dancer of the sands

          “ ah, primrose. “

          “ happy spring. “

          with a brush of his temples, ozpin gives a smile that could betray his complete and utter exhaustion from a mile away. despite all of his desires not to be, in the end, the man was still human. nevermind the lack of aura or magic as well. the trade off had been necessary, he thought, but right now he wasn’t quite sure. the village needed help that he couldn’t provide. there was only so much that he could do before having to retreat back into calmer waters.

          it is at a time of rest like this that the woman finds a certain wizard, lying down in his bunk and staring at the wooden foundation above. a quick glance over would reveal the bandages, the scratches, the slightest hint of bruises here and there. fighting the good fight, isn’t he? “ we haven’t seen each other in a bit. “ he says, tucking one of his hands under his head. “ it’s late. have you been doing alright? “

( @unwaveringpath, it’s always the quiet moments. )

He looked exhausted, battered, trampled—the weight of the festival, and perhaps more. She couldn’t blame him one bit. Primrose herself probably gave off the same aura. No matter how much she tried to hold appearances, it was always a little easier to let it go around him.

“It has been a while.”

A kid who reminded her of herself, for better or for worse. She gave a smile, and sat down on her own bed. He seemed to be doing alright, despite his appearance.

“As right as the situation allows. I’ve been helping out as much as I can—I’m one of the few with healing powers. Quite draining.”

“Not the kindest start to a new season.” She sighed. She was unusually tired, but it was nice to chat with a friend. Or, if not a friend, someone that she could let her guard down around.

unwaveringpath.‌

It was true that that had been the goal of the Rekindling. Unfortunately, a snag had been hit during the festivities–her trip through the Fields of Theama had been quite unique, to say the least. There was a frustrating dissonance in her heart. She thought herself strong, unshakeable. Perhaps it hadn’t been so.

“You’re right. Perhaps a small flame was ignited in all of us.” The dancer chuckled softly, not looking at Ophilia directly. “As cheesy as that sounds.”

Was the doubt that crept into her heart lack of faith, then? It was odd to think about. After all, Primrose had put so much faith in herself that it had kept her safe all these years. She had gone through so much. Was Ophilia right, or was it her contagious optimism?

“Thank you.” She didn’t want to shut her down, though. She was the one person she knew from Orsterra, after all.

Faith shall be your shield.

“Have you gone to the Fields of Theama, Ophilia?”

Ophilia searches for the other woman’s eyes, troubled when she finds she cannot meet them. It seemed Primrose was certainly wounded after all, though it would have been nice to have thought she was imagining it. Her own instincts, regarding the pain of others, it seems, would never fail her after all.

She glances to one side. Ironically, her face tells it all – a pause where she tries to think of what to say. In the end, she can hardly lie to her – it isn’t Ophilia’s own style. Yet the whole truth, somehow, is far too grim to bear. How could she tell Primrose that all was lost? That she didn’t know what she was to do anymore?

She can’t – there is no way she could. Her own words cautious, as if feeling their way forward, she thinks to answer. “I did. Though… I’m afraid there wasn’t much to be seen there.” It’s true – the flame was out, the lanthorn empty, the light dark. She clasps her hands together, turning back to look at Primrose, attempting to meet her eyes again. “And you, Primrose? I hope your journey was more fruitful than mine, if you did.”

A few seconds passed, and Primrose’s eyes stayed downcast. She didn’t have to look at Ophilia to know she didn’t tell the truth. At least, not in its entirety. How could something not have happened in that forest? She refused to believe that what had happened had been to her and her alone.

“I see.”

A sharp breath, and a slow exhale—she didn’t want to lose her cool.

“I’ve heard that the fields can show pieces of history, parts of one’s past. I’ve heard whispers of it being able to show the future.”

Primrose turned her head towards Ophilia, meeting her eyes. She remembered the theatre, the empty seats, the silence. The tombstone, standing among paper trees, and the words written on it.

“I can’t vouch for the accuracy of those claims, but the icy maze within the heart of the fields baffles.”

She thought of the flowers she held, and of the knife they became. Anything she touched would turn this way, wouldn’t it? It was better to accomplish things by herself.

She forced a smile—she was sure Ophilia could tell it was forced, and she turned to look at the forge instead.

  Alfyn takes the second to drop back into his stool when Primrose speaks his name, gripping the edge of the countertop to avoid hitting the floor when his weight puts it on two legs. Pulling himself forward, he rests his elbows and plops his head onto his palms and gives the brightest grin he can manage to his friend.

