[At some point, Ozpin had carried him back to Clover's home. Enlisted the Spiritomb that had been hovering around to lull him to sleep, perhaps. Qrow doesn't really remember. He comes to with a start, and he jerks upright before a groan is pulled from his throat, a hand pressed against his side, fingers brushing against the burn scar there, under fabric that's ridden up. That's right....Ozpin had found him. And then...brought him here? He must have, because he wasn't able to call for help. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to remember. There's....a hazy image of Ozpin sitting with him in one of those streets, against a wall mercifully free of blood, but he wonders if he imagined that.
Trying to stand turns out to be an unfortunate choice; he's not healed enough for it yet, apparently. (There's a note from Ruby on his nightstand with a grumpy face that could've told him that much, whoops)
But he finds his Fluid set up next to him, powered up again--at least for the moment, and an impulse takes him.]
where are you?
Trying to stand turns out to be an unfortunate choice; he's not healed enough for it yet, apparently. (There's a note from Ruby on his nightstand with a grumpy face that could've told him that much, whoops)
But he finds his Fluid set up next to him, powered up again--at least for the moment, and an impulse takes him.]
where are you?
[ Ah. For a very long moment, Ozpin simply stares at this message. He does not know what to expect next: has something else gone wrong? Is this concern for his absence? Or has Qrow regained enough lucidity to regret accepting Ozpin's help, his comfort? He is aware that he overstepped.
But it October, and there is no ignoring a practical message. He texts back. ]
I am with Winter on Princess Drive.
[ I am safe. ]
Am I needed there?
But it October, and there is no ignoring a practical message. He texts back. ]
I am with Winter on Princess Drive.
[ I am safe. ]
Am I needed there?
[He's a little uncertain about doing this, honestly. In the time he and Ozpin have been renegotiating their relationship, he hasn't asked his former mentor for anything directly. It was true what Oscar had said, after all; it was best not to push.
But the only magic he has is to turn into a bird. He does not really know many people that aren't from Remnant, otherwise. Vyng does not consider his powers magic, and they're specific enough to be unlikely to apply.]
there's this kid on the network that needs help from someone with magic.
[He forwards a link]
i told her i knew someone i could ask
[Notably, he promised her nothing. He's not even sure if he should expect anything. After all, Ozpin had hidden his ability to create fresh water until the situation in October had grown truly dire, after all. Asking Ozpin to use it for a stranger's sake may well be asking too much. He'd feel worse if he didn't try, though.]
so
i'm asking
But the only magic he has is to turn into a bird. He does not really know many people that aren't from Remnant, otherwise. Vyng does not consider his powers magic, and they're specific enough to be unlikely to apply.]
there's this kid on the network that needs help from someone with magic.
[He forwards a link]
i told her i knew someone i could ask
[Notably, he promised her nothing. He's not even sure if he should expect anything. After all, Ozpin had hidden his ability to create fresh water until the situation in October had grown truly dire, after all. Asking Ozpin to use it for a stranger's sake may well be asking too much. He'd feel worse if he didn't try, though.]
so
i'm asking
Edited 2020-11-15 01:49 (UTC)
[He finds himself undefinably agitated after his conversation with Pyrrha. He hasn't told the whole story to anyone since that day in the snow, and he finds it frustrating that the first one he tells is the girl they chose to be Fall, the girl who got killed for their cause without ever knowing what what their cause really was. The girl who would've signed up to become a key piece in a chess match that could never be won. Even complaining about it with Glynda doesn't quite ease the itch that still burns under his skin, and he decides, ultimately, to take a walk to clear his head.
Until, anyway, he spots Ozpin sitting at one of the outdoor tables at a cafe, quietly reading some kind of book with a cup of cocoa at his side. He should just turn around and walk away, cool down before he faces Ozpin at all, but instead ... he does something pettier.
There is no warning but the sound of beating wings, but all at once a bird flutters in and snatches his glasses off his face in its beak, before fluttering off a few feet away. Staring right at Ozpin, as though daring him to say something.]
Until, anyway, he spots Ozpin sitting at one of the outdoor tables at a cafe, quietly reading some kind of book with a cup of cocoa at his side. He should just turn around and walk away, cool down before he faces Ozpin at all, but instead ... he does something pettier.
There is no warning but the sound of beating wings, but all at once a bird flutters in and snatches his glasses off his face in its beak, before fluttering off a few feet away. Staring right at Ozpin, as though daring him to say something.]
[Left outside the house is a dark blue basket. Inside is an associate of tea, chocolates, a box of lemon drops, a bottle of wine and a copy of Charles Dickens, Christmas Carol. A blue Tardis-shaped card attached to the basket says, 'Santa' in silver marker.]
[ Gerry is calling Ozpin on the phone, only because he knows from experience that most older people don't like to text. Or, at least, he assumes based on experience. Gertrude never really enjoyed texting, but she did enjoy a good old walkie-talkie once in a while.
Gerry will keep calling until Ozpin picks up, and when Ozpin does, Gerry will offer a bright and happy: ]
Congratulations!
Gerry will keep calling until Ozpin picks up, and when Ozpin does, Gerry will offer a bright and happy: ]
Congratulations!
[ Ozpin does pick up, mildly concerned to find Gerry's name on his Fluid; the young man does not generally contact him outside of work. The greeting he's met with is, therefore, a relief, but hardly what he'd expected. The wizard gives a soft, perplexed chuckle at the enthusiasm. ]
While I'm sure I am glad to receive it, what am I being congratulated for?
