deercountry | o4 . january catchall

Entry tags:

o4 . january catchall

Who:

clocktowers and CR.
What: A bit of drama at Clockhouse.
When: Early January
Where: Throughout Trench.

Content Warnings: Tagged in subject lines as needed.

Ozpin's Vampirism Timeline:
- [Ford] rescue from the Sleeper Farm
- [Qrow] not talking about it
- [Willow, Tara] rancid vibes
- [Zhongli] a fight
- [Willow] stalking
- [Willow] on the groupchat
- [Oscar] checking in
- [Ruby] the intervention pit
- [Ange] on the groupchat
- [Sayo] a wakeup call
- [Shannon] after the wakeup call
- [Faith, Willow] a confrontation
- [Willow] on the groupchat
- [Oz] on the groupchat
- [Qrow] after the confrontation
- [Willow, Ford] discussing options
- [Faith, Qrow] hostile stalking
- [PH house] meeting the inlaws
- [Qrow] an offer
- [Willow] reconciling
- [Ford] at the Red
- [Willow] wolf talk

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[Sayo notes that reaction and files it away under buttons to push when she needs to catch Oz off guard, inside her overfilled mental filing cabinet and right next to the multitudinous pranks she has prepared as a more petty sort of revenge than "gun barrel thrust into his mouth at the asscrack of dawn."

His reaction is... interesting, though, speaking more to a deep wound that's too busy bleeding to properly become a scar than a simple annoyance or distaste.]

Oh dear... she sounds like quite the character. [Sayo loves her already.] Please, I'd love to hear.

[ It is kind of her to try to help, and this is the thought he holds to; otherwise he would sigh and wave her off. Ozpin resists the urge. ]

Yes, this sounds like a conversation best had over tea.

[ He steps past her to let them into the library, then moves to the kettle while she goes to sit. It provides the distance he needs to maintain this conversation and his patience, despite the lingering tension in the air.

When he goes to take his seat, he feels more prepared for whatever odd and likely humiliating trial the town has put before them. ]

[ He... does not expect Stanford to linger in the conversation even this long, truly. The uncertain tension in his shoulders makes even less sense. A wary glare seems more deserved now than it had been in the fall— so where is it?

Ozpin trails behind him, off-kilter, til his brows draw together in sudden tension. ]

Willow spoke with you? [ Then, dawning realization: ] Is this how she was called off the hunt?

[ It's meant to be said with levity, but he cannot get past his surprise. Stanford is the one person genuinely harmed, the only individual he has taken from without the absolution of self-defense. It makes wholly more sense that Willow reached out to coax Ford down once she'd hit upon a solution, and yet he can't make the pieces fit together in that way.

It's foolish of him to ask: Stanford's expression will shutter, he will say No, I told her to kill you, and it will be confirmation of what he has been avoiding all these weeks. And yet.

He is too at a loss to touch the question, which is perhaps answer enough. ]

It might have been.

[ Ford has a real talent for thoughtlessly blurting out things that are uncomfortable and hurtful. Lord knows it's gotten him into plenty of trouble and damaged - if not outright ruined - several of his relationships. It's not like he's incapable of being deliberately cruel but he usually needs to be pretty worked up first - and an awkward meeting run-in with his ex really doesn't meet that threshold. Not even one that's this awkward.

Thus, thoughtless comment it is. ]

I told her that becoming a vampire hadn't made you any more dangerous than you already are.

[ That drink really can't get here fast enough. But once it's been ordered Ford has no excuse to not turn around and face Ozpin properly. He has no idea why he's even having this conversation with Oz, but he can't come up with what feels like an adequate reason to walk away. ]

I also told her it was probably irreversible.

[It feels far more natural to sit and talk in the comfort of the library than to stand out in the foyer. She settles into her usual spot, and leans forward a little as she speaks once he joins her.]

So, um. I've actually learned kind of a lot the last little while. The vampire thing is actually tied to your blood type, which is why there's not really a permanent solution. It looks like pretty much all vampire lore here ties in with Vilebloods. Um, Ford's done some really extensive research into it because of Mabel - he shared his notes with me.

[She can't not give Ford credit for his own work, even if it feels awkward to bring it up.]