  A laugh, giving a nod. “ Who would I be if I didn’t come to check on the tavern? If I’ll be here for a while, I gotta make sure the drink’s good before I go into other options, ” Alfyn muses, eyeing the glass in her hand before his gaze drift to  the space behind Primrose.

  To meet with old party members once more, to all find a new goal yet still finding a way to cross paths… his attention turns to Primrose again, smile softer.

  “ … I’m real glad to see you again, I hope you know. I missed you somethin’ terrible. ”

Unlike her friend, Primrose wasn’t one to wear her emotions on her sleeves. Still, seeing Alfyn here, as he had always been during their travels... Perhaps it tugged at her strings a little.

“I’ve missed you as well. I didn’t think I would see anyone I knew once I came here, truth be told.” It was a relief, but she wouldn’t say that. Being by herself, as much as she thought would help, didn’t—if it had, why would she be here?

Stuck.

Maybe once more, her friends would be the ones to move her along her path.

Primrose put the glass down on the countertop, and took out a wooden mug. She poured the mug full of ale—Alfyn’s favorite, of course—and then prepared her own drink.

“Pray tell me how things have been for you, Alfyn.”

          {♠} —; The battle is soon won, and Sonya’s lighthearted laughter fills the air. She’s feeling mirthful, and the refreshing air of the Vivienne Festival rejuvenates her cold heart. It’s days like these that make her remember fond memories, like the union of Alm and Celica that revived Valentia as a whole. What nostalgia she was feeling.

          {♠} —; “You’re quite the sparring partner Primrose—I knew you had told me before that you’ve had training, but I still wasn’t sure quite what to expect. I’m glad to see that your skills still match up to your beauty as I’ve known it to.”

          {♠} —; She takes a moment to pause, watching the dancer switch hands. Was she always ambidextrous? There’s not many people she knew who were great with both hands, but if anyone was she should have known that Prim was. She’s happy to have another round, but she also sees some room for fun.

          {♠} —; “Here’s an idea. Perhaps before we take to our next round, I can help you with your form. You’re an extraordinary fighter, but you slip into habits with the style you’re more comfortable with. Would you mind at all terribly if I take your hand?” she asks, drawing closer as she circles behind. “A one on one sword lesson session.”

Primrose took the compliment. From someone else, she might have considered it insulting.

“It has been quite a while since I’ve held a sword. Besides, real experience trumps anything learned from an instructor.”

Listening to Sonya’s proposition, the dancer couldn’t help but smile. The way she made her proposal, her words and her body language—it felt like she took it as a game. It reminded Primrose of her own skills, refined through years of acting, playing games of wits and charm.

And Primrose was always up for some play.

          “ is that so? “ ozpin questions, giving her a careful glance, brow raised. “ hm. perhaps i’ve been out too much myself. work comes easy, after all. “ doing things for yourself, however? that’s an entirely different story. he doesn’t have the heart to say it, despite the fact that he had a feeling that primrose would be able to understand. 

          what made him deserving of a wish? this whole time, the wizard hasn’t been able to find an answer to that question. surely if he had been an eternity younger, a touch more naive and thousand times less weary, it would have been alright to accept. ( that man had done it once. ) perhaps this land wasn’t as pure as it tried to appear, especially considering how people like him could have broken into this snow globe of a world. was it used to being shaken? what was it trying to wiggle loose? was it…

          …

          “ a friend? “ he repeats the term, mussing with it like a spare piece of clay. “ … i see. this place makes reunions all the stranger to deal with. “ slowly, he breathes out, recalling his own encounters of a familiar kind. “ still, i would be honored to meet them sometime, whether it be at this celebration or later. “ 

          “ hopefully they are well. “ the man says finally, turning his head to face her fully with a smile. “ i’m sure i would be if i knew that someone like you was around, primrose. “ a thoughtful hum.

             “ sometimes a friend is all you need. “

The dancer smiled.

“She would get along with you, I’m certain.” A woman like her, so kind and so caring—she would get along with anyone. The cleric had something about her, not quite charisma like herself; it was more of a peaceful aura. Something calming and charming. A perfect fit for a woman of the cloth. “I’m sure you’ll stumble upon her, if I don’t introduce you before then.”

“This place does make unlikely things happen. Not quite like wishes, but it is still something to be... thoughtful of.” She wouldn’t go as far as saying gratefulness is to be expected, but keeping it in mind was good. Perhaps it all played into the wish ordeal in the end. The fact that the Great White existed felt like a testament to the validity of the fairytale. How much of it was true was to be determined, though.

