[ Ah. Well. It would be difficult for Ozpin to disguise his sudden hesitation; Qrow's shoulder is pressed to his, and so the other man will feel the tension in him. The silence hangs heavy and awkward for a beat between them. ]
Nothing pressing, to be sure. And yet it appears we are being steered towards some end.
[ It is not truly difficult to drum up a list of topics not fully unpacked. He has been less than forthcoming in true company or difficult conversation, as of late. Perhaps the Doorway saw fit to apply pressure. ]
If nothing else, [ with his careful tone telegraphing discomfort to anyone who knows him well, ] touch and conversation are meant to be methods of... alleviating Corruption.
[ Not that his circumstances are dire. It's wholly under control. ]
[Qrow feels Oz tense against his shoulder, and the levity in his expression slowly fades. He doesn't pull away, but he shifts just enough to try to look his mentor in the eye.]
Oz...don't.
[He doesn't manage to fully verbalize that don't, but there's a pained note in it, almost pleading. They have worked so hard to rebuild this trust, and now Oz is radiating something to hide.]
[ He looks away. For a moment, the silence is frozen and tense, nothing but the slight shift of cloth where their shoulders touch and the still-unsteady rate of their breathing. ]
It's... cyclical, in a way. Just as we enjoy periods of peace between such trials, there are long stretches of respite before Corruption builds to a breaking point. [ He tests the edge of a sharpened canine against his lip, ever so slightly. ] Perhaps I should have recognized the signs.
[ Whether he means chaos or Corruption is unclear; it's both. ]
[Cyclical. He remembers what was going on around this time, last year. It's a step left of an admission, but it's more than nothing.
He, too, is quiet, for a very long moment. There is a snatch of guilty bitterness -- if Qrow were not here suffocating alongside him, would Oz even seek help, or would he simply succumb? He too drops his gaze, after a moment. They might have crossed many hurdles in Deerington, but he is as ever locked out at the front gates. They may be physically in contact, but a chasm still exists between them.
At most times, it's easy for him to ignore; he doesn't make himself an easy man to know, either. He'd just thought that after everything, it wouldn't still be so difficult. Especially in the face of a curse intent on literally choking the life out of them.]
...Speaking of cycles. You remember that January, two years ago? During the snowstorm...what I said back then, I still mean it, you know.
[Qrow can't quite bring himself to say it directly, to ask Ozpin to ask him for help. Even so, his eyes betray him easily -- an echo of the desperation Oz may have seen in them once upon a time, when he was a child freshly haunting the halls of Beacon Academy.]
[ Ozpin makes the mistake of looking him in the eye; it clenches his chest with guilt, and he exhales into the silence, his shoulder hitching and falling against Qrow's. He does know the look. He has known it across lifetimes, and he knows it has risen again only for his own missteps. Even years removed from Remnant, he seems to repeat the same follies. ]
I do.
[ I'm not one of your students. It's not your job to make me feel safe anymore. It had only arisen because he'd clung too fervently to hopeful reassurance over the bitter truth; it is telling that they must reflect on his worst moments to reach him. He is aware of the cowardice in that. ]
I... I have long been guilty of holding back the painful truth from those I care about. [ He does not look at Qrow when he says this last bit, gaze cast down to his hands. ] But the worse folly is when we tell hopeful lies to ourselves.
[When we tell hopeful lies to ourselves. Qrow thinks, he ran out of those years ago, abandoned in a forest during a different snowstorm, certain death hanging over his head.
He ran out of those when he was dragged from the farmhouse, burning Grimm following in their wake, and what hope managed to follow had more to do with Ruby than any genuine belief on his part that there was anything to hope for, but it's not as though he doesn't understand.
It's not as though he didn't spend months of hopeful lies to himself when Summer was freshly missing, not as though he didn't feel the ache of it when that child in Mistral asked him if he knew where her mother was. It's not as though the alcohol wasn't something like a hopeful lie in and of itself, sometimes -- that things would be okay, if he could just get through the next moment of pain, and the next, and the next after that.
