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. ]
[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!'
[ Ozpin's mental voice is very steady. He is afraid, of course, but only in the distant animal way of a body that knows it is about to die. It does not bother him. Everything has taken on a flat, bright, ringing sense of distance; he can ride the calm of adrenaline and simply not stop moving. He knows everything will end when he does.
Behind him, Stanford has the same flat, dazed look. This is distracting if Ozpin dares to dwell on it, so he does not, and merely tries to keep him covered against lashing tendrils. Ford has his gun; Oz has only the green fire in his hands. He doesn't dare throw ranged blasts of magic for fear of depleting the last of their resources. His Aura is already broken. ]
'I need you to look after Qrow and Ruby. And, if you can, Dipper Pines. I promised Stanford I would ensure his safety, and I have failed in that mission, so it falls to you. I am sorry.'
[--that Oz would die. Oscar, acting on reflex, summoned a shell of shimmering green energy around himself and Varian to deflect from the cascade of shrapnel and flame that exploded upon them when more of the wiring burst. Dust was all up in his hair, his clothes, his lungs, while he struggled to focus.
In Remnant he didn't dare to try this again. In Deerington, whatever remained between it's multiple layers, he still had a chance.]
'I'll do my best,'
[He vowed frantically, attention divided as he shouted instructions and plans to get out at anyone within hearing range. He didn't know what he could do, but...]
'I'll take care of them all, Oz. You haven't failed anything yet. As long as this dream exists, we've got a chance!'
[ Oscar summons their shield, and Ozpin feels that pull of power secondhand: he flickers surprise and relief back at Oscar in disjointed eddies.
There is a distracted and breathless series of beats as Stanford throws him a weapon. Good. There is still no viable route of retreat, but it is comforting to hold the grip of the Threaded Cane. It is comforting to have his reach back, and the weight of metal in his hand. He neatly separates one tentacle from its base, dodges another, then cries out raggedly as a needle of blood spears him through the thigh. Pain shudders through the connection, and the strain breaks his mental voice. ]
'—Good. I know that you can, Oscar. You are one of the strongest people I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I am sorry to have brought you my burdens, but there is no one I would more gladly trust with them.'
[ Stanford is yelling something. The Mayor and the Queen are both upon them, and they are backed in now by tentacles and glittering red shards of blood. Ozpin is so very tired, trying to stay upright in the sand, trying to brace himself up on his weapon and still dodge what is thrown at them. He has been here before, as a hundred different men. He knows this moment. (It would be so much quicker if he just stopped moving.)
Stanford is still behind him. He cannot give in. ]
'I—'
[ Pain. Like a connection neatly severed, the link cuts out. ]
--The world was swept from under Oscar's feet with cacaphonous green buzz in his ears, vision blurring with the distant effects of whatever horrors Oz had endured in that instant. For a second Oscar felt blinded-- deafened--
--Alone.
Like he had slipped through the cracks in between the layers of Deerington, of Remnant, and was falling through the infinite dark of the world.
Summoning one last pull of power, Oscar shoved the people nearby, the people he was protecting, away from him as the shell of green flame started to dissolve into ten thousand embers. He couldn't fall yet with people still desperately working, still fighting for success, and yet...
He felt like the part of him that connected him to the eternal wellspring of hope that was Ozma had been severed.
He was just Oscar.
All at once the power collapsed in on it self and he plummeted, and one last word fell from his dried lips before darkness consumed him.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feb 12th, after the portals come down.
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?'
no subject
[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!'
no subject
[ Ozpin's mental voice is very steady. He is afraid, of course, but only in the distant animal way of a body that knows it is about to die. It does not bother him. Everything has taken on a flat, bright, ringing sense of distance; he can ride the calm of adrenaline and simply not stop moving. He knows everything will end when he does.
Behind him, Stanford has the same flat, dazed look. This is distracting if Ozpin dares to dwell on it, so he does not, and merely tries to keep him covered against lashing tendrils. Ford has his gun; Oz has only the green fire in his hands. He doesn't dare throw ranged blasts of magic for fear of depleting the last of their resources. His Aura is already broken. ]
'I need you to look after Qrow and Ruby. And, if you can, Dipper Pines. I promised Stanford I would ensure his safety, and I have failed in that mission, so it falls to you. I am sorry.'
no subject
[--that Oz would die. Oscar, acting on reflex, summoned a shell of shimmering green energy around himself and Varian to deflect from the cascade of shrapnel and flame that exploded upon them when more of the wiring burst. Dust was all up in his hair, his clothes, his lungs, while he struggled to focus.
In Remnant he didn't dare to try this again. In Deerington, whatever remained between it's multiple layers, he still had a chance.]
'I'll do my best,'
[He vowed frantically, attention divided as he shouted instructions and plans to get out at anyone within hearing range. He didn't know what he could do, but...]
'I'll take care of them all, Oz. You haven't failed anything yet. As long as this dream exists, we've got a chance!'
cw: violence, death
There is a distracted and breathless series of beats as Stanford throws him a weapon. Good. There is still no viable route of retreat, but it is comforting to hold the grip of the Threaded Cane. It is comforting to have his reach back, and the weight of metal in his hand. He neatly separates one tentacle from its base, dodges another, then cries out raggedly as a needle of blood spears him through the thigh. Pain shudders through the connection, and the strain breaks his mental voice. ]
'—Good. I know that you can, Oscar. You are one of the strongest people I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I am sorry to have brought you my burdens, but there is no one I would more gladly trust with them.'
[ Stanford is yelling something. The Mayor and the Queen are both upon them, and they are backed in now by tentacles and glittering red shards of blood. Ozpin is so very tired, trying to stay upright in the sand, trying to brace himself up on his weapon and still dodge what is thrown at them. He has been here before, as a hundred different men. He knows this moment. (It would be so much quicker if he just stopped moving.)
Stanford is still behind him. He cannot give in. ]
'I—'
[ Pain. Like a connection neatly severed, the link cuts out. ]
no subject
--The world was swept from under Oscar's feet with cacaphonous green buzz in his ears, vision blurring with the distant effects of whatever horrors Oz had endured in that instant. For a second Oscar felt blinded-- deafened--
--Alone.
Like he had slipped through the cracks in between the layers of Deerington, of Remnant, and was falling through the infinite dark of the world.
Summoning one last pull of power, Oscar shoved the people nearby, the people he was protecting, away from him as the shell of green flame started to dissolve into ten thousand embers. He couldn't fall yet with people still desperately working, still fighting for success, and yet...
He felt like the part of him that connected him to the eternal wellspring of hope that was Ozma had been severed.
He was just Oscar.
All at once the power collapsed in on it self and he plummeted, and one last word fell from his dried lips before darkness consumed him.]
Ozpin...?
no subject
Elsewhere, among orange sand, Ozpin's body flakes away to motes of purple light. ]