Who: Qrow & various people What: December catch-all When: Throughout December Where: Around town, in memories, Trench Silent Hill, etc [ooc: starters in the comments! if you'd like something specific, pls hit me up on plurk or discord to plot!]
[Hey, ow? Ouch. That one actually quiets Qrow a little, because that's how he felt a couple of years ago, when Oz first came back into his life in Deerington after having fucked off for months when he was needed the most. Forgiveness is a deliberate choice he made, yes, and he is the sort of person who can never truly stop caring about someone who has earned his devotion, whether or not that's good for him. But even as he can grasp the grains of truth in Fiddleford's words--at the same time, he also remembers how they got here. He remembers that he'd needed reason to be able to trust Oz in the future, and the wizard had come through and kept his promises.
He remembers what Oz sacrificed to do so, and what he'd said when Qrow had released him from one of them, putting to bed any last lingering doubts. He doesn't regret forgiving him, because he feels solid in that even now--but even so it'd also taken an acceptance of the fact that he couldn't expect Oz to unlearn millennia of bad habits overnight. Ironically, it's as Fiddleford says--some frustration over the man's distant avoidant bullshit is inevitable, because he is someone Qrow loves. He had realized only a couple months into their reunion that he was so angry because he was unable to simply sever that connection and let it go.
(Distantly, it strikes him that this conversation has gone deeper than he'd meant it to already, without his even noticing. Well fucking played, Dorothea.)
He closes his eyes, taking a careful breath.]
It's not that you're wrong, but ... with Oz, it's more complicated than that. He wasn't always immortal, you know. He didn't even end up that way by any fault of his own.
[He has slightly overplayed his hand, here; he can no longer tell the story while keeping Ozpin's name out of it, as he usually does. In deference to protecting the man's privacy, he skips over that part of the explanation entirely.]
But it fucks with someone, being the only one who'll survive until the end of the world. To be reborn over and over into new lives of people who'll die around you in a few decades at best. Especially when you're the only one who can keep the world from ending in the first place.
[He shakes his head.]
Like I said, you're not wrong. But those things he 'should' be able to do...s'like a guy with a broken leg having to climb up the stairs to his apartment every day 'cause someone fucked up the elevator beyond repair.
Y'know Stanford's like that too. Thinks he's the only man in the world who's got it as bad as he does, like there's never been a bigger martyr since Jesus on the cross.
[He doesn't even know how right he is about that, or how much worse it got before it got better. He just knows that Ford was always convinced no one could truly understand him, that he could never truly live a 'normal' life, and that it was better therefore not to try. Or at least, that's what he thinks Ford thought.]
If someone you love's at the top of those stairs then you walk up the stairs anyway. Or ideally, they help you up. Lord knows that's all I ever did for that man is be his crutch while he pretended he could walk just fine.
[Oh that's one of the Earth religions, right, he thinks he's heard that one. Or at least, about the crosses. That had been a fun misunderstanding, in which Anna made some assumptions about his aesthetic had found out just how much Qrow fuckin hated gods. At at any rate, it's enough that even without the full context, he still more or less gets the gist of Fiddleford's point.
Qrow's not quite sure he understands quite how literal the situation is in Ozpin's case, to the point that the man had gone so far as to introduce measures to prevent himself from being able to give up and allow the apocalypse to happen. But that's not really the heart of things here, is it. He remembers one of the very first arguments he'd ever had with Oz, where he'd accused the man of being unable to love people anymore. Oz had been angry, offended, and for a moment it had been a relief to see that Oz was still capable of anger. That he wouldn't simply fall into that pleasantly distant headmaster's tone to placate him like a child.
There's another moment of quiet, and his expression softens. It's hard to argue with someone when they're right and you know it, but he's come such a ways with Oz that he has a hard time not wanting to explain that his faith in the man isn't for nothing.]
I get it. [he says, and he sounds like he means it.] I think he's scared, honestly. That he'll put himself through the pain and the door will be locked when he gets to the top. He's got a bad habit of assuming shit and making choices for people.
[He lets out a short sigh that's perhaps a little more tired than he'd like.]
