CHAPTER 2 – Hold Back the Night
It was a cool night on the island of Patch. A chill carried across the sea by the storms oh so common during that transitional period between summer and fall.
The contrast between the previous season's hot and humid nights compared to this subtle cold proved refreshing… at the very least for those who had the option to turn in for bed when it became uncomfortable.
Not so for a certain dusty old crow, bound by duty as he was.
Crouched and nestled high within the branches of an Oak tree, with its thick trunk interposed between him, the clearing, and far more importantly: The shack.
That combined with the still plentiful leaves of early Autumn yet to fall made him practically invisible to any one or thing below.
By the nature of his role in less spontaneous missions, he had a modified Scroll whose screen light was dim and contents hidden by a dark gray casing, currently displaying a discussion of the present situation:
/][\
CONTACT ID: "Oz Ozzy Ozpin the Wizard Man of Wi…"
QROW: Targets rested in the clearing before moving into the shack and are still resting now. No other developments.
OZPIN: Understood. Peter assembled a team. Left little more than two hours ago on a Bullhead with Anne Greene and the nearest available on-duty Huntress since you last reported in.
OZPIN: Estimated arrival time would be anywhere between 45 - 90 minutes.
OZPIN: The Huntress involved is not briefed on Oberon Scenarios and is under the impression that these are high priority capture targets for study due to how long they've survived on Patch.
OZPIN: I would prefer it be kept that way, unless otherwise is absolutely necessary.
QROW: Can we just wait for Glynda or someone else in the loop?
OZPIN: These two will be only behind Morgan Scenario priority for the Witch.
QROW: Dafuq. Really?
OZPIN: All Oberon Scenarios I have been involved in or read of refused to kneel to her.
OZPIN: Every second we spend waiting is time for her agents to catch wind of their existence. They will find a way onto Patch to kill them and any other targets of opportunity.
QROW: Okay. Holy shit. Gotcha. Am I working with anyone I know?
OZPIN: One Meg Scarlatina.
QROW: Yeah, she's got experience enough for this.
QROW: Tell them to hold around halfway up the path, even if they have to wait until I check my Scroll again to rendezvous. You know my luck. No chances.
OZPIN: Consider that already relayed.
QROW: Alright, returning to watch. I'll check back in 45.
\][/
'Scarlatina's not bad, just, *SIGH* of all the times for Glynda to be on a business trip man…'
Just as he was about to put the Scroll away, he received a series of text notifications from another caller that would've rattled off a series of chimes had he not already muted the device.
He always kept it muted anyway.
No chances.
Qrow winced at the screen in his hand before slipping it back into his pocket, "Gonna have to wait, Tai."
He'd been away from his observation targets too long as it was.
/\/\/\
In a log cabin on Patch was a man experiencing an apocalyptically poor day.
His sapphire eyes were bloodshot, shirt so stained through with sweat it was seeping into his vest, and the one person who could explain to Tai what was happening wasn't picking up his Scroll after 3 failed calls followed by 47 text messages.
At present, Taiyang Xiao Long was pacing around the island countertop in his home's kitchen and about to send a 48th.
An admirably impressive state for a father whose children narrowly escaped certain death little more than 4 hours ago.
The two daughters in question were in perpetual timeout on the couch, furiously pouting for individual reasons he couldn't quite talk through with them until the current crisis on hand was resolved.
When Yang and Ruby disappeared, Qrow had deduced where the pair went, followed immediately by them scrambling off in a mad sprint to find the girls.
Qrow pulled ahead, one because he is faster than most people alive, and two because Taiyang had been retired from the Huntsman profession for years now.
He'd let himself go without realizing it… and would also likely die before admitting that on the same continent as his best friend.
The friend of 17 years at that point, who jogged back down that dirt path with his baby girls towing behind him in their wagon, granting him a sight of euphoric relief that would remained seared into his brain until he the day he died.
The best friend who then clapped Taiyang on the shoulder, handed him the wagon handle, sputtered out, "Oberon Scenario," and wheeled around to sprint back towards the shack without any elaboration.
Taiyang had taken the girls back home where he had to discern the situation from the testimony of a slightly traumatized 9 and 7-year-old while dodging rather emotionally charged topics the former was insistent on discussing.
After a certain point, putting them in timeout on the couch was more for his sanity than their punishment.
'Oberon Scenario… does that code still mean what I think it does?'
Running a hand through his sandy blond hair out of reflexive stress, as he'd done so many times that night his hair was beginning to grease, he thumbed the send message button on his scroll.
