written in the stars
Clover's voice is the only thing which keeps him grounded as each powerful thrust of the Nevermore Grimm's wings threaten to knock him off its back, into the fires below. "The Circle wanted things to change for good," he reasons aloud, clearly attempting to sort out the truth for himself, "but not like this. I guess they got too greedy, and allowed too many Grimm free- or maybe it began when they made too many to begin with. It's…"
They took away Ruby. They deserve no sympathy.
Sighing heavily, the clock face's green glow shines, casting its light over Qrow's closed eyelids, tinting his world a pastel green for just a few breaths. "There's only one left. Oscar Pine, was it? He's gotta know something out there." Snorting bitterly, Clover adds, "Not like it matters. Look at this world; its time is up."
Qrow does not respond.
Finally, the Nevermore's wings buffet once, twice, and then, the two-storey-tall Grimm alights back to the earth, a piercing shriek ripping through its giant body and tearing into the smoke-filled sky above. Qrow slides off the creature's back as if avoiding hot coals, wiping Tar-covered- yet strangely unprocessed- hands on his slacks before stepping away, opening his eyes at last.
He does not bother paying attention to the Nevermore as it flies off, the avian mask of bone a mere blur of white and red as it takes off into the night. His eyes are too focused on where the bird has brought them, unease and uncertainty rising up into his throat like bile instantly.
Although the stage is completely black now, the obsidian reflects familiar stage spotlights hanging from above. Clover lets out a long, trembling breath as he takes in the sight of Amity's stage- the place where it all began that night. "I- I don't think you'll be singing here ever again, Songbird," he murmurs mournfully.
Qrow shrugs, tucking the Harbinger onto his belt. There is no point grieving. He is too numb to do so, anyways- and, based on the glowing eyes watching him from the audience, he would have no time to, anyways.
Strangely enough, however, those eyes do not move. They are familiar, their feline glow strangely reminiscent of something else he has seen that night.
"Manticores," Clover breathes. Qrow nods, taking a step forward to reach center stage.
He does not get a chance to move away when the house lights suddenly flicker on, illuminating the entire room. Filling up nearly every single seat of the floor and lower wings of the stands are Manticore Grimm, their feline bodies sitting primly, wings tucked in by their sides. They seem almost patient- almost as if they are waiting. They watch him with an intensity that he cannot place, and yet, which he knows from years and years of performances.
They are waiting for the show to start, he realizes faintly.
Tentatively, Qrow approaches the microphone he had abandoned all those hours earlier, the object still strewn upon the ground. It feels far heavier than he remembers. Perhaps the fatigue is merely playing tricks on him, but it takes far more effort than before to lift it up to his lips. Still, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and hums.
His voice reverberates through the stadium's speakers, and just as fast, there is a resounding growl which echoes through the entire room, nearly knocking him off his feet with its intensity. "Are they… purring?" Clover whispers, horrified.
Qrow does not know. Shaking, he straightens the microphone once again, finishes that musical phrase, set the microphone down, and runs. He holds his breath, awaiting the ambush.
The only thing that follows them out into the outer halls of the stadium are the sounds of their contented purrs, far too gentle and pleased for his liking.
To his surprise, by the backstage exit there is a functioning CCTS terminal. He is taken aback by the glow of a working holoscreen, his fingers scrabbling to open up the awaiting news story within. After all, who in the world is still left in Remnant to share these stories with?!
'Qrow, 43, mourned as 'Grimm' toll climbs – vigil held for the popular musician outside of Remnant after he vanished amidst the catastrophic outbreak', the headline reads. His eyes scan over the article limply; it is sweet, and the outpouring of messages from his fans mixed into the report are strangely enough to soften some of the ache of this night. His voice had reached people's hearts, after all.
But he isn't dead. The login count is down by two since he had last seen it in Atlas Academy, but he still lives and breathes and wants an escape. For a moment, he wonders whether it would be useful to type a cry for help; that idea quickly dies, however, and he extinguishes that little flame of hope within himself before he allows it to take root. With shaking fingers, he types onto the holoscreen, 'None of this is coming through anymore, is it?'
"I think you're right," Clover replies after a moment.
He erases that line, then types, 'Though… you still hear me, don't you?'
Starting, Clover splutters, "Of course! Of course I do, Songbird."
'You're all I have, Clover.'
"Qrow-"
He sucks in a shuddering breath, silencing the question about Yang which he knows Clover longs to ask. 'There has to be a way.'
"We'll figure it out when we get there," Clover attempts to soothe him. It does not work. Clover does not know what lies ahead of them, after all.
Qrow is weary of this burden of knowledge.