He stumbled his way down the streets of Vale, having exited another bar. Absolutely ridiculous, what they kicked him out for. So what if he broke a chair trying to teach that punk a lesson? It’s not his fault that the chairs there were so fragile! He took a moment to rest, leaning against a lamppost. Though when he did, he only just felt the tugging sensation at the back of his head, like someone was there. And there was.
His hand crept towards his weapon, muscles aching for an excuse to break something. “I know you’re there…”
Unbelievable. If there was one person on this earth who Winter wanted to see less than Qrow Branwen, she certainly couldn’t name them—so of course at the very moment she found herself walking these deserted streets at night, he was the first person she laid eyes on.
Freezing in her tracks, Winter wrinkled her nose in disgust, debating turning back when suddenly his voice rang out, words slightly slurred. Oh, joy. Releasing a long, strained sigh through her nose, Winter clenched her fists.
“And I suppose you think you’re the only one with a right to walk these streets, is that it?”
Taking a few, stiff steps forward with the intention to move right on past him and continue on her way, Winter scowled at him. “Trust me, I don’t want anything from you.” But she paused, noting the way he leaned against the lamp post like he couldn’t even support himself. Against her better judgment, the words slipped out.
“Just how much have you had to drink?”
