Lunar Interlude 2

[balancemod]

Let's try to keep the paperwork to a minimum, shall we? NAVIGATION 1. NEW RECLAIMERS A. WELCOME WELCOME! FAH WHO RAHMUS For the nine of you who will be arriving today, the story is the same: though you may not remember it, there was a moment where you were living out your life, at home or wherever you were ... and then there was the moment the Hunger came. And amid the television static that is your memory of that moment, a hand reached out to you, beckoning your escape as the tendrils of darkness destroyed everything that ever existed about your world. "Would you hurry this up, please? Your world no longer stands a chance. Come with me, we are the last bastions of hope for all universes everywhere. And we're going to need you." And then, unceremoniously, you are dragged through the universal wringer and plopped down on the soft, though not quite cushioned, grass of the Moon Base Quad. There are other people out in the grassy fields — they may even be people you recognize. They may just be strangers, other Reclaimers, who recognize what you're about to endure. The things they say may be interspersed with static — as if the words themselves aren't reaching your ears correctly. And you have a few minutes to chat before you're calmly led away by Bureau administration, to do something about that pesky static problem. B. THE VOIDFISH The nine of you are quickly divided into two groups, and brought to the easternmost geodesic dome, to an elevator in a well maintained, but sparsely landscaped field. There's nothing particularly ominous feeling about the space — in fact, the two guards who greet you at the elevator entrance seem pleased with your arrival. You are, after all, one of the few chosen by the Director, the few who will reclaim what the Hunger has destroyed. And in a few moments, you're about to find that out for yourself. After a tightly packed elevator ride, your group is ushered out to a rather grand looking hall, banners of the Bureau of Balance adorn both sides of smooth metal walls. And inside the Voidfish's chamber stands a tank — impossibly tall, and soaked in a black ink that obscures whatever the tank may be holding. You may notice the sound of someone speaking. It's a bard, on his second round of introducing Reclaimers to the Voidfish, and this time, he has chosen to demonstrate the functions of the outrageously vertical tank not by playing violin music, but by reciting a piece of classical, and highly valued poetry. When he finishes, he pulls at a drawer just at the metallic base of the tank. He solemnly enters a few scrolls into its basin as the tank begins to light up, like lightning behind dark clouds. And suddenly, you forget what that invaluable example of universal literature sounded like. "Yeah, man, like... don't think too hard about it, it's like that every time. I'm guessing you're here to be inoculated? Just a heads up, you might want to, like, seriously, hold your nose while you drink it down. It tastes wicked gross, man. Anyway, I'm supposed to tell you that you have a choice. If you drink the black stuff, you'll be able to hear through the, uh... Huh, how do I describe it? Through the [TSHCSCHTSHCHSC] sound. You guys like, hear that? Anyway, it's all about knowledge or something. I don't know, I'm just here to, like, feed the thing. We call it the [TSCHHSCHSCH], by the way. So, like. You get a choice. You can drink it and understand stuff, or not drink it and then hear that crackling noise all day every day. If I were you, I'd drink it. But, hey man, I'm not like, your dad or anything." The bard takes five cups and draws liquid from a spigot connected directly to the basin of the large tank. Stormy, muddy looking ichor is drawn into them, one by one. He offers each of you a sip. Drink it (he wasn't kidding about what it tasted like), and you're inoculated to the wisdom of the Voidfish. You try to remember the poetry this bard recited a few moments ago and the rhymes, the meter, the significance, all come back to you. And if you think back to your arrival, some of the things you may have heard other people in the Quad say, that simply sounded like static, are suddenly clear. Bureau of Balance. Grand Relic. Reclaimers. Yet you still can't remember the Hunger or what it had done to your world. And as you look back to the tank in front of you, the water has become clear. There's a jellyfish, as tall as a building, floating within. You look into the body of the creature and you can almost make out a beautiful, tiny universe floating within it. 2. THE TEST OF INITIATION With your new knowledge on the Bureau of Balance and your purpose here in tow, you are led without hesitation to the Arena, where the final phase of your initiation into the Bureau will be held. You are partnered up, whether it is with someone you drank the ichor of the Voidfish with, or perhaps even a veteran Reclaimer, who either stopped by to help, or simply out of curiosity. One Grand Relic has already been reclaimed, you're told. They were a pair of bright red mittens, held by the mayor of a small village who may have meant well, but under the draw of the mittens' incredible space-bending powers, was corrupted into using them, and to nearly killing