Professor Ozpin considered himself to be a reasonably independent man.

As headmaster of such a paramount fighting institution as Beacon Acadamy, that was not to say that he never relied on the aid of others. He deeply appreciated the constant help and unwavering support of his colleague, Glynda. He trusted old friends like Ironwood, Port, and Oobleck. He even allowed himself the gentle liberty to depend on them in countless times of need, be it dire or minuscule. However, while trust was tested and true faith in the quality of one's competence, it was also a double-edged blade smoldering within the labyrinthine crucible of man's mortal soul. Love. Betrayal. Strength. Frailty.

Though the able wings of dependability could carry one far beyond the heavens, it was best not to fly too close to the flame, lest all should follow Icarus' lead. As such, Ozpin made it a subtle notion of his to always brace himself for the worst. Alone. Independently.

However, despite his unwavering will and taciturn strength, there was just one substance on the terrestrial kingdom that the bespectacled Huntsman-turned-headmaster absolutely, positively depended on for his humble existence to maintain meaning and purpose:

Coffee.

Ozpin stared with a helplessly blank expression at the metal spigot hovering above his beige-colored mug. There was nothing particularly special about the spigot. It was attached to a metal canister, a simple yet effective amenity that facilities all across the world used for spontaneous access to their favorite beverages in times of need. The dispenser had a logo bearing the company slogan ("Drink time in no time!") as well as a fine-printed slew of other particularly helpful information ("Designed and manufactured at Chugg Factories, Vacuo"). Truth be told, there was absolutely nothing special about the drink dispenser except for the fact that it was not dispensing anything, save for the final drops of bitter refreshment.

Drip.

Drip.

The hypnotic staring contest between man and mug did not waver as the wooden door to the instructor's lounge slid open. "Good morning, Professor Ozpin. Now, I quite understand how frustrating it is to initiate a day with paperwork, but we absolutely must get these letters of recommendation signed before the deadlin-

Drip.

Seeing the man so firmly affixed to his rigid position in front of the beverage counter sent warning signals flashing into Glynda's cerebral quarters. Something was seriously wrong. And for some darned, unidentifiable reason, the blond intellectual had a toying suspicion that she knew what it was.

Drip.

"Professor Ozpin, if something is of issue, please do not hesitate to tell me," Goodwitch offered, executing a valiant stab at dialogue. Contrary to her wishes, she was met with nothing but silence.

Silence and a leaky coffee dispenser.

Drip.

Drip.

"Glynda, it would appear that there is no... coffee left." The man muttered the words almost in a trance, letting monotonous syllabus roll off his tongue. These sounds formed a menacing, horrifying, one-thousand-percent terrifying facet of reality that ominously hovered above the break room. Suddenly, the air acquired a dry and hollow taste.

Glynda fingered her riding crop nervously. Her dreaded suspicious had been confirmed.

"I'm afraid so, Professor Ozpin."

"Is... there... any more left in the storerooms?"

Goodwitch bit her lip. "No, sir. You see, while the efforts of our young Huntsmen and Huntresses have done much to help, the White Fang and their ringleader have seized control of many key suppliers of luxury and consumer goods, such as cookies, foreign pastries, chocolate, fine meats, expensive teas, and..." she gulped.

"Coffee."

Unabbreviated silence hung in the atmosphere, dangling on a fragile and intricate tightrope of nerves. Professor Ozpin maintained the same static body position. His countenance, however, was completely blanched. The full brunt of Goodwitch's explanation was cruelly sinking in, deepening the void begging to be repleted with rich, steaming espresso. Oh, how he so wished for a mere sip of that lovely drink, to be fully quenched with its dark accents and light subtlety of flavor! The pure emotional, physical, and spiritual balance one found in the welcoming musk of morning coffee! The power, the freedom, the absolutely maniacal necessity-

Ozpin faltered, upsetting his prized coffee mug in the process. His legs couldn't support him, knees couldn't stay locked, and arms couldn't command strength. Consequently, he leaned on the somewhat-comforting feeling of his omnipresent staff around his quivering, white hands. Oblivious to the piercing smash of shattered ceramic, the headmaster's eyes assumed a soulless gaze into an imaginary ocean of liquid brown. Bittersweet tides collapsed upon a creamy beach as he whispered one last word before lapsing into the murky waters of unconsciousness.

"Blasphemy."

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Aight, that was my first RWBY piece. If you like it, please drop a review or a fav (Much appreciated)! Heck, I might turn this from a short one-shot into something multi-chaptered if enough people are interested. Send me some prompts if you'd like via PM; I can do that kind of stuff. More RWBY soon, just need to figure out what to write about. =^_^=