It had been easy for Glynda at first. She likes things to be neat and tidy and is good at compartmentalizing, and both traits are out in force for the first few months. She cares about Ozpin and doesn't care at all for Ozymandias, and treats them both accordingly. There has always been a layer of formality and polite distance between herself and Ozpin, but it pales in comparison to the chilliness in her demeanor whenever she knows that Ozymandias is in control.
It doesn't last long. Glynda is quick to realize that the situation isn't neat and tidy or easily compartmentalized. More and more often she finds herself addressing Ozpin when she expects to be speaking to the King, or the King when she thinks Ozpin must be in control. Sometimes there's no way to tell them apart at all, and increasingly it seems that they're both at the same time. Attempts to address it fall flat. Requests to speak with Ozpin are increasingly met with reassurances, given in solemn, stately tones, that he is Ozpin. Glynda isn't used to feeling so completely useless, but by the end of her first year the knowledge that there's nothing she can do to help is inescapable.
So she switches gears. Most people, she knows, look at them and can only see the King. She stubbornly refuses to see anyone but her childhood friend. She addresses them as Ozpin at all times and as 'the King' only when necessary. On days when the fragmentation is especially severe and there's no sign of her friend at all Glynda will occasionally, spitefully, call him Ozymandias with no more respect or formality than she'd show to any other student, and certainly no title. It doesn't help, and she knows that. She's come to realize that one day there won't be anything left to distinguish the two, and that the sooner she actually comes to terms with it the better it will be for both (all) of them. But she's young and she's stubborn and she has no idea how else to come to grips with the slow disappearance of her friend. For now, being petty helps.
Her teammates help, too. Nilla's easygoing personality means she strikes most as an odd choice for leader, but she's clever and observant and it turns out that 'easygoing' can also mean 'level headed'. Lucasta is charming and friendly in a way that Glynda often finds mystifying, and her talent for smoothing over difficult situations is nothing short of astonishing. Thalia is often harried and anxious, but she's kind and attentive and always reliable. Glynda accepts their team assignment knowing they'll need to work together and prepares herself to set aside her personal feelings to make it happen. She doesn't expect camaraderie to come so easily, nor run so deep, nor for the three of them to provide much needed warmth and stability on days when she's stressed over secrets that aren't hers to share. She works hard, throwing herself into her studies with the same single-minded intensity that had pushed her towards Beacon in the first place, but in between classes and assignments and missions she makes friends. She has fun.
The dance isn't something she's expecting to especially enjoy, but she attends with only the most mild of prompting from Nilla and Thalia. She's loses track of her team almost immediately - Lucasta arrived before the rest of them and Thalia and Nilla are quick to split off to find Argent and 'bother Keppel', respectively - but hardly finds herself alone. She catches up with friends, meets several students from Atlas, drinks more spiked punch than she probably should, and ends up agreeing when Alva insists on teaching her a specific dance.
It's immediately after said dance, while Glynda is caught up in a conversation with Alva and several classmates and straddling the line between pleasantly tipsy and simply drunk, that Nilla makes a sudden reappearance. Glynda turns to her, but any greeting she might have offered dies when she hears Nilla's muttered question.
"Is he gonna be okay?"
Glynda follows Nilla's gaze, curious, but that curiosity evaporates when she spots Ozpin, flocked by freshmen (not unusual) and looking like he's about to fall over (very unusual). Glynda heaves a sigh drains the rest of her drink (she probably shouldn't, but she does anyway) then passes the empty cup to Nilla with a promise to return shortly. She's not so tipsy that she can't walk in a straight line, but she does find herself wishing for a touch more sobriety or, at the very least, a dress with a back. Even so, she cuts through the cluster of freshmen with ease and walks right up to Ozpin, fearless as ever. She rests a hand on his arm, partly to catch his attention but mostly to forestall any further drinking. He's clearly had too much already.
