[ He wakes up in his own body. And, as it happens, in rather a lot of pain.
It is a long morning. Qrow helps him home; Glynda helps him to bed; he nurses tea, not cocoa, until the shivering passes. Oscar returns his Fluid and tucks in beside him in bed with no questions asked. They spend the day dozing, feverish and secondhand-feverish, aching and weary and glad to be alive.
It is good to be just Ozpin. Perhaps just-Ozpin had once been a person apart from the wizard, a boy who'd never even thought he'd be a Huntsman— but that is so long ago as to be childhood memory, faded and distant. Now he is simply himself. He can feel the background presence of Oscar's thoughts in his mind, but he can move his hand without having to consult anyone else for control, and right now, that feels like freedom.
He tiredly regards the disaster of his inbox, and texts Stanford Pines. ]
Stanford, I apologize for the unusual messages you received yesterday.
I was not in much condition to communicate by text, so turned to a young friend for assistance.
It seems she took the opportunity to play matchmaker.
[ This must, he thinks, come as reassuring news. He cannot imagine Stanford agreed to the date in earnest; the man must have known something was afoot, whether one of Deerington's tricks or a more mundane bit of chaos. Surely this will put the matter to rest. ]
[ Ford had left he and Ozpin's previous conversation very, very confused. His subsequent conversation with Stan had helped in many ways and left him even more confused in others. He's come to the comfortable conclusion that whatever Ozpin said was obviously influenced by the fact that he was horribly sick and likely treating himself with dubious 1950s dreamscape medicine. The incoherence makes sense. The earnestness behind his messages is more up in the air, but Ford is prepared to learn and accept that Ozpin was simply too delirious to understand what he'd been saying.
He's not prepared to learn that it hadn't even been Ozpin at all, and thus accepting it is a little hard. The negative emotions Ozpin had been expecting during the conversation the previous day - particularly hurt and humiliation - finally start to simmer inside him; Ford hadn't said anything especially incriminating, but he had been sincere in expressing his gratefulness for Ozpin's friendship and in accepting his invitation to dinner. He feels deliberately tricked - not by Ozpin, but whoever this friend is - but he's too embarrassed to ask who's responsible and without an adequate target it's hard to hold onto anything like anger.
Even so, it takes him a few long moments to reply. ]
I thought your messages sounded a bit strange. I assumed you were just delirious from the death symptoms.
[ Regardless. He does, in fact, have things he'd like to say to Stanford, and they certainly were not adequately conveyed by Ruby Rose. Stanford has thus far proved incredibly capable of sidestepping uncomfortable topics without complaint or fanfare, and Oz can rely on him again here. Whatever hangs unspoken between them right now—
Well.
Perhaps a great deal hangs unspoken, actually. Ozpin is not quick to adopt the concept that anyone deserves or is owed more complete knowledge of his life, least of all in Deerington, where he is not conscripting anyone into a war. But in the case of Stanford... he does not know what the man has already been told. He can certainly imagine what he will be told, sooner or later, whether by Ozpin or someone on his behalf. It would sound best, he supposes, coming from him firsthand.
Perhaps it's time for that.
So, after a very significant delay, he sends back: ]
Much better, thank you.
The message I intended to send was simply to apologize for any concern the delay may have caused you. I
[ He hesitates, here, but: ]
perhaps had a non-typical experience with the resurrection process. Nothing of particular interest to your research, I'm afraid. It is best explained in person.
Beyond that,
[ The dots jump for a while. ]
I would like to reiterate that I took on the risks of the mission willingly. I do not hold the result against you personally, Stanford.
[ Ford isn't sure what to make of the long delay, but he's not sure what to make of a lot of things lately. For once he manages to avoid overthinking it.
The message that he receives is longer than what he's used to getting from Ozpin, and appropriately enough it tells him a great deal. It tells him that Ozpin's forgiveness and desire to discuss the situation in more detail are sincere; and that the discussion of friendship and appreciation and the prospect of meeting for dinner were likely nothing more than well-intentioned lies.
Humiliation squirms inside him again but he shoves it aside. Ozpin isn't acknowledging any of that, so Ford won't either. There's something a little more pressing to address, anyway. ]
I'm sorry, too.
[ And he'll leave it at that. Discussing it further means acknowledging the words that were exchanged the previous day.
The rest is actually easier to talk about. ]
Qrow visited while you were gone.