No response was forthcoming, a predictable result to which Taiyang could only mutter, "Fucking- jeez, Qrow, you don't drop a bomb like that and just run off."
Shortly after, from just around the corner leading to the living room came a stifled, "Swea-"
Yang Xiao Long had clamped her hand firmly over her sibling's mouth. Surely, she thought, that was quick enough… only to slowly lookup as the light from the kitchen was overcast by a shadow: Her father, slowly crossing his arms above the two of them, their eavesdropping plans utterly foiled.
"I thought I said you both were in timeout on the couch."
Not a question. A statement. Yang swallowed nervously.
Ruby, capitalizing on her sister's distractedness, pried the obstruction over her mouth away, "Swear!"
Yang reapplied her now free hand directly to her forehead while Taiyang stared down the accusatory finger of the red clad 7-year-old.
He sighed resignedly at having to act the authoritative father figure role he always hated playing, "You're right Ruby. Normally I'd put a cookie in the swear jar, but both of you are supposed to be on the couch, so I'm subtracting two. One for each of you."
Ruby's silver eyes widened, mouth falling equally agape, her young mind utterly scandalized by this development, "Not fair, no fair! We just want to know what happened to Mr. Wolf and Mr. Bear!"
She shouted this and stood up to stamp her foot in protest while Yang could only rest her face in her hands.
Taiyang let slip the lightest grimace at the display, sidelong scratching at the scruffy 'goatee' he could never fully commit to letting grow out, "Look, we can talk about that after Uncle Qrow gets back."
The cardinal sin of showing the slightest weakness before a child wanting their way did not go unpunished, as Yang stood up as well with a petulant scowl, "That's what you said about Raven!"
Ah. That name. It wasn't the first time he'd heard it that day, but adrenaline and relief tend to numb many kinds of pain. Now it came again from the last voice he would ever want to hear speak it.
An interesting cocktail of emotions not dissimilar to the psychic equivalent of napalm and arsenic laced salt mixed together in a large wine bottle filled with thumbtacks being smashed directly into one's chest.
That was what Taiyang had to desperately not show a reaction to in that moment, oscillating between the verge of a rage fueled rant or complete mental breakdown, all while navigating his way out of a mental gauntlet of memories that made him want to sob.
To little Yang, it was another moment where her father just… stopped. Paused. As if some higher power had remotely interfaced with his consciousness and blocked the signal whenever it saw fit.
With maturity she would come to understand what caused it, why, and more importantly what to avoid to prevent it. This was not yet the moment she learned 'Raven' as a concept was one of those things.
"Who-" she started before a series of sharp raps on the front door startled all three of them into silence.
Taiyang, snapping back to reality, seized the moment and ushered the girls back to the couch by the shoulder before making his way towards the front door, "That must be Uncle Qrow… right... now..."
False enthusiasm faded to confusion, then worry, as through the window he recognized at least one of the individuals outside.
It was somewhat hard not to recognize a particular rotund man in a double-breasted burgundy suit.
Illuminated by the porchlight at his front door was Peter Port, a friend, Beacon Academy Professor, and legendary Huntsman. On his back was a heavy field pack, in his hands the battleax headed blunderbuss he was renowned for.
Milling behind him stood a female faunus Huntress whose bob of hickory brown hair continued up as a short coat of fur along an extra set of ears. Rabbit ears. At her hips were a pair of falchions.
She was lightly clapping her hands back and forth, before and behind her waist, clearly impatient.
He hastily opened the door after realizing he'd stalled again in surprise, "Peter! What the shi- *cough* What is happening right now?"
"I take your gusto as evidence the girls are quite alright then?" Peter said with a smile obscured by a bushy but well-groomed mustache grayed with age the same as his hair.
"Ye-yeah…" before Tai could get a word in edgewise Port continued.
"Ozpin asked us just to stop by to let you know the situation is being handled. It is exactly what Qrow reported it to be and I'm ecstatic!" Port said jubilantly, reigning in his exhilaration from bellowing to almost shouting.
"I-"
Port was not to be interrupted, cutting Taiyang off again effortlessly, "We'll be on our way now, Anne went ahead to meetup with Qrow, and we can't let them have all the glory now, eh? Let the girls know I wish them well and to wish us best of luck! HAHA! Excelsior!"
With that, Port turned on his heel, and sprinted away with vigorous speed that defied his heavyset frame.
