[ John is quiet as he listens. For a while his eyes are on the fire, his expression tipped into a distant and thoughtful frown, everything about him gone still and faraway. There are only a few moments where he reacts: a tip of the head, a flicker of something wry and fond in the set of his eyes and mouth. A more profound stillness, at the battle. At how long it could've dragged on. At the folly of the thrown match.
It's funny. Qrow goes slow and faltering, voice heavy, like this is a tragedy that matters. He believes it, on whatever level. It all sounds too familiar not to.
John's battle has dragged on a long, long time. He promised, once, that he'd never throw the match. ]
What was his mistake, do you think? [ He turns from the fire to Qrow again, something grim and resolute in his face. ] Was it that he couldn't convince anyone he was a man, or that he couldn't convince himself he was a god? How else was he supposed to be both?
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It's funny. Qrow goes slow and faltering, voice heavy, like this is a tragedy that matters. He believes it, on whatever level. It all sounds too familiar not to.
John's battle has dragged on a long, long time. He promised, once, that he'd never throw the match. ]
What was his mistake, do you think? [ He turns from the fire to Qrow again, something grim and resolute in his face. ] Was it that he couldn't convince anyone he was a man, or that he couldn't convince himself he was a god? How else was he supposed to be both?