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Private [Magic Hat] wouldn't be the first time

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December 25, Y109

@Qrow Branwen & @Scaramouche


You and your partner have woken up handcuffed together in a dimly lit space vaguely resembling a hotel room, with a bed and basic furnishings present, yet the door is shut and the only light seems a flickering lamp, and you are stuck on the floor. Neither one of you remembers what exactly happened the day/night before, or how you got where you are now. Do you know each other? Maybe, maybe not. But it doesn't matter now. All that matters is figuring out how to work together to get free of this situation, and continuing on with your lives.


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Things maybe weren't quite going Qrow's way in Pandora, but that wasn't exactly new. He was used to, if not numb to shit going sideways. With a Semblance like his, he couldn't really hope for anything else. But this? This was new. A life he had destroyed before he was ever even here. It would have been impressive, if it wasn't throwing him off. Making him question pretty much every damned aspect of himself. He thought he was loyal, but apparently he had it in him to cheat. He thought he put other people first, but apparently he was secretly a selfish piece of shit. The list was piling up, and Qrow was exhausted.

Originally he...had at least been entertaining the idea of cutting back on his drinking, just before Pandora. That dream was shot to hell, as he made a habit of going overboard whenever he could afford it these days. He liked the feeling of alcohol clouding reality until he didn't remember he was in Pandora before. Didn't remember that there was a Qrow here before him, that screwed over everyone and everything. It was nice.

Qrow opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar room around him; a headache immediately punching him in the gut. Careful swallowing action to follow, so he didn't just immediately throw up, upon waking up. Uhg. He was very-very-very hungover. Not a knew nor surprising feeling. The lack of knowing where he was, wasn't even that unusual. It'd...either come to him at some point or not. Didn't really matter either way.

He shifted a bit, wanting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. That's...when he felt it. Qrow was restrained. Gaze jumping to his wrist that was...handcuffed to another person.

He really, really wished this was the first time this happened.

"...Hey," he pulled on the handcuffs, "You awake?"

Might as well get to the bottom of whatever the hell was happening to him now.
 

Scaramouche

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There wasn't much that concerned him.

If you told him he'd wake up in a strange and unfamiliar room, he'd laugh and see where the wind takes him.
If you told him he'd wake up handcuffed to someone he'd never met while on the floor, he'd grin and make conversation.

But, if you told him that he'd be mysteriously pulled away at a moment's notice, without rhyme or reason, and without consent...

It was... best not to think too much on the unfortunate circumstance. Not when --

"Hey, you awake?"

Oh. Looks like his 'partner' was coming around and remembering he exists. Only took an eternity and a day -- but, y'know, alcohol.

Welp! Might as well see where the wind takes him this time, because there sure as shit wasn't anything else to do.

Metal bits and bobs faintly whined as a large figure roused in the somber gloom. "Well good mornin', Sleepin' Beauty~! Kind of ya to finally give the saw a rest. You still as drunk as a skunk, baby? Hope not, 'cause I don't do vomit." It was messy, tended to stick everywhere, and just... bleurgh, no! He shuddered just thinking about the nauseating smell. "Aaaaanywho~!" The bigger of the two strange bedfellows turned his head, if ever slightly, just so it'd catch a soft ray of flickering light from the room's lamp. It's sole functional lamp, mind. Guess this place never heard of maintenance. "With whom do I have the pleasure of bein' shacked up, babe? Got a name to that sullen face, handsome, or are ya just one of those nameless chunks of hunk in the background? Oh, and uh..." Rattle, rattle, rattle! "I wasn't kiddin' about the 'shacked up' part, babycakes, but somethin' tells me this ain't exactly your first rodeo." Why no, it wasn't the fact that his dark-haired companion had such a weak reaction (or lack of one) to their shared predicament. What ever gave you that idea? He shook his wrist for the added emphasis and fancied a snicker, "Ooh, kinky~! Pink is so my color. Really brings out my ojos."

