written in the stars
"Yanno, I never… I never thought mu- much of… Atlas." The crackling voice giggles, words slurring together, completely losing their sense of reason. "Always… so schtuffy… even when I worked there, yanno?"
Qrow does not respond, allowing Clover's mumbling to permeate the air as he concentrates all his energy on running. He has seen the shadow time and time again flying over top of him, the presence of whatever is stalking him filling his periphery with increasingly-shorter intervals between each appearance.
He never looks up. He refuses to.
Meanwhile, Clover continues to mumble, "It's too far… from the water, yanno? Can't fuckin' fish there…"
Qrow's brow only furrows further. Clover rarely swears- unless he is drunk, that is. What in the world is inhibiting him like this? What is causing his data to short-circuit? He prays there isn't anything wrong with the Harbinger, that the blade is still uncorrupted. He has no idea where he would even begin to fix the strange weapon if something went haywire.
Jumping up the steps upon a set of emergency stairs two at a time, Clover continues to burble fairly incoherent fragments whilst Qrow runs. He allows these incoherent rambles to continue unchecked, though; it seems like there are no Grimm in this area, that strange Sabyr being the only one that had stalked them in the streets below. It is only once he reaches the top of this staircase that he places his fingertips upon the clock face, humming softly, catching Clover's attention. Quiet down, he thinks. We'll get seen.
To his surprise and utter horror, Clover grunts in refusal. "I can't, pretty bird," he slurs the hands of the clock seeming to lag along with Clover's vocal projection. "I can't stop. If I stop, I'll… stop… like… for good, right?"
Qrow's mouth is coated with sour acid as Clover adds quietly, voice trembling, "I can't… see anythin', yanno? Where- what's happening to me?"
Clover, please don't say that, please-
Before Qrow can even think of a response, the world upon that rooftop begins to shatter out of control. Rifts in the air appear out of the blue, more shadowy Grimm flitting out of the portals with glowing red eyes and maws dripping with Tar. The lights seem to dim, the processing of these lower levels of Atlas beginning slowly but surely as Qrow watches the world slowly darken.
And, out of nowhere, a piercing, earth-shaking roar, guttural and bestial and terrifying, fills the air, resonating through his eardrums with such force that he wonders whether it would have been better if the Harbinger had stolen his hearing, too.
This sudden shocking cry steals Clover's voice away from him, leaving the blade heaving out pants and sobs of pain. There is no explanation, only wordless sobbing. Qrow has no time to ensure that Clover is okay; even though Clover is not coherent, the Harbinger cuts as cleanly as ever. They have no choice but to keep going.
Once the Grimm are dispatched and the scream that has shaken the world around them fades away into obscurity, Clover finally whispers, "Remember when the worst we had were jus… just some ol' black walls?" He begins to snicker, the sound ungainly, harsh. "I miss that."
What the hell is happening to him?! Qrow wants to scream, clutching the Harbinger to his chest for a moment before kicking back into a jog. The next gondola station is near. They cannot afford to linger, but with every cackle of Clover's intoxicated voice, Qrow wants nothing more than to hunker down somewhere and figure out what exactly is wrong with the man.
Around the next corner, he finds a terminal. He nearly slams his Scroll into it in his haste; rather than gaining anything concrete to hold onto in this chaos, however, the screen merely lights up with an emergency broadcast message blaring without restraint. 'You need to evacuate. You need to evacuate. You need to-'
The comments section is inaccessible. Too overrun, or perhaps too overloaded. Perhaps the whole CCTS is finally corrupted beyond repair. He prays it is not, but as he logs off, tucking his Scroll away and turning on his heel, there is little hope to be found in his heart.
As his feet finally land upon the next gondola, the lift's railing raising, allowing Qrow to escape a trail of Grimm ash and patches of Tar processing the road behind him in his wake, Clover snorts suddenly. "You could always handle yourself," Clover whispers, strangely sober compared to the pitching, stumbling tone his has adorned for what feels like eons now. "You'll be fine, Qrow. You'll be-"
Suddenly, the same loud, horrifying roar rips through the air once again. This time, however, Qrow cannot ignore it, dropping one hand off the corded, laced handle of the Harbinger in favour of covering his ears the best he can. It is ineffective, this ripping war cry tearing through his skull effortlessly, the pain enough to bring tears to his eyes, his Aura far too spent to protect him.
The giant shadow flies overhead.
Clover giggles, "Whazzat?" Before Qrow has a chance to trace his fingers upon that reddening clock face, Clover simply sighs, as if contented by a good meal, not a breath of awareness of their plight remaining in his heady state. "I'm sure iz nothin', birdy. I'm sure iz fine…"
Qrow does not laugh with him.