written in the stars
"Oh… hi there, babe."
As if he is awaking from a trance, those words finally register in his brain.
"Lookin' a little rough there- still handsome, though, don't worry."
Qrow lifts his head, biting his lip as relief floods into his veins. Tears spring to his eyes unbidden as his awareness returns, his eyes locking onto the only thing that matters at this point: a glowing green clock face, lighting up each time Clover speaks, the hands of time finally moving forward without drunken, slurred interruption.
He's okay.
His arms wrap around the Harbinger, clutching the blade tight to his chest, forehead pressed against the clock face. He does not want to sob as he does, but he cannot stop himself; the fact that Clover's data is no longer tainted fills him with such visceral comfort that he collapses, knees weak, body slumping to the Tar-covered floor. He knows he should move before it begins to process his data, but he just cannot bring himself to care.
"Qrow, what did you do?" Clover breathes, coming more and more into himself. "You're covered in this- it went dark for a while, it just hurt and now- what happened?"
His sobs wrack his shoulders, shame rising up into his throat, blocking out even his ability to hum a melody. He cannot breathe; he just needs Clover to keep talking, to keep breathing, to keep showing off that green-tinged glow from the Harbinger's hilt in order to prove his sanity- in order to prove that the horrifying act he has just committed is actually worth it.
Thankfully, Clover understands. "…you killed the dragon, didn't you?" He sighs, his voice curling into Qrow's ear like his lover's former embrace. "You did it for me."
Qrow nods, shuddering silently. He had. He had walked right into the body of the monster, right down its open, bleeding gullet. His feet had echoed through pools of dripping Tar.
And then, he had ripped the Grimm's heart to pieces.
There is no more proof of this assault upon the rooftop aside from the Tar, for the body of the wyvern has finally dissipated into nothing. Other than what stains his figure, the remains of this horrifying demon are all gone.
"Songbird," Clover breathes, "sing for me, c'mon. I'll clean you up, okay?"
Qrow nods, hiccupping without a sound, fighting to keep his voice and heart under control. He does not want to be weak- not now, when they're so close to their goal-
But he is so, so tired. He just wants Clover here, more than anything. He had come to Remnant in the first place because he had never wanted to face monsters like that ever again, and the image of the gristly, Tar-covered heart of this demon will never leave the back of his mind as long as he lives.
He does not want to suffer this image alone. It has only been a few hours since the start of this horrible night, but he is sick of being alone.
As he finally begins to hum once again, Clover whispers, "Thank you, Qrow. Thank you. I'm here."
But you're not.
When he finally opens his eyes once again, the Tar staining his body is gone, as if it has simply been deleted. The entire rooftop is naught but shimmering, reflective obsidian, but he is clean and crisp as if he had just left his apartment. That, at least, is one reprieve.
The rest of their journey to Atlas Academy is performed in near silence, aside from growls of their enemies and the sound of bullets firing from the Harbinger. Occasionally, Clover speaks, but only when prompted by a tap from Qrow, the man needing validation to prove that Clover's data truly does remain intact.
There is something so frustrating about fighting all of these tiny Grimm after destroying that behemoth. He snorts as he thinks of his nieces, of how they would describe this situation. If this had been a video game, perhaps he would have succeeded. Perhaps that dragon would've been the final boss. Perhaps the rest of this journey would be a clear shot.
There is no such luck to be had in his night, it seems. He cuts down yet another Sabyr as he walks to the front doors of Atlas Academy's towering front doors at long last. Usually, this entire building is put under strictly restricted access, with the process of entering the facility requiring permit after permit after permit in order to actually get through to the inner chambers or upper floors. Now, however, there is no functioning security, which is unsurprising; whilst the rest of Atlas still seems relatively untouched aside from a few patches of obsidian here and there, the inner corridor of the front hall of the Academy has been ravaged by the Grimm. "Maybe he's just… letting us in," Clover murmurs. "Maybe that's why no guards are around."
…are any guards even left? He blanches as he jogs down blackened floors. Will James even be alive?
He cannot help but wonder what is awaiting him at the top of this building as his feet carry him into this grand hall, full of high, arched ceilings and breathtaking murals splattered with processed marks across the walls. There is not a soul in sight. He almost wishes there were guards around.
