deercountry | 13 . autumn catch-all

[ John Gaius has hardly shown his face since the mad violence of July.

August drove him indoors not with the rain, not with the floods, but with the beasts that spilled out of the sea: he'd frozen in astonishment and dawning horror, the first time he beheld them. He'd looked like a man taking a knife to the gut. He'd shut himself inside and, at the urging and desperate corralling of his partners, his minders, rarely come back out.

Mariana's month passed for him in a low, miserable blur. But it's September, now— his anniversary, a full year of captivity— and it finds him out in the crisp air, pulling a wry and humorless smile at the flocks of ravens overhead.

Qrow may not recognize the man in the Archives, down in the dark and quiet of the deep stacks. But he'd be hard-pressed not to notice him when he turns, the two of them suddenly alone in a narrow corridor of books, and Qrow is faced with all-black eyes. ]

[Most people who know Qrow are aware that he spends as little time as possible involved in scholarly pursuits of any kind. Information-gathering as a spy is blessedly not the kind of learning that requires books or classrooms, but there are some extraordinary sorts of situations that nonetheless call for the former.

Having one's house burned down is something that qualifies, he guesses. Sure, the library with all its lost books is getting restored with magic, which is admittedly pretty cool, but there's something to be said of building something new over the ashes of the old, and Qrow finds himself with a sentimental urge to find some new fairytale collections for the new house when he passes by the archives one day.

This turns out to be a mistake when his red eyes lock with black, and he's faced with the man he considers the reason for several of his most recent problems. He could handle this with any measure of maturity or grace, given the fact that the situation resolved itself two months ago. He could.

...He does not do that. John not only has the distinct misfortune (ha) of being an indirect source of all the chaos in July but also a reminder of some painful times which Qrow prefers to bury when he can out of that same sentimentality that has him in the archives in the first place.

It happens suddenly, really, as though Qrow were possessed by the urge much like a Sleeper might be beset by Beast transformation, like a Huntsman of Remnant might be by a Chill -- one moment Qrow's at the shelves, and the next he's pivoted at his heel and swung a fist directly at the Emperor Undying's jaw.]

[ John recognizes, in the aftermath: damn, this guy can move fast.

This thought occurs to him only once he's been slammed backwards into a stack of books, which come clattering down off their shelves. A grand old hardcover tome whacks him on the head; another strikes him on the foot. He makes a noise that is not even a little dignified.

He imagines being shushed by a librarian for his suffering, and breathes a low huff that's nearly a laugh. But no one materializes at the end of their aisle: it's just this new guy and the King Undying, picking himself up and gingerly rubbing his jaw. ]

Hello to you too.

[There is something satisfying in the noise the "god" makes as the books topple on his head and foot.

(He wonders if the Brothers have ever felt pain like that, if they ever could)

Shame it doesn't last for longer than the sting to his knuckles from the impact, though. Punching the man in the face does not unburn his house, unkill the friends that died. It certainly does not unhurt the people he hurt, especially coming from someone who's only ever spoken to him once. Disappointing, really. If only all his problems could crumble into dust as easily as Grimm used to when he beat on them hard enough.]

Yo, been a while. Get any more people's houses burned down lately?

[Look he has to spill this last salt and then he can let it go, okay. Maturity is so much work for so little reward, let him have this.]

Not to my knowledge.

[ John, as ever, helps his case immensely by being a bit of a dick about it. He climbs back to his feet, runs a hand through his hair, and looks generally put-upon. ]

Just the one, if we're counting that. It wasn't really my plan: I was more into fighting the sea.

I'd guess you're a friend of Oscar's?

Yeah, gods never do plan for their collateral damage, do they. Half a town here, all of humanity there, no big whoop, right?

[There it is again, that vibe that John has just so happened to walk into the footsteps of the real target of Qrow's ire, somewhere a few paces off to the left.]

He's my nephew, actually.

[Not by blood but it's not as though he's ever really given a fuck about that.]

You tell me. I'm the one and only, back home... but it sounds like yours haven't been great to take tips from.

[ He dusts himself off. ]

He shot me in the face, he tell you that? I see the resemblance.

[An eyebrow definitely raises at that, along with a low whistle.]

You fit the bill pretty neatly, if you ask me. Ours were petty, arrogant, vindictive fuckers.

[...Okay, now he's done.]

What the hell did you do to him, anyway? He's one of the nicest kids I've ever met.

[If Oscar Fucking Pine is trying to kill you, you done fucked up, okay.]

[ He splays his hands in acceptance. ]

Fair. I deserve that one.

[ But: ]

This was when I was in a fistfight with the ocean... there was a lot happening. I think we're square now, more or less. [ Because one of his inner circle decided this kid was her new favorite, for one thing. ]

[He takes a moment to consider this, weighing the potential sincerity of that olive branch against the fact that the main things he knows about this man are from the vision he had of the boat sinking and the fact that he followed it up with that network post.

At length, he lets the tension in his shoulders drop with a tired exhale.]

Alright, well, if he thinks so too, I guess we don't have a problem. But let's just get one thing straight, Mr. Ten Billion Confirmed Kills--I'm not afraid of you. Hurt any of mine again, and I'll become a thorn in your side you will never get out, no matter what you do to me.

Edited 2022-10-17 10:32 (UTC)

I believe you.

[ He says it low and frank like he means it, and gives his jaw one last cursory rub. ]

But I mean it. That kid's persistent, and he seems determined to be friendly neighbors now. I don't think the whole skeleton army could stop him. He brought me brownies.

Pfft, figures. That kid's something else.

[He even tried to wrangle Ironwood, back in the dream. But in the service of being neighborly ....well.]

Name's Qrow, by the way. Like the bird, but cooler.

[He can't outgoth the emperor undying, probably, but he is reasonably certain he can be more of an edgy tryhard poseur!!!]

[ What an introduction. It gets him to crack a smile, tip his head in appreciation of the style. ]

Could you put in a good word for me with the local corvids? We haven't been getting along. I'm starting to think they don't like poetry.

[ This Poe joke will be lost on Qrow, but most of John's jokes usually are. ]

[His own lips quirk up in a cheeky little grin.]

Nah, sorry, those are ravens. Not my department, you know? But hey, maybe if my sister ever shows up, you can try your luck with her.

[Look at these two extremely normal goths telling their own private jokes that the other isn't meant to understand. It's fine. They're doing great.]

[ He huffs a laugh, at this. Always devastating when the guy who's been getting on your case is funny. ]

You know what? I'll need it.

13 . autumn catch-all

qrow.

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