everyone who lived under him. You may have noticed, at some point while glancing out into space while walking here, to the planet below, a massive evergreen fir that stretches past the planet's atmosphere, very nearly piercing the Moon Base itself. It appears to be decorated for the holidays. That tree is the direct result of those mittens, the actions of a man who could not resist the temptation to use them. Resisting that very same temptation is your task here. And with that order in mind, as you and your partner stand in the middle of the Arena, the walls dissolve, and the simulation begins. You're standing in the middle of a forest. Ahead of you, situated on a pedestal, is an item. It could be any ordinary item: a pair of gloves, a teapot, a simple decorative bowl. Whatever it is, it's yours for the taking. Take that simple item in your hands, however, and the building blocks of the trees around you suddenly collapse like shattered glass, and reform into new scenery — it may even be a place from home that you recognize. A voice in your head beckons you. Perhaps there's a mistake you made, or something that went wrong for you back home that you wish you had the power to undo. Perhaps there's someone you wish you could help, or even save. The item that's in your hands has the power to help you achieve this, if only you'd ever use it. Resist the temptation. Take the item, and drop it into a nearby deposit box to be destroyed. Your partner is here to help you — because once you destroy it, you will be doing the same for them. 3. NEWBIES AND VETERANS, AROUND THE MOONBASE Three or four days into the month, now that the newbies are settled in, something strange happens: The next time you return to your flat from whatever errand or exploring you were doing, when attempting to use your Bracer to open the door results in extremely obnoxious beeping that persists for an entire thirty seconds, and a message on the screen next to the door. ERROR: HOME ASSIGNMENT MECHANISM MALFUNCTION. GO TAKE A WALK. Welp. Looks like you're locked out for a bit while techs fix that. Here's a few places that might be worth checking out. A. PIECES FROM HOME Should you find your way to the Dojo, there's a door that still has that shiny, brand spanking new door look and new door smell to it off in one of the less traversed corners of the building. A sign next to the door demands that you empty your pockets before entering. A scanner for your Bracer will unlock it, assuming it's unoccupied, leading you to a plain white room with no furniture or objects at all in sight. As the door shuts behind you, a pleasant female voice echoes from all corners of the room, greeting you by name. If this is your first time in the room, the voice has a simple question for you: "What memory do you value, or think of, most?" Once you've provided your answer, the walls crumble, much like they did during the Test of Initiation simulation, reforming into something that is, again, pleasantly, or even unpleasantly, familiar. It's a space from home. Perhaps it's your room. Perhaps it's your favorite restaurant (though, the place is curiously empty, and the food you find, for some reason, tastes like strawberries). Perhaps it's a park you always enjoyed visiting, or a corner of the city you lived in. Whatever it is, you, and whoever you may have brought along with you, seem to be the only ones there. And perhaps the details aren't quite right — like maybe someone built a model of your home to explore, but a few pieces were missing from the box. But it's close enough. B. SPEND YOUR DOUGH. SOLVE A MYSTERY Whether you're a newcomer or a veteran returning from your first Field Mission, you've been provided with some spending money. You can use it to buy yourself one weapon and piece of armor from one of the blacksmiths in town. Regardless of who you choose to help you out with that, it'll take about a week to complete your order, so time your purchase carefully. There's also premade weapons and a whole bunch of other bullshit for sale at FANTASY COSTCO. Shelves and pallets of an endless array of nonmagical items, pretty much anything you can imagine, can be bought here, but there's one particular, innocuous item that seems to have Garfield the Deals Warlock in a tizzy. The more those vinyl covers that can be used to decorate your Bracers are purchased, the more the name seems to spread, ghosts of whispers around the entire Moon Base, of a person who may very well be a ghost herself. Who is Miss Zarves? Who was Miss Zarves? A powerful witch with the power to scramble your memories, insists one cantankerous woman who pours you a drink at Madame Frione's Tea Kettle. A heavyset, flushed with drink sort of man sitting next to you disagrees — Miss Zarves is a practical joke Garfield likes to trot out every couple of months to mess around with anybody gullible enough to believe him. Whatever the case, it seems that the name alone gives everyone a curious case of déjà vu. Someone has to have information on her — and this is the Reclaimers' opportunity to hone their information gathering skills. C. A (PERHAPS MANDATORY) DAY AT STOP DYING 101 Whether you're in class voluntarily, or whether you were dragged there on account of dying the past Field