While I'm sure I am glad to receive it, what am I being congratulated for?
[ So the situation with Bill has gotten... weird. Definitely not good weird, but it's hard to tell if it's bad weird, which is more alarming than if he just knew. He's already told Ozpin some things about Bill, and this new flavor of weird seems like a good reason to finally bring him up to speed. Thus, early in the evening on on the 15th, Oz will get a message in his inbox. ]
Ozpin, could you meet with me when you're free? There's something I'd like to discuss.
Ozpin, could you meet with me when you're free? There's something I'd like to discuss.
[ But Ozpin doesn't respond. He doesn't respond that same evening, which is unusual but not necessarily alarming. He doesn't respond the next morning, either, which is decidedly more strange but not yet cause for panic.
When nearly 24 hours pass without an answer, Ford is finally concerned enough to try again. ]
In case my last message didn't go through, there's something I need to tell you as soon as possible. I'd prefer to talk in person if possible.
When nearly 24 hours pass without an answer, Ford is finally concerned enough to try again. ]
In case my last message didn't go through, there's something I need to tell you as soon as possible. I'd prefer to talk in person if possible.
[ Ford calls instead of texting, for once, and when he speaks his usual excited energy is totally absent from his tone. ]
Ozpin, there's something I'd like to ask you.
Ozpin, there's something I'd like to ask you.
[ Ozpin has seen the post.
He... has many questions. Perhaps the loudest among them is baffled, almost indignant: that is what a demon looks like?
On the heels of that, in a tone of rather more desperation: why are you working with him?
Stanford had warned him, explicitly and repeatedly, about the thing known as Bill Cipher. Stanford had warned him very specifically against helping Bill to further his goals. Stanford had warned him about portals.
It is a relief to pick up the phone with Stanford's name on the screen. That tone in his voice, though, only makes something in Oz's chest drop out again with dread. When he replies, he sounds wary. ]
... I've seen the announcement. [ And your involvement in it goes unsaid. ] I take it this is related?
He... has many questions. Perhaps the loudest among them is baffled, almost indignant: that is what a demon looks like?
On the heels of that, in a tone of rather more desperation: why are you working with him?
Stanford had warned him, explicitly and repeatedly, about the thing known as Bill Cipher. Stanford had warned him very specifically against helping Bill to further his goals. Stanford had warned him about portals.
It is a relief to pick up the phone with Stanford's name on the screen. That tone in his voice, though, only makes something in Oz's chest drop out again with dread. When he replies, he sounds wary. ]
... I've seen the announcement. [ And your involvement in it goes unsaid. ] I take it this is related?
[ It is chaos.
His cane is lost, and he can find it nowhere in the expanse of orange sand. He has no time to try, really. Ozpin is left only with the magic he can draw into his hands, and even that flickers and sputters as Oscar, on some other layer of the dream, draws on the same. Oz can still feel him faintly, the boy's emotions just at the edge of his awareness.
He tries to keep in contact even as he backs away from the Mayor's tentacles, even as he dodges shards of blood thrown by the Queen. There is no more doorway at his back: there is nothing but endless orange sand, and Stanford, bleeding heavily. ]
'Oscar. Oscar. Can you hear me?'
His cane is lost, and he can find it nowhere in the expanse of orange sand. He has no time to try, really. Ozpin is left only with the magic he can draw into his hands, and even that flickers and sputters as Oscar, on some other layer of the dream, draws on the same. Oz can still feel him faintly, the boy's emotions just at the edge of his awareness.
He tries to keep in contact even as he backs away from the Mayor's tentacles, even as he dodges shards of blood thrown by the Queen. There is no more doorway at his back: there is nothing but endless orange sand, and Stanford, bleeding heavily. ]
'Oscar. Oscar. Can you hear me?'
'Yeah... somehow...'
[He couldn't define it. Every snap of electricity around them as the portals collapsed, every thread of power he felt at his finger tips as he worked to protect his friends and everyone's hard work, made his foundations crumble further and threaten to drag him off his feet. The interminable ticking in the back of his mind had grown erratic, more desperate--
Each breath felt like his last.]
'Where are you? I can barely feel you! This is all crazy!'
[He couldn't define it. Every snap of electricity around them as the portals collapsed, every thread of power he felt at his finger tips as he worked to protect his friends and everyone's hard work, made his foundations crumble further and threaten to drag him off his feet. The interminable ticking in the back of his mind had grown erratic, more desperate--
Each breath felt like his last.]
'Where are you? I can barely feel you! This is all crazy!'
[ He wakes up in a field of silver grass, and understands immediately.
The world is cast in a vague and peaceful twilight. It is not that everything feels unreal, but it feels less, as though all emotion has been gentled down to a quiet hum. The strange deer-creature looks like a Grimm, with its black body and the white mask of its face, but it sparks no fear in him. It gazes at him and Ozpin, feeling strangely laid bare, strangely small, looks back.
It is all familiar, in a way that wells up a sweet ache within his chest. The fields and the sky may be foreign to him, but this sense of peace... it is very much like a place he visited, once. A very long time ago.
He never thought he would feel it again.
