arrival

[ The man who's just passed him the bowl of soup chuckles, as though the crass complaining is somehow both charming and familiar. Ozpin steps further into the little welcoming tent and takes a seat, cane resting at his side. It has been some time since Deerington, for him, and thus his hair has grown longer and his clothing more intricate— green waistcoat, fine gloves, all the things expected of a resident long settled into Trench. ]

To be the best of my knowledge... this one should be harmless.