Hey! Uh. Just a quick text to let you know I’m fine! I kind of got stuck outside when the whole town went BANANAS but I ran into a friend (his name is Glitch) and I’m staying over at his place for a little bit.
[ Ozpin is... well, Ozpin is still alive, which sets him apart from nearly every other adult from Remnant. He is still tending wounds from the battle, but he is lucky that's the worst of it. He is lucky to take away no scars from the battle, even if his exhaustion seems to cut down to his soul.
Once things have settled enough to realize a warning is in order, he sends a message. ]
Stanford, this is Ozpin. I'd like to thank you for your assistance last week. [ Was it last week? Things run together without the cycle of the sun and moon, and the clocks aren't reliable. He doesn't have the presence of mind to think on it for long. ] I must warn you that the danger I spoke of, the Chill, is now present in Deerington. Keep alert for any individual with stark white skin and darkened eyes. They are largely incapable of speech, but may repeat their host's last words.
[ Had he told Ford that the changed skin and eyes were a fiction? Deerington doesn't seem to care. Deerington has drawn the monster straight from the pages of his own storybook. ]
[Left outside the house is a dark blue basket. Inside is an associate of tea, chocolates, a box of lemon drops, a bottle of wine and a copy of Charles Dickens, Christmas Carol. A blue Tardis-shaped card attached to the basket says, 'Santa' in silver marker.]
[On the 25th Ford will find a gift has been left outside his door! According to the tag it's from Fern, and inside the meticulously wrapped package is a reticulated puzzle ball carved out of bone.
[Ford will a box find either in his mailbox or sitting in front of his door at home outside. Inside, he'll find card sitting on top of a journal.
"Happy Holidays, Ford. I don't really know much about some of these holidays, but the sentiment seems really nice. You probably already have something for your notes, but I thought it might help either way.
-Mirai"
There's also an assorted mixture of cookies in a bag.]
Edited (Im sorry. My heads not in the game right now.) 2021-01-06 23:09 (UTC)
[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.]
[ 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. ]
It's Oscar. I learned something the other day that I was hoping you could explain to me. It's something that a very weird contact we both have said, and you know this contact better than Oz does.
It might be a good idea to meet in person.
Probably away from Dipper. I don't wanna keep secrets, but I don't want to worry him over whats probably nothing.
Now you definitely have to let me take it out for a spin sometime, is that okay?
I heard you were going to let Ironwood hop on your cane and I totally want to call dibs before him because he's so freakin' big and metally that he's probably going to break it before anyone else gets a turn.
[ It is fine. Everything is fine, and Oz is fine, and he is coping perfectly well. He has been a Faunus before. He has had antlers before.
But he had been very young, then. He'd been a different man altogether. He'd still had faith; he had thought the game winnable and the war justified. He had still believed that He wanted him to save the world, and cared deeply enough to make it not only possible, but likely. A divine mission. A fated destiny.
It had been the thing to draw him up out of a low period. He'd been growing tired— he'd thought he knew what tired was, then— and it had been a blessing, to become an image of his faith. He had spread the Tale of Two Brothers. He'd told their gospel gladly.
It had been before Jinn. It had been before the Circle. It had been not long after her, and he'd thought, in his most desperate private moments, that perhaps this was his reward for turning away from her. Perhaps it was a sign. Recognition of what he'd lost, and gentle guidance toward what he was meant to be.
He does not feel that way anymore.
Now, he is merely tired. He has plans with Stanford this evening; he shall have to cancel them. That is unfortunate, given that this thing between them is still fumbling and fragile and new. But his antlers are itching like the velvet is about to shed, and he needs to simply lock himself away in his room and endure it until the whole affair passes. ]
Stanford, I'm afraid something has come up. It may be best to reschedule our plans for tonight.
[Ford will find a cake at his doorstep along with a hand written note.]
Dear Ford,
I just wanted to thank you for your making my new eye. Prosthetic. Thing. It's working great so far. 10/10 craftsmanship, would recommend to a friend. Please enjoy this cake.
Your Pal, R.R.
