[It's February again. Qrow, for his own part, is more concerned with not finding himself on fire from a string in the heart for a third time, but surely there's no occasion for that, this year. He and Xerxes have settled into a comfortable routine, and unless Doorway is expecting an I love you out of him any time soon, it's about as settled and domestic as it gets with Qrow.
He's sure something will get him eventually, because it always does, but for the time being, he's enjoying the simple pleasure of just being a bird, soaring through the skies where nobody expects you to talk about your feelings.
And he probably would've just kept flying, if he hadn't caught sight of a certain someone suddenly collapsing and heaving blood into a patch of flowers. It'd be a more alarming sight if he hadn't heard of this curse specifically from Break just two weeks ago, when he himself had been stricken by the cursed food at Madam Generosity's party. There is a moment where he considers not stopping, honestly. He imagines John has people he could call for help, presuming he didn't burn all his bridges in July. It's not like they're friends, either. Despite that little moment in the forest, Qrow is still not quite sure he likes the man.
He thinks all of these things even as he finds himself descending, touching down at a street corner several feet behind john, and he's assumed his human shape by the time his conscious thoughts reach around to how much he would hate for someone he cares about to see him like that. He might hate it more if someone he doesn't like saw him, though, and by the time he's made his way to John's side, the way he's justified going out of his way like this to himself is as some kind of petty victory, like that time he punched him in a library.
It's embarrassing how transparent an excuse it is, but Qrow needs these things for his dignity, okay. He has an image of a grouchy sarcastic asshole to preserve, after all.]
...Lemme guess. Cursed food?
[Casually, like it's conversation. This doesn't need to be awkward, he insists to himself.]
no subject
He's sure something will get him eventually, because it always does, but for the time being, he's enjoying the simple pleasure of just being a bird, soaring through the skies where nobody expects you to talk about your feelings.
And he probably would've just kept flying, if he hadn't caught sight of a certain someone suddenly collapsing and heaving blood into a patch of flowers. It'd be a more alarming sight if he hadn't heard of this curse specifically from Break just two weeks ago, when he himself had been stricken by the cursed food at Madam Generosity's party. There is a moment where he considers not stopping, honestly. He imagines John has people he could call for help, presuming he didn't burn all his bridges in July. It's not like they're friends, either. Despite that little moment in the forest, Qrow is still not quite sure he likes the man.
He thinks all of these things even as he finds himself descending, touching down at a street corner several feet behind john, and he's assumed his human shape by the time his conscious thoughts reach around to how much he would hate for someone he cares about to see him like that. He might hate it more if someone he doesn't like saw him, though, and by the time he's made his way to John's side, the way he's justified going out of his way like this to himself is as some kind of petty victory, like that time he punched him in a library.
It's embarrassing how transparent an excuse it is, but Qrow needs these things for his dignity, okay. He has an image of a grouchy sarcastic asshole to preserve, after all.]
...Lemme guess. Cursed food?
[Casually, like it's conversation. This doesn't need to be awkward, he insists to himself.]