[ Stanford's username pops up in his inbox, and Ozpin opens it immediately. Last night had been... unfortunate, in a word. A lovely evening had gone downhill abruptly and inexplicably, and he can only assume it was his fault for misreading the situation. Perhaps Stanford simply isn't comfortable with that sort of intimacy. Perhaps Ozpin touched on something unfortunate without meaning to.
[ "It wasn't your fault. I didn't want to leave so abruptly."
Promising. This lends credence to the theory that he touched on— trauma? A discomfort with certain types of intimacy? Both? A misstep, to be sure, but perhaps one that could have been recoverable.
"Most people only have five fingers on each hand."
Oh.
It's at this point that Ozpin realizes he has never made mention of Stanford's hands. There simply hadn't been the time or energy, in the height of October's bloodbath. Past that point, they'd formed too comfortable an acquaintance for it to be worth remarking upon. Ozpin has known people with stranger deformities. He has been people with appearances remarkable enough to cause some social difficulty.
"I'm not used to receiving attention for them that isn't extremely negative."
This does not quite clarify whether making a move overall was a mistake, but it certainly gives some guidance as to how he should tread more carefully, if they are to try this again.
And the lack of human contact does explain some things. ]
[ This seems like a conversation best had in person, if Stanford truly wants a response to everything said... and if Ozpin is to discern which are actually the most important points of the message. It's not wholly clear whether Stanford is on-edge about his hands specifically, or intimate attention more broadly. The boundaries are something of a mystery.
Ozpin is aware that he's looking at the text version of last night's tense outpouring of information. He is less sure how best to navigate it, but there at least seems a reasonable way to start. ]
It's alright, Stanford. Thank you for telling me.
I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn't my intention.
[ Seeing the words It's alright comes as even more of a relief than Ford was expecting it to. Okay. That's good! One disastrous date didn't ruin everything, just the last half hour of the evening, and everything else that might have come afterwards.
... Okay, it ruined a lot, but if their friendship can recover from Ford springing a drawing of Ozpin's dead children on him it can recover from a bad date.
Even one where they apparently missed out on 'doing their taxes'. That's... a very strange euphemism, but the fact that it is a euphemism tells Ford all he needs to know. And knowing that is enough to quite thoroughly distract him from the subject at hand. They should probably talk a little more about the hand thing, but... ]
I see.
She seemed very insistent on knowing if her matchmaking efforts had been successful.
I worry what might happen if she and my niece ever meet.
They are still doing this, then. He'd thought so, from the inclusion of "I didn't want to leave," but it is good to be sure. He would not have been surprised to open a text from Stanford today saying that they should simply remain friends. That... doesn't seem to be the direction here.
There is a delay as Ozpin considers his next message. Anything to the tune of would you like to try again would carry implications he does not actually mean to convey. Taxes have never been a high priority for him, so to speak. He cannot remotely read the tone of that last message: it might be eager, or it might have been composed in the same tight, frantic manner of the explanation above. He does not want a repeat of last night.
First, he stalls: ]
I can imagine.
[ He remembers Stanley's help at the party, when he had been notably altered by Deerington and Ford had been... charmingly off-kilter. Hiding a red face behind one broad hand. He thinks of that now and tries to take pity. ]
Then shall we plan for lunch on Monday?
[ It's their usual routine, no more intimate than their friendship has been since they first discovered the cafe in November. Standing alone, this might look too firmly like a step backwards, so Ozpin follows it up: ]
And dinner again whenever you'd like. It was good to have the excuse to cook.
[ Ford, at least, is hopeful that they're still doing this. Taxes aren't something he'd consider pivotal to a relationship, but they're still fun, and there are plenty of stages of intimacy preceding them that he'd still like to indulge in. He and Ozpin had reached approximately none of those stages last night.
Something as simple as lunch does, indeed, read like a step back. Ford doesn't take it poorly, however. Last night's abrupt ending was probably unpleasant for both of them. Taking a step back makes sense.
It also makes it a pleasant surprise when he extends an invitation for a second dinner. That's good, right? That has to be good. Ford just has to not fuck up lunch and things will be fine. ]
Lunch on Monday sounds perfect.
And then dinner next time we're both free?
[ As soon as he sends that last message it strikes him that it's almost certainly overeager and presumptuous but... well, it's not like he can take it back. ]
[ Overeager is a far sight better than last night had been, and Ozpin will take it gladly. Lunch seems a good way to find their footing again, and from there... it seems they're both willing to give it another try. ]
Certainly.
I will see you then.
[ This... will take a good deal of working through, he is realizing. It may not be a simple progression, and they are in the awkward phases now. But there is something exciting about having a relationship to work on. There is something exciting about, well, having reason to care.
It sounds rather trite to say that he feels alive when he is with Stanford, and yet it is true. Ozpin has preached a great deal of advice about the bonds one forms with others, the importance of those connections. Through the millennia, his tendency to follow that advice has waxed and waned. It feels as though he may be approaching a crest again now.
It's a terrifying thing to realize. But he had not lied to Qrow: forming bonds with others is not only something he is capable of, but something he needs to survive. Eternity would not be bearable without it. The world is far brighter with Stanford's enthusiasm at his side.
He knows what the flatline buzz of apathy feels like, and knows that it is almost indistinguishable from despair. He has spent whole centuries numb; he has quite recently known the panicked urge to hide away from everything.