He confirmed something I've been suspicious of for a while.
There is an unpleasant jolt of surprise when he reads the message, and from there it settles into... a particularly weary unease. Honesty does not come easily to Ozpin. Speaking openly about himself only ever complicates a situation, and he is used to resorting to it only under particularly fraught circumstances. It always means that something has gone wrong.
He does not begrudge Qrow for whatever amount of the story he shared: it was undoubtedly kind of him to warn Stanford that Oz may not be returning. Oz cannot pretend there was no risk of that. There have been times in his life he would have gone in to that peace fully and gladly.
This is not quite one of them. He has promises to uphold, these days. ]
Qrow understands that I have a rather complicated relationship with death.
But I also have a great deal of unfinished business, as it were.
[ This hangs a moment, and then a stab at levity: ]
[ It had been one thing to have Qrow tell him that Ozpin wished to die. It's another thing entirely to hear an admission of as much, however indirect, straight from the man himself. There have been moments in Ford's life where he's thought that his own death (or something effectively like it) would be a relief compared to his present circumstances, or that it might be the only means of salvaging a bad situation. There's never been a time when he's wanted it, though; he cannot imagine awakening in Ramona's field of silver grass and choosing to stay simply because he could.
It's heavy, uncomfortable knowledge. If there's an appropriate response to being told that your immortal friend would prefer to not be alive at all, Ford doesn't know what it is. As such, though not really sure he appreciates the attempt at levity he does appreciate what (he assumes) it represents. Things are strange right now and they will likely stay strange for some time, but that strangeness is necessarily bad and isn't necessarily permanent.
At least this isn't the conversation he'd been having with their matchmaker. ]
Thank you.
[ There's a significant pause between that message and the next. Ford is always driven by curiosity - in this moment he still wants to know more - but even he knows it's not exactly appropriate right now. ]
I'd still like to meet in person, but it doesn't need to be about this.
There are some things I should explain as well.
[ He considers adding that it doesn't have to be on Friday and doesn't have to be for dinner, but... no, Ford lacks the confidence needed to make fun of himself like that right now. ]
[ He expects questions. He expects to be, in this moment, a new oddity to study.
What he gets instead is a Thank you.
Ozpin sits with that in silence, and does not examine what he is feeling. It is something larger and sharper than he wants to grapple with. This is a conversation he expected, upon returning, but not from Stanford. Stanford has none of the background, none of the context, no way to parse that immortality is at best a burden and at worst an agony that some (that she) would tear down the whole world to escape.
Ozpin has thought a great deal about his death. He does not think it will ever come peacefully. It will come as an act of surrender, or defeat, and the casualties will be beyond imagining. Here in Deerington, that is not strictly true: here it is simply a death, no greater or more significant than any other.
Except that he still needs to return to Remnant. Whether he wants to return is irrelevant; there have been stretches of centuries in which Ozpin has not wanted to carry on his mission. He carries it on regardless. If he does not, every man, woman, and child on the planet will die.
He is ready to rest, but not to see the rest of humanity pulled under.
So, finally, Ozpin texts back. ]
It's alright. I think it is time I told you the story and let you ask your questions.
[ Ford is used to Ozpin opting to simply not discuss himself or his history. He's expecting him to opt for that now. The fact that he doesn't is something Ford is going to have to take time to figure out his reaction to.
But at least he has time. Just the other day he'd been certain he wouldn't be seeing or hearing from Ozpin ever again. He can deal with a little uncertainty in exchange. ]
Tomorrow.
Where would you like to meet?
[ Dinner at Ozpin's is probably off the table, but he doubt their usual cafe is a good place for this conversation. ]
You're welcome to join me here. We can talk in the library.
[ Stanford's home is not, he thinks, terribly ideal for sitting and having emotionally charged conversations. He'd be unsurprised to find the other Pines men listening in— Dipper seems very intent on his spying— and the couch-slash-bed does not make for elegant seating arrangements.
But then, the library is loaded in its own way, given the night they'd spent there together. He is not making things easy for himself if he intends to tell his story from that same chair, with the both of them pretending not to think of it. Stanford had agreed to the dinner date. They are approaching the point where it will be foolish and juvenile to pretend there is nothing here.
(They may have passed that point some time ago.)
In any case, this is an important conversation to have in a known, comfortable place. He is not cowardly enough to invent a new location simply to meet somewhere free of memory and romantic overtones.