I don't think Ford would've let the guy drink his blood if he hated him, but it's probably gonna take another couple years for that to get through his thick skull.
[He lets a shoulder rise and fall, vaguely, shaking his head.]
Sounds like you've got some history of your own with Ford though, huh? His last ex?
cw: internalized homophobia because 1970s america, unreality/lost time
[Fiddleford is about to say sure, and when you're scared of going up the stairs you find a way to climb through the window. It's what he did. He knows all about being scared, and in his opinion the best way to stop being scared is to figure out a way to work around it, not sit there feeling sorry for yourself. This has definitely always worked out great for him and not caused anyone any problems ever.
He opens his mouth and then Qrow says drink his blood and it just sort of hangs open for a second before shutting again. He is so tempted to stop and just rest his forehead against the wall. What is it with Ford Pines and blood. It's not a Trench thing, he's just always been this way. Before he can say that Ford would let anyone drink his blood if he thought he could get an interesting scientific anecdote out of it, Qrow follows that up with possibly the only sentence that could be more alarming.
It's not the implication that he's interested in men, to be clear. He is still exceptionally squirrely about it, but he's no longer in America in 1979 and people seem to think differently here. He knows the implication is not a threat even if his deeper gut response is still 'oh no, is it obvious, how did he know'. It's the implication that he'd be interested in Ford.]
Sweet gravy, no. I'd like to live past forty-five, thank you very much, and I sure wouldn't with all the heart attacks he'd give me. Naw, he's my best friend. Has been since college.
[He doesn't say 'just' or 'that's all' because, well, if he counts you as a best friend it's not just anything. When he says something like that he really means it.]
And I'm pretty sure I was his only friend right up to -- right --
[Right up to what? He doesn't know. It was bad. They must have fought, but they'd fought before and it never changed anything. But it was bad. For a second it looks like he simply bluescreens, and then he blinks rapidly and shakes his head and continues. It's fine. It's fine. He forgot it for a reason.]
Right up to a little bit before I showed up here. But I'd never -- I mean, he's not a kid and a house in the suburbs sort of guy, and that's what...
[There's something kind of funny about the immediate "nope" reaction Fiddleford has to the notion of dating Ford, but before he can comment on it, the man has that .... weird space out, and Qrow can't help but stare at him for a moment before he turns to suspiciously observe his surroundings. Did they walk into some kind of trap while they were distracted? Is there something in the air that made the other man blank out for a second? Should he be concerned about passing out down here and dying? Bad!!!
He gently places the whole conversation on a shelf for a second, shifting his grip on Harbinger just in case they're in danger.]
[Says the guy with gray-tinged skin, deep circles under his eyes, a particularly scraggly five o' clock shadow and bandages on half the fingers currently gripping an electrified harpoon gun.]
[It's not even the scruffiness, Qrow's made scruffy his whole brand. Just.]
Look, we're in a dark tunnel fuck knows how many miles under the city and you just went blank for a couple seconds, like you weren't even here. Not trying to get in your business, but if you're seein' shit that's not real or something we need to get moving a lot faster.
[It's so natural to him at this point to just shake it off that he almost doesn't notice. Sometimes his brain just catches a little, that's all, as it navigates around the bits he's pruned away. Moreso when it's big things, which is maybe why it was so noticeable this time.]
Oh, I -- ah. No, that's normal. For me. Nothin' you need to worry about.
[It's not ready yet. He can't tell people until it's ready yet, and until he's got a good read on whether they'd understand or not. He has to dance around it until then.]
[Qrow ... slowly raises an eyebrow. It'd be the most merciful, perhaps, to simply pretend he believes him. However, as someone who also has secrets he'd prefer to hold onto Qrow can't help but think that it's perhaps unkind in its own right to simply ignore this obvious hot mess.]
You really gotta work on your poker face there, man. "I've got a big terrible secret" might as well be a neon flashing sign over your head.
[Ha ha, funny joke, except he does not feel like laughing. Now he well and truly does feel squirrely, and it's in the way he walks a little faster, like maybe he can outwalk this conversation.]