"Ozpin." Her tone isn't unkind, but it's firm in a way that suggests she's not going to be happy if he ignores her. "Let's step outside for a bit." A walk to sober up would be enough, but right now she fully intends to drag him back to his room and dump him in his bed.
He has rather lost his train of thought, but is continuing on full-steam regardless, when a hand settles on his arm. This does, in fact, prevent him from raising his cup again, and Ozpin looks to see who would dare with some curiosity. People do not touch him, generally. Not outside of a fight, and these days, he always wins his fights.
"Glynda." He slurs her name with relish. She looks very good in that dress, and it swings his attention to her full-bore, his gaggle of freshmen forgotten. He is acutely aware of her shoulders, her neckline. This comes with the inexplicable urge to ask her to dance. Then he realizes that's the King, and that he is having none of the King just now, and he refocuses with visible effort. "By all means."
He gestures for her to lead on, and there is far more flourish in it than just-Ozpin ever would have managed. The look on his face is entirely too self-satisfied for just-Ozpin. But he allows himself to be steered readily enough, half a cup of horrid punch still in hand, walking with a tilt and a stumble. It simmers dread low in his chest, to so thoroughly lose his control, but what does it matter? He hasn't been in control for years now.
It's a good thing that he doesn't ask to dance, since he's drunk enough for Glynda to decline outright and who knows that sort of scene that might cause? The way he slurs her name, the excess of satisfaction in his expression, and the flourish in his gesture are all already enough to earn him an arched brow. She doubts it's a complete flip - whatever his flaws, Ozymandias does not strike her as the sort to get this drunk - but similarly doubts that this is solely the result of liquid courage.
But she doesn't have much time to focus on that, because she doesn't have much time to focus on anything except keeping the two of them upright. He's in no condition to walk a straight line and she's not quite sober enough to easily guide someone who totters with every step. They don't make it more than a few feet before she gives up and steps closer, slipping her arm through his and pressing their shoulders together. She tucks a stray strand of hair away as she does; her hairstyle tonight, a pair of asymmetrical braids wound into a loose bun, is both more complicated and less tidy than usual, and the silver chain clipped onto the style does nothing to hold anything in place.
"Do you usually go to parties to give history lessons?" Her tone is sarcastic, but edging towards amused despite herself. Belatedly, she reaches over with her free hand to try to snag that last cup of punch from him. She doesn't want him any drunker than he already is, and she definitely doesn't want him to spill it on her; her dress is a pale cream color that would stain in an instant.
"I am a history lesson," he says, a little less quietly than is advisable, given that they are still thronged by several dozen intoxicated teenagers. It comes out all amusement and very little bitterness, which is a nice side-effect of being astonishingly drunk. All the bitterness is very far away. He's put a nice, fuzzy sort of wall between it and him. It can't get to him here.
She snags the cup of punch, and it takes him several moments to realize it's no longer in his hand. Ozpin inspects her, and the stolen cup in her hand, for entirely too long a beat before he huffs a little laugh and leans more heavily upon her shoulder. He tips his head towards hers, so that his perpetually messy hair brushes her braids.
"I am going to insist upon better drinks, next time." It is very unclear what 'next time' he is picturing, but he looks very confident about it. "Beacon Academy," and he says it with such pride it's certainly not just-Ozpin behind the emotion, "is the best in the world. We can manage a better-- a selection of proper spirits."
He looks entirely ready to launch into an impassioned speech on just what the teenagers of Beacon should be drinking. If she doesn't stop him, she'll be subjected to an enthusiastic review of Remnant's wines and whiskeys, with all the experience of the King and all the clumsy eagerness of Ozpin. He is certainly Ozpin in the way he leans against her, happy and inelegant-- two things Ozymandias never seems to be.
Oz inspects her and Glynda stares right back, fearless as ever. She even makes a point of setting the drink aside on an unoccupied table as they pass, though by then Oz has given up and gone back to leaning on her. It's concerning that he's so drunk in the first place, and she knows the good cheer won't last once morning comes, but in some ways it's a relief to see him so thoroughly relaxed. Even if he's not just-Ozpin, even if there are clear shades of Ozymandias blurring in, surely it's fine to let him have this much for just an evening.
