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

[bolstafir]

Heh, probably. Deerington always did like to keep us on our toes. [A beat, and then he snorts vaguely to himself.] Or our tentacles, I guess, in this case.

[He wonders to himself, just for a moment, if when Oz speaks of other forms, he means more than his various lifetimes. It seems only logical he learned the ability to turn Qrow into a bird from somewhere, after all.

The shift back into a man felt similar yet different to that of Oz's magic. It was like ... growing into himself, an extension of what he already was. Oz's power has always been something outside of himself, even as it's become second nature to reach for that spark whenever he has need for the skies. It had quite possibly saved him from being smashed upon the rocks and drowning earlier that day, when his legs reasserted themselves at a truly inconvenient time.]

But hey, we're used to that, right?

[They're Huntsmen. Being ready for the unexpected has always been how they operate. He grins, then, a little cheeky.]

I miiight have a suggestion for what's next, though...

[He pauses dramatically, shifting against Ozpin's shoulder and leaning in as though to impart a big secret.]

There's a stand with free cocoa for Sleepers just down the beach from here.

[clocktowers]

I suppose we are.

[ He says it softly, as though wondering at the we. Perhaps they are both simply Huntsmen, to this place; both Sleepers, both fighters using any tools available to muddle through one dangerous world after another. This one may not be better, but it is new, and for that alone Ozpin cannot help but love it. He has never had something more real than a dream and still utterly, breathtakingly new.

He'll even endure the blood and tentacles in the name of freedom and novelty.

Qrow leans in close enough that his breath stirs Ozpin's hair, and Ozpin laughs. It's a sudden, charmed little breath of a laugh that bubbles up without thought. He doesn't recall the last time he laughed as easily. There is some measure of absurdity in their situation that deserves humor, and—

Well, there is no one to watch over their bizarre adventures here but them. No chessmaster, no little girl playing dolls, no would-be hero forcing everyone into her gambit. They are no one, here. They can explore without penalty and live without consequence.

Ozpin leans heavily back against Qrow's shoulder and turns to smile over it. ]

Then by all means, lead me there.