15 . JOHNUARY

[necrolord]

Who: John Gaius and company.
What: All around him, John's friends and loved ones begin to shed their skins. Also: Riteoir.
When: January
Where: Gaze and the new city.

Content Warnings: Tagged in headers as needed. Note all the usual warnings of this character.

Comments

[necrolord]

[ Taking the invaders at their word: hell, he relates to that one too. It's the same mistake he made, back when he was only a man, and not a very good one.

The next bit is worse. There is a moment where he slips— where it shows in his face, a tightening of pain and exhaustion around his oilslick eyes— and then John turns back to the fire, so that the flickering light across his face hides some of the weight in it. ]

That's the trouble of it. A man should listen to his family when they tell him he's fucking it up... a god is supposed to make those calls. And both are good at playing the martyr.

[bolstafir]

[There it is again. You and your dreamed-up family, untouched by everything that would eat you alive. That's twice, now. John slips, and Qrow can't help but feel a twinge of something like empathy for this man he'd been fairly certain he didn't like very much. Maybe it's because he recognizes grief when he sees it, has been too soaked in a lifetime of it not to, and is surprised to find a god can feel such a thing at all.

He does John the kindness of not looking into his eyes when he says the next part, and it's surprisingly easy to find the words, when he pushes aside the last lingering embers of resentment for the debacle in July.]

You already know how I feel about gods, I think. But for what it's worth from some random asshole who's only ever been a man -- if you've got a chance to be one here, you should take it, and hold whatever family you're able to build close. There'll always be more powerful gods.

[necrolord]

[ It is a kindness. He can recognize that, sitting beside each other and looking only at the fire, with Qrow's voice careful and low. ]

It's good advice. [ He exhales a long breath, and looks at Qrow again, his expression gone wry and tired. ] But it's right there in the story: once you've been a god, it ruins you for trying to be a man. Even though he tried to pick one and not the other... he couldn't pull it off.

[bolstafir]

I don't know about that.

[And here's where Qrow is at an advantage, of course, knowing the story is real.]

There's many versions of that story out there. Some versions like to imagine epilogues for it. The infinite man doesn't stop being infinite just because one of his circles was broken, you know? He carries on. But the great thing about that story is that it's exactly whatever you want to make of it. You can still decide what he does next, write an epilogue for your ideal version.

[He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh.]

I mean, we're all a little bit infinite out here in squidland, right? That calls for a few tweaks, if you ask me.

[necrolord]

It doesn't seem sadder, trying to picture what came next?

[ He sits back and rubs a thumb at his temple, weary, but some of the weight has gone out of the moment. He says it like a hypothetical, even if no one's fooled. ]

With everyone gone... nothing left but ashes and one pissed-off old woman... you think he just starts over? Seems like we've got the opposite, here. Nothing ever really dies.

cw: reference to "hypothetical" suicide

[bolstafir]

What choice did he have? I mean, it's not like he could die. If I had to guess, he'd probably already tried. He was known as a man who'd lived many lives, after all, well before he ever saved that village.

[Qrow speaks as though this isn't a story about someone he knows, and John carries on as though it hasn't hit home. Both of them maintain the kindness of continuing to politely pretend as though they believe each other.]

The one nice thing about hitting bottom is that the only way left to go is up, even when it's a treacherous climb and your shoes are torn to shit.

[necrolord]

That's the truth.

[ There's a clean-slate simplicity to losing everything. That's what doesn't sit right with him, here: no one ever starts fresh. Their deaths and disasters follow them again and again. With people around to watch it all play out, the only way up is through hell, and all that's at the top is the view of the bottom.

Their fire is burning low, by now. The forest around them is cold and still. It isn't the kind he wanted to live in, when he was a kid, and there's nothing out in it but a world that'll keep them for infinity. ]

Thanks for the story.