It is... disconcerting, but good, to live this instead. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
done
Also, Ruby sent me a message asking asking if we were doing our taxes last night?
I wasn't really sure how to respond.
1/idk (* feb 27th)
So can we talk is actually a relief to see. ]
2/6
A lot of texts.
Ozpin holds his Fluid and watches them roll in. ]
3/6
Promising. This lends credence to the theory that he touched on— trauma? A discomfort with certain types of intimacy? Both? A misstep, to be sure, but perhaps one that could have been recoverable.
"Most people only have five fingers on each hand."
Oh.
It's at this point that Ozpin realizes he has never made mention of Stanford's hands. There simply hadn't been the time or energy, in the height of October's bloodbath. Past that point, they'd formed too comfortable an acquaintance for it to be worth remarking upon. Ozpin has known people with stranger deformities. He has been people with appearances remarkable enough to cause some social difficulty.
"I'm not used to receiving attention for them that isn't extremely negative."
This does not quite clarify whether making a move overall was a mistake, but it certainly gives some guidance as to how he should tread more carefully, if they are to try this again.
And the lack of human contact does explain some things. ]
4/6
He begins to type out a response, but pauses when he sees another message coming in— ]
5/6
6/7 i lied
Ozpin is aware that he's looking at the text version of last night's tense outpouring of information. He is less sure how best to navigate it, but there at least seems a reasonable way to start. ]
It's alright, Stanford. Thank you for telling me.
I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn't my intention.
I did have a very nice evening all the same.
7/7
Ruby seems to have invented a language of euphemisms all her own.
I would not pay it much mind.
no subject
... Okay, it ruined a lot, but if their friendship can recover from Ford springing a drawing of Ozpin's dead children on him it can recover from a bad date.
Even one where they apparently missed out on 'doing their taxes'. That's... a very strange euphemism, but the fact that it is a euphemism tells Ford all he needs to know. And knowing that is enough to quite thoroughly distract him from the subject at hand. They should probably talk a little more about the hand thing, but... ]
I see.
She seemed very insistent on knowing if her matchmaking efforts had been successful.
I worry what might happen if she and my niece ever meet.
no subject
That does not surprise me. Oscar has been similarly enthusiastic.
[ As has Qrow and every spectator in the groupchat, for that matter, but Ozpin will leave that alone. ]
The support is certainly charming, if a bit... overbearing.
no subject
Well, given what Ford learned of their apparent connection last week, that's not too surprising. ]
Overbearing is a good word for it. Stanley's insisted on 'helping' as well.
[ Then again, on the other hand: ]
But I can't say I don't appreciate the end result of efforts.
I had a nice evening as well, even if it ended prematurely.
no subject
They are still doing this, then. He'd thought so, from the inclusion of "I didn't want to leave," but it is good to be sure. He would not have been surprised to open a text from Stanford today saying that they should simply remain friends. That... doesn't seem to be the direction here.
There is a delay as Ozpin considers his next message. Anything to the tune of would you like to try again would carry implications he does not actually mean to convey. Taxes have never been a high priority for him, so to speak. He cannot remotely read the tone of that last message: it might be eager, or it might have been composed in the same tight, frantic manner of the explanation above. He does not want a repeat of last night.
First, he stalls: ]
I can imagine.
[ He remembers Stanley's help at the party, when he had been notably altered by Deerington and Ford had been... charmingly off-kilter. Hiding a red face behind one broad hand. He thinks of that now and tries to take pity. ]
Then shall we plan for lunch on Monday?
[ It's their usual routine, no more intimate than their friendship has been since they first discovered the cafe in November. Standing alone, this might look too firmly like a step backwards, so Ozpin follows it up: ]
And dinner again whenever you'd like. It was good to have the excuse to cook.
no subject
Something as simple as lunch does, indeed, read like a step back. Ford doesn't take it poorly, however. Last night's abrupt ending was probably unpleasant for both of them. Taking a step back makes sense.
It also makes it a pleasant surprise when he extends an invitation for a second dinner. That's good, right? That has to be good. Ford just has to not fuck up lunch and things will be fine. ]
Lunch on Monday sounds perfect.
And then dinner next time we're both free?
[ As soon as he sends that last message it strikes him that it's almost certainly overeager and presumptuous but... well, it's not like he can take it back. ]
no subject
Certainly.
I will see you then.
[ This... will take a good deal of working through, he is realizing. It may not be a simple progression, and they are in the awkward phases now. But there is something exciting about having a relationship to work on. There is something exciting about, well, having reason to care.
It sounds rather trite to say that he feels alive when he is with Stanford, and yet it is true. Ozpin has preached a great deal of advice about the bonds one forms with others, the importance of those connections. Through the millennia, his tendency to follow that advice has waxed and waned. It feels as though he may be approaching a crest again now.
It's a terrifying thing to realize. But he had not lied to Qrow: forming bonds with others is not only something he is capable of, but something he needs to survive. Eternity would not be bearable without it. The world is far brighter with Stanford's enthusiasm at his side.
He knows what the flatline buzz of apathy feels like, and knows that it is almost indistinguishable from despair. He has spent whole centuries numb; he has quite recently known the panicked urge to hide away from everything.
It is... disconcerting, but good, to live this instead. ]