written in the stars
"We're going to downtown Mantle. The Grimm will be waiting for us," Clover breathes, his voice thick with emotion even after he has calmed down from his earlier breakdown. "Winter's on our side now- she has no reason to lie about their location."
Qrow looks over his shoulder at the door leading to the performer's wing backstage, and his hands unconsciously lift up the Harbinger to his chest. The movements are tentative, slow; but soon, he has his arms wrapped around the main body of the weapon, pressing his cheek against the corded handle, watching the clock face press against his chest.
He hums. No words will form, as if his body has forgotten how to shape his husky, drawling voice into form, into meaning- but he does not mind. The fact that he can make any kind of sound at all is breathtaking, the liberation from being able to exist in his own ears lifting him into a higher bliss than anything else. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see a nearby billboard with the login count steadily ticking lower and lower, Remnant's remaining citizens either falling away into the chaos of being processed, or fleeing the city entirely.
Maybe they are all going to Patch after all. He snorts, that idle thought interrupting his song. It would be wonderful if that were the case, but…
"It's so good to hear you, Songbird," Clover whispers, "but we've gotta go."
I know.
The backroads shall the best way to get out of Amity unnoticed, considering the heavy Grimm presence outside the main pathways leading to the cliffs; however, taking that route means that he has to leave Yang's bike where it is. I'm sorry, firecracker. We'll be back, don't worry. But as Qrow kicks open the door of a cruiser parked just at the back emergency exits for the stadium, he feels his heart sinking further into his chest, his eyes betraying him as they flit between the path ahead and the stadium itself.
Gods, he wants to perform again. He wants to perform like he has nothing left, and then afterwards, he wants to order from A Simple Wok and eat in his pyjamas; he wants to spend all day hunched over his favourite music editing program, only unfurling his spine whenever Clover comes to stand behind him, carrying with him tea and food and warmth. He wants to call his nieces. He wants to sleep when he is tired. He wants to say goodnight.
He wants this to end.
"We'll be back, Qrow," Clover whispers from within the Harbinger, the clock illuminating the dashboard of the cruiser Qrow has so unceremoniously commandeered. "Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this, and then you'll be performing- without the Circle, this time."
Wincing, Qrow raises his hand to touch his nearly-healed cheek. Clover can say those pretty words all he wants, but the fact of the matter is that Qrow was muted; yet, after his injury from a processed creature- from what was basically a Grimm- his voice has returned.
Clover does not mention the fact that Qrow already knows, the weight of the truth looping tighter and tighter around his neck with every breath. Qrow's data is corrupting. His Aura is weak, and if this keeps up, he doubts even any CCTS terminals will recognize his user. He'll be naught more than a glitch. An error code.
…there are some things that Clover's dumb, lucky faith cannot help with, even with his pin still affixed to Qrow's lapel.
"Let's go, Qrow."
Qrow hums in response, tapping his Scroll onto the ignition column. Thankfully, it registers his user still; he is not too far gone yet, giving him the ability to properly switch the vehicle on. He guns down the road to the soundtrack of distant cacophony and the silence left in his old stage's wake.
It is a few minutes before Clover finally begins to speculate in earnest. "If Winter was part of the Circle," he murmurs, the blade laid across the passenger seat casting strange shadows into the back of the car, "you think she only got to know you because they wanted you?" Before Qrow can give him a sour look, Clover reasons, "I mean, it would make sense, in a way; wasn't Winter's sister the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company? Yeah, their father's proposals to build more gentrified housing in Mantle were shot down by both of them, too, but Ruby was also pretty active in protesting not those, but the SDC in general. Not exactly the kind of friends one makes knowing you'll inherit the mess someday. What if Weiss became close to Ruby on Winter's behalf, and thus created a link to you-"
Qrow silently places a hand on the blade. Stop it. He does not want to think of his nieces being used for whatever the Circle's plans entail- but surprisingly enough, he also does not want to listen to anyone calling Winter a liar. The young woman's voice had been too broken, too yearning as she had fought against him, to call her naught but a cog in whatever sick, twisted machine has caused all of this chaos.
She isn't- wasn't- isn't? …no, wasn't- a bad person. More than anything, Qrow simply pities her.
Either way, however, their destination is near. "She said downtown Mantle," Clover says quietly as their arrival point looms ahead, "but I have a feeling I know where she meant for us to go."
Take the lift from downtown Mantle to Atlas. To the heart of the Grimm infestation.
"To the Academy," Clover whispers.
After all, wherever Winter Schnee was, James Ironwood would not be far behind. If the Atlesian councilman was a part of all of this…
Well, Qrow knew the way to his office, high above upon the floating cityscape of Atlas. Whether they would be able to get there or not was a different story.
Qrow finds that he does not mind the journey, however. He places a hand upon the clock face, stroking it absently while he steers with the other. He needs to make this voyage count.