It's not a big terrible secret. It's just private business.
You seem pretty freaked out for it just being 'private business'.
[He does not typically look like he's about to jump ten feet into the air if someone stumbles on a "fuck off I don't wanna talk about it" topic, but he does deer-in-headlights if he thinks someone's about to catch on that he's literally a harbinger of misfortune.]
It's -- oh for god's sake. You warned me. You warned me this would happen and we still came around to it anyway and I didn't even notice until I'd gone and done it.
[His voice is definitely scratchier, the accent more distinct, further lending credence to the idea that this is not in fact just a normal 'private business' sort of thing.
You know what? If this is how it always goes, if this is what this place expects, if he's going to be stuck in this tunnel until he gives in -- then fine. Fine. Fine. Like usual he skips over any of the more sensible or roundabout options and picks the mot direct, salt-the-earth choice. It's risky, but the corrupted part of him likes risk. He stops and rounds on Qrow, luckily thinking to point the harpoon gun down at the ground rather than directly at the other man. That would have probably not gone over well.]
I've got holes in my memory. Sometimes, if I get too close to them, that happens -- like when a tape skips or when you're goin' up the stairs and you miss a step. I don't know why Stanford and I split, all I know is it's bad enough I don't want to remember it. Generally I don't talk about it so this isn't a problem!
[That's usually how it happens. The conversation seems to flow naturally until you suddenly find yourself deep in territory you're not actually comfortable with, too late to back out. On the plus side, Qrow doesn't sound horrified or anything like that, at least. It's not that far removed from something he can relate to himself--drowning himself in alcohol when the world got to be too much to deal with, waking up in places he didn't recognize because he blacked out, things like that.]
For what it's worth, I didn't push so that you'd tell me the actual secret. I don't actually care about your business. S'just that it was too obvious, and if you don't want people knowing about it, you're gonna want to practice locking that shit down. Wearing it on your face like that just gives people a blinking "dig here" sign.
[A quiet breath, and here, Qrow's gonna go ahead and smear the clown makeup on his face because he just got done saying he doesn't care but he sure is out here offering advice on how to keep your secrets, isn't he. And now that it's already out there he just....hngh.]
Has anyone told you yet that this place shares memories pretty often? Even fake ones, sometimes. Whatever happened that freaked you out so bad...you never know when the town will throw it at someone else. You'll wanna be ready for that.
[He deflates a little. The point of the harpoon gun droops even lower toward the floor as his arms sag. He wants to snap back that it's usually not a problem because he's usually not trapped in holes with people, but apparently that's going to become something more common going forward. It's not something he can help is the problem. When he skips over those ragged bits in his memory... it's not like he can work around them. He doesn't know they're there until he's on them. That's the point.
That is going to be a problem.
Instead he focuses on the other half of it, because that's easier to deal with.]
Oh, I -- I know. It already played one for everyone to see over the Omni network. Nothing I didn't remember but it sure was not somethin' I'd want other folks to see.
Yeah, it never seems to be. Either that, or it's something that'd dig up some deeply personal wounds for someone else that you couldn't possibly have known about so you end up feeling like shit about it anyway. Basic Sleeper hazard, I guess.
[He's still salty about that time his childhood with Ozpin got shared with Gerry before those fences had been properly mended, and Gerry had looked at him with such wretchedly hopeful eyes when asking if it was a happy memory for him that he'd felt a sudden and intense pang of understanding about why Ozpin preferred half-truths and kind lies.]
Honestly, network aside, anytime you're trapped with someone somewhere you weren't planning to be, just assume it's going to be something like that. [He shrugs] You get used to it.
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no subject
He remembers what Oz sacrificed to do so, and what he'd said when Qrow had released him from one of them, putting to bed any last lingering doubts. He doesn't regret forgiving him, because he feels solid in that even now--but even so it'd also taken an acceptance of the fact that he couldn't expect Oz to unlearn millennia of bad habits overnight. Ironically, it's as Fiddleford says--some frustration over the man's distant avoidant bullshit is inevitable, because he is someone Qrow loves. He had realized only a couple months into their reunion that he was so angry because he was unable to simply sever that connection and let it go.