The deer-creature tilts its head at him, and its antlers are not quite like His antlers. This sense of calm is not like that sense of awe. It does not speak in a resonant voice; it does not speak at all. Instead, it merely holds out a long-fingered hand to him, and in its indistinct palm is an apple. Against the shades of silver, it is red as hot spilled blood.
The moment hangs long and heavy. In the peace of this place, Ozpin feels almost as though he is floating; there is something softly buoyant about it. Comforting. The deer-creature makes no other move: it simply sits and awaits his choice, apple in hand.
It is the same choice he's regretted a thousand times before. It is not a choice he's ever been offered since.
Ozpin shuts his eyes. ]
I think... I would like to rest a while, first.
[ Deerington's God of Death closes its fingers around the apple, and inclines its head. In the quiet twilight, Ozpin goes to sit beneath the tree.
He can watch the stars from here. The moon is bright, and sweet, and full. ]
The world is cast in a vague and peaceful twilight. It is not that everything feels unreal, but it feels less, as though all emotion has been gentled down to a quiet hum. The strange deer-creature looks like a Grimm, with its black body and the white mask of its face, but it sparks no fear in him. It gazes at him and Ozpin, feeling strangely laid bare, strangely small, looks back.
It is all familiar, in a way that wells up a sweet ache within his chest. The fields and the sky may be foreign to him, but this sense of peace... it is very much like a place he visited, once. A very long time ago.
He never thought he would feel it again.
The deer-creature tilts its head at him, and its antlers are not quite like His antlers. This sense of calm is not like that sense of awe. It does not speak in a resonant voice; it does not speak at all. Instead, it merely holds out a long-fingered hand to him, and in its indistinct palm is an apple. Against the shades of silver, it is red as hot spilled blood.
The moment hangs long and heavy. In the peace of this place, Ozpin feels almost as though he is floating; there is something softly buoyant about it. Comforting. The deer-creature makes no other move: it simply sits and awaits his choice, apple in hand.
It is the same choice he's regretted a thousand times before. It is not a choice he's ever been offered since.
Ozpin shuts his eyes. ]
I think... I would like to rest a while, first.
[ Deerington's God of Death closes its fingers around the apple, and inclines its head. In the quiet twilight, Ozpin goes to sit beneath the tree.
He can watch the stars from here. The moon is bright, and sweet, and full. ]
[ Ford wakes up Thursday afternoon and feels awful. Physically, mentally, emotionally - if there's a way to feel terrible he's going through it right now. The bulk of the afternoon is spent with his family, everyone feeling guilty and miserable in turns once the information that both Ford and Dipper had died comes to light. Stan and Dipper are without a doubt Ford's priority, but they're not the only ones he feels compelled to reach out to.
Once night has fallen and Ford has been left alone with his thoughts (and a thermos of soup that's utter agony to try to drink) he finally digs his Fluid back out. It takes a while to type out his message; he can't stop shivering, his vision keeps blurring, and it's hard to decide what to say. He settles on something eventually. It feels horribly inadequate, but it'll have to do. ]
I should have realized Bill was going to betray us.
I shouldn't have asked for your help with something so dangerous.
I'm sorry.
[ Unlike the last time Ford contacted Ozpin and didn't get a prompt response, this time there's no follow-up messages. As far as Ford is concerned, silence in the kindest response he can expect. ]
Once night has fallen and Ford has been left alone with his thoughts (and a thermos of soup that's utter agony to try to drink) he finally digs his Fluid back out. It takes a while to type out his message; he can't stop shivering, his vision keeps blurring, and it's hard to decide what to say. He settles on something eventually. It feels horribly inadequate, but it'll have to do. ]
I should have realized Bill was going to betray us.
I shouldn't have asked for your help with something so dangerous.
I'm sorry.
[ Unlike the last time Ford contacted Ozpin and didn't get a prompt response, this time there's no follow-up messages. As far as Ford is concerned, silence in the kindest response he can expect. ]
[ It is late morning now, and the initial panic has settled somewhat. So has the chaos of Ruby attempting her morning routine with an unintended passenger in tow. They are not functioning well enough as a partnership to, for example, shower or consider longterm implications without a great deal of fuss and denial, but things have calmed enough to discuss the obvious:
Ozpin has been absent three days longer than is usual. Those close to him will be worried. Even if they are not prepared to accept this situation as potentially permanent and face those around them as a unified front, they should at least check Ozpin's messages.
When they sign into un: beacon, this is what they find waiting for them. ]
'...'
[ From the back of Ruby's mind, Ozpin eddies a low, guilty ache of emotion. He undertook the mission as a Huntsman, and failed it as a Huntsman, and can hold no ill will against the man who died at his side. He is acutely aware of how Stanford responded to his last delay, and the idea that the man is again taking his silence as an intentional dismissal is... not ideal. ]
'Ruby. Will you relay a message for me? I would like Stanford to know that I do not hold him responsible for the situation. I am only sorry that I was not able to uphold the promises I made.'
[ It is said in distant, somber tones. Bleeding through their connection is something much more raw. ]
Ozpin has been absent three days longer than is usual. Those close to him will be worried. Even if they are not prepared to accept this situation as potentially permanent and face those around them as a unified front, they should at least check Ozpin's messages.
When they sign into un: beacon, this is what they find waiting for them. ]
'...'
