CARNIVORE

     Her head perked up at his voice like a spring, eyes widening when she saw Qrow coming towards her with a bowl. Mountains of pink peeked from the edge of it, a spoon stuck in the middle to mark one of her most favorite desserts in the world. Drool almost slipped from her gaping mouth. Ruby pulled her jaw back up, all the tension on her face melting away with a smile.

     “Hi Qrow,” Ruby said, voice a little quiet.

     When did he get here? Ruby wondered. She flicked her head towards the clock on the chimney wall, and her breath halted when her eyes lay on the hand pointing towards the number three. It was 3:00 already. Ruby turned back, eyes crinkling sheepishly.

     “Gosh… you caught me sitting here at a real awkward time, huh?”

--- “Eh, just a little bit.”

   Shoulders hike up and falter in a hefty shrug, the Huntsman rounding about toward the side of the couch to properly hand the, now chilled bowl, over to his Niece; very gingerly waiting to let go until it was in her hands. Once his own were freed, Qrow allows himself to lazily flop back against the couch, body sinking instantly into the plush cushions that coaxes a long, much needed exhale of relief from his tired form. 

--- “What’ya doin’ up so late? Couldn’t sleep?”

   Not that he had much room to talk, given, the avian too was lacking any rest. Long legs lift and the heels of dark boots click against the coffee table once propped against; shoulders pressing back into the couch as he settles comfortably. Pale eyes flicker, head lulled to his shoulder when regarding Ruby with a frown, concern etched along battle-worn features. 

           ❛     OH , I’M SORRY for inconveniencing you.     ❜  the scoff rolled off sharp tongue of the girl. crossing arms over chest , lip curved downward to frown. that would be the only thing ruby’s uncle would be concerned with. her sister because of their not so friendly rivalry of some sort. ——— not that she had narrowly escaped being kidnapped by his sister’s tribe &. a brush against death ! sky colored irises rolled , throwing up a hand in protest. common sense must have run short when it came to him. ❛     of course , my sister knows ! i mean , the communications towers are down so i sent a letter with my exact intentions of escape while i was fighting off lancers &. getting kidnapped.     ❜ 

             how could her dearest sibling possibly know ? ———  now that the atlas military had been withdrawn from mistral &. a dust embargo in place … everything was chaos. winter expected her to handle it herself. the conversation all those years ago rang on repetition in her mind. glowering in irritation with a sigh , she let the branwen twin’s comment go. timbre of voice softened , the runaway’s blue hues falling to the ground. ❛     no. she doesn’t know but i have no idea what my father will do now that i am missing. i think you should expect unwanted guests , regardless.     ❜

--- “Alright, tone down the SARCASM.”

   Qrow himself matches that scoff, weight shifted to his right that causes his hip to pop; the palm of a rough hand rested against the protrusion in a lazy stance. Tired, dark-ringed eyes regard the Heiress with little contempt, yet still with a flicker of annoyance; not appreciating the ATTITUDE to his questioning. Exhaling, his freed hand raises as fingertips press against the bridge of his curved nose, eyes squeezing shut and lips quirking in a grimace. 

--- “I’m not worried about your Father; what’s he goin’ to do, throw lien at me?”

   A singular laugh is forced from his chest, the sound quick and dwindling as his frame again shifts, returning to its upright--yet somewhat hunched--position. He may not think WELL of the Schnee family as a whole, but, Weiss was rebelling, and Qrow could at least look upon the action with high regard despite the nagging fear in the back of his mind that the Atlas Military will come charging through his door at any moment. 

--- “Listen, kid, we have to be prepared for ANYTHIN’, I need to know if any of you are bein’ tailed and at risk of puttin’ the rest of us in danger. Don’t think I’m just pickin’ on you because of who you’re RELATED to.”

— “I will have you know that this is the PRIME of male fashion, men wish they could style their hair like a duck’s ass, but alas, only I have the creative genius to accomplish such a task.”

--- “...”

   His stare is undecipherable--blank and vacant when peering down at the rowdy student, nose giving a slight scrunch with an audible sniff. The Huntsman glances left, then right, eventually understanding that HE was the one being spoken to, and given the rather comical outrage of the younger, lips threaten to curl with a crooked smirk. With a chuff, the palm of his hand faces downwards when lowering his arm, lips pursing then with a soft ‘shhhhh’.

--- “Out of my way! Let me see HER--!”

   Rumors. Qrow never was one to follow the grapevine, as it often lead to nothing; only empty hearts and hurt feelings, the opposite of what one sought when traveling through the vineyards. Yet, when the talk in the wind lead to the awakening of a SLEEPING BEAUTY adorned in white and harboring eyes of striking silver, the avian had not thought twice before taking to the skies and seeking the very village spoke of. 

