Die

Qrow let out an exasperated sigh when he felt his scroll vibrate. Who the hell would be messaging him? He was on a mission for Ozpin and everyone knew it, so it had better be something damned impor—     ...Yeah, that was important enough to take a detour for. —     He smoothed his hair over after walking out of the alley and made his way into the tailor’s. A woman greeted him with a warm smile. “Good afternoon sir. What can I do for you?” Her soft, innocent blue eyes stabbed a knife into his chest, reminded him too much of the way Summer used to look at him. He shoved the thoughts away and forced himself back to the present.     “Custom order 38710.” He really didn’t have the patience or energy for anything else. Thankfully, the woman didn’t seem to take any offense and nodded as she headed into the back. She returned a moment later, holding a bag out to him. He put three hundred lien on the counter, knowing it’d far exceed the cost. The woman’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but he raised a hand. “Keep the change. Consider a tip or whatever.” This was priceless to him anyway, so it didn’t matter the cost.     “T-Thank you for your kindness, sir. I suppose I can consider it compensation for the difficulty in finding the fabric…” He just turned around and raised a hand before exiting the shop, heading to the nearby park. He sat on a bench and pulled out the bag’s contents, tears running down his cheeks.     It was a short red cloak, hemmed by sky blue, a faint rim of pure white carefully laid over it.     He wasn’t one to abide by Branwen tribal traditions anymore, but he’d be lying if he said this wouldn’t bring him some comfort. He’d always have a piece of Summer with him. The woman had made all of Summer’s cloaks, so he knew this would last a long time.