Her laughter.

“Thank you. I think my presence is comforting to her, if anything. We traveled together for quite a while. All eight of us.”

          “ hm. “

             ozpin takes in the scene for a good long moment, looking the woman up and down. a pause. he holds up a basket, clearly empty. then, he gestures to the fields beyond them. 

          “ would you like to pick snowdrops? “

( @unwaveringpath, we’ll make quick work of it. )

Primrose tilted her head. Him, flowerpicking? Ozpin did have a sort of softness about him—she recalled their conversation around the flame—but she didn’t think him the sort to pick flowers.

Of course, she agreed.

[ @unwaveringpath, i’m fine, i really am. you know, definitely not injured. ]

        it takes one wrap on your shoulder to put your remaining hours in a bind - ill-equipped without the bloodstained fabric that used to cover you, every nick and wound that ever was is exposed to the general mass, which hasn’t resorted in less gawks or worries at all.

        …suffice it to say, you’ve seen much better days.

        a new scarf and shirt sling over, enough to cover your arms and your neck, and with it, you head on through the carved path of the gatherers. it flourishes into the forest, past brambles and branches to gather from just off of the road - and eventually you’ve wandered far enough to find suitable ones to collect, just under silver fruits in bloom. you fumble to grab what you can, bundling each tight into a pouch and after you’ve run out of space, your arms. things seem to be going decent - or, no, maybe not, one’s falling and so, cursedly, is another one that you suppose you won’t pick up, and then you finally steady yourself –

        and now someone faintly behind you seems to be asking if you need any assistance, which means you’ve certainly gleaned the sort of attention you didn’t need. “ I’ll be fine on my own. I was heading back anyways, so you can find different wood to peck yourself. ”

        everything gathered as needed, save for a couple of branches in a kicked-up pile, you look back up, eyeing for the closest way to the path - and then you see just who joined your company.

        ( ah, gods, not this all over again – ) “ Well, if it isn’t Primrose herself. ” a grin unfolds on your face, though some ingratitude can’t help but peek as well. “ I suppose now this is a battle I won’t be winning? ”

Primrose had no formal medical training, but she knew her way around fixing up injuries. Kind of ironic that someone who had spent so long suffering and inflicting suffering would end up healing others. It was a task that her friends usually did for her when they were traveling together. In this place, though, survival was on everyone’s minds—formal training or not, you helped however you could.

As a sort of break, she was out to gather food. She knew her way around the forest quite well, as she had come to pick Heaven’s Dews a few times already. Things were quiet—and she was glad—though they could be a little quieter. She heard rustling and a voice up ahead and decided to check out what was going on.

And to her surprise... it just kept happening. Not only did Ophilia first land here, then Alfyn did, and now Therion as well? At this pace, everyone else would arrive, and it would become just like their previous adventure. Desirable for some, but not for all, though.

“A warm welcome as always, Therion.” Her tone was the usual. And her friend seemed the same as well.

another round, please, @unwaveringpath!

  Consider it a trademark of his, but whenever a tavern exists in a new location, Alfyn feels obligated to check it out. Some mead is made better than others, giving him a small list in the back of his mind on what towns he’s more likely to visit for such reasons.

  After a round-trip back to his new lodgings to drop his axe (he doesn’t think it’ll be much appreciated carrying it in here while it’s in the open), Alfyn opens the door and steps inside before taking a seat at the bar. He relaxes, taking in the atmosphere and those within before fully turning to face whoever may be running the joint.

  Primrose standing only feet away, however, is the last thing he expects.

  “ Shucks! ” he exclaims, boots firmly planting against the ground and hands pressing onto the counter-top. “ Primrose, is that you? I almost didn’t recognize ya there for a moment…! ”

After everything that had happened recently, Primrose was happy things were ever-so quieter. It would be a lie to say things had gone back to normal, but being able to work again... Still, it didn’t mean her days were easier. She had to work harder to amaze during her performances, and harder still to serve everyone when she worked the counter. With the outbreak of monsters just recently, it was natural that the villagers wanted to get their mind off of the dangers lurking just outside the borders of the village.

Primrose had been cleaning a glass when she was surprised by an old friend.

“Alfyn?” She was almost taken aback—almost. Primrose smiled, and took a few seconds to look at him. He didn’t look distressed, as opposed to Ophilia when she had met her, and he wasn’t injured, as opposed to when she met Therion just a little while ago.

