written in the stars
The Amity Colosseum is just as breathtaking as ever, even in its destruction. The northern face of the stadium is already a glossy obsidian, the formerly-delicate architecture all but erased in favour of black mass which simply… exists. The Tar is the only texture which remains. He wants to vomit as the acrid stench curls into his nostrils, invading his lungs, wiping away the last hints of noodles and broth which remain upon his tongue, replacing it with bitter, sour ash. He cuts down a few Grimm patrolling the entrance, but thanks to Blake and Coco's combined strengths, the work is quick, painless.
He abandons Yang's bike at a side entrance- not before pressing his forehead against the handlebars of course, promising to return to the last piece he has left of his older niece as soon as possible. I'll be back, firecracker, he thinks. I'll find you out there, and we'll work on your bike together again. I swear to you.
Eventually, he finds himself entering the main floor of Amity. The moment he passes the threshold, he is struck, however- struck by the view, by the greatness and splendour of it all, by the grandness of the arching doors and the few glimmering lights still untouched by the Tar, by the smooth, immaculate flooring which seems to glow with every step-
By the ghosts which continue to haunt this hall.
His palms are clammy, and no matter how much he wipes them onto his slacks, they do not become dry. His heartbeat refuses to stop hammering in his ears, for all he has to do is close his eyes; then, he can visualize the crowd which had filled this hall merely hours before. People had populated the central area, lining up for snacks and drinks, enjoying the beauty of the stadium and spending time leisurely with one another while waiting for the performance to start.
The crowds were always simultaneously overwhelming and riveting to Qrow. He is never good with being a part of them- too much time in his life had been spent in combat, and his body will never forget just how easily a crowd can turn into a massacre. In Remnant, he has always been able to bear with the crowds, however, thanks to Clover's protective guard, his larger body always providing a barrier between Qrow's weary frame and the others who threaten to invade Qrow's space.
Before the show, Clover had taken him out to buy a small bag of popcorn. It wasn't good for his voice, especially before a performance, but Qrow has always been weak to snacks, especially the stadium's popcorn; since Clover has always been weak to Qrow, the duo had adorned hooded jackets and crept into the back of the line at a small kiosk to buy a bag. The blond standing there had grinned and given them a free bag of licorice too, quietly wishing him luck for the show.
It had been delicious. Qrow longs to eat that popcorn now, but the kiosk from which they had indulged is now toppled and halfway processed. Qrow winces as he looks behind the stand, footsteps tentative and unsure; there is a body there, almost entirely of black obsidian, surrounded by Tar leaking onto the nearby tiles.
"Arc, J.," Clover announces after a moment, his voice breaking the heavy silence which echoes eerily through the strangely-still hall. "The vendor. This place seems empty except for him."
He was a kid. Wasn't he Yang's age?
Clover murmurs as Qrow brings the Harbinger close to the body, "Where did everybody go? Either way, we're gonna get you out of here, kid." Qrow's heart only aches further as Clover adds, "…Blake says they all knew him, but- Qrow, he's too far gone. The Grimm took him out. We've gotta go."
But-
"C'mon. They know we're here."
Biting his lip, Qrow keeps going, his footsteps echoing across black and white tile. The sound is piercing, the acoustics far too powerful as he makes his way to entrance he has used time and time again- the path backstage. As he runs, his eyes catch sight of another CCTS terminal, so he pauses to take a look at what lies are being spewed out by the City Council. "While the Council continues to investigate, downtown Vale and the boardwalk at Beacon's edge is still offline," the newest article reads in his feed. "All precautions are being taken to keep citizens safe-"
He stops reading there. 'They've abandoned Remnant. Run. –Q."
"Thank you for your response!" the screen supplies instantly.
His lips curl into a sneer, but there is no point waiting- not when they are so close to the start of it all.
The giant holoscreens which cover the walls still show enlarged versions of the poster Velvet had made for Qrow, alongside the image of a few other bands; as Qrow reaches the door to the hallway leading backstage, he pauses to check out the glowing CCTS terminal by the merchandise vending booth. He snorts, watching a poll appear on-screen; it is outdated by a few weeks, the subject line so bittersweet that he almost wants to cry.
"'Flynt Coal, Remnant's leading jazz artist, versus Qrow Branwen, the soulful songbird of our world- who will be the one to perform in Amity?'" Clover reads aloud mournfully.
Qrow's finger hovers over the poll. There is no point in participating- clearly, he had won, leading to this disgusting, horrifying mess- but he finds himself clicking Flynt's name on the holoscreen anyways. Perhaps it is out of the childish desire to be free from this endless chase they are on. Perhaps it is from the desire to deflect, to escape, to flee.
Perhaps he should've gone to Patch when he had the chance, just like the rest of them.
The poll results pop up. Almost 80% of participants want Qrow to perform. The young trumpet player never had a chance.
But he does not know where Flynt Coal is. There is no way to know where anyone is- not anymore. Ruby, Yang… where are you?
"Our girls will be okay," Clover says, reading Qrow's mind easily. "For now, let's just- let's just get back to it, okay?"
Qrow shudders, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the clock face. The world goes dark, but Clover's voice repeating that phrase over and over again- "Our girls will be okay, Qrow, don't worry,"- is enough to keep him grounded, keep him on his feet.
Our girls. Clover loves his nieces, too. They'll find them. Somehow.