Chapter 3: Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound
"Emotional baggage was only worth two points on the rubric."
Robin felt a strange sensation as he sat by the edge of the cliff, a bottle of whiskey resting on the grass beside him, like he was trapped in his own body like he couldn't breathe. It wasn't a physical one, but it was there nonetheless.
Fear, a subtle, suffocating fear.
It didn't feel like it fit him insofar as one could say fear didn't fit them. He remembers who Robin was. Big guy out there having fun. Looking for something interesting to do. Knowing it was all a game, nothing to take seriously. The only thing he had to take seriously was getting home.
It felt like the thing to do now. Except…
He tried to smile, but the corner of his lips felt tight and got sore quickly. He tried to crack a joke and just can't get the punchline out right, forced to get it out until it's either terribly unfunny or just becomes outright offensive. He tried to make a quip about the good Lord, the good book, but all he could do was remember the feeling of drowning, of water trying to fill his lungs, and him almost letting it, almost giving up.
It was enough to make him drown that worry, fear, and anxiety.
It was hard to put a finger on any given emotion. It slipped through him; it felt like it shouldn't have a name. 'Cause it wasn't just one thing. It was a million little things all happening in concert with each other: a combination, a feeling. So he sat by the edge of the cliffside, drinking until his brain couldn't keep up with the million little feelings in his gut and let him just exist.
He wasn't unique, and he knew that just from looking off at the city in the distance. Streetlights and building lights brilliantly lit up the night.
Vale was a city of ghosts. Haunted by bones and streets paved with blood. It's not unique in that either; almost every city in the world was. But he felt a strange camaraderie with it. The twisting mix of emotions in his gut was enough to make him start to wonder if he had given up in that sewer and was just another of hundreds of ghosts in the city.
He was so lost in his own head he didn't even notice another presence slowly walking up behind him. A voice, Yang's voice, he quickly realized, broke him out of his brooding. "Ruby told me I'd find you here."
"What, I got a little stalker now or something?" Robin said.
"Nah, she just comes by here every morning. It's on the route of her morning run." Yang explained. "She said she's seen you hanging around here now and then. Almost always drinking something."
Robin let himself fall backward onto the grass. "Well, you found me. What do you want?" It came out harsher than he intended.
Yang only seemed amused. "Someone's in a bad mood."
"Astounding detective abilities, what gave it away?"
"I don't know. Brooding by a cliffside isn't something a happy person usually does."
He heard her lay down a school bag on the grass and take a seat. She must have just gotten out of class. "I'll have you know cliffside brooding is a perfectly normal pastime."
"Whatever you say," Yang said.
"You never answered earlier. What do you want?" Robin asked.
"Last time we went drinking together, you said some funny stuff."
Robin raised an eyebrow. "Don't be flattered. I once tried to French a lamp post while sauced."
"What does that even mean?" She asked.
He sat back upright. "Well, when a man and a lamp love each other very much-"
"Never mind, I don't want to know."
"Point is, I say a lot of things while drunk. I don't handle it too well, but I thinks that's why I like it so much. Sometimes, when you can't deal, it feels good to have a concrete thing to point to."
"You aren't special for that. My uncle is a drunk who says plenty of stupid shit. But most of the time, he doesn't say it with the same conviction you did."
"Well, do enlighten me on what I said. I can hardly remember from that night." A lie, one he knew she could probably see through.
"What sort of answer would you give me if I asked you?"
Robin gave a laugh, a small but genuine smile. "Not much of one at all. You know me."
"No. No, I really don't."
"Exactly."
She sighed. "Alright then, if you won't answer that. Uh." She went silent for a moment, thinking. "How about your home?"
"You just love picking the difficult topics, don't you?" He let out a sigh.
"What can I say? It's a talent." She laughed slightly.
"Enter the talent show then. I bet you'd win the grand prize." He scoffed.
"I tried that; my dad always said I had the voice of a saint, just apparently not a singing saint."
"Good to know. I'll never go to karaoke with you." He said.
"You'd be missing out." She said, putting a finger to her chin. "You never answered my question, though."
"Why do you want to know?" He asked.
"Curiosity mostly," She shrugged. "You gotta be more than just Mr. Mystery."
"I ain't a mystery. No more than anybody else is."
"What do you mean?" She asked, tilting her head slightly.
"How much does anybody ever know about anyone else? We got little fragments we interact with, and that's all we get. Don't get jack shit else."
"Well, yeah, but you seem to go out of your way to make sure the fragment everyone interacts with is the most unapproachable person you can be."
"I resent that. I don't go out of my way for anything. That implies effort. I'm just naturally amazing like that."
"You're deflecting again," She said.
"Lord above, she can learn."
"Funny. You owe me an answer, though. You skipped out on the last one."
"I ain't owe you shit." He said. "If you are so interested, sorry to disappoint, I ain't got anything special to tell you. Beacon is just about the only place I can stay right now."
"So what, Beacon, is your home for now?" She asked.
"Home is the wrong word," he said, somewhat evasively. "You know the phrase 'This house is not a home'? Imagine that, before a place, hell, the whole world. Home is somewhere you feel safe. Home is somewhere with loved ones and a comfy bed and food and warmth and everything that makes us human. This place, this shit hole of a world?"
He shook his head, rubbing his bicep. "This house is not a home. This place is not a home. It's a place where God goes to weep and wonder if this is what He gave His only son up for."