I was right about the blood drinking - I figured I was, Maul's brother said as much a couple months ago. That he heard about people actually buying blood and drinking it and becoming corrupt over it. The thing about corruption, though - it's not the same for everyone. One person might be able to drink as much as they want and be totally fine, and the next one gets so much as a little taste and next thing you know, they're not seeing anything except for their next meal. I've got some theories on why, but nothing I can really prove yet.

Anyway, it looks like a lot of the Vilebloods that have the most success with not going down that road are the ones who have a good support system, and actually use it. The lower your corruption, the less you'll... you know. Crave. You just have to be willing to talk to us and let us help you when things get hard instead of keeping it to yourself.

[ Ozpin is so occupied with the revelation that Ford voted against his execution that he is unprepared for the statement that follows it. He blinks as though slapped.

It's the sort of statement that could be a compliment. It plainly isn't meant as one.

Probably irreversible is not much more comfortable a note to end on. ]

Well. [ A horrible beat of silence hangs between them. ] Be that as it may... I owe you something of an apology. [ Another stilted, hanging beat. ] I've not had a situation get so drastically away from me in the time before or since.

[ So he is, on the whole, feeling better: he has not suffered anything like the Sleeper Farm, and he has not taken blood from anyone since Ford. No matter how badly he has wanted to. ]

Quite.

[ He is silent for too long a beat, lifting his too-hot tea to sip. When he sets the teacup down with a little clink, he begins. ]

She plays many roles throughout our folklore, perhaps most notably as The Witch in the Woods: a story with many tellings, and a strong influence upon later tales warning children against straying too far from safety.

[ And so he starts to tell it. He does not say whose version this one is. It's about a boy, a traveler, who comes upon a village terrified of the surrounding woods. That dark forest is the domain of a witch, they say: a tall white spectre with inky black eyes. Monsters follow where she walks.

The boy has a shielding Semblance— a special power, Ozpin explains, like a small act of magic— and the village elder is excited by this. You can defend us, she says, so we can hunt in the woods without fear of the monsters. We can work together to make this village a better place to live.

But that is not enough for the boy. He says, I don't fear the witch. I can face any threat in these woods.

The village elder asks him not to go, but still he takes up a sword. The woods are teeming with monsters— Grimm— the sort that can smell when you're afraid, and the boy is very determined not to be afraid. He fights his way through them and comes upon a little shack.

As he steps up those creaking stairs to the door, a voice comes from within and says Leave this place. Your people are not welcome here. But the boy has slain many monsters and feels as though nothing can hurt him. He wants to see the witch. He ignores the warning and steps forward.

The door creaks open. And there in the darkened shack is the White Witch, pale as bone and moonlight, with eyes blacker than any Grimm.

(Ozpin pauses, here, for a long beat. When he resumes, it has the easy cadence of a story once again.)

The witch raises a hand, and Grimm surge from the woods to attack. The boy has to fight them off, and that is when he hears screaming from the direction of the village. He looks to the witch, and then back to the village. He has to choose which he really values: the glory of trying to kill the witch, or the real heroism of defending those who need it.

He rushes back to the village, and finds it overrun by monsters. The village elder is trying desperately to hold them off, but she is about to be cut down by a giant Grimm. So the boy calls upon his Semblance: he shields the elder, and then each of her men. Together, they fight off the horde of Grimm.

Once the battle has died away, the elder asks him, Did you find the witch in the woods?

He says, I should have listened to your warning. I'm sorry for putting the village in danger. And she says, You know, we still need a hero to help keep us safe. ]

In this life, we all have some measure of power, [ he concludes, tea long forgotten and gaze gone distant. ] The question is how we choose to use it. Which doors we choose to open.

As for the witch...

[ He does recall his tea, finally, which has started going cold. He sips it all the same. ]

In stories of this era, she only harmed those who would not leave her in peace.

[ An apology from Ozpin is...

Hard to define, actually. Ford's doesn't hate it, but he's not sure he can say he appreciates it, either. The last time he got an apology from Ozpin he was left with the impression that it was less sincere and more placating, another easy lie told to smooth a situation in a direction Ozpin felt was beneficial. Then again, his memory of that time is a little inconsistent. Some parts he recalls with agonizing clarity and others with a haziness that's like the relief of shade on a sweltering summer afternoon. He's been so out of sorts after...

Remembering makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, so he shoves the memory aside. ]

So it wasn't irreversible?