   Feet hit the dirt and he stumbles, yet never once loses the speed in his step when nearly knocking over the poor, unknowing citizen’s; pale eyes glancing down every alleyway and into every window, urgency heavy in his heart that it nearly chokes the Huntsman. Teeth bare and he snarls at any in his path, at any who attempt to stop the man or hold a weapon to his hostility, yet those, only present themselves as CHALLENGES. An older man donned in greens and yellows is grabbed, fingers curling into a collared shirt and pulling the man close; nearly nose to nose when his command comes forth.

--- “Where is she?! Where are you KEEPIN’ HER?”

--- “So--”

   He begins, cutting himself off with a lilt in tone, calloused fingers pressing over his eyes with a slow, withering exhale. Fingertips pinch the bridge of his nose, and those dark-ringed eyes crack open just enough to peer down at the Huntress-to-be, silent question welling within.

--- “Your SISTER know you’re here? I would really rather the Atlas Military not come kickin’ down my door because you ran away from home.”

   A brief pause, and his hand falls to hold up one finger; attempting to silence Weiss before she had time to retort.

--- “Hey, Shrimp.”

   Qrow’s tone carries low, soft in the silence of the large, opened area deemed to be a living room--despite the fact it was foreign, and merely a temporary stay that hadn’t much LIVING to be had. Each room was occupied by their array of strays, the group only seeming to grow larger day by day--not that there was much QUALM with such, the more the merrier, and the safer their little group would be. 

   Though, given the quiet of midnight the dim light that lit the room, it seemed a little odd to find none other than Ruby Rose herself sat alone and occupying the couches comfort. Accompanying the crow’s footsteps is the soft rattle of metal to porcelain, and over the back of the couch comes forth a small, cream accented bowl filled to the very brim with chilled, pink icecream with a spoon sticking out the very top of the treat. 

              readjusting  her  grip  on  the  bags  she  laughs  lightly  ,  murmuring  a  small  ‘  whoops  ‘  .  head  shakes  while  she  decides  to  make  her  way  around  the  couch  only  to  drop  all  the  snacks  on  the  coffee  table  . 

                ‘  well  ,  these  are  for  ruby  &  mine’s  movie  night  ,  bu  ———  ut  ‘  looking  around  the  living  room  for  any  sign  of  the  red  cloaked  girl  ,  she  shrugs  when  there’s  no  trace  of  to  be  seen  or  heard  .  ‘  i  GUESS  i  could  share  some  if  y’want  .  what’cha  in  the  mood  for  ?  i  got  salty  ,  sweet  ,  sour   ———   you’ve  got  a  lotta  options  ,  ‘  

   Reluctant as ever the Huntsman practically peels himself off the couch, back creaking and popping all the way up to a sit; legs swinging themselves off the side as to allow still booted feet to thump against the flooring. Arms raise and fingers interlock, elbows turning outwards as he stretches long and with an opened mouth yawn that forces droplets to prick at the corner of tired eyes. 

--- “Is GREASY a flavor?”

   Oh what he wouldn’t do for a disgusting, artery clogging burger to soak up the remnants of over-drinking. With head lulled from one shoulder to the other, a thin, dark brow quirks and eyes slowly scan across the mess of JUNK FOOD scattered over the table.

--- “Toss me somethin’ salty. Maybe some’a those pretzels with the peanut butter inside.”

   Raising his hands, they clap together once before parting again, fingers idly wiggling about in preparation to play catch.

It’s A Tough World - Accepting

— “LISTEN, I get it, you kids are tough as nails, but it isn’t often I see a Huntress get back up after a blow like that.”

   Wrist twists as fingers are fitted through the air, a dismissive drop of digits given; quite quickly brushing away the Heiress’ attempt at reassurance. Weight shifts from left, to right, a heavy lilt in his stance as eyes half-lid and lips twist in a quirked frown. Clearly, he wasn’t exactly believing such a brush off after being, quite literally, stabbed through. 

It’s A Tough World - Accepting

— “Y’know, I know you better than that by now, kiddo.”

   There’s nothing but CONCERN that escapes the crow’s lips, head giving that subtle cant that forces black tresses to bounce and fall; the backs of rough knuckles brought up to brush uneven bangs from his forehead. Dulled, rose-like eyes soften, and the usual playfulness that seemed to accompany the man dwindles. They’d been through enough–they all had, and there was a time and a place for jests and nudges, and even Qrow knew this was not one of them 

— “C’mon, talk to me. Is this about Raven?”

   That name is nearly spat, a bubbling anger writhing in his chest to the mere mention of their recent BACK-STAB by none other than his own sister. Perhaps he shouldn’t have thought any better, how silly it felt to place trust in one who never seemed to hold it in return–…a breath, and a hand wafts the air in front of his nose, clearing his sight of the crimson that threatened to overcome. 

--- “How many of you ARE there?”

   Every time he turned his back another one of these kids showed up--! For communications being down, the word sure spread of their stay. Faded hues flit across the young Huntsman’s features, dark brows knitted at the slim sense of familiarity. He’d SEEN this kid before--...the festival, of course.