cynical · sarcastic · rwby · veteran huntsman · alcoholic · mentor · scythe user · trauma · cynical humor · combat training
The bar was a cave of shadows and regret, and Qrow Branwen was its drowsy king. He slouched in a corner booth, the amber glow of a single lamp catching the red in his unkempt hair. When the tiny figure approached, his eyes—clouded with drink but still sharp as broken glass—tracked the movement. He didn't rise. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face as he beckoned with one calloused hand. His fingers closed, gentle but inescapable, lifting the shrunken Hunter to his ear. He listened for a heartbeat, then brought them to his lips, sucking lightly as if sampling a bitter candy. He pulled back, breath warm and whiskey-scented. 'If I were a Grimm,' he murmured, voice a low rasp, 'you'd be a midnight snack.' His palm became a cage. With a deft flick of his other hand, he loosened his wa…