written in the stars
He remembers the first time he had met Winter Schnee. At the time, she had already been working hard as the assistant to Atlas' representative councilman, James Ironwood; Qrow had met the man only a few times over, thanks to a shared connection to the genius architect who had built half of Remnant himself. However, it had not been in the context of the workplace where he had first met Winter Schnee.
No, it had been a sunny day upon Beacon's streets. The mass vote had asked for a slight breeze to accompany the brilliant sun, so the clouds had ambled aimlessly across a blue sky with all the ease in the world; he had been squinting against the light as he waited for Ruby, for his niece had wanted to go see a film with her friends. "I want to check out the new bridge first, though!" she had begged in her message to him. "Apparently there's this whole park nearby, too! C'mon, uncle Qrow!"
Why he had tagged along to see a movie with a bunch of children, he did not know. Clover had been in the middle of another gig, so Qrow had been left to his own devices, and he did not get very many chances to see his little girls. Joining her had been the logical option, for he had had a few days off between shows, and it wasn't every day that he was able to integrate himself into his nieces' lives like this.
Winter had not thought it thus, immediately spitting acid at him when she had realized that her younger sister was familiar with this famed singer- this adult man. Qrow almost respects that protective nature, for Ruby had told him about the Schnees and their dysfunctionality. It does not excuse her bitterness, however. The famed former fencer-turned-politician's aide had always been a little too much like her mentor, he found- the same militaristic, bleak way of analyzing a situation, the same aggression when faced with a situation she didn't understand. The same refusal to admit that perhaps she was wrong.
The same look in her eyes that asked the same bitter, frustrated questions to him, none of which he could answer- albeit, her jealousy and frustration had always been a far cry from Ironwood's, for Qrow's voice had always been a far more effective tool than Ironwood's policy at capturing the hearts of the masses. What particular qualms Winter has with Qrow, he does not know. Perhaps it has always simply been out of solidarity with Ironwood, out of the desire to defend her mentor.
James Ironwood is nowhere to be seen, however. Now, it is just a near-completely processed Winter Schnee standing before him, her body a horrifying caricature of what she had looked like only hours before.
"She's 98% processed," Clover warns. "Qrow, she shouldn't be moving. We need to go."
The Harbinger is already fully extended in his hands. Even if other folk are unable to move after being struck down by the Grimm, that would not stop Winter; if he knows anything about the young woman, it is that she is tenacious.
Tenacious, and hungry. For what, he has never bothered to find out. The sinking feeling in his gut tells him that today is the day to learn, whether he likes it or not- the rapier in her hand gleams in the light. She had not been a famed fencer for nothing, after all.
Suddenly, the partially processed body begins to move towards him, instantly setting him into high-alert. That is not all which begins to change, however; Qrow feels a chill run up his spine as he hears a familiar chord, a familiar percussive kick, fill the air, echoing through the empty stadium. Somber notes dance upon the still air, each beat of the quintuple meter Qrow had written in a drunken haze a few months earlier digging into his temple. The uncanny rhythm is not cute- not anymore, so unlike how it had been back when he had first written it, happy to mess with Clover's drunken confuse and inability to comprehend any rhythm aside from common time. Now, though, this quiet song is merely ominous, the minor key jarring as he automatically steps away from Winter in time with the music.
Finally, Winter lifts her head- or at least, what remains of it. Somehow, he finds himself distantly missing his time on the battlefield, before he had entered Remnant. At least back then, his enemies had had faces. And yet, he can still hear Winter's voice. "Why is it you?!" she asks, her unmistakeably dry voice strangely alive, strangely vibrant-
It is coming out of the speakers surrounding the stage.
Is it… is this pre-recorded? Qrow wonders, lifting up the blade to aim the barrel at his foe. He fires off two shots, both of which land upon her shoulder, knocking the processed woman backwards; for a moment, the SDC logo hits the ground as she loses her grip on her rapier.
It is not a recorded voice, he realizes, for she screams in pain, her natural voice quickly shifting into something more inhuman- more synthetic, melding discordantly with the instrumental. This is- what is happening to her?!
The shambling woman lifts up her blade, and with a decisive thrust that retains far more of its original bearer's talent than he would like, the processed creature attempts to assault him. He dances out of the way thanks to Blake's speed, leaving Winter slumped over in the spot where he had stood. He fires off more shots as the woman straightens up, and her cries continue; she continues to approach him, holding her rapier high. Her completely smooth, obsidian mask is still, although her tinny voice screams through the speakers, "Why are you always-"
He dances out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid her completely- the tip of her blade slices into his cheek, eliciting a gasp of shock and pain as his Aura desperately tries to rewrite his code, patching up the wound. The sensation is strange. It is the first proper hit any of the monsters assaulting their world have managed to land onto him, and the feeling of being violated so deeply, down to his very code, surges through his being, causing him to almost vomit.
"Able to win?!" She pauses, throwing her head back to let out a long, horrifying scream.
"Qrow," Clover cries, dragging Qrow's attention away from his own suffering, "watch out!" Heeding that warning automatically, Qrow is barely able to avoid the hulking claws of an angry Grimm. "It's a Beowolf," Clover identifies in a heartbeat as Qrow stares at a wolf-like, menacing creature glaring at him through a mask of bone and a snarling mouth full of Tar. "She's- she's calling more Grimm?"
