

"He's a soothsayer!" Nana Calavera said, exasperated. "Of all the times for him to be careful about who he tells his profession to, you'd think he'd share it with his shiny new son! Oh, I swear, I'm doubling his rent for this, just you wait!"

Oscar stared at the landlady, struggling to catch up. "Wait," he said, leaning forward. "You mean soothsaying - that's real? It's not a superstition?"

Calavera turned to him again. "Superstition? Bah! All that rational reasoning and enlightenment has already bled out to the country has it? Obviously you've never had a reading before, have you? Didn't your aunt ever have one to know if the harvest would be good?"

Oscar shook his head.

"A dying breed they are," Calavera said, shaking her head. "Used to be one of the most revered professions, studied in all four kingdoms. Now everyone thinks it's hokey superstition, mathematical prediction of probabilities, artifice. They've never had a reading by a good soothsayer, I say. Oz gave me a reading, decades ago when he was first starting out - never had a more accurate reading in my life. He told me what the next decade of my life was going to be and he was right, beat for beat. He's the most talented soothsayer the world has seen for generations, he was taught by the last king of Vale himself - he should be raking in money! And here he is, surviving on his savings and whatever clients he can scrounge up with newspaper ads and being laughed at after a reading. He-"

Nana Calavera stopped, snapping to attention. Oscar heard it three seconds later, the distinct sound of Ozpin working himself up the front steps of the brownstone. Oscar listened to the key turn, and in walked the professor.

"Ozpin Ozma you stubborn old lout!" Calavera badgered, getting to her feet and feeling her way forward. "Two months into the adoption and you haven't told the boy you're a soothsayer? Is that how ashamed you are of your work? After everything you did for me? I-"

"Please, abuela," Ozpin said, his voice low and tired. "Not now."

Oscar was surprised to hear the foreign word from his guardian, and as he passed under the candlelight he saw a drawn, exhausted face. Nana Calavera seemed to sense it too, muttering to herself moving down the hall to her own apartment.

"Rain is coming," Ozpin said, limping towards Oscar. "My leg… it can hardly move."

Oscar realized what Ozpin was actually saying: he needed help up the stairs. He nodded and moved to open the door to the stairwell. Ozpin actually grunted - something he'd never done before - going up the steps and leaned disproportionately on the rail. Thunder rumbled outside, making the soothsayer's prediction come true, and Oscar darted ahead when he felt safe to do so to open the apartment.

Ozpin was achingly slow, prying off his jacket and sitting heavily in one of the leather chairs; he tried to lift up his bad leg to place on his stool but didn't even have the energy to do that. He was ghastly pale and Oscar hurried to plate the stew he had made and move over to give the professor one of the bowls. Ozpin took it lazily and just held it in his hands, eyes closed and leaning back in his chair. Oscar used his free hand to grab at his guardian's pantleg to lift it up, dragging the stool underneath and lowering the leg. He also pulled off the shoe, and Ozpin made a small noise of relief.

Oscar sat across in the other leather chair after lighting an oil lamp for better light. He ate his stew, wondering if he was supposed to say anything about what Calavera had said. The silence was long, and for Oscar it wavered between awkward and comfortable. He'd lived with Ozpin long enough to know what tired days were, but he'd never seen one this bad. It was only after he had finished his stew and had gotten up to clean his bowl and Ozpin finally moved, stiffly lifting the bowl closer to his mouth to eat.

"Hm, this is quite good," he said softly. "Thank you, Oscar, for making this. I'm sorry; I'm bad company right now."

"... it's fine," Oscar said softly, sitting back down.

Ozpin quietly had his stew, using the fresh baked bread to sop up the last of it. Oscar would normally sit in an almost-comfortable silence, after his two months there, but… a soothsayer? Nana Calavera was angry that Ozpin hadn't shared that. Why? Soothsaying was a myth, right? A scam to rob the desperate… That's what he'd heard since entering the city. Out on the farm, he sort of remembered a soothsayer in town, but he had been so rarely in town because he needed to tend the fields.

Thunder roared overhead, and not knowing what else to do, Oscar took Ozpin's dishes back to the wash basin with his own and… just started cleaning. The silence felt oddly heavy instead of more quiet and contemplative like it normally did. After rinsing and putting away the dishes, Oscar worried his hands at the used apron that Ozpin had gotten for him.

What should he do?

Behind him, he heard a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Oscar," Ozpin said softly. "Today was a confluence of events that conspired to leave me exhausted."

Oscar came over to his chair and sat down. "Are you okay?"

Ozpin was rubbing at his eyes. "I will be." He looked over and offered the palest hint of a smile, nothing like his more amused grin that he usually wore. "I see abuela told you my profession."

"Ahh… oh… um….."

The… soothsayer gave a bitter laugh. "Yes, well, I would have preferred to tell you in my own time in my own way. Tell me, what are your thoughts?"

Oscar looked down at his hands, fisting them. "I… I know there was a soothsayer in town. I never met them. Since coming here, all I hear is about soothsaying being a scam."

Ozpin let out a tired sigh. "I suppose I should be surprised. I'd hoped that the countryside still held to the older ways."

Oscar looked to his guardian. "Whatever it is you do, you work hard," he said softly. "I can see that."

"Hmm," Ozpin let out a tired hum. "I had hoped to bring you to my office once you were more settled to explain, then…"

Thunder rumbled again.

"We can do that," Oscar said. "You're tired. You need sleep."

Ozpin sighed. "Even moving to bed sounds like too much," he muttered.

To that, Oscar chuckled. "Come on. I'll help."

Author's Notes: On a sticky note we have a detailed diagram of Oz's apartment. If this were a TV show it's one of the main sets, same as his office, that we haven't officially been to yet (aside from the prologue). We get to know quite a few of the tenants of this building, the first is Maria Calavera as landlady. She is a spitfire - we probably don't use her nearly enough but every time we do she really shines. We love her.

And there's an aviary with a dusty drunk crow. Not gonna say more yet. Slow burn is gonna slow burn, after all. If anyone has watched Ascendence of a Bookworm, we're leaning on the idea of slowly getting to know the ins and outs of a world. Oz's life in the foothills of Haven is different than life further up the mountain - something the show alluded to but never got into because of how rushed the production of Volume 5 was. Well, that and one volume isn't enough to know a kingdom but we digress.

We also officially introduce Ozpin's profession, and Oscar as a country bumpkin parrots the only thing he knows about soothsayers. More on that later.

Next chapter: Oscar gets a cold and Oz meets a drunk on the front steps.