Chapter Four
School didn't let out in the summer in the city, not like it did on the farm. Oscar sat in a classroom filled with thirty other students for eight hours every day on the third floor, stifling hot and covered in a sweat that was different from the honest work on the farm. The city was more humid, and it smelled worse than fresh manure: garbage and human waste and overworked animals. Chalk made the air taste stale and it was a miserable experience. He would dredge himself home to check on the greenhouse and explain yes, the vegetable rinds needed to be kept for compost and not just for stock, please put them in the compost bin he put right at the base of the stairs so he had a hope of having better soil before the entire growing season was over. Ugh.
Ozpin would come home right at sunset, ranging from pale and overworked to flushed and near collapsed. Oscar wondered - not for the first time - what it was like to use magic like Ozpin claimed and why it wore him down so much. Nana Calavera said he'd be down with the heat soon and Oscar had never heard of such a thing happening.
As he climbed the steps to the brownstone, books swinging in his arm, he saw a redhead with curly hair talking to Nana Calavera, green eyes worried.
"Oscar!" the blind woman said. "Don't try to sneak by without saying hello, you're better mannered than that!"
"Oh! Sorry, Nana Calavera!" he said quickly. "You just looked busy, that's all."
"Busy, pah! I was waiting for you, I just had a message delivered. That batty old professor of yours is down with the heat. I want you to go pick him up and bring him home."
"Wait… what?"
"Excuse me, Penny, this will just take a moment," Nana Calavera said, turning from the redhead. "Oscar, that old man fainted with the heat. Bring him home where he can feel comfortable. Do you know where he works?"
Worry prickled along Oscar's senses, and his shoulders stiffened as he shook his head before catching himself. "No," he replied. "He said he would bring me up in the fall, when the weather had cooled."
"That man," she muttered, "Always on his own timetable. It's two blocks west of here, the ground floor is a tavern, owner's a Valean. He'll take you to the professor. Get him home so I can yell at him or else he won't be home until almost midnight."
"Yes, ma'am," Oscar said, nodding stoutly. He darted upstairs long enough to drop his books off and pull the main sheets off the bed, cracking open the window as much as the ancient thing would allow. They were on the wrong side of the building to get a cross breeze, even with the hall door open, and it was the best Oscar could do in preparation. Back downstairs he went, out the door past the redhead, and headed west.
Oscar gulped to go inside a tavern - there was a lot of noise in there and he'd been in the city long enough to hear the stories. He stepped inside gingerly and looked for the man from Vale - wondering what people from Vale even looked like - before a man at the bar caught his eyes. "You there!" he said, voice barely carrying over the noise. "You the professor's kid?"
Oscar nodded, moving closer to him and trying not to fall as the adults shouldered around him.
"Abuela said to expect you, good to see someone's finally looking after him. Here, the stairs are back this way, we can cut through the back room."
Oscar was pulled behind the bar and led through a door marked Employees Only in gold lettering, through a room filled with giant barrels with taps to a narrow hall.
"That door leads to the side entrance," the bartender said. "Ozpin's on the fourth floor."
"The fourth floor?" Oscar balked.
"Says you and everyone else in the building," the Valean said with a shake of his head. "But none of the first floors want to trade space with him and his office is the cheapest regardless. Let him know I'm here if he needs anything, even though I know he won't take it."
Oscar nodded, moving up the narrow steps - steeper than at the apartment, with only one railing. He was winded by the time he hit the top floor, was shocked that his guardian did this every day, and paused for breath before opening up to the main hall. It was wider than the apartment building, and name plates were at every door in small, embossed tin. Oscar moved quickly, eyes scanning the names and professions faster than he ever did when he first came to the city.
Soothsayer was the only title on Ozpin's door, and he knocked politely. "Professor?" he asked, mindful of who might be beyond the door. It opened quickly, a man with a thick grey beard snapping to attention.
"You his boy?" he asked, "What am I saying, of course you are. Come on in."
Oscar's nose was assaulted with the smells of home upon entering: dried herbs, incense, floral and fruity aromas that made him almost forget how bad the city smelled. Beyond the door was a pegboard for coats, and above it a corkboard with some kind of schedule on it. The first room was obviously a sitting area: upholstered chairs and a circular rug, a small table and chair with some kind of folders and ledgers on it. The walls were plain plaster, newer than at the apartment, but also with dark wood wainscoting. The man with the grey beard moved across the space and opened a secondary door, more pleasant aromas beyond, and a faint, "Thank you, Leo."
Oscar squeezed by the man and saw his guardian, leaning terribly low at a chair, a damp handkerchief across his forehead and eyes. Ozpin sat up even as Oscar absorbed the details, pulling off the handkerchief and turning a bright red face with a gentle smile.
"I'm so sorry to have troubled you," he said softly.
"N-no!" Oscar said, straightening. "I'm glad I'm here."
Ozpin shook his head, wiping his brow. His coat and waistcoat were off, as well as his collar and cravat - his collarbone was scandalously visible. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and everything glistened in sweat. It was stifling this high up in the building, and the afternoon sun burned through the windows, baking the tiny office even more.
Oscar finally noticed a table in the center of the room, some kind of contraption on it: a basin with a bed of sand and what looked like some kind of balance or fulcrum, a string with some kind of dark stone hanging from it. He stared, feeling… something… but he shook it off and turned back to his guardian. "Are you okay to make it downstairs?" he asked, "Or do you need to rest more?"