[The cake is disgusting. The two girls who made it have no right to be in a kitchen of any sort. Ford will likely find gummy worms, aged chocolate chips, M&M's and $3.50 in change baked into the cake.]
[ Everything has gone wrong. She is here; she is active; her thing is upon them.
He is out of time. Someone must face her, for whatever good it will do. Ruby is already missing; that Qrow hasn't followed in the name of revenge only means he has yet to find her. Ozpin alone has Stanford's compass, the needle pointing neatly across town. He knows she is out there, waiting for him.
The battle will come, and he does not truly expect to walk away from it. So: Ozpin makes a call, and his tone comes grave and low. ]
I didn't get a chance to thank you for helping with everything that's happened recently. I'm not sure if Oz would have been quite the same if he didn't have someone he trusted that wasn't from home around. It's probably hard for him to relax when we're all in danger, I think.
If you've got time, I'd like to ask advice from you on robotics. For a friend. Nothing big.
Thanks
-Oscar
[...It was him. He's the friend. It was only a leg, nothing big.]
[ The whole concept of "texting" is still pretty new to Robin, but she needs information, and fast. Time to leave a message for the one person she's met who seems like he knows what he's doing! ]
Hey! It's Robin. You met me when I was doing that weird cowboy thing. Good news is that I'm not doing that anymore! Weird news is that I have all these eggs and I don't know what the hell they're for! Do you know what the deal is? Cool, thanks, bye!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cryptograms) wrote2020-09-06 03:13 pm
A Gift Has Been Delivered!
To Ford-san!
To help with restless nights and the fact that we barely sleep at all right now.
Love,
Usagi! ／(^ x ^)＼
[And should the box be opened, inside is a unicorn kigurumi that lets the wearer have a full, restful night's sleep.]
October 1st - 12:30 am
October 16th
Once things have settled enough to realize a warning is in order, he sends a message. ]
Stanford, this is Ozpin. I'd like to thank you for your assistance last week. [ Was it last week? Things run together without the cycle of the sun and moon, and the clocks aren't reliable. He doesn't have the presence of mind to think on it for long. ] I must warn you that the danger I spoke of, the Chill, is now present in Deerington. Keep alert for any individual with stark white skin and darkened eyes. They are largely incapable of speech, but may repeat their host's last words.
[ Had he told Ford that the changed skin and eyes were a fiction? Deerington doesn't seem to care. Deerington has drawn the monster straight from the pages of his own storybook. ]
A corrupted host must be destroyed.
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Sometime after his post on 11/8/20 - Text
IF GLITCH CREEPS AROUND ASKING HOW OLD YOU ARE TELL HIM LITERALLY ANY OTHER NUMBER BUT OUR ACTUAL AGE. BUT ALSO SOMETHIN LESS THAN 97.
HE'S TRYING TO FIGURE IT OUT AND I'M NOT LETTING HIM HAVE THE EASY ROUTE OF JUST ASKING YOU CAUSE I'M A JERK
👈👈
(THOSE ARE FINGER GUNS!!!)
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Action; no reply; December 24th
Dec 25
Merry Christmas, Ford!]
Backdated to Dec 24th; No reply
"Happy Holidays, Ford. I don't really know much about some of these holidays, but the sentiment seems really nice. You probably already have something for your notes, but I thought it might help either way.
-Mirai"
There's also an assorted mixture of cookies in a bag.]
Text; UN: Godisdead
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text; un: fern
got some important questions for you about
stuff
i thought you'd be a good person to ask since you're a huge nerd like Varian is
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[Delivery]
It's a box of chocolates! And it comes with a handwritten note:]
Hey,
I just learned about this rad human holiday where you give people stuff if they're important to you, so I hope you like chocolate!
And if this isn't how the holiday works, sorry. I'm trying my best here.
-Fern
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.]
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cw: talk of suicidality
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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. ]
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5/6
done
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cw suicidality and talk of death
cw suicidality and talk of death
cw suicidality and talk of death
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February 27th video: UN: RadRidingHood
So... How'd dinner go last night????
Deets, Deets, Give me the deets!
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2/20 After Bill's post goes up
CALLED IT!!!!!!
