deercountry | 10 . september catchall

[ He narrowly makes it back to the Pines residence. Outside, the storm is pounding down: rain and hail and monsters, flooding in the streets. Oscar has holed up somewhere in Prufrock, bedraggled and exhausted. Ozpin, when he reaches the familiar front door, doesn't look much better.

There is no other option left to him: soaked and still unsteady with his recent return from the sea, he stands dripping on the doorstep and knocks. ]

[ Ford is both fascinated and annoyed by the rain, for all of the usual reasons - research, the hindering thereof, and the distraction of a new oddity to investigate. He's not investigating now, though. As expected, the flooding outside has caused some flooding in the basement. Nothing the sump pump can't handle, but enough that Ford wants to get some more delicate projects onto higher shelves.

His timing is apparently pretty convenient, as the knock to the front door comes just as he swings the basement door shut behind him. He hustles over to it, alert and eager, thinking that maybe--

But no, he pulls open the door and Ozpin is there. Ford thinks he must be desperate to come to him - or maybe he thinks Oscar is here- but even just a brief glimpse past Ozpin shows that desperation is probably merited right now. And while the pettiest part of Ford wants to shut the door in his face without a word, the twins waking up (and having not yet delivered the news that they'll be leaving on a more permanent basis soon) has him in a pretty good mood. He still doesn't look happy, but his expression is tired rather than annoyed as he takes a step back and pulls the door. Inviting Ozpin in will be fine, especially since... ]

Willow is here, too.

[ Ford's not sure if they've spoken since they split, but their relationship seems to have survived the possession encounter. Ford doesn't get it and doesn't like it, but he can at least accept that it's true. ]

[ Ozpin does not quite know what to say to this: that's why I came feels both defensive and callous, out of place. It is also not wholly true. He dips his head in thanks and steps inside, one hand keeping his dripping hair out of his eyes and the other gripping the doorjamb to keep himself steady, but he quickly lets go when he realizes he'll only get everything wet.

It is, put primly, not an ideal reunion. Still. It only occurs to him once he's across the threshold that he'd been concerned, on the harried trek here, that Ford might turn him away. He'd forgotten that, once they were face to face. Stanford's weary acceptance feels natural, secure.

The silence hangs an awkward beat. ]

Has her wound improved?

[ Surely that, if nothing else, is safe ground. ]

[ Unfortunately there's no towels to offer Ozpin right at the front door, so Ford simply waves for Ozpin to follow him towards the kitchen. While Willow's injury is safer ground than most other subjects right now, it's a question that has Ford lifting a hand to massage his temples. ]

It hasn't gotten worse, but there's no signs of any improvement.

[ Trench is not a relaxing city to exist in, but this is one of the more concerning things Ford has come across - worse for the fact that he doesn't think he can fix any time soon unless he goes looking for the person who laid the curse in the first place.

As they pass through the kitchen Ford gestures for Ozpin to sit at the kitchen table (the seats are all open save for the one Robert the Litwick has claimed) and disappears down the hallway towards the laundry room, only to return a moment later with a towel. ]

But from that and some restlessness she's fine.

[ He takes the seat, then takes the towel. Ozpin is truly too soaked by the rain for this to do him much good, but even so: he peels off his long green overcoat and hangs it over the back of the chair, then begins to unbutton his vest with clammy fingers, so that he might at least strip to his shirtsleeves. It is very difficult not to be hyperaware of Stanford, as he does. ]

I suppose we must be thankful that it hasn't progressed further. [ But he sounds lowly thoughtful, mouth drawn tight with concern. ] Still... it is unlike any wound I have observed in Trench, or even upon Remnant.

[ Ford pointedly doesn't look at Ozpin as the other man strips down to his shirtsleeves, instead busying himself with retrieving a cup of coffee before he sits down. Fortunately, Ozpin immediately provides him with his favorite go-to evasion tactic: talking about literally anything else. ]

I haven't seen anything quite like this, but unbreakable curses - or curses that required overly specific methods to break - are fairly common.

[ Or at least, common when it comes to something that's not exactly easy to put into action. ]

Unless it's not working as intended, I suspect it's meant to be some form of blackmail.

[ Ozpin, for his part, is deeply relieved to be talking about anything else. ]

Ah. Breakable only by the one who laid the curse, but at a cost, I imagine. I do not find myself eager to work with Reaper any time soon.

Neither do I. I only ever knew him by reputation, but...

[ Well, he seemed unpleasant. Ford glances to Ozpin, electing to not notice how easily conversation is coming right now. ]

Did you ever meet him?