"I need," Ozpin said, shifting his weight, "to go home. I can afford some discomfort in order to accomplish this." He leveraged his cane and grunted as he pulled himself to his feet, and then swayed dangerously to one side. The bearded man - Leo? - caught him quickly as Oscar fretted over what to do.
"All right, professor," the bearded man said. "It's alright. You know I'm struck with a bit of heat stroke, too. Maybe you can help me down the stairs. It's past time I went home, too."
Leo helped the wobbly Ozpin move out of his back room to the first before Ozpin stopped. "Oscar," he said softly. "My keys…"
"Got it," Oscar said. The ring was next to the strange sand table, Oscar grabbed them and also moved back to the desk, closing every book, folder, and journal that seemed to be there. None of the oil lamps were lit, and he worked to close the one small window the office had. He didn't see any kind of locking mechanism, but he quickly saw a block of wood leaning against the wall and deduced its purpose. He wedged it into the brace of space in front of the top pane of the window, preventing it from being opened, and hoped that it was enough.
Ozpin was already outside the office, leaning against the wall and so very pink as Oscar stepped out and went through the five keys before he found the one that locked up the office. "Okay," he said. "We're ready."
Ozpin nodded, Leo taking a shoulder and helping him turn. The stairway was a heat trap, the narrow space funneling all the hot air to the top of the stairwell, and Ozpin took a breath before sighing. "I can't walk down the stairs," he said softly. Oscar and Leo looked at each other, confused, but Ozpin slid his bad lag slowly down the stairs until he was sitting on the top step, and with one arm braced against the rail, started to crawl down one step at a time.
The bearded man stepped down to Ozpin. "Look here," he said gently. "You have me and your son to help you." And without waiting for a response, the man - Leo - hoisted Ozpin up to get Ozpin's arm around his shoulders. Clearly unprepared for this, Ozpin stiffened and stumbled. Oscar used that to slip between Ozpin and the wall to offer more support.
After the weight was distributed easily, Oscar felt a nudge and he stepped down a few steps to let Ozpin right himself. Ozpin handed Oscar his cane and used his free hand to grip the rail. His face was redder than before, sweat dripping off his chin and his mouth a thin line.
"There," Leo said. "Isn't this better?"
Ozpin said nothing, but Oscar got the distinct impression he wasn't pleased.
Oscar looked worriedly between Ozpin and Leo. They made it down the flight of stairs and Leo set Ozin down on a small bench on the landing.
"Boy," Leo said, "at the end of the hall are the toilets. There's usually a bucket of clean water there." He handed Oscar a handkerchief. "Go dampen this. We'll let Ozpin rest and cool a bit before going down the next flight."
Oscar looked to Ozpin, who was pressing his lips into a thinner line. Then he sighed. "Go ahead, Oscar."
"Okay."
Oscar discovered the curious contraptions that toilets were - another modern marvel of living in the city - and found the bucket of water Ozpin's friend had mentioned. He came back and Ozpin rubbed the handkerchief all over his face and back along his neck, any piece of skin he could reach.
"Are you okay?" Oscar asked quietly.
Leo laughed. "Ozpin here can't take the foothills."
His guardian thinned his lips again before taking a deep breath. "The climate here is warmer than where I grew up," he explained. "And it is a great deal more humid." He levered himself up with his cane and Leo immediately grabbed the free arm to loop over his shoulders.
Ozpin sighed and handed Oscar his cane again.
They rested after the next flight of stairs.
"Leo, I'll take my waistcoat now. And my cravat."
"Ozpi-" Oscar was cut off when Leo offered a great laugh.
"Come now," he chuckled. "Even in your thinnest shirt, I can see that you're still overheated. Your face is flushed with summer. Your boy can handle it." Leo gave Oscar Ozpin's coat, waistcoat, and cravat. "Don't overdo it."
Ozpin's eyes were closed and his mouth thin. Then he looked to Oscar.
In this, at least, Oscar understood. Ozpin was always presentable. It was why people called him a professor. He looked the part. And stripped down to his shirt and suspenders, he didn't look anywhere near put together. Oscar nodded and some of the tightness in Ozpin's eyes eased.
Shirt buttoned and tucked, waistcoat loose with his sleeves still rolled up, and cravat hanging loose around the neck, Ozpin looked more like an office worker heading home than a day laborer. Not that anyone would have mistaken Ozpin as a day laborer with his cane, limp, and bony frame.
Leo still helped them down to the ground floor. Once sitting at the bench, the Valean who ran the tavern came out with a tall glass of granatus. Ozpin outright glared at the drink for several seconds before sighing in defeat; he took the drink and downed it in one shot, wiping more sweat from his face. Another glass was brought over and Ozpin downed that as well, a soft, "I'll pay later," drifting from his mouth.
"Ozpin?" Oscar asked softly.
"Not here," Ozpin replied just as quietly. "Another few minutes and we'll get going." He turned to the man. "Leo, thank you."
Oscar turned as well. "Ummmm, yes, ah, thank you Mr…. Leo, sir."
The man laughed, running a hand through his thick gray mane of hair. "Leo Lionheart," he said, offering his hand to Oscar. "I suppose I never introduced myself. Sorry about that."
"Oh… um… yes… er, Thank you Mr. Lionheart. I'm Oscar Pine."
Leo chuckled. "You've a good boy there, Ozpin. I'll leave a note on your door?"
Ozpin sighed tiredly. "Unfortunately. After the next thunderstorm, most likely."
Leo nodded. "I'll crack your window open after the weather changes and try to cool off that oven of an office." Leo nodded, and turned to head upstairs.
Uncertain what to do, Oscar sat down next to Ozpin.