Can't say much for the other guy's wardrobe, though.​
 
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As soon as the guy next to him started talking, Qrow regretted saying anything at all. Silence missed as soon as it slipped away. The flamboyant way of talking was just...a bit much for him right now. Qrow narrowing his eyes at the stranger next to him, trying to just...process what the fuck he was actualy saying, through all the flowery speech.

Wait...had they…?
No, then they'd be on the bed, not handcuffed together on the floor.
Probably.

His memory from the night before was shot.
The scene just familiar enough he knew not to make too many assumptions. Logic didn't exactly follow his actions when he was blackout drunk. At least he was fully clothed. There was some comfort in that.

"...Qrow," he sighed, glancing down at the...pink restraints.

Those weren't exactly the 'you're under arrest' type, but more the...fun sort. Things were not at all adding up in his favor. Great.

Right, there was a pile of other questions that he had let slip by.

"First off, I'm not going to throw up," he couldn't promise that, "Just hungover as hell right now. Not drunk. You...got a name? Or remember anything?" he asked, lifting his wrist a bit to examine their restraints, "Because I've got...nothin'."
 
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Scaramouche

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...Whew~! This fella suuuuure wasn't much for chit-chat.
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the radiant personality that just oozed 'help me, I need AA'. Either way, it was something.

And 'something' was better than a big, fat nothing burger.

"...Crow?" Cue the dubious echo (and ignorant spelling). Don't laugh, don't -- "...Hon~! Hon hon~!! Hon hon hoooooon~!" Ah well, can't win 'em all. The giggling was awful -- insufferable, even -- but it was thankfully short-lived. "What, as in like, 'caw caw, caw caw!' -- that kind of 'Crow'~?" You're shittin' me, right?" Just kidding. Mr. Shit-Faced wasn't the only one who lied. Jeering aside, it was time to converse with the sweet lil' birdie and see if he sang. "Boy..." the figure chuckled, redirecting his sights forward with a sharp, mechanical crank of his neck, "just when ya think you've heard it all, some hippies grab the nearest encyclopedia on baby day and go ham. Hey, you got a sister named Raven or Magpie, by any chance~? Just curious." It was an honest question.

"Just hungover as hell right now."

Oh, but that earned a derisive snort. "Pffft~! Biggest understatement of the freakin' century there, babu. I think I'm gettin' loaded just smellin' ya," he remarked. Like, who was Qrow foolin'? Certainly not tall, dark, and annoying! But, it was progress; a lil' bit of chatter to keep the ball rolling -- or a heap of dung, if preferred. The jury was still out. "Considerin' you're a walkin' 502 with a baaaad attitude," nice try on the speechcraft regarding Schrödinger's puke, but no dice, "I'm thinkin' you're one bottle short of an open bar~! But, yeah, I got a name. And it's a darn good one, too~!" You ready for this, Qrow? Of course you were, because you were handcuffed to Mr. Personality himself. The figure leaned over, lips pursed, and lovingly cooed, "It's Loosey-Goosey." Thank you, thank you! He's here all week, and, uh... forever, apparently. "Hon hon hon~! Nah, I'm just yankin' your chain, babe," in case it wasn't obvious. Though his tinny laughter did sound an awful lot like a dying gaggle. "The name's Scaramouche -- not that it particularly matters, 'cause I'm literally back at rock-freakin'-bottom. Seriously, baby! One second, I'm about to collect a big, fat paycheck after a scummy job well done; the next, I'm suddenly here, face down and bitin' the pillow while the universe takes me to Brown Town." Colorful, like the rest of him. He could only sigh at recent misfortunes and click his tongue, thinly-veiled irritation palpable, "Really harshes my mellow, you pickin' up what I'm throwin' down, baby? Why, it's enough to drive a hardworkin' guy to drink~!!" Oh wait.

Ah, but does he remember anything...? A good, good question.