[ From the back of Ruby's mind, Ozpin eddies a low, guilty ache of emotion. He undertook the mission as a Huntsman, and failed it as a Huntsman, and can hold no ill will against the man who died at his side. He is acutely aware of how Stanford responded to his last delay, and the idea that the man is again taking his silence as an intentional dismissal is... not ideal. ]
'Ruby. Will you relay a message for me? I would like Stanford to know that I do not hold him responsible for the situation. I am only sorry that I was not able to uphold the promises I made.'
[ It is said in distant, somber tones. Bleeding through their connection is something much more raw. ]
Edited 2021-02-14 07:58 (UTC)
[Losing someone in Deerington for real is an uniquely unsettling experience. Qrow is not among the contingent of his fellow Huntsmen to have lost limbs in the field, or he may compare it to such a thing. Instead, the closest analogy seems to be as though there were a step missing in the staircase that comprises his day to day routine, and even though he's aware of its absence, he keeps stepping as though it is still there...and needing to correct his gait before he goes tumbling down, again and again.
He'd thought the matter would be laid to rest once he checked Ozpin's place to determine if the wizard has simply been sent back to Remnant, but even then the wizard's shadow upon him doesn't fade. Not entirely. The oddest things seem to set him off. Qrow will walk by a cafe with outdoor seating and think of that day he kept watch on Ford and Oz's outing, after the wizard had returned to Deerington with broken ribs and too many other bruises. He'll hear a crackling fireplace and find his hand drifting to the burn scar on his abdomen from October, when Ozpin saved his life by burning his wound shut. He'll spot someone wearing glasses or an orange scarf and find his heart leap into his throat for a bare moment before he realizes their hair isn't a silvery white, or their laugh is wrong. He accidentally stares, sometimes, but never comes close enough to be asked what he's doing. Qrow was always an excellent spy, after all.
Qrow is no stranger to loss, or the way that everything is raw at the beginning, the live-wire electricity of shock and pain that wraps around your heart. The way you draw away from everything that can remind you of your grief while simultaneously sticking your finger in the metaphorical outlet just to reassure yourself that there is still something to feel, that there is something left of them you can reach for. He's lived with that feeling for more of his life than not, drowned it with liquor more than he cares to admit. But it's different in Deerington.
Occasionally, he'll check the network, and find Ozpin's Staggr and DeerlyBeloved still there. Sometimes, he succumbs to the urge to fly up to Ozpin's bedroom window and check if his things are still there. In Deerington, people aren't supposed to stay dead. Ozpin, in particular, is not supposed to stay dead. There's something about it that's wrong on a visceral, fundamental level. The immortal Ozpin, the infinite man was dead. On some level it should terrify him on a much more existential level; without Ozpin to hold the line of his endless stalemate with Salem, the planet was done for. They would likely not last out their lifetime. It does, in a way. He feared exactly these kinds of implications the moment he'd heard of the plan to force the doors between Deerington and all other universes open. He's feared the possibility of being forced to return for months now. But ultimately, it is not that anxiety that sets him wrongfooted when he walks by the window of the Bookstore where he shopped for a holiday present for Ozpin, when he sees a volume of fairytales in the window.
It is not that anxiety that compels him to buy it, or to wander out to the junkyard and lay it at the base of his statue like flowers on a grave.
It is not that anxiety that finally, ultimately, contracts the muscles in his chest and stomach into a strangled sob, that have his shoulders quivering in grief as he covers his face, heedless of the fact that nobody is here to see.
It is that in Deerington, there are second chances. He may not be able to keep all of his loved ones safe all or even most of the time, but when he fails to protect them, it doesn't have to be the end. But Ozpin has had literal thousands of chances, and he's grown weary of them. He can now be free, and Qrow will never see him again.
(Meeting you was the worst luck of my life. Words said in anger and resentment that Qrow has steadily lost the vehemence for, over time, until they stopped feeling true at all -- so slowly that even now he has not noticed it, heart too laden with grief to begin to process forgiveness as a concept)
His face is red and flushed when he rubs his eyes and looks up, intending to leave, to get some distance from the statue before he tears himself apart over another empty grave. He had intended to leave, that is, until shimmers of violet light gather and coalesce before him, rebuilding bones, then sinews and muscle and skin and Qrow can't help but remain on his knees, transfixed as Ozpin's body takes shape before him.
When it is all finished, the wizard's chest moves--up, then down--while Qrow's is still. Hazel-brown eyes flicker open, and suddenly Qrow understands exactly what Ozpin meant when he'd said that his gift of transformation magic was to release them from the burden of their bodies, because he absolutely does not bother with the fiasco of forcing his limbs to coordinate for standing or walking. He flutters over to Ozpin as a bird, ebony feathers soft against his chest as Qrow perches there a moment, feeling the rhythmic thump of the man's heart against his own, faster in this form than his typical body.
It's soothing. He doesn't know what to say, having only just begun to mourn. But like this, it can wait just a little bit longer. For this brief, ephemeral twilight, they can comfort each other without the oppressive weight of their words and their regrets--Ozpin is allowed these bare moments more to be just a man before he willingly steps back into his own shackles. Qrow need not be his soldier or his spy or his agent, need not bear the burden of their history or the weight of the bridges they've worked to rebuild. He can simply be, like this. And when it is needed, he will take Ozpin home, and then the time for words may come. But not yet.]