(Distantly, it strikes him that this conversation has gone deeper than he'd meant it to already, without his even noticing. Well fucking played, Dorothea.)
He closes his eyes, taking a careful breath.]
It's not that you're wrong, but ... with Oz, it's more complicated than that. He wasn't always immortal, you know. He didn't even end up that way by any fault of his own.
[He has slightly overplayed his hand, here; he can no longer tell the story while keeping Ozpin's name out of it, as he usually does. In deference to protecting the man's privacy, he skips over that part of the explanation entirely.]
But it fucks with someone, being the only one who'll survive until the end of the world. To be reborn over and over into new lives of people who'll die around you in a few decades at best. Especially when you're the only one who can keep the world from ending in the first place.
[He shakes his head.]
Like I said, you're not wrong. But those things he 'should' be able to do...s'like a guy with a broken leg having to climb up the stairs to his apartment every day 'cause someone fucked up the elevator beyond repair.
no subject
[Clearly Fiddleford is not impressed.]
Y'know Stanford's like that too. Thinks he's the only man in the world who's got it as bad as he does, like there's never been a bigger martyr since Jesus on the cross.
[He doesn't even know how right he is about that, or how much worse it got before it got better. He just knows that Ford was always convinced no one could truly understand him, that he could never truly live a 'normal' life, and that it was better therefore not to try. Or at least, that's what he thinks Ford thought.]
If someone you love's at the top of those stairs then you walk up the stairs anyway. Or ideally, they help you up. Lord knows that's all I ever did for that man is be his crutch while he pretended he could walk just fine.
no subject
Qrow's not quite sure he understands quite how literal the situation is in Ozpin's case, to the point that the man had gone so far as to introduce measures to prevent himself from being able to give up and allow the apocalypse to happen. But that's not really the heart of things here, is it. He remembers one of the very first arguments he'd ever had with Oz, where he'd accused the man of being unable to love people anymore. Oz had been angry, offended, and for a moment it had been a relief to see that Oz was still capable of anger. That he wouldn't simply fall into that pleasantly distant headmaster's tone to placate him like a child.
There's another moment of quiet, and his expression softens. It's hard to argue with someone when they're right and you know it, but he's come such a ways with Oz that he has a hard time not wanting to explain that his faith in the man isn't for nothing.]
I get it. [he says, and he sounds like he means it.] I think he's scared, honestly. That he'll put himself through the pain and the door will be locked when he gets to the top. He's got a bad habit of assuming shit and making choices for people.
[He lets out a short sigh that's perhaps a little more tired than he'd like.]
I don't think Ford would've let the guy drink his blood if he hated him, but it's probably gonna take another couple years for that to get through his thick skull.
[He lets a shoulder rise and fall, vaguely, shaking his head.]
Sounds like you've got some history of your own with Ford though, huh? His last ex?
cw: internalized homophobia because 1970s america, unreality/lost time
He opens his mouth and then Qrow says drink his blood and it just sort of hangs open for a second before shutting again. He is so tempted to stop and just rest his forehead against the wall. What is it with Ford Pines and blood. It's not a Trench thing, he's just always been this way. Before he can say that Ford would let anyone drink his blood if he thought he could get an interesting scientific anecdote out of it, Qrow follows that up with possibly the only sentence that could be more alarming.
It's not the implication that he's interested in men, to be clear. He is still exceptionally squirrely about it, but he's no longer in America in 1979 and people seem to think differently here. He knows the implication is not a threat even if his deeper gut response is still 'oh no, is it obvious, how did he know'. It's the implication that he'd be interested in Ford.]
Sweet gravy, no. I'd like to live past forty-five, thank you very much, and I sure wouldn't with all the heart attacks he'd give me. Naw, he's my best friend. Has been since college.
[He doesn't say 'just' or 'that's all' because, well, if he counts you as a best friend it's not just anything. When he says something like that he really means it.]