          {♠} —; She chuckles, poising a stance. So it would seem that Primrose was cheerful and playful as ever, ready for whatever came at her. How very on brand for her. She waits, counting down slowly, shifting her stance. One hand behind, and one forward. She edges backward for a moment, and then thrusts.

          {♠} —; She readies another one, aggressively striking where she could. Primrose was right, she was a bit forceful today. Though, as aggressive as she was it seemed like Primrose was able to keep up quite well. Sonya also noted, that if these blades were not wood, there would definitely bring more encumbrance upon Prim.

          {♠} —; “Oh, perhaps I didn’t mention? While the tome is my favored art, I was always quite adept at the blade.” Deen had shown her a thing or two about it as well, but she always had an edge over him concerning other things. “You fight quite well, but it’s time for a lesson!”

          {♠} —; She begins slashing. Right, left. Right, left, centre. The more she swung her blade, the more it seemed like her mask fell. Where there usually stood an amalgam of her sisters, stood Sonya for who she was. Rambunctious, troublesome, and mischievous. Clear as day, this was joyous to her.

          {♠} —; Her advance doesn’t clear, and she leaves very little room for an opening. When the blades clash again, she quickly swings from overhead, bringing it down on Prim’s. It slides down to the base, and she prays that with the force she used she’s able to disarm her.

Alright.

While she didn’t have Olberic’s sheer strength, Sonya certainly packed quite a punch. Each of her strikes were powerful, and it was clear that Primrose wouldn’t gain the advantage easily during their friendly scuffle. The word “friendly” was a little misleading from Sonya’s part, though--had their swords been real weapon, Primrose might actually be fearing for her safety.

Still, the dancer held on, parrying each and every attack, though never being able to place one of her own. A little cocky, Primrose replies to Sonya’s taunts.

“I’ve learned one or two things about the blade as well! Bring it!”

Despite her words, it took only a few more strikes for her opponent to get the better of her, and with a final overhead swing that she was too slow to parry, her weapon is dropped.

Her hair disheveled, panting lightly, she laughed.

“Alright. You win this time, Sonya.”

Not wanting to rub her pained wrist out of pride, Primrose switched her wooden blade from one hand to the other.

          {♠} —; Primrose’s unreserved judgement on Sonya elicited a chuckle from her core. A woman who didn’t mind speaking her mind, how lovely. She nods her head along in agreement with the following statement, and takes another sip of her drink, leaning back in her chair to cross her arms and rest them.

          {♠} —; “Oh?” she says, eyebrows raised. “Is that so?” 

          {♠} —; Her eyes narrow, and she looks her over. There’s something familiar—and it’s not just the fact she was incredibly beautiful with a lively vivacious figure. It was that chuckle. That oh-so-dismissive wave that Sonya herself had previously done to strange men who asked of her past.

          {♠} —; “So you mean to tell me, daughter of a courtier, that you, daughter of a noble family, took up performing arts and they were supportive?” she lifts one arm, twirling a lock of hair before pointing Primrose from top to bottom.

          {♠} —;  “Impossible. Supportive or not, other families would see you as brazen, and that’s the sort of thing a loving family would prefer not see their children go through. There’s more to you than meets the eye, just like me. You’re a good performer, but the masks we wear are all too similar. Let’s shed our skin, just once this lifetime, as kindred spirits.”

Primrose took a few moments to consider the girl in front of herself. Similar masks, eh? Sonya may have been right, but simply asking her to drop it wasn’t quite going to cut it. She tapped her finger on the table.

“There is only so much you can hide, is there?”

“Of course, I’ve received education in how to be a proper noblewoman. From my parents and from private teachers alike.” It wasn’t like this part of her life was a secret per se--it was more that it was painful to think about. A different pain than the one she experienced in Sunshade. “My father said I would become as fierce on the battlefield as I would be in a ballroom. I’m sure I would have had great success as the head of a noble family.”

Her tapping stopped.

“If your family name fades to obscurity and there is no more need for you to rule, the matter is taken out of your own hands. Taking up dancing was much easier afterwards.”

Primrose’s words were blue, laced with bitterness.

She doesn’t know how she intends to help, but she knows that she must. She doesn’t know how two women who no longer have their full strength can aid the lost and wounded, but she knows she has to try – for the sake of those who were out when the disaster occurred, for the sake of those who were attempting to aid those innocents, only to find similar struggles.

