written in the stars

"More people going to Patch as these strange attacks continue! Is this the end of Remnant?"

Qrow flinches as he reads that name upon the holoscreen of this nearest terminal. Speculations are still running amok wildly as people attempt to parse what in the world is setting fire to their utopia, what is sucking away its texture and leaving behind Tar and processed data. However, it is not their theories which cause him to shy away, but the mention of Patch, the lovely little idyllic island which exists as a destination to anyone and everyone who has truly given up on Remnant. He knows Patch, far too well. He knows what the media really means when they say people are 'going to Patch'- or maybe he doesn't, he thinks as he looks up at the nearest billboard. The login count continues to decrease, however, he begins to wonder whether he does indeed know.

Is it a euphemism? Is 'going to Patch' indicative of something else?

The number continues to decline. Remnant is emptying.

Clover gasps, catching Qrow's attention as he cries, "Brothers, I- Qrow, get over there. I can hear her."

Bewildered, Qrow glances around. At the opposite end of the street, lit up by the warm lights of the main streets of Vale, he can see the form of two Creeps hunched over something that is halfway to becoming naught but smooth, unpolished black; however, as one moves its leg, his heart leaps into his mouth as he sees a familiar face attached to that mass.

Wordlessly, he dispatches of the Grimm, rushing over to the felled body of Coco Adel. He has worked with her in the past- a brilliant designer. His fingers brush over the needlework of his sheer Singer garb around the collar, recognizing Coco's work in every stitch, for she has been helping put together his stage outfits ever since he had first taken Remnant by storm.

And here she lies, unconscious on the street, half of her body naught but a mass of smooth black blocks left behind from Tar and consumption by the Grimm.

Strangely enough, Clover's clock face on the Harbinger glows, but he does not speak; the hands move, whirring faster and faster, lines and engravings upon the blade glowing red and green intermittently. Then, Clover finally breaks this peculiar silence, murmuring, "She wants to come with us."

Qrow gawps at the blade. He can… he can talk to her?! But she's-

Just like Clover, he realizes faintly, a wave of dizzying washing over him. Oh my god, whatever is happening- the two of them have been reduced down to data, they're just-

"Please, Qrow," Clover murmurs. "She can help us fight, I think."

Qrow gulps, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against the clock face. He does not need to hear Clover's voice to understand what he must do.

So, without restraint, he opens his eyes, turns this giant, unwieldly blade, and stabs Coco's body through the humanoid chest.

The blade glows, emitting a rush of air and light, causing Qrow to squint against the sudden brilliance emitted by Coco's body. It lasts for but a breath, however, and soon enough, the shimmer has faded, leaving but a space on the pavement where Coco's body had been.

"She's barely audible," Clover says, the clock hands moving fervently forward, "but she's in here, now. She's made you stronger. She's going to help."

Sighing, Qrow pushes his hair back. I don't know what that means-

Without giving him a moment to breathe, the Harbinger begins to vibrate in his hands, the gears within shifting as the blade seems to disassemble itself out of nowhere. Suddenly, a rifle barrel is exposed at the tip of the Harbinger's elongated blade, a trigger appearing within comfortable reach of his index finger. His nostrils flare in distaste as he looks at the mechanism which has almost completely hidden itself back into the blade, leaving behind this innocuous trigger and barrel as if it had been there all along.

He raises the blade to point to a street sign which has been knocked off its post, dangling in the wind now as it clings to its post by a sliver of metal. It has been far too long since he has tried to aim, but as he allows his heart to settle down, the vision of shooting it off its perch grows clearer.

And, with a quick pull of the trigger, the sign goes flying off.

He does not know what the bullets are; all he sees is a flash of light before the resounding clang of metal fills the air. "Well. Your aim is certainly impressive," Clover murmurs as Qrow continues down the road, keeping his eyes locked on each and every shadow he sees in case the Grimm reappear. "Even Coco's impressed."

Those words causes a sour taste to fill Qrow's mouth. He sighs, tapping the clock face quickly. Why in the world did she get attacked?

Somehow, it seems that Clover understands his silent query. "I asked her," he says grimly. "She doesn't really know."

It's a shame, he thinks as he pauses, tapping his Scroll against a small lowering pedestrian bridge's control panel. It lights up with his scanned ID and moves down, allowing him to cross a small canal peacefully now that nothing is using the waterway. I'm going to miss seeing her designs. She was good.

Qrow has no time to dwell upon it, though. They are barely into the next plaza when Clover takes in a sharp breath, catching Qrow's attention. He skitters to a stop, looking down at the clock face worriedly. His concern is met with naught but the words, "Oh- it's… it's you."

The poster is the first thing he sees as he raises his eyes to look at this main intersection. It is a breathtaking piece; he still cannot believe Clover had managed to get Velvet Scarlatina of all people, one of the most esteemed photographers in all of Remnant, to be the one to take the photo. The young woman's skill with a shot was just as riveting as ever, even with a tired, dusty old crow as her model.

I really look like a proper singer, he thinks in awe, in longing wonder. To think that a candid shot would inspire such elegance, such refined beauty; he looks ethereal, warm orange and pink lights adding colour to his skin which he has not carried for years, the swirling designs laced into the background tying in with the wordless advertisement so seamlessly that it still manages to knock him off his feet, saying all it needs to say. After all, all anyone needs to see is his face and his emblem. They can find the rest of the information upon the giant billboards lining the way to Amity's stage in the entertainment district.

When he had first seen this image, he had been absolutely awestruck. Scarlatina had edited the background to glow, and yet, all the focus lingers upon his face; despite his age and scars and weariness, his crimson eyes glow through sultry lids, lips barely parted as he takes in a breath. How she had managed to capture such a stunning shot simply by asking him to sing, he does not know.

Now, however, his heart merely sinks. He looks at the clock on his Scroll. It has only been an hour since the attack.

…had he looked so enraptured just an hour earlier onstage?

Clover murmurs, "You looked beautiful in that new outfit."

Yeah.

"Still do, of course, Songbird. Torn-up and all."

He reaches out a hand, touching the poster projected upon the wall, craning his head back to take in the giant image in full. I don't want to fight.

If he stares at this poster, it almost feels as if the events of the past few hours was all just a dream.

He does not realize just how long he stands before that poster until Clover begins to murmur, "Hey, Qrow, stop."

He does not move.

Clover's voice hitches in urgency, in barely concealed frustrated grief. "Qrow, we have to go."

He does not react.

The clock face lights up again as Clover's tone turns pleading. "Qrow, the concert's done, they stole your voice. Don't worry. We'll get it back from them, whoever they are, but- but we can't stay here. Let's keep moving." A pause. "Please."

It is only when Clover adds, "Coco wants to leave, too. She doesn't know what's happened to Velvet."

They were friends. At that, Qrow finally moves, finally takes a step back; he traces a finger across the clock tenderly, then brushes the trigger, a quiet apology to the processed heartache living inside the Harbinger, tucked somewhere alongside Clover's voice. I'm sorry. I'll go.

So, they move on, leaving the giant billboard behind- leaving Qrow's fleeting dreams of happiness with it.