written in the stars
Beacon is nothing like it had been twenty-four hours earlier. The streets are filled with more obsidian than not, entire blocks processed into the void. Qrow's eyes search frantically for anything remotely familiar, for the landmarks he has grown to love over the past few years spent roaming the streets here; no matter how much crimson searches, however, he cannot spot the nooks and crannies of Beacon he knows so well. It is all just… gone.
A small CCTS terminal by which he stops just for a minute to check out the situation gives him no other information. Lisa Lavender is back at it again, the reporter for the Daily Remnant having posted another story about the citizens of their community who have so quickly scrambled, falling apart in the wake of this maelstrom of destruction. "With more and more people indicating that they will be 'going to Patch' over the next few hours, citizens are urged to stay here on the outskirts of Remnant if possible to avoid flooding the small island," the article reads coldly, neon green light reflecting bitterly into his eyes as he scans the holoscreen. "The City Council are sure that they will be able to get everything under control-"
Bullshit, he thinks, quickly leaning over to type in his commentary.
"Don't say anything that'll anger 'the Circle' or whoever," Clover warns. "We can't risk painting a bigger target on our backs- or at the very least, we can't tell them exactly where to find us."
Qrow does not heed his warning. 'They're calling it 'going to Patch'. No one goes to Patch. Stay safe out there. –Q.'
Another article pops up the moment he clicks the submission button. Curious, he opens it up, immediately letting out a long, world-weary sigh; the politics behind the rejection of the newest beautification project of Mantle's wall is not exactly of interest to him. Not now. The people can vote on their garbage later, he thinks bitterly. We're in the middle of a battlefield.
The thought, uttered so easily in his thoughts, rocks him to the core the moment he realizes what has just been thought. This is a battlefield. This is a warzone. Who the opposing sides are, he doesn't exactly know- nor does he know where he falls. That confusion scares him far more than he would like.
The ride to his home is almost completed when he first sees the blockade formed by processed debris around colonnades which circle the central square. He slows the bike to a stop, allowing it to come to rest close enough to properly examine it. Unless he attempts to scale the blockade vertically, there is no way he can actually see what lies within. I can just cut across to my complex, he thinks, revving the engine up once again. I'll be fine-
And then, the screams begin, resonating with whatever stone remains- whatever stone is not fully processed. "People are trapped in there," Clover breathes.
Qrow spares a glance upwards; the nearest billboard shows an even smaller login count than expected. How many people are left? How many have been killed off, processed? His heart thuds painfully in his chest. …am I going to be one of the last ones?
He unfurls the Harbinger without hesitation. He cannot be the last one standing. He refuses to be left alone here- not while so many questions remain as to what in the world is actually going on. The mere thought of being alone in Remnant is enough to raise gooseflesh so high it almost hurts.
The moment he tries to strike the wall with the blade, however, desperate to break down the wall between them and whoever is trapped inside this colonnade-made cage, the wall bursts open, another bear-like Ursa spilling out into the street. The moment the giant, hulking monster catches sight of Qrow and the Harbinger, its eyes flash red, ready to tear the man apart and take back the blade which is part of all of this grief and suffering.
It takes deft manoeuvring, but eventually, the Ursa is struck down. It turns out that Blake's addition to their twisted little ensemble of broken, scattered data has given him greater speed and agility, and he is able to avoid swipes of giant claws and gnashing teeth dripping with Tar easily enough. Once the beast is felled, Qrow is quick to rush through the whole left in the debris wall circled by the crumbling colonnade, gritting his teeth, readying himself to find the worst.
His clenched jaw almost seizes when he spots the half-processed bodies lying upon the destroyed walkways, the few remaining faces visible twisted caricatures of their former selves. Bile rises up into his throat. He takes a moment to breathe, to swallow it down, to close his eyes and allow the entire world to still as he presses the clock face of Harbinger against his forehead, begging for just a moment of respite.
The moment he opens his eyes, however, the world begins to move yet again, with distant howls of incoming Grimm growing louder and louder with every breath. "They've found us. We can't stay here," Clover urges gently. "Either fight or run- either way we've gotta go. C'mon- we've got to leave."
But we can-
"They're all too far gone. I'm sorry."