[ The library... Ford doesn't dislike the library. He has excellent memories of time spent in the library, though that's kind of the problem. It had been a very quiet, relaxed, and (Ford finally allows himself to think the word) intimate evening evening that the two of them spent together. Now they're going back to that same place to have a different, very difficult, very personal conversation instead. And this is after Ford had, the day previous, agreed to a dinner date Friday evening.
The offer to meet at the pond instead is a kind one. Ford gives it significant conversation, even knowing that it involves standing out in the cold and the snow and that both of them would likely be dealing with the last dregs of their death flu. It might even be more appropriate than the library, considering that's where Ford had given Ozpin the portrait of his dead children. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cryptograms) wrote2020-09-06 03:13 pm
2/22, text.
It is a long morning. Qrow helps him home; Glynda helps him to bed; he nurses tea, not cocoa, until the shivering passes. Oscar returns his Fluid and tucks in beside him in bed with no questions asked. They spend the day dozing, feverish and secondhand-feverish, aching and weary and glad to be alive.
It is good to be just Ozpin. Perhaps just-Ozpin had once been a person apart from the wizard, a boy who'd never even thought he'd be a Huntsman— but that is so long ago as to be childhood memory, faded and distant. Now he is simply himself. He can feel the background presence of Oscar's thoughts in his mind, but he can move his hand without having to consult anyone else for control, and right now, that feels like freedom.
He tiredly regards the disaster of his inbox, and texts Stanford Pines. ]
Stanford, I apologize for the unusual messages you received yesterday.
I was not in much condition to communicate by text, so turned to a young friend for assistance.
It seems she took the opportunity to play matchmaker.
[ This must, he thinks, come as reassuring news. He cannot imagine Stanford agreed to the date in earnest; the man must have known something was afoot, whether one of Deerington's tricks or a more mundane bit of chaos. Surely this will put the matter to rest. ]
no subject
He's not prepared to learn that it hadn't even been Ozpin at all, and thus accepting it is a little hard. The negative emotions Ozpin had been expecting during the conversation the previous day - particularly hurt and humiliation - finally start to simmer inside him; Ford hadn't said anything especially incriminating, but he had been sincere in expressing his gratefulness for Ozpin's friendship and in accepting his invitation to dinner. He feels deliberately tricked - not by Ozpin, but whoever this friend is - but he's too embarrassed to ask who's responsible and without an adequate target it's hard to hold onto anything like anger.
Even so, it takes him a few long moments to reply. ]
I thought your messages sounded a bit strange. I assumed you were just delirious from the death symptoms.
I'm glad you're feeling better.
1/3
2/3
3/4
Did Stanford then genuinely agree to a date Friday night? ]
4/5
And yet. ]
5/6
At his home.
Friday night.
Ozpin takes several moments to quietly curse Ruby Rose, who managed to cram a lifetime's worth of chaos into a single day as his host. ]
done
Well.
Perhaps a great deal hangs unspoken, actually. Ozpin is not quick to adopt the concept that anyone deserves or is owed more complete knowledge of his life, least of all in Deerington, where he is not conscripting anyone into a war. But in the case of Stanford... he does not know what the man has already been told. He can certainly imagine what he will be told, sooner or later, whether by Ozpin or someone on his behalf. It would sound best, he supposes, coming from him firsthand.
Perhaps it's time for that.
So, after a very significant delay, he sends back: ]
Much better, thank you.
The message I intended to send was simply to apologize for any concern the delay may have caused you. I
[ He hesitates, here, but: ]
perhaps had a non-typical experience with the resurrection process. Nothing of particular interest to your research, I'm afraid. It is best explained in person.
Beyond that,
[ The dots jump for a while. ]
I would like to reiterate that I took on the risks of the mission willingly. I do not hold the result against you personally, Stanford.
I am sorry it played out as it did.
no subject
The message that he receives is longer than what he's used to getting from Ozpin, and appropriately enough it tells him a great deal. It tells him that Ozpin's forgiveness and desire to discuss the situation in more detail are sincere; and that the discussion of friendship and appreciation and the prospect of meeting for dinner were likely nothing more than well-intentioned lies.
Humiliation squirms inside him again but he shoves it aside. Ozpin isn't acknowledging any of that, so Ford won't either. There's something a little more pressing to address, anyway. ]
I'm sorry, too.
[ And he'll leave it at that. Discussing it further means acknowledging the words that were exchanged the previous day.
