Author's Notes

Hey guys, this is a short story that came to mind one rainy evening that may or may not be continued.

A Quiet Place of Solace is dedicated to tumblr-user Shandris (Haley). Happy 22nd Birthday, Haley!

Life update: Exams end on the 20th. Unfortunately, due to some personal matters, I will not be able to return to writing for The White Rose of Vermilion until perhaps the beginning of June, as previously mentioned in my author's notes in chapter 13 of TWRoV. Thank you for your continued support and patience.

Please leave a review: anything and everything helps!

A Quiet Place of Solace

"-and so I made him wear a pair of knitted rabbit ears for the rest of class," Professor Oobleck chortled before he downed another shot of espresso coffee. "It was unwise of him to continue to insult Faunus students in front of me and not expect any consequences."

Professor Port snickered with his free hand on his belly as he struggled to avoid spilling the coffee in his right hand. Professor Ozpin took a sip from his own mug and gestured towards Bartholomew with his cane. "But what about the Faunus students in your class? How did they take this gesture?"

"Ozpin," the history professor exclaimed, "I find your lack of faith disturbing." He chuckled to himself as he poured himself another shot. "No, I sent them all private messages the previous night asking if anyone would find it offensive." He downed the drink and grinned. "You can imagine my excitement when they all expressed their eagerness to deflate that rampant ego of his."

"And where did you happen to find these rabbit ears for him to wear-" Ozpin asked with a shrug, "-the Drama Department?"

Bartholomew gestured with his empty shot class. "Nonono. Here's the best part. Do you know of a student by the name of Velvet Scarlatina?"

"Yes," Ozpin said with a nod, "she's a Faunus student in your class-" Peter choked on his coffee while Oobleck nodded with a grin. "-who happens to have rabbit ears."

"Exactly! It was she who volunteered to knit those ears for Mr. Winchester...in one night!"

Peter exploded with hearty laughter as he slapped Bartholomew on the back, almost causing the smaller professor to drop his glass. "Simply brilliant! The amount of Lien I would have paid to see that moment. That Cardin boy is a scoundrel. A blemish to the huntsman image if you ask me."

Ozpin leaned on his cane and smiled. "Gentlemen, I feel that a toast is due." He raised his glass while Peter grabbed his, and Bartholomew refilled his own from an almost empty pot of coffee.

"Here's to the hoping that you didn't humiliate the least-liked student in my academy into skipping his next class," Ozpin teased.

Bartholomew raised his glass and half smiled."Here's to a hoping that Mr. Winchester will treat Faunus as equivalents."

"And here's to hoping he'll act more like a Huntsman and less like a fool," added Peter.

The three of them touched glasses, drank, and proceeded to laugh at how genius Bartholomew's idea was; to punish Cardin who had said an extremely racist slur to a Faunus student in class by forcing him to choose between writing a 5,000 word essay on Faunus military and technological innovation or wearing a knitted pair of Faunus ears.

Of course he chose the latter.

The last afternoon class had just let out minutes earlier, which meant that Beacon professors were doing one of three things: rushing home to avoid the traffic caused by commuter students, holding study or extra-credit sessions in their classrooms, or supervising an after-school extra-curricular activity.

If you were a professor who taught morning, afternoon, and evening classes, it was best to sit down, relax, and stock up on caffeine in the break room before evening classes started three hours later at 6:00PM.

In this particular break room on the fourth floor, besides himself, there was only Peter and Bartholomew present. The room was just like the many others scattered throughout Beacon Academy's main lecture halls. Similar in size, they also all had the same furnishings: beverage and snack machines, sink, stove, oven, microwave, and several cabinets designated for utensils, condiments, and extra supplies.

Because of the isolated location of the room on the fourth floor, close to none of the faculty chose to go there for their breaks. It was usually the three of them and Glynda who frequented this room to take advantage of the quiet and peaceful atmosphere. He checked his wristwatch. 3, 2, 1-

Like clockwork, a bright flash of purple light lit up the room in a heartbeat immediately followed by the smell of fire. The three of them looked over to see Professor Goodwitch sitting at the closest table. Eyes closed, she set her riding crop and purple shoulder bag onto the table, crossed her legs, and pinched between her eyebrows.

"Right on time, Professor Goodwitch," Ozpin said as he raised his mug, "Would you like to join us for a drink?"

Glynda opened her eyes and rested both hands onto the table before her. She gave Ozpin a pointed look before tilting her head marginally to the right. "Professor Ozpin," she said quietly, "may I have a word with you?"

"Of course. What would you like to discuss?"

Glynda turned her attention to Peter and Bartholomew.

"Oh, you can't be serious-" Peter groaned.

