[Qrow has come to visit the spot of his old mentor's ghost (and then, his deer statue) several times over the past week, but a few minutes before the midnight turning the calendar to February 18th that he leaves Clover with a note that he's going to be out for awhile, and not to wait up for him before bed, maybe even breakfast.
He goes to sit by the statue with treats and a ball to distract Annie the guard dog on his way in, and waits. He's not sure how it looks from the outside; he had missed the moment of Ruby's revival because he had been too new to understand anything about the process. But Ozpin was there the moment he took his first breath with healed lungs, and something visceral within Qrow insists--demands--that he be there for Ozpin's, as well.
12:00 turns to 12:01, and nothing happens. Each of the succeeding sixty minutes are similarly uneventful, but for the way he jumps at the lightest noise, scanning around to see if that was finally it.
One hour stretches into three, then into five, and before he knows it, he's waking in the grass curled up against the statue, cheek and coat smudged with dirt from where he fell asleep. The sun is well up above the horizon and beats down shiny and warm, but Qrow is alone in the junkyard. He opens up the network to see if he missed the wizard, somehow, while he slept, but there is nothing new there.
He keeps waiting.
The Townspeople have been glitching continuously, but he isn't sure about the dog. He largely sticks to his bird form in case he risks being chased when the junkyard closes again, that night.
11:45 pm comes, and it starts to sink in that Oz is not coming back. Qrow remembers when he'd died, he had to eat an apple to return to the living world. Despite the peace of the place, he'd been too worried about Ruby and Clover to hesitate for a second. Perhaps Ozpin was content to live in Deerington as long as he could, but expecting him to relinquish death a second time was too much.
He wants to be angry about it, wants to be furious that Ozpin might have chosen to abandon them again, after everything they've been through by now, but mostly, he just feels hollow. What did it mean, to choose not to return? What would that do to your soul in the waking world? What would it do to a soul that was already in the process of merging with another?
He wants to be angry, but this is not that moment in the snow. On an endless night under a red moon, Qrow and Ozpin had spoken over tea and bared a little too much of their souls, and Ozpin had said I want to rest.
The weight of eternity has bent and broken Ozpin's back, and he's finally been offered release. Qrow .... finds he cannot begrudge him that.
The LED screen on his network device flicks the display over to a new hour, a new day, a new date. It now reads, Friday, February 19th, 12:00 AM, and it is that moment when Qrow first truly believes that Oz is gone. It's time to leave, then, and he viciously swipes at any moisture that might threaten to gather at his eyes before shifting to a bird, and flying away.
He intends to go home. He intends to return to the arms of the man he shares his home with, to let the grief wash over him and ebb naturally, this time, rather than be crushed swimming against the grain. Rather than spend days and weeks and months searching for a corpse he will never find. Rather than drown himself at the bottom of a bottle to ease the pain.
He makes a mistake in his choice of route. Even having been there only once, Qrow recognizes Ford's house immediately. Ford. Someone needs to tell him, he realizes. It's cruel to make him wait for someone who's not coming back.
He settles on the windowsill outside of one of the bedrooms, and the moment he spots Ford, he starts pecking at the glass aggressively. The bird does not appear to be taking no for an answer, just tapping away despite any attempts to ignore him...better let him in already, Ford.]
[ Qrow's timing is very fortunate; he catches Ford in a moment where he's not only awake, not only lucid, but also sitting upright. He still looks like hell, and there's still plenty of signs that he's sick - his hair is a mess, his pajamas are rumpled, there's a nest of blankets on his couch-slash-bed, there are stacks of cold medicine boxes on his end table, and his wastebasket is occupied entirely with tissues - but he's at least sitting under his own power and working his way some random sci-fi series or another, even if he's barely retaining the words.
He's not expecting a visit from Qrow. He's not expecting a visit from anyone in Ozpin's circle, actually. Still, he considers Qrow a friend, so when Ford looks up and recognizes him, he doesn't hesitate to get to his feet. He's not sure what exactly he's expecting, but he's not about to leave Qrow out in the cold. He crosses to the window and pushes it open. ]
Qrow...?