Scaramouche shrugged, as whimsical and carefree as the summer breeze. "Weeeeeeell...~!" he dragged on, chuckling. "I dunno how to tell ya this, babycakes, but you and me?" The grinning dingbat pointed to Qrow and then himself with a cheeky wink. "We got it on like Donkey Kong!! Oh yeah, bay-bay~! Oo-ee, oo -- oh no, wait..." he cut the celebrations short; but not for long, for soon an insolent grin replaced his dismay. "That was with Roooook~!" You know, it wasn't too late for alcohol poisoning...

"In all seriousness though, Nevermore, I ain't got nothin' either," Scaramouche answered, settling down. ...Oh, was this dirt on his fingertips? He pretended to admire them and feign indifference. "Like I said, I'm just as lost, confused, and terribly rankled as you are~! Heck, I don't even know what rock I'm on, if you can believe that!" It was here that a pregnant pause filled the room, the notorious motormouth at odds with unspoken discomforts. Cherish the moment, for it was akin to the fabled unicorn -- beautiful, serene, fleeting. There was no guarantee of another. The gift of gab looked to the smaller man quietly, almost hopeful, as his exaggerated features reflected the room's sallow lighting. A frown lay nevertheless visible in the dark. "D... Do you?" Scaramouche tentatively asked.​
 
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That laugh was like fucking nails on a chalkboard. Qrow closing his eyes at the sound - making a point to try to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, so he didn't make himself a liar that quickly in front of this guy. Normally he was good with biting back being sick until he was alone, but with everything being...fucking confusing and annoying, he really couldn't make any promises.

So he just waited until the guy finished laughing about his name. Yeah, yeah, he knew it wasn't exactly a traditional name; both here and back home. Qrow not bothering to respond as he continued to poke at it; already deciding that no matter what, he wouldn't change into a bird in front of this asshole.

At the mention of Raven, however, he glanced over a bit too quickly. Was she here, or was that a joke?

"Fuck off," he didn't bother confirming that the joke was actually right. Yes, he knew. Twins with bird names. Plus they could actually turn into birds, thanks to Oz. Hilarious.

Qrow continued to just glare at the asshole as he went off about his name. Good, another bird joke. Before a name that sounded about as fake as his did to most people.

"Wouldn't be mocking my name, when yours sounds like a sneeze," he shook his head, finding his mood plummeting more by the second. He normally wasn't exactly chipper when he had a hangover, but this guy wasn't helping anything. At the stupidly vivid sex metaphors, he looked away - still trying to grasp at anything. Any fucking piece of what happened.

...Then the guy just flat out said it; Qrow pulling at the restraints again without thinking, as if it would let him finally get away.

It didn't work.

This...sort of thing wasn't that uncommon for Qrow. Less so now then it was a few years ago, when he made drinking himself stupid and waking up in a strangers bed, basically his profession. Wasn't exactly a high point for him. But most of the time it was women. And not...anyone like the person next to him.

"...You've got to be shitting me," his voice exhausted, before the asshole clarified he didn't actually know anything either. In fact, he didn't even seem to know he was in Pandora. Qrow glanced over at him; annoyance replaced by surprise.

"Pandora," he answered, "It's...essentially a different Universe that others dip into for whatever reason. And no, you can't go back," Qrow started going through his pockets with his free hand, "I was dropped in when I arrived. Literally broke my arm," there it was - a clothes pin. He didn't exactly have a use for them himself - just came in handy for moments like this.

...And with nieces that tended to need one at a moment's notice.

Qrow started to pick the lock, looking forward to being free from this guy as quickly as possible.
 
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Scaramouche

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Qrow Branwen. Probably.
"Fuck off."

Mmph~! It was a match made in Hell.