Qrow looks down at the corpses lying upon the cold, broken cobblestones, their visages completely muted and mangled by the Grimm and Tar which have completely devoured their likeness. He knows Clover is correct. I'm so sorry, he thinks, I wish I could help.
There is nothing he can do. Without another glance backwards, he bolts out of the clearing and hops onto the small motorcycle, riding onwards towards his home. His lips press together in a thin line, his eyes stinging with unshed, bitter tears and the force of the wind flying in his face, along with ashes and specks of shadow that can only be coming from the Grimm. He refuses to think about those garish faces, about those lost lives. There is nothing they can do about it now.
"It's okay, Qrow," Clover soothes as he finally kicks down the bike stand, stepping away from the bike as he looks up at his tiny, unassuming apartment. "We did what we have to do."
They have managed to weave through waves of Grimm thanks to the help of Coco's firepower; the Harbinger clears away enemies easily, leaving them in front of the darkened complex in record time. Qrow skips up the fire escape stairs two at a time with the Harbinger swinging from his hip, brow furrowed in thought. Once he arrives at his own unit- I knew it wasn't lucky to take apartment 13, look at the mess we've found ourselves in- he sighs, leaning his forehead against the door.
He is exhausted. He is cold. He is heartbroken and terrified and bitter, and he just needs it all to stop.
There is a bag hanging upon the handle of his front door. "I cannot believe A Simple Wok actually delivered," Clover breathes in awe. "They really don't let their customers go hungry, huh?"
Qrow takes the bag with fingers that tremble far too much for his liking, the familiar logo of his favourite cheat-meal eatery shimmering in the neon glow of the light above his porch. He peeks inside- it's a familiar box, far too big to contain meals for just one person, which makes sense considering how there are two pairs of chopsticks haphazardly thrown in.
The old shopkeeper knows that Clover and Qrow like to share their meals. He knows to give them a little extra, to give them extra cutlery and sauce. He knows that they share in everything together.
At last, Qrow steps through his front door, his Scroll providing entry through the automatic lock. It falls shut behind him, the lights automatically flicking on- dim, gentle, so unlike the fiery blaze which roars in the skies outside- as he walks into the dining area, the tiny apartment simultaneously so comforting and so gutting at the same time.
"You okay, Qrow?" Clover says gently. "We can't stay here too long."
No, and I know, but… The growling of his stomach rings through the otherwise-dark apartment.
Clover's laugh is brilliant as Qrow sets the Harbinger down in Clover's usual chair, propping up the clock face so he may see it at eye level as he eats. Even if it is just from the strange blade, Clover's laugh will always be breathtaking to Qrow. "Alright. Eat up, okay?"
Stiffly, Qrow sits down, opening up his dinner. He does not begin to eat, though- while it looks delicious, there is still something missing.
Without nary a glance back at Clover, Qrow stands, shuffling off into their bedroom. He shucks off the Singer's garb in a hurry, silently apologizing to Coco for leaving behind the last bits of her beautiful work; instead, he tosses on a more comfortable shirt and vest, rolling up the long sleeves at the elbows. Then, stepping into the large walk-in closet, he rummages around until he finds what he is looking for.
As he sits at the dining table once more, Clover murmurs, "…you know, you have a jacket of your own."
Qrow says nothing- even if he could speak, there would be nothing to say. Clover already knows why Qrow has opted for the slightly-oversized bomber jacket, why he has walked in only after spraying on more of Clover's cologne onto the collar. When Qrow begins to eat, Clover simply opts to sigh, "You never eat enough, you know. I love watching you eat."
Rolling his eyes, Qrow sets a pair of chopsticks out in front of the Harbinger then returns to his meal. With the scent of Clover's cologne and the feeling of his familiar jacket and Clover's voice filling the air, he closes his eyes, savouring the sensations as they combine with the taste of cheap cooking and home. When he does open them, he looks up at the wall, smiling automatically at the faces of his nieces staring back at him through photographs he has long since grown to cherish, for these are all he has of them as of late.
Clover begins to hum. It's not particularly good, but his voice resonates with Qrow's heart in the same melody Qrow had written for the younger man years earlier. Listening to that melody makes the food taste better, almost; for the first moment since the attack in Amity, everything feels like it's going to be okay.