Their scales have always been orders of magnitude apart, but he's understood Oz at some of his lowest moments more than he thinks the wizard would be comfortable acknowledging. So he doesn't do Oz the unkindness of trying to hedge or soften the blow, now that they've gotten this far. He doesn't offer a hand in solidarity, of knowing what it's like to be faced with a reality you don't want to deal with.
He pushes them both straight in, because they can either sink or they can swim, but at least they will not drown pathetically on the shore, like this.]
...It's the vampire thing again, right? Like last year.
[Cyclical, as he'd said. And Ford hasn't been around to help, this time, is his best guess. (Or perhaps more accurately, Oz has hidden it from him)]
[ Qrow has always been the braver of them; that has never been in question. So Ozpin cannot truly call himself surprised when Qrow is the one to take the leap. ]
That is the question, isn't it? [ His knuckles tighten, and he lifts his gaze from them to look askance at Qrow, still tucked together at the shoulder. The twist of his mouth is wry and profoundly uncomfortable, and hides the sharp lines of his teeth. ] I fear I will repeat the same answer until I find that it's too late. It comes upon me slowly, gradual as nightfall... perhaps it would be easier to recognize that threshold, that coming precipice, were it to arrive with a great pang of discomfort. As it is, I find myself all too comfortable.
[ Which is a lot of words to say something very simple: ]
I do not know what counts as too much.
comes back in here SO late with starbucks rip, when will grad hell free me
[It's not the answer Qrow expected, honestly. That there isn't some intense pain or such that accompanies the bloodlust, that it feels entirely too easy to give himself over to if he isn't specifically watching himself. ...Honestly, the notion feels all too familiar; he's reminded of a conversation they had years ago, the first time he'd learned that Ozpin had shared some of his struggles with drinking, in lifetimes past.
Even so, this is different. Sheer willpower was never sufficient to deal with Trench's afflictions, and leaving the matter unaddressed brought with it the very real danger of someone getting hurt from unchecked Corruption. But if Oz didn't have a good gauge for when the bloodlust was growing severe, or how long it would remain manageable, then...]
...What if you didn't need to?
[It's ventured so, so carefully, uncharacteristically so. As though every word is treading on ice or thin glass.]
I mean...if you could get blood from someone regularly, you wouldn't have to worry about it, right?
[The offer hangs right there in the space between them, a blinking neon billboard of implication. And yet, abruptly, Qrow cannot tolerate the too-likely possibility that Oz might say that he couldn't ask such a thing of anybody, and decides the thin ice can go right to hell, actually.]
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no subject
Nothing pressing, to be sure. And yet it appears we are being steered towards some end.
[ It is not truly difficult to drum up a list of topics not fully unpacked. He has been less than forthcoming in true company or difficult conversation, as of late. Perhaps the Doorway saw fit to apply pressure. ]
If nothing else, [ with his careful tone telegraphing discomfort to anyone who knows him well, ] touch and conversation are meant to be methods of... alleviating Corruption.
[ Not that his circumstances are dire. It's wholly under control. ]
no subject
Oz...don't.
[He doesn't manage to fully verbalize that don't, but there's a pained note in it, almost pleading. They have worked so hard to rebuild this trust, and now Oz is radiating something to hide.]
You know these curses don't want smalltalk.
no subject
[ He looks away. For a moment, the silence is frozen and tense, nothing but the slight shift of cloth where their shoulders touch and the still-unsteady rate of their breathing. ]
It's... cyclical, in a way. Just as we enjoy periods of peace between such trials, there are long stretches of respite before Corruption builds to a breaking point. [ He tests the edge of a sharpened canine against his lip, ever so slightly. ] Perhaps I should have recognized the signs.