Bartholomew pointed to the fresh pot of coffee that was currently brewing. "But we just got here!"

Peter did a double-take at the coffee pot. "Wait, when did you-"

Glynda abruptly stood up, grabbed her riding crop, and pointed it at Bartholomew. "Leave."

Bartholomew flung open the cabinet behind him, stuffed a handful of sugar and cream packets into his pocket, grabbed the coffee pot with his free hand, and dashed out of the room without a moment's hesitation. Glynda then pointed the crop to Peter.

The robust Huntsman sighed and motioned towards Glynda with his mug. "You know, instead of booting us out, you two lovebirds could perhaps take your little discussion to the janitor's closet for a change." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "My students tell me that it's quite the hot spot these days."

With a flick of her riding crop, Peter began to slide across the floor as if being pushed on ice. "Oh, here we go. How old are you Glynda? Honestly. Wait. Seriously, how old are you?"

Glynda ignored him and simply continued the spell. As Peter slid towards the door, it opened for him. "Ozpin, I do not get paid enough to deal with this." The door closed behind him, clapping him hard against the behind. "Ouchies!"

Ozpin listened to Peter's grumbles followed by the sound of his heavy footsteps as they grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared altogether. The sound of blinds closing and the door locking soon followed.

"Professor Goodwitch? Is something the matter?"

A sigh was the response. She sheathed her riding crop into its holster at her side and sat back down.

Ozpin took the seat across from her and set his mug down in front of him. "So. Are you here to lecture me on how Bartholomew forcing Cardin Winchester to wear a pair of Faunus ears was an ethically poor choice?"

"No-he did what?"

Ozpin leaned back in his seat and looked away sheepishly. "Ah, forget I said that."

A tame smile crept across Glynda's face as she shook her head. "I trust Bartholomew's judgment," she said after a pause. "I don't like that Cardin boy either."

"Well we were talking about what we didn't like about him," said Ozpin as he motioned to Glynda. "That is until you kicked them out." He chuckled when she rolled her eyes.

As he stopped to compose himself, he snuck a glance at Glynda, half-expecting her to be giving him a disapproving look like she always did when he said anything remotely teasing. Instead, she wasn't even facing him. The iron-tongued Huntress had her chin down, watching the small pieces of lint fall to the ground as she picked them from her skirt.

His heart sank just as slowly as the fading of her smile.

"What do you have to tell me that is so important you can't say in front of the others?"

The Huntress looked up and brushed a lock of blonde hair to the side. "I wanted to talk to you about something...personal."

He swallowed. "I'm all ears, Professor Goodwitch."

She shifted in her seat and sighed. "My migraines," she said with a nod of acceptance, "they've been worsening throughout this semester."

Ozpin wrapped his fingers around the handle of his mug. "The incident."

Glynda nodded. "I need to show you something," she said softly. She pulled her shoulder bag in front of her and retrieved a folded piece of paper out of the outermost pocket. After unfolding it and flattening it against the table, she pushed it towards him. The Headmaster brought his mug up to take a sip while bringing the paper towards him with his free hand. The paper was in terrible shape; it had been creased, folded, unfolded, even crumpled. At the very top of the paper was the insignia of the hospital that Glynda had been admitted to the night of the incident, Beacon Memorial Hospital. Below the insignia and address of the hospital, a short letter was addressed to Ozpin himself.

He set his mug down hard enough to elicit a flinch from Glynda. It was a universal practice in Vale that serious issues from any sort of institution were sent both electronically and in print. To see this letter in his hands and have no recollection of receiving it in his electronic and print mailboxes meant many things, none of them good. He began to read the letter.

"... Dr. Rook, Head Physician of Vale Memorial Hospital..."

"...Concerning Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch..."

"...most recent physical check-up..."

"...thorough examination..."

"...alarming results..."

"...health in decay..."

As he reached the very paragraph of the letter, Ozpin began to read out loud. He paused every now and then to look at Glynda, whose eyes had gone from red to moist.

"It is in your best interest to ensure that your partner, Glynda Goodwitch, will henceforward refrain from damaging her body any further through the casting of high-ranked dust spells. If she is to be found continuing this behavior, you are obligated by law to immediately contact us so that we may intervene. Sincerely, Doctor Rook, Head Physician of Vale Memorial Hospital."

Ozpin forcefully pushed the paper back to Glynda, coming to a stop right before her trembling fingers.

"Professor Ozpin, I'm sorry for keeping this from you," Glynda said even softer, "but I need you to side with me on this."

"No."

"I-I...what?"

"I think it's well past time you adhered to your physician's advice."

The Headmistress's shoulder began to shake slightly. "You won't even reconsider?"

"Why should I?"