[ Ford is just talking for the sake of moving them away from an uncomfortable subject, but he realizes how curious he actually is about the answer as soon as he asks it. Reversing the effects of vampirism aren't a priority for him when it comes to managing Mabel's condition, but it's a situation where there's no such thing as useless information. ]

I would not call it reversed. [ The topic remains uncomfortable enough from Ozpin's point of view. ] The effects are simply manageable.

[ This feels unpleasantly like a grand reveal, a confession that he is still looking at Stanford and thinking how he might taste. In all fairness, he is. ]

The element of compulsion is less an issue in a peaceful situation. I suspect it only presents a problem in times of dire need.

[ His brows jump to his hairline when she says Ford's name. Several emotions seem to fight across Ozpin's face before he settles in again to listen, drawn with wary concern and just on the edge of reproving.

It sharpens into incredulity at the advice. ]

If I understand correctly, the nearest we've found to a cure... is a support system with which to manage one's emotions.

[ He exhales slowly, drops his head in half a nod. ]

I suppose it's not so foreign a concept, after the role fear played upon Remnant. Negative emotion as a poisoning force is not new to me. But I'd not thought I was doing so poor a job of keeping that force at bay.

You wouldn't get in the way. [It was a fairly basic spell, one that that she had done enough times that she felt comfortable with what she was doing. What worried her was how it might backfire. The Trench was different than Sunnydale and Tara was still struggling to get a sense of the energy levels that she could draw from and channel her abilities.

What she was given was blood magic and something about that made her feel corrupted in her own right. Maybe it was being a Vile Blood, maybe it was because she never really used blood magic before coming here. Either way, it made things feel off for her.

Which death never helped either.]

I don't where Willow is. [A beat.] With this. Maybe it's a good idea to follow him and stake him. [Another beat] Out now. Or you could hang around? I can't say it's the most elaborate spell.

[Unless Faith wanted to see how it might backfire?]

Um...you can stay. I still don't know how my magic will respond here.

[Perhaps if Qrow had been aware of the impact of Darkblood specifically on Ozpin's current condition, he would not have recommended this house. Even now, he remains unaware of the man's affinity to that specific blood type, or indeed of the fact that one Ford Pines happens to share it. How unfortunate.

But Qrow did not spend twenty years as Ozpin's eyes not to be observant. Oz may be a masterclass in self-control, able to hide the growing tension in his frame with practiced ease, a smile that at worst may appear tired. But Qrow can see it in the way he seeks out the corners of the rooms, the way he ducks his head to avoid meeting the eyes of the Alices, or even Break as the evening wears on. He can see the way his movements seem to slow and grow more agonized, the way his sentences grow shorter in each successive polite interaction.

Late that night, Qrow catches him on his way to the guest room that Break had set up for him. He looks -- anxious might be the best way to describe it, something plainly on his mind and yet there's hesitation in his eyes. He is not sure how Oz will take the suggestion, but he has to try, right? It feels wrong to watch him suffer when he ought to have plenty of what the older man needs flowing freely within him.]

...Hey, Oz? You got a minute?

[Willow fully expected him to not approve of Ford's help in the matter, which is entirely why she glossed over it like it was just a minor detail. A few notes from him, that's all, no big deal. It's fine.

She's quiet for a moment as Ozpin processes the details they've managed to uncover. It's a lot, she knows, and she's entirely sympathetic when he says he didn't think he had been doing a bad job.]

I'm a little suspicious it runs a little deeper here than it did at for you at home. You're really good at keeping things together, even under the worst of circumstances. No wonder why, with... you know... everything.

[She gestures vaguely. He's been through a lot, in Trench, in Deerington, and on Remnant, there's no doubt about that at all. She smiles a little.]

Ozpin, you're probably one of the most together people I know, which is why I got so worried when you weren't yourself. I think here, it just goes deeper than being able to repress those feelings and put them aside, and instead it means you have to deal with them and let them go.

[Normally, she feels disinclined to push him too hard, but this is too important to just let go of.]

I don't think there's anyone in this house who hasn't leaned on you for help or support at one point or another. I know I have, more than once. As hard as it is, maybe it's time you let us be there for you too sometimes. You know. Like family.