"A little further away, please," Ozpin murmured. "Even body heat is too much for me right now."
"Oh." Oscar slid down to the other side of the bench. He watched for a while, Ozpin leaned against the wall, face still red and dark spectacles near to the end of his nose. His hair was matted and stringy, but most importantly he did not look happy. His gentle face was replaced with that thin line of a mouth, and there was a distance that Oscar could feel that he couldn't put a name to. He looked down to his hands, uncertain what - if anything - he was supposed to do. He just felt like he was supposed to apologize for something, like he had done something wrong.
Finally, Ozpin took a deep breath, pulling out the damp handkerchief and wiping his brow. "Come on," he said softly, resigned. "Let's go home."
He fixed his cravat, tying it up neatly and rebuttoned his waistcoat. Ozpin leveraged himself up, Oscar moving to help but stopped with a firm hand from his guardian. Once he was standing and straight, Ozpin took another deep breath and started moving down the hall. The side entrance door opened just as the pair reached it, and beyond the billow of light was a woman in a smart, freshly pressed suit.
Her hair was unnaturally short, dark, with twin blond streaks of a cowlick that stuck them straight up in the air.
"Ah, Master Ozma," the woman said, clicking her heels together and straightening. "It's a pleasure to see you."
Oscar looked up to hear the title master instead of professor, and Ozpin's already thin lips thinned - if possible - even more. "Miss Bree," he said, voice professional and distant. "Though I can certainly guess, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"James sent me here to inform you that he will be dropping by in an hour," the woman said, back unnaturally straight.
"Miss Bree, you know, and James knows, that he can't just come by at the drop of a hat. I've already had my last appointment for the day and I'm on my way home."
The woman, Miss Bree, her eyes narrowed, and her weight shifted. "He rearranged his entire day for this," she said, "this was the earliest he could come."
"And you and everyone else on his staff knows better," Ozpin countered, equally unyielding. "You must make an appointment. In advance."
"But the-" Miss Bree started to say, voice raised before she caught herself. "He knows you've been putting him off," she said instead.
"Just as he knows I won't answer the question he really wants to ask," Ozpin said, and Oscar had never heard his voice sound so cold. "If you'll excuse me, I'm needed at home."
"Now listen here-" Bree started to say.
"Um," Oscar said, stepping in front of his guardian. "If all this Mr. James has to do is make an appointment, then just send a crow over. The professor can message back when he's free and you can find a convenient time together."
The Bree woman's eyes snapped down to Oscar, and he felt his reasoning disappear like a wisp of smoke, and he almost flinched. She tsked, deeming him unworthy, and looked back up to Ozpin.
"You have un-apprenticed urchins sticking up for you now?" she said derisively. "Milking him for all his money because he believes in soothsayers? I had you pegged the minute I laid eyes on you, you charlatan."
Ozpin's eyes narrowed, his darkest look yet, and took a slow breath through his nose. "It's been a year, hasn't it?" he asked, "since you've lost your four leafed clover."
Her eyes doubled in size, back straightening again.
"It was in the war, another needless death in a sea of blood that should have never been spilled. It was a ground battle, each side firing cannon over each other, the skies grey with streaks of fire, battalions pushing back and forth before the storm came and lightning exploded across the field."
All at once his red color paled and he leaned forward, his hand clutching at his cane as his weight shifted, gaze blurring. Oscar put a hand to his guardian's arm, afraid he was going to fall over again and leveling as much of a glare as he could muster at the Bree woman. For her part she was glaring right back, unnaturally straight and baring her teeth.
"I've had a long day, Miss Bree," Ozpin said after a moment, hand going up to once again wipe at his temples. "In all honesty there's isn't enough left in me to give him a proper reading. As Oscar said, have him send a messenger crow. I'll reply when I'm feeling better."
"Of course. Master Ozma," Bree said, clicking her heels together and marching away.
Oscar wanted to ask a question, but Ozpin started walking immediately, limping as fast as his bad leg could carry him. Oscar trotted after him, catching up quickly, and his guardian's face was still dark and distant. He was mad, and Oscar sensed that talking now would only make things worse.
The sun, at least, had lowered behind the roofline, putting all the streets in shadow. The air was still damp and humid, but much cooler compared to the oven of the office and the stairwell. Ozpin didn't waiver in his step, but his entire silhouette was damp with sweat. In this light Oscar could see the clothes were sticking to him completely. He tugged slightly at the back of the waistcoat, realizing that wearing it was pressing all the moist cloth to Ozpin's already soaked back. That would only compound things. Why did people in the city never take their shirts off? Oscar did it all the time on the farm and the orphanage had laughed at him for doing it once he had moved there. He said nothing, however, watching the streets as horses and rickshaws navigated around laborers, dressed in loose-fitting gi and zubon, heavily loaded baskets balanced on bamboo strung across shoulders. Straw hats were everywhere, and Ozpin suddenly stopped, glancing down at his free hand.
"I forgot my umbrella," he muttered.
"Should I go back and get it?" Oscar asked - he remembered seeing an umbrella stand by the side entrance door…
"No," and the word was very nearly a hiss, freezing Oscar and making him stare.
Ozpin caught himself, and took three deep breaths. "Forgive me," he said. "I am in terrible spirits right now. We'll talk more when we're home." He started walking again, and Oscar followed, certain now that he had done something wrong.
"Hey, professor!"
"Brother of Light, now what," Ozpin cursed.