Still, he's making very loud commentary on subjects a student simply shouldn't know about. Glynda lets him talk, but she still hurries to usher him into the much emptier hallway outside the dance hall. It's quieter out here and his voice will carry more, but there are fewer people to hear.
"I'm sure the other students will appreciate the subtle notes of aged whiskey once it's been dumped into a bowl of fruit juice and soda." Surely Ozpin, even as drunk as he already is, sees the flaw in his plan. Still, the sharp edges of sarcasm have largely faded from her voice by now, replaced with more amusement and a relaxed sort of contentedness. She'd been a little aggravated by the prospect of escorting him away at first, but he's been so pleasant and cooperative it's all but impossible to hold on to that annoyance. "Now, do you think you can make it to you dorm, or do we need to find you a bench, first?"
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It doesn't last long. Glynda is quick to realize that the situation isn't neat and tidy or easily compartmentalized. More and more often she finds herself addressing Ozpin when she expects to be speaking to the King, or the King when she thinks Ozpin must be in control. Sometimes there's no way to tell them apart at all, and increasingly it seems that they're both at the same time. Attempts to address it fall flat. Requests to speak with Ozpin are increasingly met with reassurances, given in solemn, stately tones, that he is Ozpin. Glynda isn't used to feeling so completely useless, but by the end of her first year the knowledge that there's nothing she can do to help is inescapable.
So she switches gears. Most people, she knows, look at them and can only see the King. She stubbornly refuses to see anyone but her childhood friend. She addresses them as Ozpin at all times and as 'the King' only when necessary. On days when the fragmentation is especially severe and there's no sign of her friend at all Glynda will occasionally, spitefully, call him Ozymandias with no more respect or formality than she'd show to any other student, and certainly no title. It doesn't help, and she knows that. She's come to realize that one day there won't be anything left to distinguish the two, and that the sooner she actually comes to terms with it the better it will be for both (all) of them. But she's young and she's stubborn and she has no idea how else to come to grips with the slow disappearance of her friend. For now, being petty helps.
Her teammates help, too. Nilla's easygoing personality means she strikes most as an odd choice for leader, but she's clever and observant and it turns out that 'easygoing' can also mean 'level headed'. Lucasta is charming and friendly in a way that Glynda often finds mystifying, and her talent for smoothing over difficult situations is nothing short of astonishing. Thalia is often harried and anxious, but she's kind and attentive and always reliable. Glynda accepts their team assignment knowing they'll need to work together and prepares herself to set aside her personal feelings to make it happen. She doesn't expect camaraderie to come so easily, nor run so deep, nor for the three of them to provide much needed warmth and stability on days when she's stressed over secrets that aren't hers to share. She works hard, throwing herself into her studies with the same single-minded intensity that had pushed her towards Beacon in the first place, but in between classes and assignments and missions she makes friends. She has fun.
The dance isn't something she's expecting to especially enjoy, but she attends with only the most mild of prompting from Nilla and Thalia. She's loses track of her team almost immediately - Lucasta arrived before the rest of them and Thalia and Nilla are quick to split off to find Argent and 'bother Keppel', respectively - but hardly finds herself alone. She catches up with friends, meets several students from Atlas, drinks more spiked punch than she probably should, and ends up agreeing when Alva insists on teaching her a specific dance.
It's immediately after said dance, while Glynda is caught up in a conversation with Alva and several classmates and straddling the line between pleasantly tipsy and simply drunk, that Nilla makes a sudden reappearance. Glynda turns to her, but any greeting she might have offered dies when she hears Nilla's muttered question.
"Is he gonna be okay?"