He'd thought the matter would be laid to rest once he checked Ozpin's place to determine if the wizard has simply been sent back to Remnant, but even then the wizard's shadow upon him doesn't fade. Not entirely. The oddest things seem to set him off. Qrow will walk by a cafe with outdoor seating and think of that day he kept watch on Ford and Oz's outing, after the wizard had returned to Deerington with broken ribs and too many other bruises. He'll hear a crackling fireplace and find his hand drifting to the burn scar on his abdomen from October, when Ozpin saved his life by burning his wound shut. He'll spot someone wearing glasses or an orange scarf and find his heart leap into his throat for a bare moment before he realizes their hair isn't a silvery white, or their laugh is wrong. He accidentally stares, sometimes, but never comes close enough to be asked what he's doing. Qrow was always an excellent spy, after all.
Qrow is no stranger to loss, or the way that everything is raw at the beginning, the live-wire electricity of shock and pain that wraps around your heart. The way you draw away from everything that can remind you of your grief while simultaneously sticking your finger in the metaphorical outlet just to reassure yourself that there is still something to feel, that there is something left of them you can reach for. He's lived with that feeling for more of his life than not, drowned it with liquor more than he cares to admit. But it's different in Deerington.
Occasionally, he'll check the network, and find Ozpin's Staggr and DeerlyBeloved still there. Sometimes, he succumbs to the urge to fly up to Ozpin's bedroom window and check if his things are still there. In Deerington, people aren't supposed to stay dead. Ozpin, in particular, is not supposed to stay dead. There's something about it that's wrong on a visceral, fundamental level. The immortal Ozpin, the infinite man was dead. On some level it should terrify him on a much more existential level; without Ozpin to hold the line of his endless stalemate with Salem, the planet was done for. They would likely not last out their lifetime. It does, in a way. He feared exactly these kinds of implications the moment he'd heard of the plan to force the doors between Deerington and all other universes open. He's feared the possibility of being forced to return for months now. But ultimately, it is not that anxiety that sets him wrongfooted when he walks by the window of the Bookstore where he shopped for a holiday present for Ozpin, when he sees a volume of fairytales in the window.
It is not that anxiety that compels him to buy it, or to wander out to the junkyard and lay it at the base of his statue like flowers on a grave.
It is not that anxiety that finally, ultimately, contracts the muscles in his chest and stomach into a strangled sob, that have his shoulders quivering in grief as he covers his face, heedless of the fact that nobody is here to see.
It is that in Deerington, there are second chances. He may not be able to keep all of his loved ones safe all or even most of the time, but when he fails to protect them, it doesn't have to be the end. But Ozpin has had literal thousands of chances, and he's grown weary of them. He can now be free, and Qrow will never see him again.
(Meeting you was the worst luck of my life. Words said in anger and resentment that Qrow has steadily lost the vehemence for, over time, until they stopped feeling true at all -- so slowly that even now he has not noticed it, heart too laden with grief to begin to process forgiveness as a concept)
His face is red and flushed when he rubs his eyes and looks up, intending to leave, to get some distance from the statue before he tears himself apart over another empty grave. He had intended to leave, that is, until shimmers of violet light gather and coalesce before him, rebuilding bones, then sinews and muscle and skin and Qrow can't help but remain on his knees, transfixed as Ozpin's body takes shape before him.
When it is all finished, the wizard's chest moves--up, then down--while Qrow's is still. Hazel-brown eyes flicker open, and suddenly Qrow understands exactly what Ozpin meant when he'd said that his gift of transformation magic was to release them from the burden of their bodies, because he absolutely does not bother with the fiasco of forcing his limbs to coordinate for standing or walking. He flutters over to Ozpin as a bird, ebony feathers soft against his chest as Qrow perches there a moment, feeling the rhythmic thump of the man's heart against his own, faster in this form than his typical body.
It's soothing. He doesn't know what to say, having only just begun to mourn. But like this, it can wait just a little bit longer. For this brief, ephemeral twilight, they can comfort each other without the oppressive weight of their words and their regrets--Ozpin is allowed these bare moments more to be just a man before he willingly steps back into his own shackles. Qrow need not be his soldier or his spy or his agent, need not bear the burden of their history or the weight of the bridges they've worked to rebuild. He can simply be, like this. And when it is needed, he will take Ozpin home, and then the time for words may come. But not yet.]
Edited 2021-02-14 16:55 (UTC)
[ It is peaceful, in the place that came after death. It is not quite the same peace he'd once known, but the similarities cut deep enough that he sinks and sinks and sinks and does not want to climb back out. This is what he'd wanted.
This is, finally, an opportunity to make the choice again. He can choose to rest.
Ozpin sits beneath Cynthia's moon, at the base of a black stone tree planted by Qrow's calloused hands, and lets himself drift. There is little to do in this place but be, quiet and softly muted. The deer-creature asks nothing from him, but nor is it really company. It is simply a facet of the world, silent and unjudging, sitting with its blood-red apple still in hand.
Ozpin does not have to eat the apple. He knows this, and understands it: he could simply stay. He could let the peace swallow him until every thought has gently bled from his mind. With the passing hours— are they hours? days?— he feels himself coming unmoored, becoming less the cohesive whole of Ozpin and more the collection of all the men he has ever been. He is Oscar Pine; he is the last King of Vale; he—
He is Ozma.
And he does have a mission to uphold, still. His death will come, someday, but this is not how it will happen. He will not consign Remnant to an early grave. He can go a little while longer.
(He has thought as much often, in quiet, fervent tones: just a little while longer. There will always be something to make the next stretch bearable.)