And I'm pretty sure I was his only friend right up to -- right --
[Right up to what? He doesn't know. It was bad. They must have fought, but they'd fought before and it never changed anything. But it was bad. For a second it looks like he simply bluescreens, and then he blinks rapidly and shakes his head and continues. It's fine. It's fine. He forgot it for a reason.]
Right up to a little bit before I showed up here. But I'd never -- I mean, he's not a kid and a house in the suburbs sort of guy, and that's what...
[What he'd had, before he threw it away.]
... What I'd want.
no subject
He gently places the whole conversation on a shelf for a second, shifting his grip on Harbinger just in case they're in danger.]
...You, uh, you okay there?
no subject
[Says the guy with gray-tinged skin, deep circles under his eyes, a particularly scraggly five o' clock shadow and bandages on half the fingers currently gripping an electrified harpoon gun.]
no subject
Look, we're in a dark tunnel fuck knows how many miles under the city and you just went blank for a couple seconds, like you weren't even here. Not trying to get in your business, but if you're seein' shit that's not real or something we need to get moving a lot faster.
no subject
Oh, I -- ah. No, that's normal. For me. Nothin' you need to worry about.
[It's not ready yet. He can't tell people until it's ready yet, and until he's got a good read on whether they'd understand or not. He has to dance around it until then.]
no subject
You really gotta work on your poker face there, man. "I've got a big terrible secret" might as well be a neon flashing sign over your head.
no subject
[Ha ha, funny joke, except he does not feel like laughing. Now he well and truly does feel squirrely, and it's in the way he walks a little faster, like maybe he can outwalk this conversation.]
It's not a big terrible secret. It's just private business.
no subject
[He does not typically look like he's about to jump ten feet into the air if someone stumbles on a "fuck off I don't wanna talk about it" topic, but he does deer-in-headlights if he thinks someone's about to catch on that he's literally a harbinger of misfortune.]
cw: arguably self harm, more memory issues stuff
[His voice is definitely scratchier, the accent more distinct, further lending credence to the idea that this is not in fact just a normal 'private business' sort of thing.
You know what? If this is how it always goes, if this is what this place expects, if he's going to be stuck in this tunnel until he gives in -- then fine. Fine. Fine. Like usual he skips over any of the more sensible or roundabout options and picks the mot direct, salt-the-earth choice. It's risky, but the corrupted part of him likes risk. He stops and rounds on Qrow, luckily thinking to point the harpoon gun down at the ground rather than directly at the other man. That would have probably not gone over well.]
I've got holes in my memory. Sometimes, if I get too close to them, that happens -- like when a tape skips or when you're goin' up the stairs and you miss a step. I don't know why Stanford and I split, all I know is it's bad enough I don't want to remember it. Generally I don't talk about it so this isn't a problem!
cw: reference to alcoholism
For what it's worth, I didn't push so that you'd tell me the actual secret. I don't actually care about your business. S'just that it was too obvious, and if you don't want people knowing about it, you're gonna want to practice locking that shit down. Wearing it on your face like that just gives people a blinking "dig here" sign.
[A quiet breath, and here, Qrow's gonna go ahead and smear the clown makeup on his face because he just got done saying he doesn't care but he sure is out here offering advice on how to keep your secrets, isn't he. And now that it's already out there he just....hngh.]
Has anyone told you yet that this place shares memories pretty often? Even fake ones, sometimes. Whatever happened that freaked you out so bad...you never know when the town will throw it at someone else. You'll wanna be ready for that.
no subject
That is going to be a problem.
Instead he focuses on the other half of it, because that's easier to deal with.]
Oh, I -- I know. It already played one for everyone to see over the Omni network. Nothing I didn't remember but it sure was not somethin' I'd want other folks to see.
no subject
[He's still salty about that time his childhood with Ozpin got shared with Gerry before those fences had been properly mended, and Gerry had looked at him with such wretchedly hopeful eyes when asking if it was a happy memory for him that he'd felt a sudden and intense pang of understanding about why Ozpin preferred half-truths and kind lies.]
Honestly, network aside, anytime you're trapped with someone somewhere you weren't planning to be, just assume it's going to be something like that. [He shrugs] You get used to it.