written in the stars

It is a bittersweet find, to realize that she had passed so close to her work, just a few blocks away from the poster being admired by the Grimm; if it were not for the camera, Qrow likely would never have understood who this figure had been, but the data files read Velvet Scarlatina's name when Clover combs through, trying to find any semblance of her soft-hearted, welcoming presence within the files.

There is nothing left. Not even the slimmest trace of her can be salvaged.

Coco is crying, Clover says. Qrow moves on. He has a different body for which he searches.

However, Qrow finds that as he returns to the back alleys where all of this began, back in this isolated part of Vale near the defunct passages and bridges to the Emerald Forest, the body he has in his sights is nowhere to be seen. He walks down the pathway, searching for the concrete barrier against which he had laid Clover's slumped-over body to rest.

There is nothing but black glass.

"It's okay, Qrow," Clover breathes. He does not sound disappointed, merely rueful. "I had a feeling we'd come back to see this."

Qrow lets out a long, haggard sigh, taking a moment to press his forehead against the clock face and close his eyes. At least the dragon left us alone, he thinks, relishing in the fact that Clover's words spark green light with no tinge of red infection to be seen. At least you're in here with me.

Just past where Clover's body had been, there is a short path which curves to the right. This area is naught but a tiny pier as of right now; no boats are docked there, the only signs of former life in the area belonging to the holoscreen billboard still broadcasting its message to this empty corner of Vale. 'Build a bridge to the Emerald City today! Plans are being drawn up by the famous Glynda Goodwitch. Cast your vote at a nearby terminal now!'

There is no bridge here. Without Glynda, he supposes there never will be one. In its place, however, is a small, strange terminal. If it were not for the fact that it is completely white, rather than inky black, he might have thought it was a Grimm with the way a shining, orb-like structure projects the visage of a young man- not more than a teen, he cannot be- upon its domed surface. Long tentacles keep the creature aloft so that this visage is held at eye level, allowing Qrow to scrutinize at a wary distance how golden, olive-tinged eyes widen knowingly at his arrival, a light smattering of freckles across warm almond skin barely visible with the static flickering across the image. A mop of dark hair is pushed out of the way, and the face finally opens his mouth, ready to speak.

Qrow wishes he wouldn't. Although he does not know this child, he recognizes that look in this figure's eyes, and he hates himself for not understanding earlier.

…no wonder Ozpin went dark all those years ago. Guess he just couldn't handle letting go of this world.

The young man speaks. "This is Oscar Pine of the Circle, communicating via proxy," he says, his gentle, pubescent voice laced with a kind of wisdom Qrow can only attribute to the man he is thinking of. "I am calling for a truce. See, I'd very much like for the Grimm to- well, stop doing what it's doing, and my conjecture is that you'd very much like that too." Before Clover or Qrow can protest, he adds, "Assuming I am right, then come along and we'll sort this out." He snorts. "Hey, we can sort this out. We always could, you and I." And with that, this proxy terminal turns around and heads off into the distance, following the road which would eventually lead to the bridge construction project.

Wordlessly, Qrow follows. Clover speaks enough for the two of them. "We'll see about that," he glowers under his breath. Pointedly at Qrow, he says, "You know him, Qrow? How do you know that kid? I never saw him once, and god, I haven't left your side in how long-"

You wouldn't know him, Qrow longs to explain. If I saw him on the street, I probably wouldn't know him either, but… the fact that this kid was working with James proves who he is. He lets out a weary sigh, tucking the Harbinger into his belt as he obediently follows this strange, eerie creature-like terminal down the road. They say most people who enter Remnant choose to keep their real-life forms. It's better for the brain to process everything that way. I guess not everyone did, though.

This kid, Oscar- or, Ozpin, as he used to be called- looked different back then. Back in Patch.

Although there are no Grimm in sight, the entirety of this pathway is blackened obsidian, reflecting the few lights which remain flickering from hanging, doomed streetlamps. The only other sources of light are the proxy terminal and a singular CCTS terminal stationed on the side of the road. The proxy pauses by the holoscreen, waiting for him; nodding stiffly, Qrow raises the Harbinger's face to the scanner, finding the easy access to a terminal screen which displays naught but a description of the bridge project and a singular button prompt: 'Initiate'.

Oscar chuckles, the tone twisting through the transmitter into something that seems far more sinister than the sixteen-year-old he appears to be. "What can the Harbinger do, you might be wondering? What can it really do? Well, um… it can build a bridge, for example. That's something. People want a bridge to the Emerald City, so why not?"

Trembling, Qrow presses the button. Just like that, the world seems to light up just fifty yards down the road; where there had been nothing, the gridlines and cells of the world itself glow into visibility before more intricate details begin to be added, the square cubes bending and twisting into cobblestone sloping to a gentle arch, an iron-wrought, elegant railing on either side, benches lining the opening square, and colonnades which resemble those to which Qrow has already said farewell bordering the bridge proper.

"There," Oscar breathes contentedly, his mannerisms far too sage for his youthful voice. "Have a beautiful new bridge. With the Harbinger, anything can happen." He pauses, then adds, "I guess setting you up all those years ago in Beacon was the right choice, hm? You seem to want to use that architecture here. It's pretty, for sure."

Shut up.

As if sensing his animosity, the proxy goes on ahead. Clover murmurs in awe, "You asked for it, and you got it, Qrow. This is… wow."

Qrow wants to respond, wants to shake the Harbinger to instill some sense into Clover. How can he be remotely enraptured by what is going on? However, there is no time to protest, for the terminal is going far ahead, leaving him to chase after it with growing trepidation taking over his heart. His body recoils with every step he takes upon this bridge he himself has somehow created.

…a part of him wishes that the rose petals left in his wake would destroy this bridge, and not just the Grimm. How can he be missing the dragon, the Apathy, anything over this beautiful, simple bridge which has appeared upon his command?

He sighs, following after the proxy fearfully. The placid snowfall is beautiful in contrast to the dark stone. Clover made a good choice.