(This time, it's the thought of Oscar and Qrow.) ]
I made a promise. [ He tells this to the deer-creature, which tips its masked head to regard him. Its antlers are not His antlers, and Ozpin finds that he has no fear of it. ] I assured someone that I would not run away.
[ He picks himself up out of the silvery grass, and wishes for his cane as he does. No matter. He'll just have to go and ask for it back. ]
I think it's time I returned to them. If I may?
[ The apple is precisely the color of fresh-spilled blood. In the end, he doesn't remember what it tastes like. ]
This is, finally, an opportunity to make the choice again. He can choose to rest.
Ozpin sits beneath Cynthia's moon, at the base of a black stone tree planted by Qrow's calloused hands, and lets himself drift. There is little to do in this place but be, quiet and softly muted. The deer-creature asks nothing from him, but nor is it really company. It is simply a facet of the world, silent and unjudging, sitting with its blood-red apple still in hand.
Ozpin does not have to eat the apple. He knows this, and understands it: he could simply stay. He could let the peace swallow him until every thought has gently bled from his mind. With the passing hours— are they hours? days?— he feels himself coming unmoored, becoming less the cohesive whole of Ozpin and more the collection of all the men he has ever been. He is Oscar Pine; he is the last King of Vale; he—
He is Ozma.
And he does have a mission to uphold, still. His death will come, someday, but this is not how it will happen. He will not consign Remnant to an early grave. He can go a little while longer.
(He has thought as much often, in quiet, fervent tones: just a little while longer. There will always be something to make the next stretch bearable.)
(This time, it's the thought of Oscar and Qrow.) ]
I made a promise. [ He tells this to the deer-creature, which tips its masked head to regard him. Its antlers are not His antlers, and Ozpin finds that he has no fear of it. ] I assured someone that I would not run away.
[ He picks himself up out of the silvery grass, and wishes for his cane as he does. No matter. He'll just have to go and ask for it back. ]
I think it's time I returned to them. If I may?
[ The apple is precisely the color of fresh-spilled blood. In the end, he doesn't remember what it tastes like. ]
[ Ford has had some time to think about the date last night, and he's come to the conclusion that he really, really messed it up.
But he's also realized, in a rare moment of consideration for others that's ultimately fueled entirely by his own anxiety, that he kind of left Ozpin in a bad position, didn't he? He should say something. So he does. ]
Ozpin, can we talk when you have a moment?
But he's also realized, in a rare moment of consideration for others that's ultimately fueled entirely by his own anxiety, that he kind of left Ozpin in a bad position, didn't he? He should say something. So he does. ]
Ozpin, can we talk when you have a moment?
Edited 2021-02-23 06:05 (UTC)
[ Normally, with that message sent, Ford would wait for a response before continuing.
Now, though, the next few messages come in rapid succession and show no signs of slowing. ]
I want to apologize for what happened last night.
It wasn't your fault. I didn't want to leave so abruptly.
It's just a strange situation. Most people only have five fingers on each hand.
I'm sure you've noticed that I have six.
I grew up in a time period where genetic mutations like that weren't really understood.
Starting in my mid-20s I lived alone, and then there were extended periods of time where I frequently went years without encountering another human.
I'm not used to receiving attention for them that isn't extremely negative.
So it wasn't something you did wrong. I was just startled.
Now, though, the next few messages come in rapid succession and show no signs of slowing. ]
I want to apologize for what happened last night.
It wasn't your fault. I didn't want to leave so abruptly.
It's just a strange situation. Most people only have five fingers on each hand.
I'm sure you've noticed that I have six.
I grew up in a time period where genetic mutations like that weren't really understood.
Starting in my mid-20s I lived alone, and then there were extended periods of time where I frequently went years without encountering another human.
I'm not used to receiving attention for them that isn't extremely negative.
So it wasn't something you did wrong. I was just startled.
Hey Oz!
I finally figured it out the secret to your cane!
Cracked the code, nailed it!
Now you definitely have to let me take it out for a spin sometime, is that okay?
I heard you were going to let Ironwood hop on your cane and I totally want to call dibs before him because he's so freakin' big and metally that he's probably going to break it before anyone else gets a turn.
I finally figured it out the secret to your cane!
Cracked the code, nailed it!
Now you definitely have to let me take it out for a spin sometime, is that okay?
I heard you were going to let Ironwood hop on your cane and I totally want to call dibs before him because he's so freakin' big and metally that he's probably going to break it before anyone else gets a turn.
Edited 2021-03-02 20:03 (UTC)
[ Ozpin opens this message and is struck with a deep and profound dread from the words Hey Oz. ]
[Hi Oz. What's up. How ya doing. Maybe chilling, drinking some cocoa? Well--]
i can't believe you went on a date in ruby's head while i thought you were dead
[He's not nearly as in his feelings about this as he might have been if they hadn't had their moment by Oz's statue but he is still, vaguely, Miffed. Bruh.]
i can't believe you went on a date in ruby's head while i thought you were dead
[He's not nearly as in his feelings about this as he might have been if they hadn't had their moment by Oz's statue but he is still, vaguely, Miffed. Bruh.]
[ He chokes on the cocoa.
It is a few seconds of undignified sputtering before Ozpin manages to wipe his mouth on a wrist and type back: ]
Not through any intent of my own, I assure you.
It was a brief but unpleasant experience for all involved.