"Hey, don't throw a tantrum at me 'cause your kush-lovin' parents wanna see the world burn, one horrible name at a time~!" Scaramouche honked with laughter -- loudly. Insufferable as always, he leeeeeaned over and cooed at the hungover pissy-baby. (Smelled a helluva lot better, too...) "Aww, are you upset, babe? I'm sorry. Say, how 'bout we kiss and make up~? It's free on the first date!" Hey, the android will have you know that being unable to literally breathe made for great suckin' face. Waaaait a tick... Qrow did realize Scaramouche was a jive-talking funk-o-tron, right? Perhaps not. This place seemed woefully devoid of robotic folk... Anyway, what's this about a sneeze?

Scar-a-mouche...!!
Scar-a-mouche...!!


...Hm, no. That didn't quite roll off the tongue smoothly enough.

The android just kinda... stared at his plastered companion and made a lil' face -- as if the latter had the glaring indecency to cut a fresh wheel of Vieux-Boulogne in such dismal personal space. Like, rude!! "Yeeeeeah, I don't see it, baby..." Scaramouche frowned. Really, the tin-head was trying, even running multiple simulations concurrently, but... "Like, the fact that my name starts with an 'S' just doesn't lend itse -- ohhhhhh!!" And now the light bulb went off in Central Processing. "Oh! Oh, I get it~!" He immediately erupted into tinny guffawing; which was probably not what Qrow intended, but, y'know. "You were makin' a jooooooke~!! Well, ain'cha just a funny-bunny, 'cause here I thought you hadn't a single humerus in your entire body!" All right, that was enough nudging the poor S.O.B., because you can only beat a dead horse so much.

"What, you don't think I'm perfect one-night stand material, baby?" Scaramouche asked. He sounded mildly offended, but only mildly. "...Hmph, well, I think I'm perfect one-night stand material." Rassa-frassa, fricka-fracka! "I mean, my battery averages out a modest five days, so..."

Meh, organics! What did they know?

But yes, Pandora.
Pan-frickin'-dora.

Scaramouche quit staring down at himself and looked up, optics bright with innocence. "Who'da-what-now...?" Oh, right. Stuck in a giant sandbox without a shovel, kitty Almond Rocas as far as the eye can see. "You fell and broke your arm? Well that sucks~!" he chuckled. Ha ha, everybody point and laugh! Qrow broke his arm, the chingus. "Guess you don't roll so good, hm~?" That 'different universe' part, though...

Hearing the reconfirmation settled about as well as a gallon of milk left out for a week in the midst of July.

"Damn it!! I was afraid of that..." the android muttered strongly, glancing away. For what it's worth, Qrow wasn't lying. He was a crotchety piece of work and reeked of piss and vinegar, but the man was a veritable one. Besides, only an utter ding-dong would try and feed a whopper to a robot. Speaking of which... Scaramouche moaned and he groaned as the big-nosed honker lamented his current lot in life, his spindly limbs shuffling and his body restless. By the time he quit his melodramatic kvetching and remembered Qrow, the android shuffled to better face his unwilling partner-in-crime and rested dejectedly upon his abdomen, observing the man pull a MacGyver with a baleful stare. Both hands propped up his boxy chin, the robot's legs swaying idly to-and-fro. This was kinda like a sleepover, right? "Sigh, and to think... I lost my baby 'bot in the kerfluffle. I wonder if he'll be okay... He don't do too well by himself -- special needs, y'know? Anyway..."

He blew a gentle razz and casually flitted his optics to the handcuff wound tightly around Qrow's wrist. "Ooh, I just love a man who's good with his hands~!" Scaramouche purred, his metal lips pursed in the shape of a heart. Don't ask. "Wouldja like some help, babe? I know it's technically more macho uppin' your lock pickin' skill the hard way, but who has the time for that, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

Maybe not, because it would be supremely difficult ignoring the fact that the other half of the restraints was now somehow tethered to a leg of the bed frame.

This, too, was given a casual glance as Scaramouche returned his cyan sights upon a certain lil' birdie, waving his hand. His free hand.
"Hi, Qrow~! You done pickin' that lock yet? I'm kinda gettin' rusty..."

If Qrow was mad now, wait until he puts two and two together.​
 
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