[The pauses are concerning as well, and Willow almost interrupts both times - especially when Tara says maybe it's a good idea to follow and stake Ozpin. Before she does, though, Tara is finishing her thought.]

It really is a pretty simple spell.

[It feels awful to say it, knowing it's a simple spell that she can't make work, and it reminds her again of what she's lost since coming to Trench. She sighs, and pushes the thought aside - there's not time for this right now.]

As much as I want to say stay, Faith, someone really should keep an eye on Ozpin... I really, really hope I'm wrong about him potentially being a danger right now, but what if I'm not?

[ Ozpin's careful phrasing does something terrible: piques Ford's interest. His gaze sharpens not with distrust or wariness but with intent and curiosity. He's definitely already had too much if he still hasn't turned around and walked away, but when the bartender finally returns with his drink he takes it without a second thought.

There is a part of him that's aware he should take a step back and leave. Ozpin is dangerous with or without the whole vampire thing, but the vampire thing is still a distinct danger. Ford has in no way forgotten how little Ozpin hesitated to bite, how easily he'd killed the zealot, how it took Castor literally and physically forcing them apart before he finally let go.

He also hasn't forgotten the arm around his waist, the hand in his hair, the brief sharp pain undercut with a steady warmth that was far too familiar, the vague notion floating through his mind that the situation wasn't that bad.

Ford lifts his glass and takes a drink. He really should leave and refuse to engage. ]

Manageable how? It doesn't seem like something that can be contained just by avoiding stress.

Edited 2022-01-31 05:17 (UTC)

[ This is, unfortunately, not an easy question to answer. Ozpin's expression betrays as much: Stanford knows him well enough to read the slanted little frown, the flicker of irritation at something he can't readily sidestep. ]

The hunger is tied to Corruption. [ The hunger. This is as overtly as he's referred to it, and there's a flicker in his expression at that, too; for a moment his gaze is on Stanford's throat, at the place where he'd set his teeth. That skin isn't usually left bare, but in this outfit, the whole warm stretch of Stanford's throat is visible against the sharp white of his collar.

It lasts only a moment, but he has to drag his attention back to Ford's face with an effort. ]

It is best handled by keeping Corruption levels low. [ Wholly without meaning to— on the momentum of the evening, the warm thrum of don't-worry in the air or in the drink— he adds: ] I've not indulged any other method.

[ Foolishly, Ozpin finishes his drink. It doesn't seem to buy him much of anything, not time nor space nor presence of mind. ]

[She gives a long and concerned look at Tara before nodding slowly. That was a lot of pausing, and while Faith would be glad someone else thought staking was a reasonable response to vampires, it's still a bit concerning to hear someone else say.

To Willow, she nods.] Yeah, from an outside point of view, completely divorced from how he is normally? I'd say he's definitely a potential danger at least.

I'll be pretty useless at helping with the magic, so I'll just go stake him out. I'll check in with you later. [She gives a wave and a smile that only seems about as halfhearted as it is, and starts walking out.]

[Sayo thoughtfully sips her tea as Ozpin relates his story, her discomfort around him fading to the background as she's drawn into the tale. She comes away from it with two important conclusions:

One, the witch sounded cool as hell, two, she did nothing wrong and if Sayo suddenly started getting bothered by some braggart while she was minding her own business in her spooky woods cabin she'd have a similar response.

But on the other hand...

Sayo is quiet for a few moments more, staring into her tea... then she giggles.]

S- Sorry, Ozpin-san, it's just... funny. The witch of Rokkenjima would do anything to be noticed and pursued like that, so it's odd hearing about a different witch who was so desperate to remain alone.

[ Ah. He's being studied in a way that he's long since learned isn't just idle interest. It may or may not be harmless, but based on past experience and where Ozpin's gaze seems to settle he's betting on not harmless. He knows better than to assume nothing will come of it because something always does - particularly coming from Ozpin. Not much ever manages to break him out of his standard suite of mildly amused, mildly surprised, or mildly annoyed expressions. Any situation that does is always... interesting.

Ford doesn't balk or back down, however. The logical reason would be that revealing any sort of weakness like uncertainty or hesitation to a (predator? aggressor? enemy? unknown quantity?) tends to invite more trouble - but the truth is that Ford's pride won't allow it. He is not afraid of Ozpin (not for something like this, anyway) and he won't allow himself to behave like he is. ]

You can't manage hunger by ignoring it.