The rest is actually easier to talk about. ]
Qrow visited while you were gone.
He confirmed something I've been suspicious of for a while.
And he told me you might choose to not return.
cw suicidality and talk of death
There is an unpleasant jolt of surprise when he reads the message, and from there it settles into... a particularly weary unease. Honesty does not come easily to Ozpin. Speaking openly about himself only ever complicates a situation, and he is used to resorting to it only under particularly fraught circumstances. It always means that something has gone wrong.
He does not begrudge Qrow for whatever amount of the story he shared: it was undoubtedly kind of him to warn Stanford that Oz may not be returning. Oz cannot pretend there was no risk of that. There have been times in his life he would have gone in to that peace fully and gladly.
This is not quite one of them. He has promises to uphold, these days. ]
Qrow understands that I have a rather complicated relationship with death.
But I also have a great deal of unfinished business, as it were.
[ This hangs a moment, and then a stab at levity: ]
Rest assured you won't be rid of me that easily.
cw suicidality and talk of death
It's heavy, uncomfortable knowledge. If there's an appropriate response to being told that your immortal friend would prefer to not be alive at all, Ford doesn't know what it is. As such, though not really sure he appreciates the attempt at levity he does appreciate what (he assumes) it represents. Things are strange right now and they will likely stay strange for some time, but that strangeness is necessarily bad and isn't necessarily permanent.
At least this isn't the conversation he'd been having with their matchmaker. ]
Thank you.
[ There's a significant pause between that message and the next. Ford is always driven by curiosity - in this moment he still wants to know more - but even he knows it's not exactly appropriate right now. ]
I'd still like to meet in person, but it doesn't need to be about this.
There are some things I should explain as well.
[ He considers adding that it doesn't have to be on Friday and doesn't have to be for dinner, but... no, Ford lacks the confidence needed to make fun of himself like that right now. ]
cw suicidality and talk of death
What he gets instead is a Thank you.
Ozpin sits with that in silence, and does not examine what he is feeling. It is something larger and sharper than he wants to grapple with. This is a conversation he expected, upon returning, but not from Stanford. Stanford has none of the background, none of the context, no way to parse that immortality is at best a burden and at worst an agony that some (that she) would tear down the whole world to escape.
Ozpin has thought a great deal about his death. He does not think it will ever come peacefully. It will come as an act of surrender, or defeat, and the casualties will be beyond imagining. Here in Deerington, that is not strictly true: here it is simply a death, no greater or more significant than any other.
Except that he still needs to return to Remnant. Whether he wants to return is irrelevant; there have been stretches of centuries in which Ozpin has not wanted to carry on his mission. He carries it on regardless. If he does not, every man, woman, and child on the planet will die.
He is ready to rest, but not to see the rest of humanity pulled under.
So, finally, Ozpin texts back. ]
It's alright. I think it is time I told you the story and let you ask your questions.
Tomorrow?
no subject
But at least he has time. Just the other day he'd been certain he wouldn't be seeing or hearing from Ozpin ever again. He can deal with a little uncertainty in exchange. ]
Tomorrow.
Where would you like to meet?
[ Dinner at Ozpin's is probably off the table, but he doubt their usual cafe is a good place for this conversation. ]
no subject
[ Stanford's home is not, he thinks, terribly ideal for sitting and having emotionally charged conversations. He'd be unsurprised to find the other Pines men listening in— Dipper seems very intent on his spying— and the couch-slash-bed does not make for elegant seating arrangements.
But then, the library is loaded in its own way, given the night they'd spent there together. He is not making things easy for himself if he intends to tell his story from that same chair, with the both of them pretending not to think of it. Stanford had agreed to the dinner date. They are approaching the point where it will be foolish and juvenile to pretend there is nothing here.
(They may have passed that point some time ago.)
In any case, this is an important conversation to have in a known, comfortable place. He is not cowardly enough to invent a new location simply to meet somewhere free of memory and romantic overtones.
But it comes close. ]
Or we can meet at the pond, if you prefer.
no subject
The offer to meet at the pond instead is a kind one. Ford gives it significant conversation, even knowing that it involves standing out in the cold and the snow and that both of them would likely be dealing with the last dregs of their death flu. It might even be more appropriate than the library, considering that's where Ford had given Ozpin the portrait of his dead children. ]
The library would be best.
I'll see you tomorrow, Ozpin.