Oscar looked down the street and saw one of the laborers, two baskets of stone balanced across his shoulders, moving towards them. Straw hat hanging behind his neck, Oscar recognized the aviary drunk, trotting up. "I'm on my last load, if you wait five minutes I can - Dark Brother's filth what happened to you? You're all red in the face!"
"I am well aware of my appearance, sir," Ozpin said, and Oscar saw the drunk gulp even as Oscar involuntarily stepped back from the intensity of the tone. "If you don't mind I've had a long day and would presently like to go home, unless some other interruption decides to present itself I'd highly advise you finish your own work and allow me even two minutes to mitigate myself before-" he cut himself off, turning away slightly and going right back to walking down the street.
Oscar stared before sharing a look with the aviary man. All he could offer was a shrug of the shoulders and chased after his guardian again. The professor's breath was coming out in heavy bursts, Oscar could tell he was overworking himself again as he power walked the final block to the brownstone.
Nana Calavera was in her usual spot at the back of the hall by the stairs. "Ozpin Ozma you stupid old man!" she badgered.
"Ahora no abuela," Ozpin said, nearly a hiss. Nana Calavera balked for all of half a second before saying a long string of… something to Ozpin, voice rising and the speed of her speech nearly doubling. Ozpin's voice never rose; instead his intensity seemed to grow, as he countered in that strange language, and the two fired back and forth for several minutes, Oscar lost and uncertain what he was supposed to do. Calavera's volume suddenly doubled, and a door opened near the front as one of the tenets poked their head out.
That seemed to stop the argument, both parties remembering where they were.
Nana Calavera sighed. "I've had water brought up to your apartment from the well, it should be cool enough," she said. "Put it over your stupid head and maybe you'll learn some sense."
Ozpin didn't reply, just entered the stairwell and began the laborious process of going up to the second floor. Oscar was past the point of knowing what to do, he finally settled on darting ahead and opening up their room, holding the door open for Ozpin to enter before doing the same and locking up.
The bucket of water was on the floor by the stove and Ozpin, finally in the privacy of his own apartment, pulled off his waistcoat, his cravat, and his shirt, the last practically peeling off of his skin as he sat heavily on his stool and bent down to roll up his pant legs. Oscar stared, as he always did, at the swollen mess of his guardian's bad knee, bulbous and deformed, a hardened remnant of the back breaker fever.
"Oscar, a towel please." The request was soft but clipped, startling Oscar out of his thoughts and putting him to work. He grabbed one of the cooking rags and dipped it in the bucket of water, handing it over as Ozpin started methodically rubbing himself down, sighing as he did. Oscar reloaded the towel and Ozpin ran it over his face and then up through his matted hair, leaving the damp thing there and leaning his elbow on his good knee.
There were no other instructions, pleas, or favors, he just sat there, cooling down, and Oscar worried his hands before finally sitting in his leather chair, pulling at the buckled up books for some of his work.
By all rights, he should head up to the roof garden, as he hadn't had the chance, but he wasn't sure if he should leave Ozpin. He'd never seen his guardian so angry… So he attempted to do some of the school work assigned to him. But Oscar was distracted. He kept glancing over at Ozpin, wondering what had happened, and why the normally genial and kindly man had been reduced to sharp words.
"Oscar," Ozpin said softly. "If you're just going to stare instead of work, head up to the garden and work on your plants."
"Oh! Um… Sorry…"
Ozpin sighed. "We'll talk when you're done. I'm still cooling off and calming down."
"Uh, sure."
Ozpin sat up, letting the towel on his face drop to an open palm. Oscar took that as his cue to make himself scarce. The plants themselves were also suffering from the heat, it seemed, and it looked like whoever had to water today had forgotten. Oscar spent his time watering, stirring the compost, pruning and plucking. Checking the okra, some of the pods were getting too long, so Oscar plucked all of them into a shallow bowl that he'd set at the base of the roof stairs for anyone who wanted some. He took a few for their own dinner, as well as an eggplant, a pair of cucumbers, and a few tomatoes. He was sure one of their cookbooks would have a decent recipe.
Oscar pulled at his rag and wiped his face. On the roof, there wasn't as much shade, and the sun was only just starting to set below the roofline. The haze in the sky made everything indistinct and Oscar wondered when the dampness would finally have enough and give way to a thunderstorm.
He took his basket back down to the apartment and hesitated at the door. Would it be okay now?
He took a breath and entered.
Ozpin was still shirtless, just his undershirt and suspenders, but he looked much better, as he looked through the shelves of books, pulling out a book before shaking his head and setting it aside.
"Welcome home," Ozpin said, when he saw Oscar.
"Uh, I'm back?"
Ozpin's mouth twitched into a smile for a moment before he levered his way up and came over. "I see we have a bounty."
"Uh, I figured… I mean, the okra's ready, but most of this can be a salad, which… I mean…"
Ozpin nodded, taking the basket of food and going to the table by the stove. "I agree. Cooking tonight doesn't appeal to me."
Oscar only nodded. "Um, what can I do?"
The tension in Ozpin's shoulders seemed to melt. "That."
"Oh. Yes. Um…. what?"
Ozpin's chuckle was short, but gentle. He pulled out a knife and started slicing vegetables.
Oscar walked over.
"Five years ago, as I've mentioned, I came down with backbreaker's fever. I was quite ill." Ozpin faced the wall, stared at it, then looked back to the vegetables he was cutting. "I was bedridden for the first two months. The ward I was in was for the fever and while the doctors did the best they could, many didn't truly understand it. It is slow-working, and those of us who survived are still surviving the after effects. The most obvious sign for survivors such as myself is the paralysis. My leg is like a bar of iron. It won't move. It will remain in this shape for the rest of my life. It's why my knee is so swollen with deposits. The third month with the fever was when the doctors attempted surgery for us in the ward to remove whatever deposits were deforming our joints and bones."