[ Hunger being Ozpin's choice of word, not his. Regardless, not even Ford knows what he's really getting at with that statement. He's not trying to accuse Ozpin or lying, nor encourage him to share more information, nor is he even being pedantic for the sake of being pedantic. Or rather, he's not just trying to do any of that. He just wants to know-- anything. Whatever Ozpin will tell him, or show him, or reveal through his actions.

Ford doesn't finish his drink for the moment, but he doesn't need to. He's already passed the point of reminding himself this is a bad idea. ]

[ He catches Stanford catch him looking, but Ford doesn't bristle. Instead he says... that, apparently.

And what, genuinely, does that mean? What is he meant to construe from that? Ozpin feels terribly far from solid ground; he would be better off turning away and seeking another conversation entirely. This will do neither of them much good. It feels like walking on thin ice above some vast and dark water.

(This is a particularly inapt metaphor because they've done that. Long ago, in a dream. He still recalls the constellations.) ]

I do not recognize any other appealing option.

[ He is losing face, because this is said stiffly. Qrow's offer hangs heavy over his shoulders. He could have accepted it; he could still accept it now. He could return home still buzzing with this wound-tight energy, and knock on Qrow's bedroom door, and perhaps it would even be easy.

But that isn't what he wants. It seems unwise indeed to ask what he wants, here and now. ]

I would not ask that of anyone. [ This is so patently a lie it cannot stand, and he is pressed to amend: ] Not among my household.

[ Ozpin blinks, openly startled; then his expression shutters again to something distant and sad. ]

The witch of our story lived a long and difficult life. Sometimes, under those circumstances, loneliness becomes... a familiar pain. It can be more painful to step out from the darkness knowing you may have to return to it again.

[ By the gravity in his voice, he's not even attempting to claim this as a story. ]

Of course.

[ Oz catches the hesitation, the anxiety, and has to smother his own frazzled irritation away. It has been a long and trying day, and he would much prefer to be alone. But by the set of Qrow's shoulders, he needs to see to this first.

It might be about him; about this. It might be about Willow, or Oscar, or Xerxes Break. Ozpin simply stands in the hallway, hands on his cane, aware of the guest room door as his longed-for escape route. ]

[ Well that's a lie, and it's a lie so blatant even Ford can see through it. He looks properly annoyed for the first time this entire conversation, though that smooths out again when Ozpin makes his addendum.

Though it doesn't smooth out into neutrality, or anything even slightly approaching it. Ford, again, looks deeply interested in what Ozpin just said, to the extent that he's aware of just what kind of expression he's making. He flicks his gaze away after a moment and, lacking anything better to do, lifts his glass and drains the rest of it in one go. It's meant to buy him some time to think, but when he sets the glass on the bar he hasn't even slightly settled on what he wants to say next.

So he speaks without thinking, and the results are predictable. ]

So who would you ask?

[ If it weren't for the drink and the general atmosphere of (enforced) relaxation in the air he'd be embarrassed by how much he's expecting a particular answer. ]

[ He recognizes the expression on Stanford's face. It feels like standing at the edge of a precipice, some terribly long fall. There will be nothing good at the bottom.

He is so keenly aware of the thrill of falling.

Ozpin looks back at him, and knows he ought to be ashamed of whatever shows in his eyes: they are bright and unnatural again, pupils flared, the shape subtly inhuman. His voice has dropped low, barely audible under the music and the movement of the party. He has to shift forward, into the space between them, to be heard— and because he urgently needs to see Stanford step back, away from him, to let this moment be broken. He does not know what he might do if it isn't. ]

You already know.

[Tara waited until Faith was out the door and a good few minutes away before she looked back at Willow with a disapproving frown. It's not that she didn't trust her, but in this moment, she seemed reckless.]

Faith is dangerous. You were the one who told me that. How do you know she's not going to go overboard in watching Oz and attack him?

[She gestured for Willow to follow her as she went upstairs for the few ingredients she needed for the spell. There were a couple of loud shuts of drawers, signifying her annoyance.]

I don't know Angel or really what's going on in his mind, but if Buffy were here, she wouldn't want to trust Faith either.

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o4 . january catchall

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vampire feeding offer - during pandora house sleepover

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