[ 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. ]
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cryptograms) wrote2020-09-06 03:13 pm
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.