Glynda follows Nilla's gaze, curious, but that curiosity evaporates when she spots Ozpin, flocked by freshmen (not unusual) and looking like he's about to fall over (very unusual). Glynda heaves a sigh drains the rest of her drink (she probably shouldn't, but she does anyway) then passes the empty cup to Nilla with a promise to return shortly. She's not so tipsy that she can't walk in a straight line, but she does find herself wishing for a touch more sobriety or, at the very least, a dress with a back. Even so, she cuts through the cluster of freshmen with ease and walks right up to Ozpin, fearless as ever. She rests a hand on his arm, partly to catch his attention but mostly to forestall any further drinking. He's clearly had too much already.
"Ozpin." Her tone isn't unkind, but it's firm in a way that suggests she's not going to be happy if he ignores her. "Let's step outside for a bit." A walk to sober up would be enough, but right now she fully intends to drag him back to his room and dump him in his bed.
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"Glynda." He slurs her name with relish. She looks very good in that dress, and it swings his attention to her full-bore, his gaggle of freshmen forgotten. He is acutely aware of her shoulders, her neckline. This comes with the inexplicable urge to ask her to dance. Then he realizes that's the King, and that he is having none of the King just now, and he refocuses with visible effort. "By all means."
He gestures for her to lead on, and there is far more flourish in it than just-Ozpin ever would have managed. The look on his face is entirely too self-satisfied for just-Ozpin. But he allows himself to be steered readily enough, half a cup of horrid punch still in hand, walking with a tilt and a stumble. It simmers dread low in his chest, to so thoroughly lose his control, but what does it matter? He hasn't been in control for years now.
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But she doesn't have much time to focus on that, because she doesn't have much time to focus on anything except keeping the two of them upright. He's in no condition to walk a straight line and she's not quite sober enough to easily guide someone who totters with every step. They don't make it more than a few feet before she gives up and steps closer, slipping her arm through his and pressing their shoulders together. She tucks a stray strand of hair away as she does; her hairstyle tonight, a pair of asymmetrical braids wound into a loose bun, is both more complicated and less tidy than usual, and the silver chain clipped onto the style does nothing to hold anything in place.
"Do you usually go to parties to give history lessons?" Her tone is sarcastic, but edging towards amused despite herself. Belatedly, she reaches over with her free hand to try to snag that last cup of punch from him. She doesn't want him any drunker than he already is, and she definitely doesn't want him to spill it on her; her dress is a pale cream color that would stain in an instant.
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She snags the cup of punch, and it takes him several moments to realize it's no longer in his hand. Ozpin inspects her, and the stolen cup in her hand, for entirely too long a beat before he huffs a little laugh and leans more heavily upon her shoulder. He tips his head towards hers, so that his perpetually messy hair brushes her braids.
"I am going to insist upon better drinks, next time." It is very unclear what 'next time' he is picturing, but he looks very confident about it. "Beacon Academy," and he says it with such pride it's certainly not just-Ozpin behind the emotion, "is the best in the world. We can manage a better-- a selection of proper spirits."
He looks entirely ready to launch into an impassioned speech on just what the teenagers of Beacon should be drinking. If she doesn't stop him, she'll be subjected to an enthusiastic review of Remnant's wines and whiskeys, with all the experience of the King and all the clumsy eagerness of Ozpin. He is certainly Ozpin in the way he leans against her, happy and inelegant-- two things Ozymandias never seems to be.
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Still, he's making very loud commentary on subjects a student simply shouldn't know about. Glynda lets him talk, but she still hurries to usher him into the much emptier hallway outside the dance hall. It's quieter out here and his voice will carry more, but there are fewer people to hear.
"I'm sure the other students will appreciate the subtle notes of aged whiskey once it's been dumped into a bowl of fruit juice and soda." Surely Ozpin, even as drunk as he already is, sees the flaw in his plan. Still, the sharp edges of sarcasm have largely faded from her voice by now, replaced with more amusement and a relaxed sort of contentedness. She'd been a little aggravated by the prospect of escorting him away at first, but he's been so pleasant and cooperative it's all but impossible to hold on to that annoyance. "Now, do you think you can make it to you dorm, or do we need to find you a bench, first?"