[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
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.]