I'd not made mention of it because, quite frankly, I have been eager to forget the entire affair.
It is a few seconds of undignified sputtering before Ozpin manages to wipe his mouth on a wrist and type back: ]
Not through any intent of my own, I assure you.
It was a brief but unpleasant experience for all involved.
I'd not made mention of it because, quite frankly, I have been eager to forget the entire affair.
general cw on this thread for uncomfortable proximity of old man to teen romance
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clocktowers
- 2021-03-09 01:48 (UTC) - ExpandThe Long Memory isn't actually a pogo stick, is it?
[ He takes a long moment to bury his face in his hands and regret all involvement with Ruby Rose. ]
No, it is not.
May I ask how you arrived at this question?
No, it is not.
May I ask how you arrived at this question?
[ This time, Ozpin has the good sense to put down his drink. Rather than choking for a full minute on cocoa, he chokes much more briefly on nothing at all.
Right. Well. Acknowledging that last line not at all, Ozpin rubs his temples and considers his reply. ]
I find myself afraid to ask where this rumor originated.
Does it still involve a pogo stick?
Right. Well. Acknowledging that last line not at all, Ozpin rubs his temples and considers his reply. ]
I find myself afraid to ask where this rumor originated.
Does it still involve a pogo stick?
Hey so something happened at home tonight. Before I tell you about it I'll be fine.
[Because that is absolutely an opening message that should cause no concern. The dots jump for awhile before the next message comes through.]
Using Voice-To-Text don't mind if the formatting is a little weird sorry. Anyway something attacked me at the house. It looked kind of like a big dog mostly black but its face was white and bony and it had some other bony bits too. It can change shape somehow too it got away by sprouting wings. You're going to need to be really careful. Ozpin it was here looking for you.
[Because that is absolutely an opening message that should cause no concern. The dots jump for awhile before the next message comes through.]
Using Voice-To-Text don't mind if the formatting is a little weird sorry. Anyway something attacked me at the house. It looked kind of like a big dog mostly black but its face was white and bony and it had some other bony bits too. It can change shape somehow too it got away by sprouting wings. You're going to need to be really careful. Ozpin it was here looking for you.
[ Ozpin reads this message, and begins pacing.
He doesn't— this does not make sense. He can think of nothing that could spring forth its own wings like this. It must be a new one of hers, then; she has sent some new experiment after him. And it has begun finding the people he cares about, in his stead.
It is several long moments before he collects himself enough to reply. ]
Are you injured?
[ And then, a moment later, almost impatiently: ]
The creature was a Grimm. I will be prepared for it.
He doesn't— this does not make sense. He can think of nothing that could spring forth its own wings like this. It must be a new one of hers, then; she has sent some new experiment after him. And it has begun finding the people he cares about, in his stead.
It is several long moments before he collects himself enough to reply. ]
Are you injured?
[ And then, a moment later, almost impatiently: ]
The creature was a Grimm. I will be prepared for it.
[It's an almost panicked realization, as the disorientation from the lab settles after their escape--he was there more than once. And he saw...he saw her. It wasn't an illusion or a hallucination, was it. No more than "Ozma" had been.
There's just a steady stream of 'shitshitshitshitshit--' running on loop in his mind when he grabs his Fluid]
she's here.
i saw her
There's just a steady stream of 'shitshitshitshitshit--' running on loop in his mind when he grabs his Fluid]
she's here.
i saw her
[ Ozpin has had a very trying day. When his Fluid pings and he sees Qrow's name on the screen, he is hopeful it won't be anything more difficult to deal with than some new light ribbing about his romantic life.
she's here.
He stares at the screen for a long, long time.
Finally: ]
Are you certain she was a Sleeper?
It may have been part of the Lab's illusion.
she's here.
He stares at the screen for a long, long time.
Finally: ]
Are you certain she was a Sleeper?
It may have been part of the Lab's illusion.
Text UN: RadRidingHood A few days after Salem's death.
clickclickbloom
2021-04-09 12:52 am (UTC)(link)
Professor Ozpin?
I just wanted to check up on you.
I know everything the last couple weeks has been super rough.
I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.
I just wanted to check up on you.
I know everything the last couple weeks has been super rough.
I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.
Edited 2021-04-09 00:52 (UTC)
[ Oh. He hadn't expected this, and certainly not from her. It... makes something deep inside him ache with an old, tired guilt. ]
It is very kind of you to check in, Ruby.
But I should be asking the same to you. You have had a far more difficult experience.
It is very kind of you to check in, Ruby.
But I should be asking the same to you. You have had a far more difficult experience.
action since he's right in the house and probably right in the next room | april 21st
glitchinthesystem
2021-04-19 07:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It's hard NOT to notice this conversation going on. It's hard not to get even more angry reading this, to want to walk out the door, find the Doctor and slap him in his stupid gob. But, no. It'd be dangerous and stupid and it wouldn't get him anywhere. If anything it would probably just make the man's insane point more valid.
That for whatever reason, Glitch provoked Maul enough to earn his maiming and attempted murder.
But really sends him over is the ADUACITY the man has to offer to try and repair the damage Maul caused while simultaneously say 'but it's really both their faults'. So, Glitch appears in the doorway of the room, looking towards Ozpin the moment he see's the man isn't on the Fluid to say;]
I know you probably won't because you are WAAAAAAY more polite than I ever will be but; You can tell this fucking Doctor to go throw himself off a building. I'm not taking any help he has to offer. Or I can.