The Huntress, whom rolled the steel grey of her eyes at remaining unintroduced over to Taiyang, flashing an apologetic smile before swiftly following behind Peter northward to the edge of the clearing the cabin was settled in.
Tai could only stand there flabbergasted, basking in the silence as he watched them sprint through the haphazardly cut overgrown grass Qrow hacked down running after the girls earlier that day before disappearing into the forest proper.
Fortunately for his mental state, Taiyang was soon embroiled with keeping peace within his own household.
"Daaad! Yang got off the couch!"
"You little snit- I mean, I need to use the bathroom!"
"Liar!"
"Girls, girls, stop arguing! Yang, go to the bathroom if you have to, then get back on the couch. We need to talk."
It was enough of a distraction for him to be incapable of worrying more about the situation outside than he already was.
/\/\/\
The Young Wolf looked up at the shack's roof spotted with holes.
They yet still bore no moonlight, causing him to bare the tips of his fangs and absentmindedly gouge the dirt he sat upon with his claws.
That meant clouds. Clouds meant the possibility of rain. By the Hunger did he dislike the rain… and questioning why always blessed him a headache to nurse.
At least to him it was a headache. Any animal would seize up on the ground shrieking in pain at what he dismissed. Unbeknownst to him, human's would consider it a migraine so severe it threatens a seizure.
It was sunset when he'd awoken Old Bear to guide him into the shack's ruins. Now, he lay beneath where the roof was still whole.
Nothing would disturb him. His friend clearly needed rest. More of it than the wolf liked to contemplate.
The night was still young. It had not been that long. This he knew.
Yet he could swear that time had crept slower than the winter's frost across the ground.
The Old Bear was restless in his slumber, more so than the Young Wolf had ever seen in all the thousands of moons he had stalked under.
They had stalked under.
Together.
The knowledge his only friend was being forced to see through the eyes of a man brought terror, existential and unknowable, upon the Young Wolf, such that his Hunger flared in a senseless panic.
'Accursed visions. Let him have some peace…'
It was then, while the wolf wrestled control over himself, that the rain arrived to pour in rivulets through the holes in the roof.
It was a cool night, now cold, soon to be frigid.
He felt instinct claw at his mind like a predator excavating a burrow, screaming to kill something. Anything.
He wanted to stop thinking, stop being if need be, to make it stop. Make it stop. Make. It. Stop.
He wanted to curl into a corner, turn away from the opening of the shack's demolished wall, forget there was a world outside, and clutch his claws into the bone plates of his shoulders until the pressure brought pain enough to force clarity.
He wanted to… and did not.
The Young Wolf did as the Old Bear silently had many an uncountable time for him: Hold vigil against the rain and stare out into the dark to keep the world at bay.
He spared a glance to the Old Bear shivering in his sleep.
Then he returned to his watch and held back the night.
It was one of the most difficult things he could remember doing under any moon.
It spat in the face of his instincts and burned like acid.
It ached, itching at the essence of his existence.
It felt right.
/\/\/\
Everything felt wrong.
He looked down at a human's hands and the axe grasped in them.
Where was he, why did he know this was a weapon not a tool?
What was a weapon, or a tool, or an axe for that matter?
When were these his eyes?
Screams. Humans. Dread and no joy.
Other humans. Many humans.
They glinted in the rising sun and pale light.
An attack at dawn.
Screams. Humans. Why do you not slake the Hunger so?
What hunger?
Why did snow run in his veins and ice coil about his spine?
How was it familiar, this sense of dread?
A tiny human holding a sword. A sword?
His sword. Who's sword! What is a sword!?
Sounds flowed from the man's- his- the human's mouth.
The boy ran. The tiny human?
Sounds of killing. Sounds of dying.
Why could he derive no joy?
Metal buckling, flesh parting, bone cracking.
The tremor of arms and sweat slickened palms.
A human noise. Behind? Behind!
A blur. A glint.
Agony. AGONY across histheman'sthehuman's eyes.
It was dark.
Why couldn't he open his eyes!?
The scent of iron and a flow of warmth down thehuman'shistheman's face.
Air resisting theman'shisthehuman's axe as it was swung regardless. Blindly. Blindly?
Fear.
Why fear?
From whence did it spring?
Where was it going?
Why was thehethemanhuman not afraid to die, but to let these humans live?
Agony again on histhehuman'stheman's arm. The pain was less somehow.
He couldn't feel it. The arm was gone.
Stabbing pains anew, numbed by the cold.
It didn't matter where they came from now.