There is no need to even state that fact, for the more Winter's piercing voice rings out into the empty stands, the more the stage grows filled with the shadowy creatures which have stalked Qrow all night. His grip upon his blade grows even tighter, stance hunkering down for a moment before he raises the blade to his forehead, closing his eyes and stopping the movements of the Grimm, giving himself time to plan.
We just have to kill them all. No exceptions.
And so, he does.
His blade rends through acrid flesh before any of them can even attempt to swipe their claws at him, his movements calculated with a precision that is almost terrifying. The Tar splatters upon every surface, melting sections of the stage; he can practically hear the supports holding together moving parts of the center stage weakening, the creaking and groaning of the floor beneath his feet adding a sick layer of cacophonic percussion to an already-twisting track.
Winter's vocals add a horrifying dimension to the already unsettling tune. "Why can't I win-" she cries as she misses another attack, her long, lanky limbs flinging off trails of Tar in their wake. "Why do they choose you-"
I don't know what you're talking about, kid, he wants to scream at her. There is no point of course- she is too far gone- but her anger is still palpable, the tone of her voice painfully dissonant with the harmonies in the music.
She continues to cry out with each attack, "Why are you always-"
He parries them all away, cutting through the Grimm which flood the stage again and again in response to her pained cries.
"-better than me?" she finishes, her voice booming through the speakers. It no longer sounds human, the warmth and fear and pain and anger in her voice now sounding digitized, filtered, as if she is naught but computer-generated thought and sound and speech.
"She's losing herself, Qrow," Clover pleads as Qrow turns away to slice through another Grimm. "We can't just leave her like this."
She's Ruby's friend's sister- I can't just-
"She's no longer Winter!"
Qrow groans, flicking the giant blade to the side, sending droplets of stinging, acrid Tar onto the stage where it singes the floor. Winter's lurching, deathly body creeps towards him, her shoulders straightening as she assumes her stance once more- poised, ready to lunge, her blade gleaming in the fiery stage lights. "Why don't you ever-"
He presses the clock face up to his forehead. Time slows down, and he sucks in a deep breath, watching the processed woman's path. Then, he opens his eyes, rushes forwards, and slices Winter's arm clean off before impaling her with the Harbinger.
"-acknowledge me?"
Her face is still a blank mask of obsidian, but her voice no longer booms from the speakers surrounding the stage. Her body merely slips off the edge of his blade, landing in a pathetic, crumpled heap upon the floor, the grace in her motions in life somehow still guiding her to lay down with her fingertips extended, her lines clear and smooth despite the Tar oozing off her flesh.
You're part of the group responsible for all this, Winter. You don't deserve sympathy. And yet, as Qrow looks down at her, he finds that his heart aches, for Winter Schnee is beautiful, Qrow realizes. In her humanity, that is- for that brief moment, he can imagine her face; she looks up at him with a mixture of pity and shame and longing, and he understands at last why perhaps she has always hated him with such a passion. It's a shame, really- he wonders, once her sister and his niece were older, whether he and Winter would've ever been able to have a drink together. As friends.
Her body slumps to the floor. The last dregs of white upon her pantsuit disappear, her rapier melting into Tar before his very eyes. "You're going to tell us everything you know about the Circle, Winter. Don't you try and run," Clover says firmly, exhausted.
With that silent command, Qrow plunges the Harbinger deep into Winter's chest. The world lights up, the blade's luminescence blinding him as it downloads her data- whatever traces of it are left, at least. I'm not leaving you behind, kid. Not until you tell me what I want to know.
Clover seems to have a similar thought process, for the moment the light fades, the clock face is illuminated once more, the man's voice crying out, "Where is the Circle hiding? Why did you do this, Winter?" He pauses. "What do you mean, you don't know why? Do you know where they are, at least?" Another pause. "…downtown Mantle. Got it." Finally, a quiet sigh, a pleading whisper. "What do you mean, you couldn't find Weiss, either? So you don't know about Ruby or Yang, either?"
Qrow has already begun to jog towards the back exit of Amity by the time Clover has found all the information he can from the fragment of Winter's mind which now inhabits the Harbinger with them. He is not surprised at her lack of awareness- James Ironwood has never been good at giving up his secrets. He should've known he would go head-to-head with James one day- he's never gotten along with the politician.
He'll tear those secrets out of James if it's the last thing he does. He has to, for everyone's sake.
And then, Qrow will take the final plunge. This fight has just confirmed it- he knows what he needs to do in order to bring back his voice now, after all.
With that thought in mind, he hums lightly to himself. The wound on his cheek stings. He does not pay it any heed.
For the first time since the initial assault, his voice rings true through the air. The music from the stage is disappearing in the distance behind him as he winds through narrow hallways, leaving behind only the sound of his humming and his footsteps- somber, slow, husky notes following a minor chord, throwing Clover off-kilter. It is so sudden, so unexpected after the chaos onstage, that Clover begins to sob inside the blade at the sound of Qrow's voice.
Through the dry sobs, he can hear Clover attempting to hum along, too. He cannot sing along, however- each step lands on the triplet. The quintuple signature has never been easy for Clover to grasp. Qrow doubts that will ever change, although he doesn't mind; he doubts he'll ever be singing this particular song ever again either, once he leaves Amity behind. It belongs to Winter's stage- to Winter's corpse- now.