[ Ford's voice comes out very, very raw and creaky, and he grimaces when attempting to speak ends up being pretty painful, actually. He'll let Qrow do most of the talking, he thinks. ]
[For whatever it's worth, Qrow does not beat around the bush, at least. Once the window is opened, he flies inside and shifts back into a person before even searching for a perch of any kind.
It's only once he sees the tissues and medicine boxes and gets a proper look at Ford's face that it clicks for him that Ford had died too. The realization that he's back when Oz is not sends a creeping spike of cold up his spine. It only makes what he's come here to tell Ford all the more likely. He breaks eye contact almost immediately, staring between the blankets and the tv and hesitating. Telling him now feels rather like kicking a man while he's down, but Qrow tries to remind himself it would only be worse the longer he puts it off.
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, as he almost seems to squirm in place. There's almost a thread of guilt to his features, here.]
[ Well, Qrow being here about Oz isn't exactly a shock. Ford likes Qrow just fine - might even call him a friend - but he wouldn't consider them close enough for unannounced house calls unless it was for something important.
Ford has some assumptions about why Qrow might be here, but even through the haze of sickness and medication he spots the unease and guilt in Qrow's expression. It's enough to stop him from stating any of his conclusions out out. Instead he simply nods. ]
[It strikes him, suddenly, that he's not sure if Ford even knows Oz died. If not, it's even more cruel to dump this on him, but....he has to start somewhere.]
He's not back yet. I...I don't think he's coming back.
[He considers, halfway through that sentence, softening it. Suggesting that he doesn't know why Oz isn't back, and leaving room for the possibility. But he remembers the agonizing months when Summer was still just "missing" rather than "presumed dead". It's not a kindness to lie to him, and put him through that process of steadily waning hope, of grieving without being sure.]
[ Hearing that Ozpin isn't back yet is fairly alarming all on its own. But I don't think he's coming back makes Ford visibly jolt with unease. ]
What? Why not?
[ If it was something wrong with the resurrection process it should have hit Ford, too - and, more critically, Qrow shouldn't know about it. Which means it's something else, which is... extremely concerning. ]
[He has to break Ford's gaze to continue. Reluctance is painted all over his shoulders, the set of his jaw. He does not want to have to say this, or think about this. Doing the right thing here is more painful than he'd like.]
Because he has the choice not to.
[He sighs.]
Oz has wanted to die for a long time. It's never been able to stick, before.
Ford has suspected for some time now that Ozpin is much older than the 45 years he seems to be, but hearing that Ozpin has wanted to die for a long time throws those suspicions into a new, very alarming light. And the implications of it's never been able to stick just rachtet that alarm up even higher. ]
I... see.
[ He doesn't see, but what else is he supposed to say in response to that? ]
... Will Oscar be alright?
[ Ford doesn't know the full extent of the connection between the two of them, but he does know there's a significant one. If Ozpin might be gone on a permanent basis then his apprentice, as Ford assumes Oscar to be, is probably the person most deeply impacted by it. ]
[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.]
[ 'I don't know' is probably as much of an answer as Ford could have hoped for, so he doesn't try to press for more. Giving Oscar time to sort through his feelings on the subject is probably the best move for now, anyway. Ford will give him a few days and then--
He's not sure, because Qrow's next words take him completely off guard. Ford had been prepared to be blamed, hated, and reviled for his part in Bill's plot. Qrow's guilty kindness is already more than he thinks he deserves. Hearing that he apparently meant a lot to Ozpin, from someone Ozpin himself was quite close to, is...
Ford lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, letting his gaze slide away from Qrow. He doesn't know what to do with that information. He doesn't even know what to think about it. A week ago this sort of admission would have sent a thrill of excitement through him, but now the knowledge that Ozpin may not ever return just means it makes his stomach churn with guilt. And that comment about the gods, knowing what Ford does about Ozpin's tattoos, isn't reassuring. He doesn't resent Ozpin for not coming back and he doesn't resent Qrow for telling what Ozpin thought of him, but he thinks it probably would have been easier to not know.
