CREATION

Then it hit him what it was.

"Is it… not disappearing?" Insinctively the reached to touch the flower. "Is it going to dissolve as soon as you disappear or is it something entirely else?"

It was strange, but it was giving him hope. It meant there could be solutions. There could be things that were possible to achieve, despite initially they seem out of reach.

"With the right ideas, anything is possible." he firmly states. "The only real hard limit is that you can't manifest destruction. Within those terms, if you can figure out a temporary fix, you can figure out a permanent one, too."

The smoke is allowed to flow freely again, and Ambrosius parts his hands, leaning back to hover at shoulder level near James, keeping a careful eye on his expression.

"I don't think there's anything even you could possibly create to defeat an immortal. Creating any kind of mass destruction weapon maybe would work, but it too would be a temporary solution as apparently she is able to retreat, create more Grimm and attack another time. Besides, how do we construct a weapon that kills only Grimms? How to make it safe for people? There's no good solutions." He groaned and sunk into the couch, stretching his legs out. That was a good observation from Ambrosius, but simply one James couldn't put to use and it was frustrating him endlessly. "In conclusion, gods hate us and I don't see what kind of change would possibly help."

He sunk into his thoughts for a moment, but things surely couldn't be as dire as he thought. There were always other ways. There must have been something. Maybe simply something outside of a human or faunus capability, but with Ambrosius right there...

There are abundant solutions he could suggest to end the Salem issue in a very immediate fashion, but he knows James will have thought of some of them already and why he hasn't spoken up about them: because none would be practical unless they could be permanent, and none could be permanent unless it meant locking him away again. He deeply appreciates that this, so far, isn't an option, even if it's as likely to be due to pragmatism as it was affection.

But not for nothing is he called the embodiment of creativity. He can't necessarily think of practical solutions to dispose of Salem at this very minute, but he does know a few ways to get around certain stipulations, if the mind was right.

In answer, he puts his hand forward, and pulls the smoke around him into a small shape, recognizable as a blossoming flower. It was totally possible to create self-propagating materials that wouldn't vanish beyond the first iteration. It was just a matter of knowing the specifics and what you were going to do with it. It's a math problem that they don't have time to solve right now, but it's something to keep in mind.

Avatar: The Last Airbender starters

James sighed and actually attempted to let the words sink in.

"You should know that I'd dismiss anyone else, but you get the wisdom of ancient spirit privilege, which I cannot just shrug off." He rubbed hands across his face.

It's a little less wisdom-of-the-ancients that way, but James would probably prefer advice be concise and direct anyway.

He shook Aster's hand before putting distance between them once more, and the sensation is unlike anything Aster had previously experienced. His hands are much larger than Aster's, and when he makes contact with him, the leopard faunus' hand tingles, not quite the same way as it would have if it had fallen asleep, but that's the best comparison he has right now.

As the being speaks again, Aster is rapt with attention, very much interested to learn more about who and what he'd stumbled across. After all, it wasn't every day something like this happened.

The being spread his arms, introducing himself as Ambrosius before he explained that the staff was…..a divine relic provided by the gods. If Aster hadn't been currently holding the staff, talking to its inhabitant, if he hadn't physically touched him, which had shown him that, yes, this was actually happening, he might have questioned what was going on.

But he very much believed Ambrosius; how could he not? He could create anything that could be imagined. Which meant the possibilities were endless.

Aster glances around, finally seeming to realize that time outside of the space the two of them were inhabiting had stopped. He looks down at the staff, then back up at Ambrosius.

The spread arms come down as Ambrosius looks down in confusion at Aster. After what he'd just announced, this hardly seemed like the most pertinent question.

"Um, yes, yes it does."

There are people nearby, people that don't seem to be frozen in alarm, panic, or delight, so as unusual as it is, it seems that Aster has retrieved the staff near civilians, and with no plan in place for what it was or what to do with it. How that had ended up happening was a question for another time, but he's sure he'll have some agitated words for whoever had simply let his staff hit the ground and be buried in sand for who knows how long.

Unless Aster was a thief, stealing valuables he didn't understand from others. That would be way more exciting. But then, he quickly realizes why Aster must've asked him this question. ...Clearly it was because he realized the value of whatever he could ask for and how time would resume as normal once he got it! He must be very concerned about witnesses and the potential of having whatever he made stolen back off of him!

This assumption carries him through his next response quite confidently.

then the hush is different, and the spirit returns to his side, mystical eyes wide. qrow’s lips spread into an approving smile. of course Ambrosius would latch on to one of the most advanced contraptions.

“ah that? that’s Amity Colosseum. a floatin’ fighting arena that can travel between th’ kingdoms, an’ held tournaments open t'combat students from ‘em all. it was a sign'a peace… while we still had it.”

and now that smile sinks with the weight of reality back into a frown, as they slog through the snow, “everyone was workin’ on repurposin’ it to a communication tower until…”

gods, how to even explain the current situation? qrow’s not even sure he knows what the current report is. the best he can do is vaguely gesture at the growing stormclouds in the distance, “…until we got ourselves into humanity’s latest mess.”

He supposes a communications tower is at least an idea, and better than turning the giant colosseum into a weapon, as he'd have imagined would be more on track for humanity. This is, of course, hardly the most concerning thing of note by the time he's opened up his mouth a second time.

His eyes have continued to scan the landscape. What he had initially taken for a simple storm front gets an additional glance, the clouds too dark and the flashes of thunder too red. He very quickly comes to a very dire conclusion: Salem has come to Atlas. This, it would seem, is why he's been removed from the so-called safety of the vault Ozma had created and why he finds himself in present company.

He had always dreaded something like this happening. Ozma was timid, cautious, and hesitant. He had allowed Salem too much time.

"What are we doing out here, then? Surely you don't mean to escape with my staff?"

Spoken as plain fact, with very little emotional drive behind the words. Unlike Ambrosius, her usefulness had already been used up — and while she doesn’t doubt that the witch would be able to wait another hundred years to ask her questions, she somehow doubts that she will have the patience to wait that long for the end of the world.

Ambrosius had figured a few times that perhaps the God of Creation selecting Ozma as a champion against Salem was a prank on His part. You couldn't think anything else when the one who was supposed to be the great hero tried to take over the world with his evil lover. He's never had a huge amount of faith in the man, but seeing that he had taken others into the fight against the witch had at least been a reason to be hopeful.

"But you don't sound too worried." he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Is there something you know that I don't?"

❤️: Wants or is in a romantic relationship with them.

💛: Loves them platonically.

💚: Is a little jealous of them.

💙: Feels pretty indifferent towards them.

💜: Finds them sexually attractive.

💖: Finds them aesthetically attractive.

💗: Finds them romantically attractive.

💞: Feels attracted to them, but can’t work out if it’s platonic, sexual, or romantic attraction they’re feeling.

💝: Looks up to them as a role model.

💓: Is intimidated by them, but wants to be friends with them.

💔: Hates their guts.

He’s mocking her, but that’s almost to be expected at this point. His thoughts were so often written upon his face, a heart worn on his sleeve — but that didn’t mean he would outright explain what was causing him to be in such a state. 

She didn’t need to ask, not truly… but she did want to hear it from him, instead of just her own innate knowing.

"Ozma's ilk came by. They never mentioned him, but they had to have been under his command."

Honestly, he had liked the little red one and her crew of misfits, and their schemes had a certain charm to them. But nonetheless, here he was, with his staff in Salem's hands.