The atmosphere in the air is tense – enough so that Ophilia expects a blizzard to be pushing against her face. Instead, the air is clear and the breeze gentle, hair free from her face and the sunlight giving a gentle hint of warmth. Heat ought to provide hope – as a follower of the Sacred Flame, Ophilia, more than anyone, knew that. For such a joyous celebration to cause something such as this, how was she to…

“Ah!” She cries out, a dark spot on the horizon drawing her attention, ever more noticeable in the bright sunlight. Walking forward with quicker steps, she lifts her hand over her eyes to see better – eyes widening as she turns back to look at Primrose, calling out to her. “I can see someone, on the horizon…!”

Picking up her skirt hem to avoid tripping, she begins to run across the ice. If it were more slippy in the warmth, she hardly cared. This was her duty, after all.

@unwaveringpath

The thought of having a concrete goal, something to aim for, was reassuring. Primrose’s mind was more at ease--this would prove an opportunity to redirect her emotions toward something other than herself, for once. The Great White was the perfect environment to be introspective, but it was also perfect to get stuck in a downward spiral.

Both Ophilia and herself didn’t have the powers they once did back in Orsterra. It was a little worrying, but the dancer didn’t think on it too much. She had crawled her way through life by the skin of her teeth, and it wasn’t an attack on a village that would be her end. And she would make sure it would be the same for her friend.

Her hands stop tapping her knife when Ophilia called out to her.

Her eyes took a moment to focus, but once they adjusted, she could see the shape in the distance as well.

Primrose replied by following in Ophilia’s steps, her eyes darting around the horizon. The shape grew as they approached, and they now could see that it was indeed a person. They were also lying down, a fact that bothered Primrose. Not because they were injured, but because something had injured them.

Potential danger. She was glad she came along. She gripped her dagger tightly.

          “ i think that we can both agree that the great white is colder than anything either of us are typically used to. “ ozpin says with a certain sense of confidence, finality. it’s a safe thing to assume, right? primrose’s personality is a warm one, dare he say even scorching in nature– though, he doesn’t mean that in a painful way. it’s hard to describe actual radiance.

          mm. it might have helped for him to hear that she doesn’t like the weather that much either. 

          “ things have been fine. “ he states, though things haven’t really been fine at all, have they? so many furious and overwhelmed expressions have passed by his vision, rejected, rejected, rejected, though he isn’t quite so sure that it was the hateful catharsis that he so sought. is it masochism? wanting to be kicked into the dirt and told that in the end, he was never right? maybe. people are too kind for such things, he knows that. “ just busy. i wonder where people find the energy to search for a wish when so much time is spent trying to maintain the village. “

          “ it’s fulfilling work all the same, though. “ ozpin looks towards the stars, seeing smoke rise into the sky as his body reclines some. “ and you, primrose? “

"That would be an extremely accurate claim." Primrose laughed, thinking of how cold she had been once she arrived in Eidolon. It was quite the shock--she was lucky she was wearing a little more than her dancer's garments, or she would have turned into an icicle on the spot.

The dancer wasn't certain whether his answer was honest or not--the boy was good at hiding his emotions, though some of it slipped through once in a while. A little like herself.

"While it takes a lot of effort to stay afloat in such a harsh place, I'm sure everyone has a little time to spend to grasp for their wish." Primrose herself hasn't had the chance to, but she was sure it would come. This faith would carry her, and so she told herself. There was still a lot to explore.

"I have been well. Enjoying the festivities, as you can tell." She thought for a few seconds, then sighed. "My friend, Ophilia, has shown up in the Great White as well. 'Busy', if I can reuse your term."

She pauses. There was a coldness in her words – not a sharpness, but a lethargy, as if the warmth that had left the village had left her as well. It aligns with her words, but… Ophilia was not one to abandon her instincts, when it came to the troubles of others, after all.

With a nod of her head, she turns her gaze to the kiln, while her thoughts are elsewhere. “I suppose so…” Her next words, though, make her own eyes cloud over – not intending to turn back to face Primrose any time soon. “I would hope not… the rekindling brought everyone’s hopes up, did it not? I’m sure the wishes they all hold in their chest are nourished anew.” But hope is not reality. And her own hopes – if she was to say she wasn’t afraid, then…

She glances at Primrose, smiling. “Do not lose faith, Primrose. If anyone can find their wish, then it will be you.” If she were to show Primrose how she felt, she would never forgive herself.

It was true that that had been the goal of the Rekindling. Unfortunately, a snag had been hit during the festivities--her trip through the Fields of Theama had been quite unique, to say the least. There was a frustrating dissonance in her heart. She thought herself strong, unshakeable. Perhaps it hadn't been so.

