“Soooooooo....”

   Vulture trails off, side-stepping to take a stance beside Nikolai as they traversed the halls, but all at once, his weight is upon the other’s side; an arm hooked around owl’s shoulders, and wings splayed out wide when one foot lifts from the ground and he practically forces the poor man to balance his bulk if only for the initial jostle.

   “Got any plans today? Classes? Day off? Gonna waste time in the teachers lounge ‘n nap?

   Boredom clearly was overcoming the counselor--his office having been empty through the day with no sessions upcoming, leaving him with nothing more to do than stare at the ceiling and spend his morning flickering in and out of sleep. While Tawnie was content in doing just that, the sound of footsteps in the hall easily roused him, and even more so to the familiar face they carried. Only but a split second of time was pondered in the possibilities of annoyance or companionship, and it seemed in the end, perhaps annoyance had risen victoriously before he’d left the confines of office and slung himself upon Nikolai’s shoulders. 

“My, my. I know I age well, but I never thought I still looked that young.”

Briar peers over the piece of paper, “Hmm. Looks like they haven’t even updated these things in over ten years, huh?” 

⏰ - Does your muse feel like they need to do things quickly or do they take their time? 

depends on the situation but he does feel the tension inside atlas and the urgency to restore peace throughout the kingdoms. he does want to see james’ work come to fruition, but rushing things can lead to chaos and that attracts grimm. 

⌛️ - How often does your muse think about death? Do they think about it at all?

not much. he knows very well his semblance will save him from death and thinking about death can bloom fear and fear is hesitation and clover can’t afford that. not right now. sometimes when he’s missing his parents, he does think about how his semblance saved him and he thinks about what if it didn’t. what if he died. what if he wasn’t here. what would be different. those kind of thoughts, really. not really death itself but what it can affect afterwards. 

🔗 - What are your muse’s standards for meaningful relationships? How quickly do they form relationships like these?

   That was fair--Tawnie’s breath was reeking of the poison, and he wouldn’t want to kiss himself either when he was near under the table. The peck upon cheek is relished in, though, and despite cheeks already flushed with drink, another bout of heat reaches to the tips of ears thanks to that gentle gesture. 

Send me a  🥃 + a question for my muse to answer. If they refuse to answer, they have to take a shot. - ACCEPTING

   Was this a test? Some sort of prank being pulled upon avian as he near drowns himself in burning liquid? Tawnie couldn’t be so sure, the fog lingering in his head far too thick, and the slight blur beginning to sway his vision even more so when head is picked up, and glassy eyes blink in confusion to Nikolai’s request.

   “...I can’t tell if’n y’er bein’ serious ‘o jus’ messin’ ‘round with me some more.”

   Well--...it wasn’t as if Tawnie had much to lose, and just one more shot is swallowed down to mix uneasily in his stomach for a dash of courage. Glass placed a tad too heavily to bar, fingers brushing back askew bangs, and weight falls heavy on elbow and palm once again when grinning drunkenly up at owl with a bare of teeth.

   “I mean, if’n ya want one I ain’t gonna tell ya no.” 

Questionable - accepting

   Shoulders sag and crimson-rimmed eyes lower in their shame, vulture’s feathered appendages in disarray; plucked feathers leaving their bloodied marks, and forming bruises muddying the counselor’s jawline. It wasn’t a particularly pretty sight--but at the very least, he’d managed to drag himself back to Atlas and hold up within the academy’s infirmary to the dismay of on-staff nurses. 

   What was even less ideal, though, was the familiar voice ringing in his ears, and the only thing Tawnie can think to do is grin--lifting his head and showing off pearly whites as if he wasn’t having Faunus heritage tended to or face beginning to look like a constellation of darkness.

   “Oh--Nikolai--”

   Right. Why didn’t he? Counselor’s voice dwindles, and that baring grin falters, and even he knew there wasn’t a proper excuse that wouldn’t seek scrutiny. An exhaled breath, a further drop of his form, and hand reaches back to coil through orange locks to tussle and fuss.

   “Word ‘o an Atlas staff member beatin’ the tar out ‘o some Mantle asshole wouldn’t exactly be the...best headline on the paper. Wouldn’t help me keep my job, that’s for sure.” 

   A further heave of chest, and Tawnie winces as hands fiddle with his wings; instinctively pulling the appendages back and tucking close to himself, clearly, having had enough of the prodding and dabbing of disinfectants. Normally, he’d apologize to staff--but it seemed embarrassment had overcome, and that previous expression of forced joy had long since disappeared to leave nothing more than a thin-lipped frown and pinched brows. It wasn’t as if this was his first tussle--but, his first in quite some time, since his beginning of becoming Beacon’s very own counselor, perhaps.