I really don't care either way but he's not helping me.
That for whatever reason, Glitch provoked Maul enough to earn his maiming and attempted murder.
But really sends him over is the ADUACITY the man has to offer to try and repair the damage Maul caused while simultaneously say 'but it's really both their faults'. So, Glitch appears in the doorway of the room, looking towards Ozpin the moment he see's the man isn't on the Fluid to say;]
I know you probably won't because you are WAAAAAAY more polite than I ever will be but; You can tell this fucking Doctor to go throw himself off a building. I'm not taking any help he has to offer. Or I can.
I really don't care either way but he's not helping me.
[ By this point, Ozpin is wound tight with quiet frustration. When Glitch appears in the doorway, Ozpin is not terribly surprised; he looks up to meet the boy's eyes, his expression tired where Glitch's is furious. ]
I am sure he has his reasons.
[ This is murmured in the tones of someone being terribly polite when there is nothing more positive to be said. He knows too much about the Doctor to want to make any proper analysis aloud; for Ozpin, virtually everything about the Doctor hits painfully close to home. ]
If I may as much, you do not need his help, regardless. There are others capable of doing the work.
I am sure he has his reasons.
[ This is murmured in the tones of someone being terribly polite when there is nothing more positive to be said. He knows too much about the Doctor to want to make any proper analysis aloud; for Ozpin, virtually everything about the Doctor hits painfully close to home. ]
If I may as much, you do not need his help, regardless. There are others capable of doing the work.
[ This comes right on cue, and yet he did not feel prepared for it. With the mist blanketing the town, Stan Pines freshly returned to life, and her state of return still uncertain— well. It has been a difficult week, and looks prepared to be another. Ozpin is exhausted and off-kilter, but at least he can ensure that Willow comes home safely.
Supposing he beats Maul there. ]
I am on my way. Please stay there.
Supposing he beats Maul there. ]
I am on my way. Please stay there.
[ Ah.
So Qrow remembers it too, then. Damn.
Ozpin looks at this text, sighs, and runs his hands over his face. There are bruising marks on his neck, a still-greyscale wedding band stashed in the back of his drawer, and... a hazy, unreal patchwork of memories on the general theme of smiling soppily at Qrow. Holding hands on outings with a too-young, too-earnest Ruby Rose. Something that might have been domestic bliss.
Between himself and Qrow Branwen. ]
I am sure she's given us stranger and more terrible trials.
But I would be hard-pressed to recall any.
So Qrow remembers it too, then. Damn.
Ozpin looks at this text, sighs, and runs his hands over his face. There are bruising marks on his neck, a still-greyscale wedding band stashed in the back of his drawer, and... a hazy, unreal patchwork of memories on the general theme of smiling soppily at Qrow. Holding hands on outings with a too-young, too-earnest Ruby Rose. Something that might have been domestic bliss.
Between himself and Qrow Branwen. ]
I am sure she's given us stranger and more terrible trials.
But I would be hard-pressed to recall any.
text; un: mako; lemme know if this works to get this kicked off; early may
arclightning
2021-05-09 05:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Oz,
Checking in. Is the house still standing? Is everyone safe & inside, and do you need anything? I can't see five feet out our front door and I'm pretty sure one of things almost stepped on your house a few minutes ago.
[ Hello Oz welcome to the list of "people Mako needs to check in on and make sure are safe," hope you're ready for the ball of nervous energy that Mako is slowly becoming this month. He is so concerned, and damp, and he hates this. ]
Checking in. Is the house still standing? Is everyone safe & inside, and do you need anything? I can't see five feet out our front door and I'm pretty sure one of things almost stepped on your house a few minutes ago.
[ Hello Oz welcome to the list of "people Mako needs to check in on and make sure are safe," hope you're ready for the ball of nervous energy that Mako is slowly becoming this month. He is so concerned, and damp, and he hates this. ]
[ Ozpin is, above all, impatient. He does not have time for Deerington's new trials: Stanley Pines is dead, Stanford is feverishly tinkering with a death ray, his house is full of restless and half-trained teenage Huntsmen, Maul is apparently targeting Willow in his continued rampage... and she will soon return to life a third time. He will have to be there at her deer statue when she respawns, and he will have to cut her down, no matter how she looks at him. No matter which version of her she happens to be.
And now James is dead, Winter is scrambling to run his little militia alone, Glitch still needs daily care for the state of his arm, and Ozpin suddenly seems to be a leader again. It has been a slow convergence of horrible coincidences and drastic circumstances, and at the end of it, here he is: readying for a new fight every day and trying to keep his people alive.
This message appears in his inbox, and Ozpin tiredly adds Mako to the list of his people. ]
We are safe and have sustained no damage. Our supplies should hold us through the month.
Are you in need of anything? I have better visibility in the fog than most.
And now James is dead, Winter is scrambling to run his little militia alone, Glitch still needs daily care for the state of his arm, and Ozpin suddenly seems to be a leader again. It has been a slow convergence of horrible coincidences and drastic circumstances, and at the end of it, here he is: readying for a new fight every day and trying to keep his people alive.
This message appears in his inbox, and Ozpin tiredly adds Mako to the list of his people. ]
We are safe and have sustained no damage. Our supplies should hold us through the month.
Are you in need of anything? I have better visibility in the fog than most.
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