Still, he knows it was meant as a kindness. ]
... Thank you, Qrow. I'm not--
[ He cuts himself shakes his head. ]
I appreciate it. If there's anything you need in the future, don't hesitate to ask.
[There is a moment where Qrow wonders what Ford was going to say, there. I'm not-- is the start to so many sentences, many of which he is desperately familiar with. He chooses to let it be, there, rather than press. It is hard enough to handle any of this already, and Qrow knows the weight of what he's had to say doesn't help.]
...Likewise. Take care of yourself.
[He shifts once more into his wings, and the bird is out of his window before anything more can be said.
Should Ford look out his window later that evening, though, he will find a thermos left there. It has no note, or anything else identifying it, save a fallen black feather that sits nearby. Should Ford risk actually consuming some....he will find a pleasant night of sleep awaiting him. One with no nightmares.]
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cryptograms) wrote2020-09-06 03:13 pm
action; morning of the 19th - cw for references to suicidality, alcoholism
He goes to sit by the statue with treats and a ball to distract Annie the guard dog on his way in, and waits. He's not sure how it looks from the outside; he had missed the moment of Ruby's revival because he had been too new to understand anything about the process. But Ozpin was there the moment he took his first breath with healed lungs, and something visceral within Qrow insists--demands--that he be there for Ozpin's, as well.
12:00 turns to 12:01, and nothing happens. Each of the succeeding sixty minutes are similarly uneventful, but for the way he jumps at the lightest noise, scanning around to see if that was finally it.
One hour stretches into three, then into five, and before he knows it, he's waking in the grass curled up against the statue, cheek and coat smudged with dirt from where he fell asleep. The sun is well up above the horizon and beats down shiny and warm, but Qrow is alone in the junkyard. He opens up the network to see if he missed the wizard, somehow, while he slept, but there is nothing new there.
He keeps waiting.
The Townspeople have been glitching continuously, but he isn't sure about the dog. He largely sticks to his bird form in case he risks being chased when the junkyard closes again, that night.
11:45 pm comes, and it starts to sink in that Oz is not coming back. Qrow remembers when he'd died, he had to eat an apple to return to the living world. Despite the peace of the place, he'd been too worried about Ruby and Clover to hesitate for a second. Perhaps Ozpin was content to live in Deerington as long as he could, but expecting him to relinquish death a second time was too much.
He wants to be angry about it, wants to be furious that Ozpin might have chosen to abandon them again, after everything they've been through by now, but mostly, he just feels hollow. What did it mean, to choose not to return? What would that do to your soul in the waking world? What would it do to a soul that was already in the process of merging with another?
He wants to be angry, but this is not that moment in the snow. On an endless night under a red moon, Qrow and Ozpin had spoken over tea and bared a little too much of their souls, and Ozpin had said I want to rest.
The weight of eternity has bent and broken Ozpin's back, and he's finally been offered release. Qrow .... finds he cannot begrudge him that.
The LED screen on his network device flicks the display over to a new hour, a new day, a new date. It now reads, Friday, February 19th, 12:00 AM, and it is that moment when Qrow first truly believes that Oz is gone. It's time to leave, then, and he viciously swipes at any moisture that might threaten to gather at his eyes before shifting to a bird, and flying away.
He intends to go home. He intends to return to the arms of the man he shares his home with, to let the grief wash over him and ebb naturally, this time, rather than be crushed swimming against the grain. Rather than spend days and weeks and months searching for a corpse he will never find. Rather than drown himself at the bottom of a bottle to ease the pain.
He makes a mistake in his choice of route. Even having been there only once, Qrow recognizes Ford's house immediately. Ford. Someone needs to tell him, he realizes. It's cruel to make him wait for someone who's not coming back.
He settles on the windowsill outside of one of the bedrooms, and the moment he spots Ford, he starts pecking at the glass aggressively. The bird does not appear to be taking no for an answer, just tapping away despite any attempts to ignore him...better let him in already, Ford.]
no subject
He's not expecting a visit from Qrow. He's not expecting a visit from anyone in Ozpin's circle, actually. Still, he considers Qrow a friend, so when Ford looks up and recognizes him, he doesn't hesitate to get to his feet. He's not sure what exactly he's expecting, but he's not about to leave Qrow out in the cold. He crosses to the window and pushes it open. ]
Qrow...?