Mission, today's session of Fatalistic Fauna, and Danger Sense to channel your inner barbarian is going on a little field trip to the Arena. Because this is your first test to see if you can put all that information that's been given to you in the first few lectures to good use. You and a partner are placed in the middle of the Arena, in a simulation of an expansive, empty field, up against the first monster you were introduced to in class: A Bulette, a fearsome beast that can burrow, lunge, deal severe piercing damage, and jump an absolutely incredible distance. And you and your Reclaimer partner are absolutely no match for it. Your only option here is to escape. Can you? If you are dealt simulated fatal damage, then the Arena will dissolve back to normal, and you'll be given extra homework and reading material for the day. Sorry, them's the breaks. D. OPEN THE DOOR, GET ON THE FLOOR, EVERYBODY DO THE DINOSAUR There's a signup available for those looking to take Dance lessons at the Academy. There seem to be enough slots available for 50 or so people, and the form's name simply reads: "DANCE, NOW. WITH MS. CHARLOTTE." It's a pretty large time commitment- a crash course in dancing is a rather intensive affair. You'll be spending 4 days a week for 2 weeks, 2-3 hours per day, learning all the basics of the waltz, the tango, and the quickstep. Don't even think about trying the cha-cha slide here, it's simply not pasodoable. At the studio, you can borrow a pair of ballet slippers and join in with Ms. Charlotte, which, for anyone coming to the class for the first time should be rightly horrified. The newest member of the Bureau of Balance is a spider. A delegate from New New Aspen, Ms. Charlotte comes equipped with a bracer of her own, has taken in the Voidfish juice, and relocated here, to teach at the Academy. She moonlights as a ballroom dance instructor and a coach, and boy... she's pretty demanding with her approach, but incredibly thorough. You don't want to let Ms. Charlotte down. The sessions she teaches will get you to learn the basics. Natural aptitude, of course, goes a long way, but she's very 8-hands on with her approach at correcting posture and steps. Not without compassion, however, if you manage to get blisters on your feet, Ms. Charlotte's web bandages will set and help heal those sore, tired feet. The next 2 weeks of this boot camp are going to be brutal. E. THE MOON IS YOUR SPACE OYSTER (WILDCARD) There are plenty of other locations around the Moon Base that you can explore at your own discretion. Feel free to refer to the Settings page for more ideas on what shenanigans you can get into. Additionally, we'll be fielding Bender rolls again this month! With the exception of the three items that have been removed from his recipe database, if a food item was destroyed in a failed roll previously, you may roll to try to fix it. Bear in mind, of course, that you may make it worse. Successful food rolls will stay in place at this time. 4. THE DIRECTOR ACTS; A GRAND RELIC DESTROYED Erika has obtained and delivered the Space Mittens to Madame Director herself. She struggles to remain calm and composed at the moment, but the amount of immense pride and relief at recovering the Grand Relic slips through an otherwise sturdy exterior of coolness and level-headed features. She congratulates the entirety of the Bureau of Balance for their hard work, and relates to Erika that she couldn't be happier that she had made this world one step closer to being safe. A message will appear across all bracers, everywhere, with the following: Reclaimers, welcome home and congratulations on a successful first mission. Although there were certain drawbacks and difficult decisions that had to be made, I believe, without a doubt, that you all have irrefutably surpassed all expectations. Congratulations on a job well done. However, next time, please do be more careful out there. For those of you who wish to watch, my office will remain open until 1600 hours today. The relic will be destroyed, and if you would like to attend to see how it's done, please stop by. There will be light refreshments and coffee served, of course. If unable to attend, you can watch the ceremony later on your bracers. Don't forget to click Like and Subscribe. At the appointed hour, a ceremony will occur. She calls forth Davenport to wheel out the structure that's been created and designed with the sole purpose of destroying these things. She dare not takes the relic herself, no, refusing to touch the item at all. It's a medium sized metallic sphere, and once opened and closed, can never be opened again. Pulling back the curtain to an observatory, the Reclaimers can watch as Davenport sports a nifty pair of goggles, and wheels the orb onto a raised platform. He waits for the Director's signal, which is performed by an agreeable stamp of her oaken staff against the floor, and a nod. Davenport hits the KILL SWITCH, and the light show from behind the glass is amazing and terrifying all at the same time. You watch as the Space Mittens are obliterated from existence. An eruption of cheering breaks out. This concludes the first successful mission, and a deeply needed win, for the Bureau of Balance. blurb code by photosynthesis