Unfortunately. [ There is a moment's hesitation, differently awkward. ] He was involved.

[ It hurts every time. She's not here, and it still hurts just the same. He will have to wonder over that in private, later. ]

When the house burned, he was among those responsible.

[ Ah. The sudden change in the air isn't lost on Ford, if only because he's so attuned to the particular brand of tension that normally exists between himself and Ozpin. He taps his fingers against the table just ones, then wraps them around the mug to stop himself from doing it again. ]

Yes... Willow didn't give me many details, but I gathered it was a group effort.

Reaper, Chara, and Vira-Lorr. [ His mouth twists, tense and unhappy. ] There may have been others, but none that I personally had the misfortune of facing. In truth, I don't know how much further trouble we must prepare for... July was a powerful influence upon many, and it is possible that the atmosphere of violence has subsided.

[ But Ozpin is not known for his bracing optimism, so he adds: ]

However, I fear the enemies we've made will not be so easily appeased.

[ Right, Vira-Lorr. He can only assume (hope) that July was most of the reason she made a showing at the group effort to burn the Remnant's home to cinders, but it's still a bit awkward knowing that someone he considers a friend was involved.

Much easier, then to focus on the other subject at hand. ]

I doubt they will. Willow alone has made some persistent enemies.

[ Ford doesn't say this in a judgemental tone, because even Ford knows he has absolutely no room to judge people for their ability to make enemies with the worst people imaginable. He does adopt a thoughtful expression, however, and rises from his seat to investigate the living room bookshelf - or more specifically, the journals he has stored there. ]

But now that you know who exactly they are it'll be easier to build defenses against them. I know a barrier spell that isn't too difficult to modify, provided you can find the right reagents.

[ This comes as a surprise to him, though it shouldn't. It is another of these unsettled little moments in which he finds he's stepped too far into comfort, and is now thrown upon remembering the cracks. There is an awkward fumble, and then he nods. ]

I would be glad to hear it. Willow has defensive magic of her own, of course... but I will be little help in that regard, and it seems best not to rely on the very person they'd seek to target.

[This is not even the first time this month Fiddleford McGucket has suddenly tripped and wound up somewhere completely different with no knowledge of how he got from point A to point B. The first time, though, it was just sort of a dank non-Euclidean office space. This is markedly worse for a lot of reasons: the constant lightning and electrically charged air just makes him antsier, makes his own electrical production go into overdrive. He's not about to swear himself to some alternate universe pagan god so he's been shoved rudely out into the streets with the monsters. His corruption is bad between the confusion and constant sense of danger, to the point where his lower canines are visibly poking out of his mouth and all of his skin has gone gray-blue and his eyes are uncomfortably glassy and his arms are ever so slightly too long. This is the worst it's been since he arrived.

And yet he seems incredibly calm, almost detached. He was lucky enough to be pulled through soon after the Bugge hunt, meaning he had a weapon on-hand when the local monsters started crawling out of alleys and trying to take a bite out of him. The fact that that weapon is a shovel doesn't seem to be holding him back any. Something that isn't quite a hyena and isn't quite a crocodile and isn't quite a bear lunges at him and he hits it full in the jaw with the flat of the shovel once, twice as it staggers, and then once in the forelegs to drop it to the ground. After that it takes surprisingly few chops to remove the head, which speaks either to the mettle of that shovel or to exactly how little he is holding himself back.

It's fine!

He senses movement to his left and turns, shovel already raised, but freezes almost unnaturally-still when he sees it isn't another monster.

At least, it doesn't look like one. There's still time for it to try and kill him.]

[ What it looks like, in fact, is a very tall and fairly overdressed man in a filigreed green tailcoat. He holds a similarly overwrought walking cane at the ready, and he looks more than a little unsettled by this display. The shovel continues to drip gore between them.

Ozpin politely clears his throat. ]

Very thorough work. [ This is the hedging tone of a man not certain whether he's facing friend or foe. ] I imagine you've found yourself separated from Trench proper?

[ why admit you're lost when you could suggest that everyone around you is also lost, instead ]

[Two years ago, Qrow would never have thought he'd have gotten used to the routine of people coming back from the dead. There's always a base level of unease to it, of course, the what if that's lingered ever since the first time Oz took over a week longer to come back than he should've and Qrow had suddenly found himself facing the prospect of having to mourn the immortal for real, but it's pretty routine, these days, especially with Ozpin. The day that Willow comments to the groupchat about Oz being with her signals the same pattern as usual, and then it's just...a waiting game.