👈👈
[He did not call shit; he is jumping to conclusions.]
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cw: discussion of cannibalism
cw: discussion of cannibalism
cw: discussion of cannibalism
cw: discussion of cannibalism
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3/1 text | un: pinecone.
It's Oscar. I learned something the other day that I was hoping you could explain to me. It's something that a very weird contact we both have said, and you know this contact better than Oz does.
It might be a good idea to meet in person.
Probably away from Dipper. I don't wanna keep secrets, but I don't want to worry him over whats probably nothing.
Thanks.
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cw: heavy, heavy fourth walling
cw: heavy, heavy fourth walling
cw: just assume there's lots more fourth wall stuff from here on
cw: just assume there's lots more fourth wall stuff from here on
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Misfire Video: RadRidingHood
I finally figured it out the secret to your cane!
Cracked the code, nailed it!
Now you definitely have to let me take it out for a spin sometime, is that okay?
I heard you were going to let Ironwood hop on your cane and I totally want to call dibs before him because he's so freakin' big and metally that he's probably going to break it before anyone else gets a turn.
video ; un: stanford
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(3/07) text. cw: mentions of transformation/body horror, religious trauma
But he had been very young, then. He'd been a different man altogether. He'd still had faith; he had thought the game winnable and the war justified. He had still believed that He wanted him to save the world, and cared deeply enough to make it not only possible, but likely. A divine mission. A fated destiny.
It had been the thing to draw him up out of a low period. He'd been growing tired— he'd thought he knew what tired was, then— and it had been a blessing, to become an image of his faith. He had spread the Tale of Two Brothers. He'd told their gospel gladly.
It had been before Jinn. It had been before the Circle. It had been not long after her, and he'd thought, in his most desperate private moments, that perhaps this was his reward for turning away from her. Perhaps it was a sign. Recognition of what he'd lost, and gentle guidance toward what he was meant to be.
He does not feel that way anymore.
Now, he is merely tired. He has plans with Stanford this evening; he shall have to cancel them. That is unfortunate, given that this thing between them is still fumbling and fragile and new. But his antlers are itching like the velvet is about to shed, and he needs to simply lock himself away in his room and endure it until the whole affair passes. ]
Stanford, I'm afraid something has come up. It may be best to reschedule our plans for tonight.
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Delivery. Sometime During the middle of March
Dear Ford,
I just wanted to thank you for your making my new eye.
Prosthetic.
Thing.
It's working great so far.
10/10 craftsmanship, would recommend to a friend.
Please enjoy this cake.
Your Pal,
R.R.
[The cake is disgusting. The two girls who made it have no right to be in a kitchen of any sort. Ford will likely find gummy worms, aged chocolate chips, M&M's and $3.50 in change baked into the cake.]
Sometime during the first week of March probably
late march, voice.
He is out of time. Someone must face her, for whatever good it will do. Ruby is already missing; that Qrow hasn't followed in the name of revenge only means he has yet to find her. Ozpin alone has Stanford's compass, the needle pointing neatly across town. He knows she is out there, waiting for him.
The battle will come, and he does not truly expect to walk away from it. So: Ozpin makes a call, and his tone comes grave and low. ]
Stanford. Are you and your family safe?
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Mid April | text | un:pinecone
I didn't get a chance to thank you for helping with everything that's happened recently. I'm not sure if Oz would have been quite the same if he didn't have someone he trusted that wasn't from home around. It's probably hard for him to relax when we're all in danger, I think.
If you've got time, I'd like to ask advice from you on robotics. For a friend. Nothing big.
Thanks
-Oscar
[...It was him. He's the friend. It was only a leg, nothing big.]
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text un; glitch
recieving a Link. He makes good on his promises, Stan. ]
voice; un: robin
Hey! It's Robin. You met me when I was doing that weird cowboy thing. Good news is that I'm not doing that anymore! Weird news is that I have all these eggs and I don't know what the hell they're for! Do you know what the deal is? Cool, thanks, bye!
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2/3; cw: internalized homophobia
3/3
Text, UN: Willow
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