Comments

[unrecovered]

"Right." The finish line. They've both been briefed; all he has to do is destroy the item - his mug, from a home that no longer exists, complete with sharpied cat courtesy of Caboose - 'I made you a friend mug because kittens are your friends and you are our friend' - God damn it! - and the test will be over.

The finish line - the deposit box - is a few yards away, sticking out of the landscape like the proverbial sore thumb. He takes a step towards it-

Wash! Hey, Wash!

-and stops dead in his tracks.

C'mon, you're not going to throw that away, are you?

Because that sure as hell is Tucker's voice, and Tucker sure as hell isn't here.

Time for another sanity check - not his first today, and if this test continues the way his partner's hinting it might, probably not his last.

"Do you...hear that?"

[blodsvorr]

Qrow's eyebrows go up, which is a clear No before he says it. "Tell me what I'm supposed to be hearing." Because he does not trust this simulation, and it's probably important.

[unrecovered]

That's all the answer Wash needs - it's just him. Voices from the past in his head. Last time this happened, he was all alone and the people he'd cared about most were gone.

Oh, wait.

"A voice. But if it's just me, that means either I'm going crazy," there's an again in there that is markedly not said or even hinted at, because people joke about going crazy all the time without actually doing it, right? Right, "or it's part of the test."

You gonna fix this or what? Because you can, man. I know you can.

"Was yours like this?" He's stalling, and he shouldn't be, but he's having a really hard time finding the will to cut off that voice. He's pretty sure it's bullshit - he can't fix the apocalypse, and Tucker was a bullshitter by nature - but he's having a hard time shaking the thought that this will be the last time he hears Tucker's voice. Ever.

Maybe he doesn't want to get rid of that just yet.

[blodsvorr]

"Not exactly." He did not miss that Wash hasn't answered his question. He's watching him carefully now, aware that he might need to intervene. He already has seen what power a relic can have in the way it affected Henrik. There's no reason to think the test wouldn't push them there too.

"Ours, we had to get to the Relic, not toss it in the incinerator. Most of the test was a real ugly mashup of things from my world and the world of my partner. The Relic seemed designed to tempt us both with the kind of power it offered, sure, but this test... this one looks like it's all about fighting off that temptation."

It's a similar psychological targeting, but it's a different goal. It's pushing these recruits in a different way.

[unrecovered]

"Lucky me." Honestly, Wash would've much preferred the combat-based test. That, he could handle. This...the jury's still out.

What're you waiting for? Apocalypse already happened - hurry up and fix it already!

"Do the real relics talk like this, or is it just the test ones?" Might as well know what he'll be up against in the field. (While he's still stalling, that is.)

[blodsvorr]

Qrow cants his head—he knows you're stalling, Wash—but sure, he'll explain. If it clarifies the issue, then maybe it'll push Wash to realize this is relevant, and he needs to go on.

"I don't know if they talk, but I know they mess with the heads of the people who use 'em. The guy who had it last mission turned paranoid, and his son confirmed his behaviour had changed. A talking pair of mittens sure seems like it would do it."

Qrow would definitely go off the deep end in those circumstances.

[unrecovered]

The deep end sucks, Qrow. Don't do it.

"Well, this one's talking. Has been ever since I picked it up." Further confirmation that his partner couldn't hear it and that this is his own personal little hell. The story just solidifies it - the last thing he needs is to revert back to his previous levels of paranoia, especially with added power at his fingertips.

He heads for the deposit box, trying to ignore Tucker's voice begging in his head. The journey takes half a dozen steps and half an eternity.

He pulls the drawer open, holds the mug over it, and-

Wash, please-

-stops.

It's a long moment before he speaks, still looking at the mug. "It's been speaking in my friend's voice, telling me that I can fix what happened." His tone is every bit as steady as his mind isn't. "Isn't that what the Bureau of Balance is for? Do you- do we really think we can fix any of this?"

It's an honest, rock-bottom question from a team leader suddenly without a team; from someone who went from lacking worries to lacking a world; from a sole survivor who's played that role one too many times and is starting to bend under its weight.

He's wondering why he's here.

[blodsvorr]

Goddammit. A friend's voice. A dead friend's voice, it can't be anything else. Qrow imagines that, imagines Tai or Oz (or Summer) telling him he can fix it, save them. He understands why this is the test, now—Erika had to handle the mittens—but he hates it. Wash has just lost everything, and now—

—now that relic is probably the last time he'll ever hear that dead friend's voice. Is for sure that, unless there's a recording somewhere in that armoured suit.

Fuck.

