[The confirmation is a blow, but one he'd managed to brace for; it's more like hitting a familiar pothole in the street than having sudden cold water dumped in one's lap, and yet it's still unpleasant. One of the great miseries of Qrow's existence has always been an inability to predict the sort of misfortunes that might come of being in proximity to his Semblance. The idea of being granted the ability to be forewarned would be too good to be true, so of course it was. He sighs, but says no more on it -- especially when Oz takes on that professor tone he always does when he is trying to convince everyone else that things are okay.
They both know it's a lie, but as in November, Qrow allows it to stand, because it conceals a lie of his own. Truthfully, gruesome as this scenario is, it's not her death that has knocked the air out of his lungs. He does not know Sayo well enough to suffer from her absence, and knows already that she will likely be fine in a few days--Trench does not even seem to bear the burden of the Death Flu like back in Deerington.
...No, it is that he has become a harbinger of misfortune twice over now, and to add insult upon injury he must now witness even those misfortunes he will not cause by being in the victim's physical proximity, with no opportunity to help.
Qrow acknowledges none of this in front of Oz. He doesn't dare; were any compassion to be leveled at his direction right now, he might just turn the Brothers-damned chainsaw upon himself. He's quiet a beat too long before he nods.]
Yeah, be right back.
[Limbs are yet again abandoned outright as he flies off toward the broom closet to get the requested cleaning supplies. For the most part, the cleanup is uneventful. It's far from the first mess they've had to clean up together, be the situation literal or metaphorical, and there's something almost comforting in the rhythm of scrubbing at the floor by Oz's side.
Almost ... until a misbalanced mop falls over onto the bucket collecting all that soapy water and blood, sending at least half of it soaking all over the ground again. Qrow can't help an exhausted sigh. This whole ordeal feels like a spectacular cosmic joke at this point, honestly. He returns to their work quietly, but after a time, he speaks up again, an air of forced casualness to his tone.]
...Hey Oz. You ever figure out how your blood magic works around here?
[Apropos of nothing in particular. There is nothing to see here. Pay no heed to the bird anxiety behind the curtain.]
no subject
They both know it's a lie, but as in November, Qrow allows it to stand, because it conceals a lie of his own. Truthfully, gruesome as this scenario is, it's not her death that has knocked the air out of his lungs. He does not know Sayo well enough to suffer from her absence, and knows already that she will likely be fine in a few days--Trench does not even seem to bear the burden of the Death Flu like back in Deerington.
...No, it is that he has become a harbinger of misfortune twice over now, and to add insult upon injury he must now witness even those misfortunes he will not cause by being in the victim's physical proximity, with no opportunity to help.
Qrow acknowledges none of this in front of Oz. He doesn't dare; were any compassion to be leveled at his direction right now, he might just turn the Brothers-damned chainsaw upon himself. He's quiet a beat too long before he nods.]
Yeah, be right back.
[Limbs are yet again abandoned outright as he flies off toward the broom closet to get the requested cleaning supplies. For the most part, the cleanup is uneventful. It's far from the first mess they've had to clean up together, be the situation literal or metaphorical, and there's something almost comforting in the rhythm of scrubbing at the floor by Oz's side.
Almost ... until a misbalanced mop falls over onto the bucket collecting all that soapy water and blood, sending at least half of it soaking all over the ground again. Qrow can't help an exhausted sigh. This whole ordeal feels like a spectacular cosmic joke at this point, honestly. He returns to their work quietly, but after a time, he speaks up again, an air of forced casualness to his tone.]
...Hey Oz. You ever figure out how your blood magic works around here?
[Apropos of nothing in particular. There is nothing to see here. Pay no heed to the bird anxiety behind the curtain.]