Glynda blinked several times in recoil."I had hoped that you of all people would understand," she said with a hurt expression.

"Understand? What I don't understand is that you're choosing to ignore the advice your doctor gave you. You're hurting yourself, Glynda!"

"I am Headmistress of Beacon Academy, Professor Ozpin," Professor Goodwitch said with her voice raised to match his shouting. "What do you think that means?"

Ozpin reached for his mug.

"Answer me."

In the moment when he pulled away, a rising sense of dread washed over him as he looked away from the gentle flow of steam that rose from his mug and into Glynda's now tearing eyes. "It means that you have an example to set," he relented.

Glynda nodded. "You're only half right. I am the Headmistress of Beacon Academy. The number one school for Huntsman and Huntresses to train in all of Remnant. The school that sends young men and women off to die fighting monsters that have threatened our existence since the very beginning." By now she was yelling. "The school that we founded together, Ozpin!"

"And do you think this prestige grants you the right to continue to hurt yourself?"

"That's not what I mean and you know it," she shot back as she stood up. She pointed at the table as she began to count off. "Dust spell users are finally starting to become more prominent next to melee and range users," she said with a weak smile. "There isn't anyone else who can teach the higher level dust spell classes like I can."

"Glynda-"

The Huntress shook her head and held up a hand for Ozpin to stop. "No. You know what else has been happening? There have been more Grimm attacks this year in Vytal than the last five years combined. Student and civilian casualty rates have tripled since then. Qrow is missing and-"

"Don't," Ozpin said as he rose from his chair. "Glynda, please."

"She is back, Ozpin. You cannot look me in the eye and not tell me that Cinder has come back for us and everything we've built!"

A veil of silence descended upon the room where both Headmaster and Headmistress's eyes glistened in the light as tears flowed down their red, hot cheeks.

It was the latter who finally broke the silence as she sniffed and wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. As she took off her glasses to do so, locks of hair soon fell over her face, covering her eyes.

"Ozpin," she managed to say clearly, "I'm begging you. Don't do this to me. I can't let my students down. Not now, not when they need me more than ever." She pushed her hair to the side and looked Ozpin straight in the eye.

"Don't let them take me away."

Ozpin shook his head. "I am sorry, Glynda, but I cannot allow it."

"Can't?" Glynda demanded. "Or won't?"

"Won't," Ozpin said with a barely suppressed eye twitch.

With a sharp exhale and a nod, the Huntress put her glasses back on and retrieved her holo-panel from her shoulder bag. She opened it, punched in her password, and began to navigate through what appeared to be their school's electronic mail system. She brought up an blank message composer and a short paragraph later, she tapped the green "send" button, folded the holo-panel, and tossed it into her shoulder bag. She picked up the shoulder bag and retrieved her riding crop from her holster.

"Wait." Ozpin pushed back his chair and walked around to Glynda. "Where are you going?"

With an extension of her right hand, she slapped him hard across the face, sending his spectacles sliding to the bottom of a vending machine off to the side of the room. He put a hand to his cheek and looked at her with wide eyes. His vision was slightly blurred, but she was close enough to still see clearly. Her green eyes stared back at him.

"I cancelled my class. I'm going home."

With a lightning fast movement of her casting hand, she disappeared into a bright flash of purple light. The searing smell of fire soon burned at his nostrils and stung at his eyes, causing him to stumble backwards, covering his face with both hands.

He backed into the counter and let out a long exhale as he waited for the pain to subside. When it finally did, he was able to lower one of his hands as the lights above still stung at his eyes. With an extended right palm, his spectacles soon gravitated out from beneath the vending machine and into his hand. He peered down and frowned when he saw that they were bent out of shape and had cracks in both lenses. With a grumble, he shuffled into his seat and tossed the spectacles onto the table, causing one of the lenses to fall out.

Pap. Pap. Pap. Ozpin looked left to the window to see rain drops lazily trickle down the window. Several more followed in quick succession which soon turned into a rhythmic, continuous flow. The weather forecast turned out to be right; it was rainy season after all. Professor Myria's voice soon was broadcasted over the school's intercom system, warning of approaching thunderstorms and advising that all outdoor activities be brought inside.

The date was the 20th of May. It was a rainy, Monday afternoon. The clock read 3:30 P.M, precisely two and a half hours before evening classes would begin.

He brought his mug up to his lips and took a sip. It was cold and bitter. The warmth had long gone and the sweetness had settled to the bottom.

And like the crash of thunder in the distance, the stinging sensation in his cheek, and the emptiness of the room that at one point accompanied his whole team minutes earlier, Headmaster Ozpin of Beacon Academy was alone again.

A quiet place of solace.