Qrow answers honestly. He can't answer that question in any other way, not here. Not in the face of this loss. "I can't think it. If I did, and it turned out I couldn't save 'em after all, I'd—" He exhales. "It wouldn't be pretty." Qrow is already a mess. He's pretty sure that the loss of that hope would be something he can't survive. "The Bureau says we can find a way to stop it from happening everywhere. So I'll take that, and if it turns out wrong, I figure I'll be too busy being dead for it to be a problem."

It isn't a good answer. It doesn't offer hope for Wash's team, his world, his purpose. It's just the only way Qrow knows to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes, bad things just happen. And it breaks you. But you get up in the morning—at least most days you do—because there's a chance you can keep bad things from happening to someone else.

You're still broken, though. Qrow can't do anything for that. He has no idea what Wash might find worth that suffering.

[unrecovered]

It may not be a good answer, but it's the right answer. Aiming for the top doesn't do you any favors when you're at the bottom, and the apocalypse is pretty damn rock bottom. Grandiose dreams of fixing everything sound wonderful...

And since when has Wash's life ever been wonderful?

It's unreal. Pursuing that dream is the first step to trying to live in his memories, and he already knows the end result of that particular exercise in futility.

But a little bit of hope - a flag in the ground and a refusal to let this happen to anyone else - well, he can do that. He's stubborn, and he's angry - at the Hunger, at the apocalypse, at this fucking test - and he can put that to damn good use.

"You know what?" he says after a moment, taking the time to mentally distance himself from Tucker's- from the mug's voice. "Good enough."

Wash-

He drops the mug into the drawer and shuts it with more force than necessary. As the scenery - home - fades away around them, he turns to look at Qrow.

"Your turn?"

[blodsvorr]

The stupid, childish thought comes into Qrow's head. I don't want to.

He doesn't want to look at somewhere he has lost. He doesn't want to listen to something with the voice of those he can never hear again. He doesn't want to have that in his hand, and then be forced to let go.

A door appears in front of them, and Qrow realizes: it's the way out. He exhales in relief. "Looks like it isn't." Thank fuck.

Qrow is opening that door and getting the hell out of here before the simulation changes its mind.

[unrecovered]

Oh. Evidently Wash is the only one getting put through the wringer today.

Awesome. Wow.

He follows Qrow out the door at speed, only to find the both of them back in the Arena. There's an official commendation - congratulations on passing the test, he's officially a Bureau of Balance agent now, and of course there are steps to be taken to get him fully initiated, and-

It's another solid minute of paperwork and protocols before they're finally left alone, and that's when the exhaustion hits. Yeah, he wasn't looking forward to this.

He leans in towards Qrow, just a bit. "Please tell me there's somewhere around here I can get a drink."

[blodsvorr]

"Now you're talking my language." (As if Guilt And Grief is not Qrow's mother tongue.) He gestures for Wash to come with him as he leads him out through the Quad and directly to the tavern where Qrow is greeted as such a regular that they start fixing him a drink the second he's in through the door. Others are glad to see them, too: as a new Reclaimer, Wash is a hero who will be helping to save the world, as evidenced by the last mission. Qrow picks out a table where he can grab a seat with his back to the wall and his eyes on all the major exits, and he nods for Wash to take the one opposite as Madame Frione hands Qrow his drink and asks Wash what he wants.

Qrow isn't as tired as he imagines Wash must be, and he puts the glass down after taking that first drink. He can be polite and wait.

"So, yeah. That's the deal. Plus side, that should be the last time you have to deal with that kind of thing."

Or so Qrow foolishly thinks, having been lucky (?) for once.

[unrecovered]

It's odd, having this much attention - this much unearned positive attention, as it were. Some part of him is waiting for the other shoe to drop (like the apocalypse wasn't a big enough boot to the head to begin with).

He scans the pub almost out of habit, noting exits and any potential trouble (though he hasn't been her long enough to have any sense of who might cause issues). He picks out a table - good view of the place, near a wall, as secure as you can get in a bar - and follows Qrow there, where Qrow...promptly takes the seat he'd wanted and gestures for Wash to sit with his back to a room full of potentially boozed up strangers.

Um.

Well, it's either potentially violate personal boundaries or let the little paranoid voice in the back of his head continue to scream, and Wash knows which side of that equation he prefers. He drags the chair around the table, takes a seat - not quite next to Qrow, but close enough to the wall and with a good enough vantage point to assuage that lingering sense of paranoia - and orders a whiskey neat. Not his favorite, but some days you just need a good burn, and this is definitely one of those days.