Grit of dirt.
'Why. Why is it getting so cold?'
/\/\/\
The forest was quiet save for the intermittent pattering of raindrops upon leaves. A lull in activity as every animal paused in due respect to the oncoming storm.
To Peter it felt like nature itself was silently watching in anticipation. It emboldened his own.
To Meg it was the sensation of reenacting a bad horror movie setup. Standing around bored for over half an hour did not help with her catastrophizing thoughts.
She'd seen enough, arguably too much, of her favorite genre to not notice the parallels after all.
Boisterously overconfident character who brings the victims to where the monster or killer is?
She slipped a glance at Port. CHECK.
Good-looking male character fueled by bravado, broodiness, and alcohol?
She'd worked with Qrow before. CHECK.
Badass female character who will likely be the sole survivor?
Anne Greene, because Anne Greene is Anne Greene. CHECK.
Token attractive female character whose role is kill fodder?
Meg looked down at herself and sighed. CHECK.
While being no starlet actress, she judged herself to still have enough beauty to count.
'Damn right I've still got it- no,' Meg's grin stalled out as she remembered what she was thinking about, 'Wait, shit, uh, I'm a mid 30's divorcee Huntress with half n' half custody over my daughter who I will always love more than any boyfriend or husband!'
Enraptured as she was in this internal monologue, the faunus didn't notice Qrow mystifyingly appear from the night, landing soundlessly to lean against a tree behind them as if through magic.
'There. Unattractive as you can get. Take that monster-psycho-Grimm-serial-killer-prick-thing… the fuck am I kiddin'. I'm a first-round draft pick to die because "Boohoo, her daughter will be so sad." If this was a movie the writer'd be such a fuckin' hac-'
A gravelly voice that came seemingly from nowhere brought her musing to a grinding halt, "I thought Oz said something about having you hold in the middle of the path?"
Port had been exposed to the younger man's tendencies over many years, so Qrow's 'enigmatic' entrance antics were one of many quirks he was acclimated to.
A distracted Huntress who relied on her nightvision and enhanced senses as a faunus for preliminary warning of most threats was… not.
Meg holding in the scream she desperately wanted to release in that moment was only due to her herculean self-control, hard earned experience, and an ironclad will to respond to threats calmly.
What Meg considered a 'calm' reaction somewhat went against the concept however as she spun about, swords drawn and pointed at...
A dusty old crow.
'I'm never livin' this down...'
"Ah, Qrow my boy! Apologies, but there weren't metrics to measure distance on this muddy little path, reclaimed by the woods as it is. We aren't too close, are we?"
Qrow looked down the swords pointed at him unperturbed before shaking his head, "Were closer to three-fourths of the way there. Plenty of distance, but closer than I'd like cause, uh, you know my luck."
Scarlatina just sighed, loosening her aggressive stance after realizing there was no threat. Also, she was being ignored. Again.
"That I do," Peter nodded empathetically, "We'll work around it best we can. Ah, any new developments with our special beasties? Where's Anne?"
"Greene's ahead watching our targets. When I left, they were both still bunkered down in what's left of the shack. She thinks they're trying to wait out the rain," Qrow directed his attention to Meg halfway through the statement with a smile, "If we move soon, we got em'."
That look was as infectious and disarming as Meg remembered it being from the handful of missions she had run with the man.
Qrow had a way of forming a cohesive team with anyone through charm alone… but only when bullets were flying and Grimm were roaring.
He grinned at jokes and smiled with friends, but that smile? He broke that out when he needed everything to go smoothly. When he was worried.
It gave Meg a gut feeling that this capture mission was more serious than what she had been told. Why else would they be keeping her at arms length?
One does not lie to a Scarlatina by omission or otherwise and merely 'get away' with it.
Stifling the curiosity fueled caution bubbling within to not show in her expression, Meg caught and held Qrow's red eyed gaze, "Well, let's get ready then shall we?"
04/?/2022 Post Chapter Blurb (I didn't start dating things until later, this is a guess.)
I didn't expect that positive of a response to the first chapter, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for it.
Apologies if this chapter seems a little slow, but I needed to setup some important members of the cast.
I'm not wholly used to writing the canon characters so let me know if any of them seem a little… off.
Also, any opinions on how I've characterized Meg Scarlatina thus far: Yay or nay?
A thank you to Nohbdy336, selfishgecko, and Kevito100. Your reviews let me know I'm going in the right direction.
Criticism is expected and anticipated as always.