written in the stars
He remembers James Ironwood.
They had shared a mutual superior officer- a man whom they had both followed and respected, although they had shown that respect in different ways. Qrow had always followed orders absolutely, putting his feelings aside and doing what needed to be done for the sake of his mission, his superiors, and for the sake of the little nieces he longed to raise in a world without conflict.
He hadn't been successful in that shimmering, innocent dream of his. The mere memory of it still brings bile into his mouth, stomach acid sour and stinging in his esophagus; the shame left behind from having to abandon an external world that was doomed from the start still haunts him, despite all of these years in Remnant- despite having found a modicum of peace onstage, with his girls, and within Clover.
James' respect had always been different. He had wanted to prove himself from the get-go. He challenged orders, trying to climb his way up the ranks, trying to instill within others a sense that what James Ironwood could accomplish was limitless compared to the feeble growth destined for the rest of their legions. Even now, Qrow despises that cockiness, that sense of arrogance which he had always seen in James Ironwood; even now, he thinks back to that superior and cannot help but to label him a fool for not cutting off James' desire for supremacy off from the start.
I should've killed him back then, he thinks as he stalks his way down yet another Grimm-infested hallway within the Academy. Then, he wouldn't have followed me into Remnant- he wouldn't have gained power as a councillor- he would've just stayed a soldier, like he belonged.
Or maybe he has stayed a soldier. If Glynda Goodwitch's words are indeed correct, then James is one of the key players responsible for turning Qrow's haven into naught but a warzone which can never be reclaimed. Perhaps this has been James' goal after all.
It may as well be. Clover is right. Pretty words will never bring Remnant- or the people in the Harbinger, or the people he has been forced to leave behind, their bodies too processed to download- back.
There is another terminal here waiting to greet him, another private message dedicated to Qrow flashing onscreen. He approaches this ominous red CCTS holoscreen with trepidation, for he can see two Atlesian Knights, the automated security detail, parked inside docks lining the hallway just three feet away; should they activate whilst his back is turned, he could be riddled with holes before he has a chance to even press 'play'. Still, he needs to see this message. All he can do is pray that Glynda had not been lying when she said that the automated security would not bring him harm as he makes his way up the Academy's endless floors.
They do not react to his approach, allowing him to examine the screen uninterrupted. The message is another audio recording. "Let's hear it, Qrow," Clover growls bitterly. "Let's see what stupid reasoning they can come up with now."
He hums, nodding his head, then presses play, wincing as a brighter red light begins dancing across the screen in the shape of waveforms. Immediately, two voices assault his eardrums, a whispered argument that sounds painfully loud in the otherwise silent hall filling the recording despite the words clearly not being aimed at him.
He picks out Glynda's voice first, her words muffled but her frustration evident. Finally, she speaks with a bit more clarity. "James, please-"
"No, Glynda," James says, clearing his throat. Qrow flares his nostrils and sighs, waiting for the man to begin to speak as heavy footsteps echo towards the recording device. Once they come to a halt, James begins, "Qrow… you need to understand. We have our reasons for all of this."
"They better be spectacular," Clover seethes. "I want my body back."
"You see, Qrow, when everything changes… nothing changes."
…I'm sorry, what? Qrow wonders, blinking in baffled confusion at the screen. He had been expecting a war cry, a challenge, an apology- but what the hell is James going on about?
"That's the Circle's creed," James insists, his voice somber and resolute. "Our mission, you could say. We love our city and the way it is- was, before tonight."
Then why?
It is as if James has heard him in the past, this pre-recorded message providing an answer so puerile he almost retches. "We just didn't want to see it fade because someone out there didn't like the colour of the sky. Everything we did, everything we're doing, is for Remnant, don't you see?"
Clover spits venom in his words, the green glow clashing horribly with the red seared into Qrow's eyes from the holoscreen. "He's lying. Why wouldn't he be?"
But… that's the thing, Qrow longs to reply, gently stroking the clock face, the metal warm under his freezing fingertips. I know him. I don't think he actually is lying.
And that fact is the most frightening part.
As he reaches an elevator at the end of the hall, his mind begins to race. Everything in Remnant is decided by vote, yes. Yes, things haven't really changed much since I've been here because of the voting system, but… how in the world does removed art pieces and changed- or unchanging- legislature warrant any of this?! He cannot come up with an answer, irritation only rising to the forefront of his mind as the lift refuses to arrive upon the floor. Groaning silently, he turns on his heel and makes a break for the nearby staircase, only running faster when he hears the telltale clicking of claws upon the tiled floor coming from around the last corner.
Upon the next floor, there is another terminal. It does not carry a private message, however; instead, there is a new alert waiting for him. His Scroll is tapping the screen before he is even conscious of it, his body moving so automatically in desperation to shed some kind of light upon the conflicting messages he has received this night.
It is a simple message, the voice-to-text lines appearing on-screen in time with Glynda's harrowing, matter-of-fact words. Glynda Goodwitch's profile image appears on screen, labelling her as the speaker in this public announcement. Her face is familiar, for she has been in the news and on CCTS interviews more times than anyone can count, having been one of the most influential architects responsible for Remnant as it is today; her blonde curls are pristine in their simple, swept-back bun, her glasses portraying no hint of humour in her beautiful, but stern no-nonsense expression.
He could never have imagined that she, of all people, would be associated to this nightmare. The public has been rejecting a lot of her new installations, he thinks distantly. But- that can't be enough of a reason to cause all of this… can it?
Qrow's heart races in his chest as he sees a small icon flickering in the corner of the screen, proving that this message is being broadcast outside of Remnant as well- outside of this world. He glances at the login count. Then, he looks away.
He has never felt more alone.
"To the people of Remnant: We did this," the title reads. He reaches out with a trembling finger. He presses play.
"By the gods," Clover whispers. "This- they're not actually saying it-"
In response to Qrow's touch, Glynda begins to speak. "This is an emergency broadcast. I repeat: this is an emergency broadcast to the people of Remnant," she begins. She sounds absolutely exhausted, defeated- broken. "We, the Circle, are responsible for the inexcusable crimes committed against this city and her citizens. This is a formal admission of guilt. I solemnly swear everything written here is true. Know that I am responsible for these heinous acts perpetrated against this oasis of Remnant."
"Is she taking all the blame?!" Clover cries in shock.
She continues, "My accomplices are Winter Schnee, Oscar Pine, and James Ironwood. We alone are to blame."
"Why would she take the blame when this kind of thing is clearly James' fault?" Clover breathes, but Qrow is not listening, too focused on Glynda's words- on the truth unveiling before his very eyes, a car accident which shall be engrained into his memory forever.
"Perhaps our worst sin is you will get no justice. For now, we all share the same sentence."
And that's that. Qrow shivers, his blood freezing in his veins without his Aura to protect him. It is not the cold which causes him to tremble, however; it is the fact that not all of these names are not familiar, and yet, he cannot deny the fact that the second name upon Glynda's list fills him with such foreboding that he wants to weep.
Clover does not understand. Qrow has never told him, after all. "What have they done?" the other man whispers, absolutely shocked by the way that the screen fades to black, the CCTS terminal going offline the moment this message has ceased its airtime. Qrow taps his Scroll back onto the scanner. It does not respond.
He can hear the Grimm's growls before he even turns around. There is no time to waste waxing philosophical about James and Glynda's mistakes. As he extends the Harbinger once again, he swallows down his fears and concerns, his questions for which he will likely receive no answers. He just needs to survive a little longer.