Ozpin stopped and set the knife aside, hand clenched. "Several people simply chose to have amputations to stop the spread of the paralysis. Many were confined to chairs for the rest of their lives. I was lucky. The removal of deposits from my knee slowed the spread of the infection. By the fourth month of the fever, the doctors had determined how to control the fever. After some pharmaceutical experimentation, the fever was finally broken."
Ozpin turned and Oscar felt pinned by his stare. "I spent a year learning how to walk again. A year regaining my independence. A long, painful, successful year relearning my body and how it worked and what it could do. I am proud of the mobility that I have, that I maintain. As I've stated before, I have been able to live alone. I can do my own laundry, I can cook and clean, I can handle my chores and walk to my work. I can do all these things independently."
Oscar looked to his hands, clenching them in his nerves.
"I am not an invalid. Simply ask what I need. Mr. Lionheart manhandling me to help me down the stairs indicates that I am some child in need of assistance, or that I'm still an invalid. I am not. I know my limits. I push them, but I never exceed them. I have long since given up on pride. If I can do something, let me do it."
"... Sorry," Oscar said quietly.
"Now, I do need you to do something."
Oscar immediately looked up. "Yes?"
"Come here."
Oscar walked over and was surprised to find himself enveloped in a warm, tight hug. Ozpin didn't feel so overheated, so Oscar took a chance to hug back.
Ozpin finally pulled back, running a hand through Oscar's hair with a faint smile. "You never knew this, Oscar," he said. "You have mostly listened to me about this, but this is the first time my will was ignored. You followed Mr. Lionheart's lead, and he should know better. So should Nana Calavera. I am not angry at you. I'm sorry if I frightened you."
"Oh, you didn't frighten me," Oscar replied quickly. "I wasn't sure what to do… I wanted to help but helping seemed to make you more mad."
"You followed my lead," Ozpin replied, running a hand through his own sweaty hair. "That's all I can ask. And I'm sorry you had to see Miss Bree today. She's jumpy, and not in the sense of being scared."
Oscar's shoulders dropped and his gaze flattened. "Yeah, she was rude. Do I really look like a street-urchin?"
Ozpin laughed. "We city folks don't usually strip to suspenders. The people who take off their shirts are day laborers, who barely get enough pay to survive. You're too young and too slight a build for that, so people will assume an urchin."
Oscar gave a flatter gaze. "So in this heat, people here in the city, where it's hotter than the fields, would rather go down with the heat than dress inappropriately?"
"Open windows that can coax a breeze do a great deal to alleviate the heat. Most work in offices and don't move around much. And the wealthy just leave for the countryside this time of year."
Oscar grumbled.
"Come on. We'll finish making dinner and we can discuss how to avoid what happened today again."
The following day, with the cool morning, Ozpin sighed and got up with Oscar. While Oscar cooked breakfast, Ozpin levered their window open as much as he could. He'd be stuck here until some sort of rain came through to cool off the city. He could only hope that it wouldn't take long for the weather to change. If James was trying to get a reading, he might get more persistent.
"I think I'll walk you to school today," he said as the dishes were brought over to their wash basin.
Oscar looked over, eyebrows peaked in worry. "Will that be okay?"
Ozpin nodded with a soft smile. "The morning is the coolest part of the day. By the time I come back, the apartment might have cooled off a little more. Some exercise is good for me, regardless of the weather. And your school is closer than my office."
Oscar nodded and grabbed his books, using an old belt to hold them all together before slinging them over his shoulder. Ozpin didn't bother with a jacket, just staying in his shirt and waistcoat.
Oscar pulled open the door and heard a snort, both of them blinking as they saw the drunkard from yesterday - apparently a day laborer - passed out in front of their door. The two shared a look, surprised, and Ozpin motioned for his charge to try and wake him. Oscar made a face as he bent down - Ozpin could smell the drink even from here, and took a shoulder to shake it. "Hey," his son said, "You're blocking the way."
"Shhhut up Maria," the drunkard slurred. "Jus' wanna see if 'e's ok…"
"See if who's okay?"
"Pr'fess'r…"
Ozpin blinked to see himself referenced, and he threw a confused glance to Oscar, but the boy was just as lost, shaking his head. Ozpin gestured, and Oscar shook again, more firmly. "Hey," he said, a little louder. "You're on the wrong floor. I need to get to school. I don't want to trip over you."
The drunkard snorted again, curling into himself, and Ozpin frowned, leaning on his good leg to poke at the man with his cane. "Perhaps," he said gently, "I should be inquiring as to your wellbeing, instead of the reverse."
"Maria…" the drunkard said, finally pushing himself up to a sit-up. He looked around, eyes finally trailing up to Oscar, and then up again to Ozpin. "Hey~! Professor!" he drawled, lips barely making it around the words. "I sssaw you yesterday. Red in the face… thought y'were drunk but then…" his words fell apart after that, a yawn blurring into a not-quite giggle as he leaned back on the wall, putting his arms on his knees. "You sssure talk like a pr'fess'r. Couldn't think fassst 'nough to answ'r."
Oscar straightened, books still hanging from his grip and looked up to Ozpin, unsure what to do. Ozpin himself wasn't completely certain how to take this, and the drunkard kept talking.
