o1 . clockhouse move-in!

[clocktowers]

Who: clocktowers and housemates, plus any curious passersby.
What: A move-in log! Go ahead and make your own toplevels.
When: Early September.
Where: Gaze

Content Warnings: Tagged in subject lines as needed.

In Gaze, not far from the grand spire of Never Mind's clocktower, Ozpin has found his Deerington home. The manor looks as though it has not seen life in decades or more: the once-vibrant paint has peeled to a mucky grey, the dented gate has turned a decaying green, and the whole property is a jungle of thorny weeds. The front of the mansion has been swallowed by the tangled vines of morning glories, flowers dotting the house blue and red in clusters like wounds.

The windows are boarded, just as they'd been in the mists of May. The third-floor tower is a burned wreck from a battle that feels, by now, a full lifetime ago. Every window is shattered; every space is thick with cobwebs and filmy sea salt.

Ozpin stands at the gate and gazes up the drive. He looks a mess: his hair still stuck up with sea salt, his glasses missing, wearing only the simple dark robe Ruby slung over his shoulders on the beach. He doesn't even have his cane; he doesn't even have his Aura.

But there is something beautifully simple in that. It feels like reincarnation without the dread of taking a host; it feels new.

Comments

[clocktowers]

[ He hesitates. There is a long beat of silence, then Ozpin bows his head. ]

No. Even the simplest of abilities I once possessed seems to be... changed, in this place. Or perhaps removed entirely.

We'd thought Deerington's restrictions upon our powers onerous enough, but it seems Trench intends us to play a wholly new game.

[frogfear]

[The hesitation in itself is answer enough, and Willow winces sympathetically. This is hard on her, and she's only been practicing for not even half a decade, it must be far worse for him.]

I guess we're in the same boat then. We'll just have to figure it out together.

[clocktowers]

[ It's a particularly hopeful thing to say, and he gives her a faint smile in return.

He may be powerless, here. More vulnerable than he has ever been accustomed to. But there is something freeing in that, too: it is one more way this world regards him as just a man, freed of responsibility or significance. To rely upon together does not sound so bad a fate. ]

At least there is that.