[ Whether he means chaos or Corruption is unclear; it's both. ]
no subject
He, too, is quiet, for a very long moment. There is a snatch of guilty bitterness -- if Qrow were not here suffocating alongside him, would Oz even seek help, or would he simply succumb? He too drops his gaze, after a moment. They might have crossed many hurdles in Deerington, but he is as ever locked out at the front gates. They may be physically in contact, but a chasm still exists between them.
At most times, it's easy for him to ignore; he doesn't make himself an easy man to know, either. He'd just thought that after everything, it wouldn't still be so difficult. Especially in the face of a curse intent on literally choking the life out of them.]
...Speaking of cycles. You remember that January, two years ago? During the snowstorm...what I said back then, I still mean it, you know.
[Qrow can't quite bring himself to say it directly, to ask Ozpin to ask him for help. Even so, his eyes betray him easily -- an echo of the desperation Oz may have seen in them once upon a time, when he was a child freshly haunting the halls of Beacon Academy.]
no subject
I do.
[ I'm not one of your students. It's not your job to make me feel safe anymore. It had only arisen because he'd clung too fervently to hopeful reassurance over the bitter truth; it is telling that they must reflect on his worst moments to reach him. He is aware of the cowardice in that. ]
I... I have long been guilty of holding back the painful truth from those I care about. [ He does not look at Qrow when he says this last bit, gaze cast down to his hands. ] But the worse folly is when we tell hopeful lies to ourselves.
no subject
He ran out of those when he was dragged from the farmhouse, burning Grimm following in their wake, and what hope managed to follow had more to do with Ruby than any genuine belief on his part that there was anything to hope for, but it's not as though he doesn't understand.
It's not as though he didn't spend months of hopeful lies to himself when Summer was freshly missing, not as though he didn't feel the ache of it when that child in Mistral asked him if he knew where her mother was. It's not as though the alcohol wasn't something like a hopeful lie in and of itself, sometimes -- that things would be okay, if he could just get through the next moment of pain, and the next, and the next after that.
Their scales have always been orders of magnitude apart, but he's understood Oz at some of his lowest moments more than he thinks the wizard would be comfortable acknowledging. So he doesn't do Oz the unkindness of trying to hedge or soften the blow, now that they've gotten this far. He doesn't offer a hand in solidarity, of knowing what it's like to be faced with a reality you don't want to deal with.
He pushes them both straight in, because they can either sink or they can swim, but at least they will not drown pathetically on the shore, like this.]
...It's the vampire thing again, right? Like last year.
[Cyclical, as he'd said. And Ford hasn't been around to help, this time, is his best guess. (Or perhaps more accurately, Oz has hidden it from him)]
How bad is it?
no subject
That is the question, isn't it? [ His knuckles tighten, and he lifts his gaze from them to look askance at Qrow, still tucked together at the shoulder. The twist of his mouth is wry and profoundly uncomfortable, and hides the sharp lines of his teeth. ] I fear I will repeat the same answer until I find that it's too late. It comes upon me slowly, gradual as nightfall... perhaps it would be easier to recognize that threshold, that coming precipice, were it to arrive with a great pang of discomfort. As it is, I find myself all too comfortable.
[ Which is a lot of words to say something very simple: ]
I do not know what counts as too much.
comes back in here SO late with starbucks rip, when will grad hell free me
Even so, this is different. Sheer willpower was never sufficient to deal with Trench's afflictions, and leaving the matter unaddressed brought with it the very real danger of someone getting hurt from unchecked Corruption. But if Oz didn't have a good gauge for when the bloodlust was growing severe, or how long it would remain manageable, then...]
...What if you didn't need to?
[It's ventured so, so carefully, uncharacteristically so. As though every word is treading on ice or thin glass.]
I mean...if you could get blood from someone regularly, you wouldn't have to worry about it, right?
[The offer hangs right there in the space between them, a blinking neon billboard of implication. And yet, abruptly, Qrow cannot tolerate the too-likely possibility that Oz might say that he couldn't ask such a thing of anybody, and decides the thin ice can go right to hell, actually.]
I wouldn't mind.