"Heard you fightin' with Maria - thought I wuz th'only one who did. Knew you had to be sick or somethin' for that to happen. Thought I'd check on you after I unwound."
"'Unwinding' meaning getting lushed out of your mind," Oscar muttered.
Ozpin shushed him immediately. "I'll handle this," he said softly. "You worry about getting to school."
"Thaat's right kid," the man said from the floor, a crooked, broken smile on his face. "Get your ass to school. Don't end up like me."
Oscar dithered for several moments, giving a very worried glance to Ozpin, but he finally nodded and moved down the hall. The drunkard gave a cheery wave and looked back to Ozpin, awkward silence starting to pool between them. It was too humid to do much, and Ozpin knew it wasn't in him to bend over and help the man to his feet. He asked, "Can you stand?"
"Oh, yeah," the man said, waving off the question. "I'm way less drunk now than I wuz a few hours ago."
"You'll forgive me, but that is not necessarily encouraging."
The man laughed again, a low hearty sound that spoke of being happy once, a lifetime ago - Ozpin closed his eyes, refocusing his magic. Without a reader he'd be down with the heat for hours if his magic started to activate. "Please get up," he said softly. "I find it uncomfortable to talk down to someone."
"Heh, you got it prof." The drunkard took a few minutes and one false start before he got to his feet. He swayed briefly but held his balance. Under the ruddy complexion and bloodshot, his eyes were a soft red.
"Do you have work, sir?" Ozpin asked.
"Ha! I'm no sir, professor," the man said.
"You'll forgive me, then, I don't know your name."
"Qrow. Qrow Branwen." The laborer held out a hand.
"Ozpin Ozma," Ozpin replied, giving two firm shakes. "And my original question is still unanswered: do you not have work?"
The man - Branwen - frowned at the question, blinking slowly, before cursing. "Fye and filth, I'm about to be fired." He staggered down the hall, bracing against the wall for a few steps before fumbling for the stairwell. "See you around, Oz!" he called.
… What a morning. Ozpin sighed, finally reentering his apartment and sitting briefly to rest his leg. Morning papers would arrive in an hour, and he knew that was when Nana Calavera woke up. He had just enough time to make an accounting of dry goods and was in the middle of listing what he needed to recharge his reader when he heard the bell of the paperboy coming down the street. Once he finished his list he went downstairs and knocked on the front apartment of the building.
Nana Calavera opened the door. "Who is it?"
"A man with a humble apology to deliver," he said softly.
"Ozpin Ozma you big lout," she sassed, shaking her head and backing up. "Come on in, you're just in time for the papers."
"I know, I heard."
Maria's apartment was on the east side of the building compared to his west side, and on the first floor it never had much sunlight - not that Maria needed it - and left it the coolest room in the building at this time of day.
"Have a seat," she said, moving with confidence around her wicker chair and behind the stove, pulling out a pitcher of something. "I heard you trying to get that washed up lush to move this morning. He's off to work now?"
"Yes, though he expressed fear of being fired."
"Of course he was. If that idiot ever stayed sober for more than two days he could hold down a job, but no, that would be too easy. I swear, Oz, some people want their lives to be difficult."
"I believe I hear you referencing more than one person in that statement," Ozpin said lightly as Maria returned with the pitcher, placing it on the table where two glasses were already set.
"You've always had a brain in your head," she answered, "But it drives me up the wall the number of times you don't use it."
"I deserve that," Ozpin said, reaching out and taking a sip. Apple juice, out of season. "And I apologize for last night."
"Look, Oz," Maria said with a sigh. "I'm the last person to talk to you about the importance of independence. I know what it's like when someone just shoves their help onto you for something you've been doing for years: it's presumptuous and degrading and makes it look like you can't do a damn thing with your life. It makes people like us ornery and defiant. But there's such a thing as being so independent you lack sense."
"I know, Maria," Ozpin said, sighing. "I doubt this will be the last time I let my pride and privacy overtake common sense. I remember how long it took you to train me to send a crow when I was down with the heat to begin with. Oscar didn't know what to do when he came, and Leo… well, he was Leo. I was very nearly carried down the stairs."
Maria shook her head with a sigh as she had her juice.
"Then the general sent someone to see me."
"Oh, honestly," Maria said, slapping a hand to her table. "Bad enough the war's even happening, now he wants you to tell him how to win it? We're five years in, what does he expect you to do? Atlas isn't even in the war."
"I can hardly guess," Ozpin said with a sigh. "That's the second agent he sent this month, I worry he'll try to ambush me here."
"Pah! I'd like to see him try," Maria growled, all ire and sass.
Ozpin muffled his chuckle behind a sip of juice. "None of that excuses my rudeness to you," he said, putting the glass down. "I shouldn't have put my frustration on you, and for that I'm sorry."
"Better me than one of your clients," Maria said with a smile. "I know how to handle you, at least. In a few years Oscar will too, and then there'll be no help for you."
"Perish the thought," Ozpin countered lightly.
"Well, you can read your papers here where you can pretend it's cool," she said, finishing her juice and getting up. "I have to talk to the Browns on the third floor. They keep complaining about their stove leaking as if stuffing six kids into that apartment isn't going to end up denting something."
It was after noon, as the heat of the day began to intensify, that being in a building was too much. Ozpin moved out to the common area out back, under the shade of the building and near the chicken coop with one of his master's books that he had been able to keep after the assassination. Someone was guaranteed to come out for water almost every twenty minutes from the thirty odd apartments in the building, and occasionally someone came out to use the outhouse as well. Three mothers were by the well doing their laundry, gossiping over something, and if Ozpin ignored the sweat trickling down his temples and the sticky moisture of his clothes it was almost comfortable. He could just see the outline of Oscar's garden on the roof - a greenhouse, something he'd never noticed before - and he smiled at the thought of his new son's accomplishments up there. It made him wonder if there was a garden on his office building. He would have to ask after the next thunderstorm.