Until one afternoon there's a proper knock on the front door of Break's house, and as Qrow realizes just who it must be, finds himself struck with a tidal wave of old feelings he'd thought were long buried. The memory of Ozpin's corpse in rubble just like that in July, of a last stand that came with a fall, and not being able to stop it.

Even with the war dead and buried, it stuns him what a relief it is to see Ozpin whole and intact at the door, leaving him a little lost for words. It may have to be on Ozpin to bridge that gap, this time.]

[ Qrow opens the door and looks so floored to see him that it twists something tender and uncomfortable in Ozpin's chest. It has been a delayed reunion, certainly, but he'd not truly thought... or, he had perhaps avoided the idea that...

He'd not meant to worry them again. He'd like to think it common knowledge, these days, that he means to stay.

Ozpin exhales a long breath, expression warm, and offers a small and nearly apologetic smile. ]

Good evening, Qrow. I am glad to be back.

[Oz smiles in that apologetic fashion and greets him, and something in Qrow feels oddly young again, reassured by the presence of the man who spent so much of his youth trying to teach him the value of hope and optimism -- and yet it is not an unburdened feeling. He has lost so much since he was that lonely boy first learning to have faith. He and Oz themselves have rebuilt an entire shattered foundation from the ground up.

Relief and old grief mingle, and leave something overwhelmed and difficult to define in his own chest. He surprises his own self when he reaches back reflexively for the cane that is of course not with him, not this time, and his own smile in return is a tinge embarrassed in the wake of the slip.]

Hey, Oz. S'good to see you.

[An awkward beat follows; another difference from Mistral is that they are standing at the threshold of his lover's home, in which he spends his evenings in languid retirement for the most part. There is no urgent goal to accomplish, no next step to climb in an neverending mountain. Ozpin is back, and they are free to simply carry on as before. The house can simply be rebuilt; there are no swarms of monsters lingering to make the area uninhabitable. He and Ruby and Ange are here only as a matter of convenience, right now.]

Do you wanna come in?

Edited 2022-10-09 03:29 (UTC)

[ It is oddly light and directionless, this moment. He has nowhere else to be; he has very little else where he might go, aside wherever Willow or Stanford can be found. And yet Qrow isn't the only safe harbor available to him. The city is weather-beaten and in disarray, yes, but it's nothing apocalyptic; they face a scattering of public enemies, not an army. They can simply go on. ]

Thank you.

[ He steps inside, and it's easy. He has, after all, spent an evening here before: it's familiar in the way of any safehouse, colored by fondness and old stress in equal part. Ozpin falls into step a pace behind Qrow, shrugging out of his wet overcoat as he does. It leaves him in shirtsleeves and a little rumpled by wind. ]

I do hope I haven't missed anything too eventful.

When isn't it eventful around here?

[Said lightly, with a tinge of self-deprecation. There have certainly been Events, of late, not least of which includes his forming a familial bond with Break as a mark of their partnership with each other. Add in Ruby's kidnapping, Ange's near-miss with Beasthood, and the brief episode of entirely less voluntary mindspace-sharing, and it's kind of been a lot.

Somewhat unsure of where to begin or if he should be the one taking a page out of Ozpin's book and simply letting all the unpleasantness lie, he starts leading the way toward the kitchen, aiming to make some cocoa for the two of them. Oz might notice ... that since the last he was here, there's been a new addition to the room -- a perfectly bird-sized door by the window that could be opened and closed by a creature with a beak and cleverness. Qrow notably does not so much as glance toward it.]

Seems like the dust is finally settling from that mess, though. Won't even have a horde of monsters to deal with when we get back.

[It's fine if he just casually acknowledges the elephant in the room as though it were nothing, right. There are no deep seated griefs or old traumas dug up here, just another bout of Trench nonsense that's over now.]

Edited 2022-10-16 14:03 (UTC)

[ Ozpin follows him, and settles into a chair at the table while Qrow tends to their drinks. This, too, is familiar. It's an unexpected joy to be here in what he considers his own body, burdened by no permanent losses, no background discomfort of a new host fumbling through an unwanted partnership. There is no shadow upon him but the ache at having lost, and being set adrift in the wake of it— but he has known adrift to mean waking in a strange continent. Here he is in a familiar kitchen, offered cocoa and easy warmth.

There is a pause, nothing but the clink of mugs on the counter. Ozpin says, softly: ]

Indeed. I will take this world's idea of harshness over the one we knew, and suffer it gladly. Here, at least, the dead can always return home.

[ He knows the house has burned. Home isn't merely a building, after all. ]

10 . september catchall

backdated to early August

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cult hours cult hours (late September) cw: violence against monsters, decapitation

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qrow & oz reunion | august-ish

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