He thumbs the seals on his helmet and removes it as Qrow talks, hooking it to his hip and trying not to look as exhausted as he feels.

"Really?" Between his experience in basic training and his own personal shit luck, he's having a hard time believing that. "Why the hell would they make that part of the test if we weren't going to have to deal with it in the field?"

[blodsvorr]

Hah. Qrow is not surprised to see Wash drag the chair to his side of the table, but it's still funny. He grins as he takes his second sip, fingers tapping idly on the glass.

"Because now they know you can make it out of a worst case scenario. Only one of ours had to handle the last Relic. With how many people we are, there are good chances that none of us will have to touch one. We don't know much about what they do, but I'd guess the higher ups figure that if you can walk away from that, you can walk away from whatever temptation gets thrown your way."

[unrecovered]

He misses that smirk, namely because that's when his whiskey arrives (wow are they fast here) and he takes a drink.

Okay. Better.

"Makes sense." About as much as any of this makes sense, at least. If there's that level of risk, you can't take the chance that anyone on your team can't handle it. Even he was stalling getting rid of it-

"So-" because he desperately wants a subject change right about now, "you've been here longer than I have - what's this place really like?" There's the brochure spiel, and there's the insider's story, and while the latter might not be as accurate, it tends to be a lot more informative.

[blodsvorr]

Ah, yes. The push for insider intel. Courtesy of a fast topic change, which is amusing in its own way. It isn't like Qrow is without sympathy; it's just funny, how easy it is to interpret Wash in these moments.

He shrugs at the question, deciding on how to answer it. "Depends on what you mean. Atmosphere, organization, intel provided, quality of booze... Narrow it down for me, Wash."

[unrecovered]

In Wash's experience, when given an open-ended question like that, most people have a go-to answer: they talk about their favorite place to eat, or a policy that rubs them the wrong way, or the best people to fall in with. Qrow, on the other hand, is turning it around on him. And he went for the seat with the best vantage point...

Son of a bitch is 1) experienced and 2) probably reading him.

So Wash avoids the actual issues at hand and gives an easy shrug. "How's the coffee?"

[blodsvorr]

As if somehow aware that Wash has mentally called him a son of a bitch (and let's be real, Qrow probably does have an intuition for that given how often it has been thought in his direction), Qrow just keeps up that little smirk even as he answers.

"It's mediocre, but it flows endlessly from a fountain in the cafe, so there's your tradeoff. Fantasy Costco's got range between good quality stuff and the crap you find in the communal pot at any office, teachers' lounge, or military base."

At only one of which has Qrow every legally acquired coffee, but no one ever caught him stealing coffee from Atlas military bases, and therefore he cannot be tried for these Crimes. (Remember, kids, don't try this at home.)

[unrecovered]

A literal fountain of coffee. There's a joke to be made here somewhere, but hell if Wash knows where to find it right now.

More to the point, that's a varied yet specific list of places to get coffee. It may not mean anything, but it's a starting place for Wash's turn to pry. "Office, teacher's lounge, and military base," he says, taking another sip of whiskey. "That's an interesting work history."

[blodsvorr]

"Would be, if someone had it."

Qrow doesn't. But nice try at getting that kind of intel, Wash!

[unrecovered]

"Point."

That doesn't mean he's not on the right track. (And really, he has very little else to go on right now.)

"So which one are you?"

[blodsvorr]

"Chemist." Oh, did Wash think Qrow was going to be helpful? Fuck no! He pulls out the little brochure they gave him and holds it out for Wash to read, grinning.

There is absolutely no reason for Qrow to withhold that he's a Huntsman. He has shared that fact freely. Qrow is just an annoying bird by nature.

[unrecovered]

"Really." Wash puts the brochure on the table without looking at it, choosing instead to level a flat, unamused stare at Qrow. "You don't really strike me as the science type." More like the type to set his desk on fire as a prank, if this conversation is any indication.

[blodsvorr]

Qrow's grin doesn't waver. "I make a mean cocktail. Of all kinds."

(This shit is why Raven left him.)

Later, Wash will look back on this conversation and realize how Telling that statement was

[unrecovered]

"Mixology is an art, not a science," Wash retorts, almost without thinking.

...and it is a weird day when he finds himself unironically quoting South.

He sighs and rubs his forehead. If Qrow doesn't want to answer questions about himself, fine. Fair enough. "Never mind. Look, is this the kind of organization that believes in job training and mission briefs, or do they just throw you in the deep end?" Not that Was is unaccustomed to the latter, but it'd still be nice to know.