The women moved back into the apartment building, Nana Calavera saying something about smelling rain in the air. Ozpin smelled it, too, but his leg wasn't in that specific kind of pain yet, so he knew it wouldn't come for a few hours yet.
Someone came in through the side alley but Ozpin paid it no mind, content to read and move as little as possible. He had maybe two hours before Oscar was let out and he wanted to enjoy himself for a little longer.
"Hey, Oz!"
Oh, dear.
Ozpin looked up to see Mr. Branwen, staggering across the common yard with a bottle in each fist. "Look what I got!" he said brightly, swinging one of them before almost losing his balance. "Come here and drink with me, we gotta celebrate!"
"Celebrate what, exactly?" Ozpin asked, closing his book.
"Me getting fired again!" Mr. Branwen practically shouted, making a grand gesture with his arms before almost losing his balance. "Fourth job this month! Maria's gonna boot me for sure!" He shoved the dark brown bottle into Ozpin's face, forcing him to take it, and sat heavily on the ground, already taking a draw from the lighter gold one.
"I seem to misunderstand," Ozpin said lightly, putting the - he glanced at the label - whiskey on the ground behind him and well out of reach of Mr. Branwen. "I fail to see how this is some kind of celebration."
"Why not?" the drunkard asked, running a hand through his grey streaked hair. "I'm pretty sure it's a record. Me holding down a job is like…" He frowned, his sloshy mind struggling to find an adequate simile, "Like you talking like a normal guy."
Ozpin took a long breath through his nose, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe along his temples. "And why is holding down a job so difficult?" he asked carefully, leaning forward slightly and resting his chin on the pommel of his cane.
"Isn't it obvious, professor?" Mr. Branwen asked with a raucous laugh. "I'm a drunk!" He shouted this at the top of his lungs, his cheery demeanor darkening with the exclamation, self hatred bleeding through. "A no-good, useless, filthy, cursed, stupid, do-nothing drunk."
"... and why do you drink?" Ozpin asked, keeping his voice soft, subtle. Hiding his wince at the word cursed.
"... 'Cause Clover ain't here to stop me," Branwen answered, looking down at his bottle. He took another long draw, Ozpin counted eight gulps, and watched him sway as the alcohol hit. "Fye and filth," he cursed, words slurring. "Fye and Brothers' damned filth."
The quiet that followed gave Ozpin time to think. "Do you know what the phrase actually means?" he asked. "Fye and filth?"
"Knowin' stuff's for professors like you," Branwen said with a smile. Then he took another giant gulp. "It's a cuss, good for cussing, life is always good for cussing."
Ozpin allowed himself an amused smile. "Fye is an abbreviation. The original expression was 'fire and filth'. Can you guess why?"
Branwen burped and Ozpin curled his nose at the alcohol. "'m too drunk to think that filth out."
"One of the old legends about the Brothers is that the Brother of Light gifted us with fire, and the Brother of Darkness the ashes - the filth - that the fire made. The curse was used on and off through the eons, but it became a more common curse about one hundred years ago. So allow me to pose a different question. What would filth on fire smell like?"
"Dirt's dirt, Oz. It doesn't smell like anythin'."
Ozpin pulled out his handkerchief again to wipe his brow. "Put another way, why do we have that building over there?" Ozpin asked, pointing to the outhouse.
"What was the question again?"
"What would 'filth'," Ozpin gestured to the outhouse again, "smell like on fire?"
Branwen stared at him, eyes squinting as the alcohol sloshed in his brain before something finally made the connection. "Ah, fye and filth, is that where it comes from?"
Ozpin nodded. "I think it was… oh, a hundred years ago? Vacuo was at war with Vale over a piece of land and Vacuo was very good at setting fires to latrines or the city sewer systems. Their own troops wore scarves around their faces like masks that were soaked in scents so as not to be distracted."
"Brothers, does that even work?"
Ozpin shrugged. "So the legend goes. Vale has always been very particular about being clean as a result. Especially in Beacon."
Branwen sat back, and then fell to the ground. "Ha! Fye and filth."
"Even the most ignominious jobs can be legendary," Ozpin said. "Soldiers finding the most disgusting places and setting it on fire. A job that is laughed at and derided is still dignified for providing income and services."
"S'what are you sayin, Oz?"
"That holding a job has value. That even when people at large do not understand the value of the job, the job still, in fact, has value. That even when one is continuously put down and insulted, a person has value. No one is useless. No one is nothing. Everyone is someone."
Branwen burst out laughing, loudly at the top of his lungs.
"Didn't know you were a comedian!" he tried to drink from his bottle while lying down and then broke into a hacking cough. "I think you're trying to say I'm worth something. Hahaha! I'm not."
"You don't really believe that," Ozpin said gently, reaching down and touching Qrow's bare foot, the only thing he could reach. "Clover saw value in you, didn't he?"
Branwen's face darkened again, and he pulled himself back up to a sitting position. "Don't say that name," he growled, working himself up to his knees. "Don't say that bastard's name! Not when he left to fight the war when he wuz s'pposed to stay with me! Brother's curses don't say-!" The drunk overbalanced, tipping forward and too drunk to keep himself upright. His diagonal flop was blunted by Ozpin's bad leg, sending a jolt of pain up it and making him shoot up to his feet, backing up a few steps before the flare of pain could fade.