[ Ford's voice comes out very, very raw and creaky, and he grimaces when attempting to speak ends up being pretty painful, actually. He'll let Qrow do most of the talking, he thinks. ]
no subject
It's only once he sees the tissues and medicine boxes and gets a proper look at Ford's face that it clicks for him that Ford had died too. The realization that he's back when Oz is not sends a creeping spike of cold up his spine. It only makes what he's come here to tell Ford all the more likely. He breaks eye contact almost immediately, staring between the blankets and the tv and hesitating. Telling him now feels rather like kicking a man while he's down, but Qrow tries to remind himself it would only be worse the longer he puts it off.
He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, as he almost seems to squirm in place. There's almost a thread of guilt to his features, here.]
Listen, I've got to talk to you. It's about Oz.
no subject
Ford has some assumptions about why Qrow might be here, but even through the haze of sickness and medication he spots the unease and guilt in Qrow's expression. It's enough to stop him from stating any of his conclusions out out. Instead he simply nods. ]
Go ahead.
no subject
He's not back yet. I...I don't think he's coming back.
[He considers, halfway through that sentence, softening it. Suggesting that he doesn't know why Oz isn't back, and leaving room for the possibility. But he remembers the agonizing months when Summer was still just "missing" rather than "presumed dead". It's not a kindness to lie to him, and put him through that process of steadily waning hope, of grieving without being sure.]
...I'm sorry.
no subject
What? Why not?
[ If it was something wrong with the resurrection process it should have hit Ford, too - and, more critically, Qrow shouldn't know about it. Which means it's something else, which is... extremely concerning. ]
no subject
Because he has the choice not to.
[He sighs.]
Oz has wanted to die for a long time. It's never been able to stick, before.
cw: talk of suicidality
That's...
Oh.
Ford has suspected for some time now that Ozpin is much older than the 45 years he seems to be, but hearing that Ozpin has wanted to die for a long time throws those suspicions into a new, very alarming light. And the implications of it's never been able to stick just rachtet that alarm up even higher. ]
I... see.
[ He doesn't see, but what else is he supposed to say in response to that? ]
... Will Oscar be alright?
[ Ford doesn't know the full extent of the connection between the two of them, but he does know there's a significant one. If Ozpin might be gone on a permanent basis then his apprentice, as Ford assumes Oscar to be, is probably the person most deeply impacted by it. ]
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.]
no subject
He's not sure, because Qrow's next words take him completely off guard. Ford had been prepared to be blamed, hated, and reviled for his part in Bill's plot. Qrow's guilty kindness is already more than he thinks he deserves. Hearing that he apparently meant a lot to Ozpin, from someone Ozpin himself was quite close to, is...
Ford lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck, letting his gaze slide away from Qrow. He doesn't know what to do with that information. He doesn't even know what to think about it. A week ago this sort of admission would have sent a thrill of excitement through him, but now the knowledge that Ozpin may not ever return just means it makes his stomach churn with guilt. And that comment about the gods, knowing what Ford does about Ozpin's tattoos, isn't reassuring. He doesn't resent Ozpin for not coming back and he doesn't resent Qrow for telling what Ozpin thought of him, but he thinks it probably would have been easier to not know.
Still, he knows it was meant as a kindness. ]
... Thank you, Qrow. I'm not--
[ He cuts himself shakes his head. ]
I appreciate it. If there's anything you need in the future, don't hesitate to ask.
no subject
...Likewise. Take care of yourself.
[He shifts once more into his wings, and the bird is out of his window before anything more can be said.
Should Ford look out his window later that evening, though, he will find a thermos left there. It has no note, or anything else identifying it, save a fallen black feather that sits nearby. Should Ford risk actually consuming some....he will find a pleasant night of sleep awaiting him. One with no nightmares.]