Yang is silent for a while, processing his words. When she does begin to speak, it's slow and deliberate. "Y'know, I think home is a word that can mean a lot of things to different people. My dad he thought it was a place you built. My mom, Summer, thought it was something you protected. My uncle thinks it's a place you go when you can't stay up any longer; until you can get back out there."
"And what about you?" He asked.
"To me, home is the people I'm around. That's what I treasure." A pause. "I hope you can find that someday. Home… it's not always there… but that doesn't mean you can't find it."
The two sat in silence for a while, looking out at the city as it illuminated the night sky. Robin sighed and took a pull from his bottle. "I hope I find it, too."
[center]-2-[/center]
The clock in the room ticked back and forth as Headmaster Ozpin and Robin stared at each other. Ozpin had called him up to his office with only the vague wording of 'wanting to talk about something important.' Which, with Ozzy, could mean either just giving a progress report of sorts or telling you the world is ending.
"So uh…" Robin spoke, looking around the room, which was more or less entirely empty outside of the Headmaster and his desk. "You ever learn to decorate, boss man?"
"I find the lack of decoration lends itself to helping me finish my work. No one wants to stay here more than is necessary." Ozpin said.
"That's the strangest way to say you made it intentionally unwelcoming," Robin said.
"Do you find that something not being welcoming is inherently hostile?" Ozpin asked.
"'Suppose not. I just don't think I could work in a place like this. I know the good book says you gotta work hard, but I ain't ever been too hard of a worker. In my nature to be a lazy bastard, I reckon." Robin shrugged.
"And… Mr. Dubois. What is that to you? This 'good book' you mentioned." Ozpin asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.
Robin rubbed the back of his head, almost sheepish; he should have known Ozpin would try and dig into stuff. "Ah well, it's no big deal. Y'all got your faiths, I got mine."
Ozpin gave a quiet laugh. "There have been many faiths. And yet, sometimes, I am still surprised to hear of another. Mankind has had faith for so many reasons. Why don't you tell me about yours?"
Another embarrassed rub of his head. "It's a long story, and I ain't much of a priest. Don't reckon I could explain it well enough to do it justice. I'll let you in on a little secret; as much as I claim to hold to it, I ain't a very good at being a faithful man."
"You know, I believe if you keep trying, you'll be able to rub a hole out the back of your head. But… maybe it's better you're not a priest. Those who are skilled with words can make something awful sound wonderful. It can make decency seem like a crime. Maybe your perspective might be more truthful? After all, a religion is only as real as the people who practice it." Ozpin said.
Upon being called out, he let his hand drop down to his side. "Well, I can give you the short version of it. A man named Jesus Christ went out alone in the desert; he saw every sin, every misdeed, that humans committed, past and present. And he chose to give his life for all mankind. Help humans be able to make themselves good in the eyes of the big man upstairs."
He stopped with a brief laugh. "I'm sort of skippin over a lot, certainly getting some wrong—a lot of debate on how and why things shook out the way they did back home. Reckon if a few people back there heard me try and explain it the way I am, they'd beat me half the death. But that's the short of it, I suppose."
"A martyr then?" Ozpin questioned, seemingly interested despite Robin's butchering of the tale.
"In a way, he's the son of the big man upstairs." Another simplification but he wasn't a priest and didn't have the time or will to dig deep into a theological discussion.
"Ah." Understanding seems to dawn on Ozpin's face. "A warrior then? Did he save his nation? An inspiring feat of heroism to show the strength of his cause?"
Robin waved him off. "No, no, not the warrior type. He's more of a messenger. Spoke the good word and helped people. And he was killed for it. But he let it happen and did it to give everyone else a chance to make their life right. I've reached the end of my philosophical abilities. I'm not really… I'm not a smart man. It's times like this, I find I kind of just can't. I can't keep up with words. A little mismatch between weird things in my head box, what I feel, the takeaway of thought."
"So he died there, then? Interesting. Interesting. I think I've gotten a better idea of what type of man you are. Where you come from. I find that understanding is the first step toward change." Ozpin gave a kind smile. "There is no shame in not knowing all the answers, Robin. I often find it is those who are willing to admit that they don't have all the answers are those who are most capable of asking the right questions."
The room went silent for a while before Ozpin spoke again. "Tell me, Mr. Dubois. Do you have any ideas about how you want to change? Do you desire to be a martyr? A penitent man? A righteous man? You've shown you don't believe you are enough, but what have you thought of for improvement?"
Robin almost sighed. He knew Ozpin meant well, but he just could not right now. "Spare me the pep talks, sir. I done heard me enough of 'em the fast few weeks. Can we just get down to the brass tacks?"
Ozpin's smile faltered, a measure of disappointment on his face. The older man steepled his fingers. "Very well, Robin. I called you here to inform you that your team has had their first mission assigned. A simple run-of-the-mill Grimm extermination mission on the outskirts of the Kingdom."
"And why tell me this and not Cardin? He's the leader?" Robin asked.
"Because I believe your leader needed the additional rest after your team's adventure the other day. Might I recommend preparing better the next time you drop into a potentially hostile area?"
Robin stared. "How the fuck did you know about that?"
"Your team wasn't the epitome of stealth while dropping into the sewers," Ozpin said simply and then looked at a clock on the wall. "That will be all for today, Mr. Dubois. I have found this conversation rather… enlightening. You are dismissed."
AN: Hello, getting back into the swing of things. Personally big fan of the first half of this chapter, less so the second half. Curious to hear which y'all thought was better. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy, call out anything weird, and have a wonderful day!