"He left me…" Branwen slurred. "Damn it… they always leave me…"
Ozpin took a slow breath, rubbing at his bad leg, and limped closer to the drunkard.
"Mr. Branwen," he said softly, bending over as his leg could allow. He waited until the other man could look up and lock eyes. His loose gi had opened slightly, showing off a collarbone. "Mr. Branwen," he said again, "it's not about whether or not someone leaves you. The journey of life will bring that eventuality at some point. I've lost my entire family, my position at university, much of my reputation. Choice cannot dictate things beyond our control. Rather, choice dictates how we can act when those things happen. Do you understand?"
"... No…"
Ozpin sat down again, wiping sweat off his brow. He heard a distant low roll of thunder. "When the back breaker fever finally broke," he said, eyes locked on the aviary man, "I could not walk. All I could focus on was what I could no longer do, all the things that had been taken away from me. More still, the war had started, the university closed to me, and over half of my publications lost to censure. I could have very easily fallen into the trap you now find yourself in."
Branwen was still upset. "Don't patronize me," he slurred. "You don't know what it's like."
Ozpin leaned back, closing his eyes and debating with himself. Using his magic without a reader pulled a lot out of him, and in this heat that was often dangerous, but Branwen was too angry to hear what Ozpin was saying. Was it worth the effort?
… If it helped him, then yes.
He drew on his magic, searched for the patterns.
"You and your raven started with nothing," he said, opening his eyes and feeling his sweat nearly double in production. "You grew up on these very streets until she found a dragon to become her partner. Closeness of that degree terrified her, and she left - not because of you, but because of her own fears. The dragon, your best friend, was forced to go home - not because of you, but because his father had died and he needed to take over the business. He offered you to join him, but you refused for reasons you even now don't completely understand. The four leafed clover brought you happiness, but he left - not because of you, but because he felt a calling to a higher duty. He wanted to part on friendly terms, and you spat in his face."
"Shut up."
"You focus on people leaving you, Mr. Branwen, and I understand that," Ozpin said, shutting down his magic and feeling his entire body sag back into his seat. "The pain is unbearable, and the only possible way to rationalize it is to blame yourself. Well, then, if that is how you chose to view your circumstance, then it is only a matter of time before someone leaves you again."
"Shut up!"
Ozpin shook his head. "If you cannot stop from thinking it is some intrinsic quality, then might I suggest that, instead of drowning in your misery, you do one thing a day to make yourself better? Even if the one thing you can do is only have one less drink, one less bottle, it is a step in a direction that will decrease the likelihood of someone leaving you again. In time, you could graduate to keeping a job. You could graduate to paying back those debts. You could graduate to honoring your four-leafed clover."
"I said don't say his name!" Branwen shouted, still curled into the ground, shaking.
… Ozpin sighed. For now, he couldn't do more.
He leveraged his cane, working himself to his feet as a second roll of thunder echoed off in the distance. His vision blurred with the effort, damn this heat, and he needed to wait for his vision to stop telescoping, for the buzzing to leave his ears. He exhaled shakily, and winced to feel the pain in his leg begin to act up. The rain would be closer than he had anticipated. He limped painfully to the back steps, not looking forward to the journey back to the apartment. Three steps, one at a time, and he made it to the back door and into the stairwell.
Nana Calavera was moving down the steps. "Did I hear that damn lush shouting out back?" she asked. "What's he doing back so early?"
"It would appear he really did lose his job," Ozpin said. "He wanted to 'celebrate.'"
"Brother of Light," Calavera cursed. "He's only just caught up on his rent, if he goes on another bender… If I throw him out, it's street living for him, what does he expect me to do?"
"I don't know, abuela," Ozpin replied, wiping his brow. "I tried to talk to him, I don't know if he was in a place to listen."
"Oz, you can only help someone who wants to be helped," Nana Calavera said. "He gave up on himself a long time ago."
"Still, I'll make some ginger-peppermint tea for him tomorrow, once the weather breaks."
"And lose another teapot? Honestly, kids these days, thinking lien grows on trees. There's a war on, you know!"
Author's Notes: Slow burn is now... literally burning with the heat? Eh, bad pun.
Lots of little things in this chapter, but this is unilaterally an Oz chapter: we get to see a little more of what life in the foothills of the mountain is like and that Oz is not really equipped for the weather there. On top of him being susceptible to the heat we learn a new detail of backbreaker. Picture arthritis with acute gout. Our grandfather Papa had these bubbles on his elbows and knuckles when he was still alive - he had little to no usage of one hand the uric acid deposits were so big. More on that later.
We also see that, as an amalgamation of different historical periods, there's a bit of casual ableism in the population. Leo (more on him in later chapters) mans well but completely disavows Oz's agency in getting him down the stairs. Moreover, Oz's independence and pride make it very hard for him to ask for help, and poor Oscar has to navigate that minefield without knowing what any of the triggers are.
Our first reference to Ironwood shows up. Though we do lean on the former friend angle as will be seen later, he is firmly in the antagonist role in this fic so set expectations accordingly.
Also Qrow. Oz is still trying to reach out, but Qrow hasn't quite figured out he's at rock bottom. Or maybe this is when he finally sees it - given he lost four jobs in rapid succession because of his problem. Some of his issues come to light, and Oz does what he can. More on that later.
Next chapter: Lots of talk of apprenticeships, and Oscar finally sees what a soothsayer does, sort of.