Around the corner, there is another terminal. It glows, already logged in, screen glowing a sinister, horrifying burgundy. On the holoscreen is a singular message:
'Private message for Q. Branwen.'
"…it's for you, Songbird."
Silently, he walks up to the terminal. The button to play an audio recording shimmers, waiting for his trembling finger to press it.
He does.
An audio file appears on screen, waveforms dancing across the screen as a familiar, deep voice begins to resonate in the empty hallway. Qrow's lip immediately curls into a disdainful sneer as he imagines the man who speaks, the tone of his voice having always rubbed Qrow the wrong way. If it is not for Clover's gentle, "Stay and listen, Qrow. We need to know where he is," Qrow may have simply left the moment that James Ironwood begins to speak.
"Greetings from the Circle," James Ironwood says lowly, wearily. The fatigue in his voice is evident; Qrow does not feel any pity for him, though. "Really, you've come all this way. Thank you. I'm sorry for not being able to greet you, Qrow- but you understand," and he chuckles wryly, as if to build some camaraderie in this moment of pure hatred which overwhelms Qrow, "things are… not ideal right now-"
Suddenly, another voice cuts into the recording, a splash of cold water onto his focused form. "James Ironwood, don't you dare after what has happened!" There is the sound of a struggle, the sound of muttered, bitter arguments. Qrow frowns staring at the screen blankly. What in the world could be going on?
Finally, it is the second voice which takes control of the recording- decidedly feminine, stern, bitter. Defeat and anger is laced into every word, each breath sounding more and more resolute- more and more filled with shame. "Hello, Qrow Branwen. My name is Glynda Goodwitch. You're here in Atlas for James, I imagine- and I don't blame you. We've done some… truly heinous things."
"Glynda Goodwitch is the Vice-Chancellor of the Academy, isn't she?" Clover whispers in awe. "The architect, right? What is she doing in this-"
She's just- she's just admitting it, Qrow realizes as he begins to tune out Clover's words in favour of focusing on the exasperated message playing for them, his body growing cold, numb. They really are responsible for everything, aren't they?
Glynda continues, "We've walled ourselves in. We're stuck. We wanted to fight originally, but there are some things in the Academy that need to be protected, and so… we stayed here." After a long silence with Qrow idly watching the recording continuing to play, she adds, "At least, we thought there were." She sighs. "I'd better go. I need to make sure he's not doing anything drastic- that he's not going to try and keep going with this idiotic scheme. I'll try and clear your way. You deserve that much."
With that bittersweet signature, the recording ends, and Qrow and Clover are left alone in the quiet hall once more.
"I- I hope you're not buying this garbage, Qrow," Clover says after a long, incredulous moment. "Just- what does she think, that we're going to just accept an apology or something? Are we supposed to feel grateful that she's going to not kill us with the automated security?"
She's… she's not doing that, Qrow thinks, feeling faint and flushed and feverish.
"'We sincerely regret any grievance or inconvenience we've caused you'," Clover adds mockingly in a tittering tone as Qrow slowly carries on down the corridor. "The only way to say any kind of apology would be 'Oh, here's your voice back, here's your body, now have a nice day!' although I doubt they're going to be that compliant."
She's not angry at us. Maybe James is, but she isn't. Qrow is going to be sick.
Spitefully, Clover spits, "Nothing they say can change the fact that our world has been torn to pieces in one night because of whatever they were scheming. Everything is ruined now."
This is… I always knew that the Circle was somehow guilty, but to think it was James who brought these monsters into Remnant? What the hell are the Grimm? What are they doing here- why are they attacking people?
His grip tightens around the corded grip of the Harbinger. Why did they need my voice?
For a moment, he wonders whether it was something from a film- perhaps this entire attack upon the world as they know it began as the desire to take over the world, to instill a dictatorship of some kind. Perhaps it was a world-domination attempt gone wrong.
But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes with aching clarity that it cannot be the case. He hates James Ironwood, but the man has always been idealistic to a fault.
…the thought that perhaps the world has been destroyed out of the desire to do good and not out of maliciousness is more terrifying than even the memory of the dragon's bleeding, pulsing heart.