[He blinks at the mention of Oscar. Qrow isn't sure how much Ford knows about the kid. He's trying to parse from the man's reaction how much he even knew about Oz's immortality. It seems the best to be vague.]
I don't know.
[None of Oz's hosts have been cut off from his soul at any point in the merging process, after all. Qrow is legitimately unsure what losing Oz might do to his soul in the long term. That, however, he keeps to himself.]
He's been handling it alright so far, but it's only been a day. We'll see how it goes.
[There's...a pause. He should leave it at that, and go. Certainly he's not close enough to Ford to comfort him; he barely knows how to cope with all this himself. But that guilt scratches at his ribs again. If he couldn't soften the blow for Ford, maybe the least he can do is soften the landing, just a little bit.]
For what it's worth...it's not you. You meant a lot to him. I haven't seen him light up like that with anyone, as long as I've known him.
[Qrow hadn't known what to make of this man when he'd first started lurking around their interactions, but over time it was readily apparent, how comfortable Oz seemed to be around him. How he cared enough to see Ford after he came back from Remnant, even when normally he'd have hidden himself away to avoid the messy work of explaining his condition. It's why Qrow has come to see him, after all. He is not some run of the mill acquaintance--Oscar, speaking of the kid, had confirmed that himself, months ago.]
But this might be his only chance to be free of what the gods did to him. None of us...could hope to stack up to that.
[There's a strange weight to his tone as he says this. A hurt that's not quite bitterness anymore, but isn't quite not. Qrow cannot find it in him to blame Ozpin for letting this one chance for a final death slip through his fingers, but he still remembers the day in the snow. Remembers the old story revisited over tea, of a callous old wizard who hid from the world, and how he had to be coaxed out, inch by inch, by the kindness and bravery of others. A story they were still living.
Retreat, he'd said, was the closest he came to rest. He has known Qrow for twenty years. He may have known the people of the Circle for longer.
It is not arrogance for him to be certain, without a shadow of doubt, that none of them are quite enough to measure up against the shadow of eternity.]
no subject
I don't know.
[None of Oz's hosts have been cut off from his soul at any point in the merging process, after all. Qrow is legitimately unsure what losing Oz might do to his soul in the long term. That, however, he keeps to himself.]
He's been handling it alright so far, but it's only been a day. We'll see how it goes.
[There's...a pause. He should leave it at that, and go. Certainly he's not close enough to Ford to comfort him; he barely knows how to cope with all this himself. But that guilt scratches at his ribs again. If he couldn't soften the blow for Ford, maybe the least he can do is soften the landing, just a little bit.]
For what it's worth...it's not you. You meant a lot to him. I haven't seen him light up like that with anyone, as long as I've known him.
[Qrow hadn't known what to make of this man when he'd first started lurking around their interactions, but over time it was readily apparent, how comfortable Oz seemed to be around him. How he cared enough to see Ford after he came back from Remnant, even when normally he'd have hidden himself away to avoid the messy work of explaining his condition. It's why Qrow has come to see him, after all. He is not some run of the mill acquaintance--Oscar, speaking of the kid, had confirmed that himself, months ago.]
But this might be his only chance to be free of what the gods did to him. None of us...could hope to stack up to that.
[There's a strange weight to his tone as he says this. A hurt that's not quite bitterness anymore, but isn't quite not. Qrow cannot find it in him to blame Ozpin for letting this one chance for a final death slip through his fingers, but he still remembers the day in the snow. Remembers the old story revisited over tea, of a callous old wizard who hid from the world, and how he had to be coaxed out, inch by inch, by the kindness and bravery of others. A story they were still living.
Retreat, he'd said, was the closest he came to rest. He has known Qrow for twenty years. He may have known the people of the Circle for longer.
It is not arrogance for him to be certain, without a shadow of doubt, that none of them are quite enough to measure up against the shadow of eternity.]