"You're right. Perhaps a small flame was ignited in all of us." The dancer chuckled softly, not looking at Ophilia directly. "As cheesy as that sounds."

Was the doubt that crept into her heart lack of faith, then? It was odd to think about. After all, Primrose had put so much faith in herself that it had kept her safe all these years. She had gone through so much. Was Ophilia right, or was it her contagious optimism?

"Thank you." She didn't want to shut her down, though. She was the one person she knew from Orsterra, after all.

Faith shall be your shield.

          {♠} —; Interesting answer, very cute. Just like herself, it seems there’s a streak of flirtation here? That, and teasing most likely. And a large presence. She wonders if it’s a ruse, some kind of mask, not unlike the one she wears. 

          {♠} —; “I would envy the life of even someone who did nothing but bake all day. My good tastes are my own—and am I ever happy for that. No, where I grew up, despite my father being a courtier, was in a priory. Those stuffy robes, and stifled life just wasn’t my style.”

          {♠} —; “I was actually quite the unruly child, truth be told. Whatever the priory had desired from me, I never did. It caused a bit of trouble for my sisters, but they also marched to their own beat. Do you mind if I ask you about your own childhood?”

"A priory, eh?" Primrose showed a healthy amount of surprise, although her tone stayed playful. "I would never have guessed, with how you present yourself now. The term 'unruly child' seems well deserved." The dancer continued, a little quieter. "I admire people who choose their own path in life. It takes a lot of strength to stay true to yourself."

Without missing a beat, though, she chimed with a smile.

"Telling you about myself is the least I can do, isn't it?" She took a brief pause, thinking about where to start. "I was born into a noble family," she began. "My father ruled over a city, and I was supposed to take over his duties when I came of age." She chuckled. "I've always had a passion for performing arts, though. It was a relief that my parents were supportive of what I wished to do."

  People from all walks of life can’t help but have wishes. Arisa’s heard Kasumi spout off about her own ad infinitum, her ears catching each one that she says at some point or another. Her energetic tone whirls around in the blonde’s mind until the drink arrives, causing her to promptly snap out of her daydreams.

  “ Oh, uh– thank you, ” she answers, volume slowly dropping as she wraps her hands gently around the mug. Arisa moves her fingers in a wave, preventing any of them from getting burnt while her hands siphon some of the heat.

  She looks at Primrose for several moments, expression shifting to one of contemplation before she blows on her cocoa and takes a small sip. “ … I think so. It never gets this cold back home or anything. I thought what I wore would be fine, but… ”

  ( Arisa regrets her lack of the scarf her grandmother made, the coat, a futon she could take a nap under–

  Sacrifices must be made for wishes, she supposes. )

Primrose knew full-well how harsh the weather was here in the Great White. She was not the most well-dressed for any temperature where snow was the norm.

"If you need to get something warmer, I could accompany you to a clothes seller." Primrose sat down, resting her head on her palm. She had accompanied someone else there only a few months back, when she had just arrived herself.

"I understand, though. My own home is much warmer than it is here as well." She smiled. "A desert of scorching sands is a drastic opposite, wouldn't you say?"

Oh. Oh well, this truly is fucked, huh? Qrow tries really hard not to laugh. Great. This is wonderful.

“Names may be names, but my parents gave me that one for a reason, actually.” He rubs his eyes. Gods. And she keeps trying to cheer him up anyway. Better give it to her outright. A self-deprecating chuckle finally slips out.

“Well, when I’m talking about my flame, I’m talking about my wonderful ability to cause bad luck. Had it since I was born. So I can’t exactly burn it bright to get rid of it. It’s there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting it hurt the people around me if I can help it, not when it’s done enough damage already.” He moves to stand up.

“If crows keep bringing you bad luck, I don’t really wanna add to the pattern. Thanks though, for trying to help me celebrate. It’s a nice gesture.”

Primrose didn't expect the man named after a bird of bad luck to, according to his word, have the ability to bring bad luck. She really should have, though, especially with his insisting that his presence wasn't a good thing.

Her silence had been longer than she had meant it to be, and the man fully stood up. "That's..." What words could she say? Should she say any? Should she care? If anything, it would be unlike her to hold him back, unless she had something to get from him.

"I apologize for pushing you, Qrow," is the only thing she finds to say before he up and leaves. It had been a while since she flubbed a conversation with someone. It wasn't one that technically mattered, but...