☘

Leaning casually against her open doorway, he rapped his knuckles against the frame to get her attention. Or, really, to feign getting her attention, since she definitely knew he was here because of course she did. It was half the point of their rooms being so close.

“So, now that things are a bit closer to normal rather than Grimm running rampant in the streets while a giant island floats into the sky-” He pauses, “Okay, now that things are a bit closer to this island’s normal and not our normal...”

The Grimm pouring from the floating structure send a shudder down her spine. She’d seen them summoned before. Endless and vicious, fueled by wrath, and Emerald recalled Salem’s anger vividly. But why were they here? Where was here, and had NULL been lying about granting her a return ticket? 

She was still standing in stunned confusion at the turn of events when the man spoke. 

“I— ” He was dressed like an official. Atlas personnel maybe? Emerald thought fast as he regarded her with a scrutinizing gaze. She didn’t like his choice of words. Nor could she say she’d ever meshed well with the authorities. 

“Are you in the military? That’s a relief.” She faked a sigh. ”I found myself here not too long ago and I have no idea what’s going on.” For now, she’d play up the part of an innocent bystander. Try to throw off any suspicion. 

“I’ll help in any way I can. What should we do?” 

There was still something pretty off about her, but like he had said, that didn’t much matter now. She could be a public menace that he’s caught wind of in any number of ways, but if they were all gonna be destroyed by the likes of the massive outpouring of Grimm from the city.

That could be dealt with later, still, she dropped some important hint that she recognized his uniform.

“Not this military.” Giving her a pointed look, he turned back to the Grimm.

“While I imagine the hero-types will be targeting the floating island in the sky first, I’ll be personally securing things on the ground. Doesn’t really matter if we win if everything gets destroyed by Grimm.” Speaking of the devils, with a flick of his arm he grabbed one by the mask, pulling and tearing it off, watching the small fry disintegrate.

❝ I wonder then, what was the answer you were looking for..? ❞ 

That day was utter chaos. All their hard work, all that they hoped to accomplish together — was radically changed in an instant. They could both sense what remained of the anxiety in the air that hung between them.

Although she didn’t wish to increase tensions further, her cautiousness was persistent. Clover was hiding something, and Winter was too. The question remained if either secret was significant enough to impact their prior trust.

❝  No Clover, I’m not ‘questioning your loyalties’ per se, but we can’t just ignore what happened that day,❞  she replied with a click of her tongue. Was he really afraid she would find out about something? Then, with resignation she sighed. ❝  But…you’re right. It’s best if we continue our duties here and now. Which reminds me, are you involved in any law enforcement here?❞

Any kind of solid confirmation, he was looking for. Her initial approach had been cautious as ever, and they were both clearly walking circles around this conversation. Sparring with words, neither willing to compromise on their ambivalent stance on the matter, waiting for the other to slip up.

There was camaraderie and trust, enough that even the maintenance of their positions and the increase in the tension around them was not enough to deter her from asking about his position here. Nor with her agreeing that they had to continue their duties. That, at the very least, he could answer.

“Wasn’t entirely sure who was running the local law enforcement, although even in my short time here I’ve helped out.”

Whether or not she was recognizable wasn’t quite the question at this point. He could parse his memories of students and wanted posts alike when everything was settled, but given the state of this city, things were far from settled. In fact, everything had just gotten far worse as far as anyone was concerned, even with their ability to fight given back to them.

At least, Kingfisher firmly back in his grip, he hoped it was going to be enough. Imitations or no, he looked at the girl standing next to him, taking in her expression at the hoards among hoards of Grimm specifically pouring out of that island.

“Apparently,” he gestured to the floating structure.

“One too many people here aren’t very fond of Grimm.” One finger shot out, pointing to the flood of them. “And they’re probably just the appetizer. So I’m thinking we get on over there and take care of this as soon as we can.” Trying to size her up, he quirked a brow.

SECURITY BREACH with CLOVER EBI

**WARNING FOR RWBY VOLUME 7 SPOILERS IN TEXT/BELOW

Well, he’ll be siding with the Stars, which may be a surprise for some but if this place vanishes he literally has nothing to go back to, so...

Personal decision time, y’all.

PART 1 SPECIFICS

Nothing major! Since he doesn’t have his powers he’ll be moving from ward to ward. Very proper military and all that.

Fun plans to herd shades and all that, probably gets hurt a bit since he hasn’t really learned not to rely on his Semblance for all the stupid bravado stunts he pulls.

PART 2 SPECIFICS

Well who’s a better villain than the guy who murdered you? Hm? So there’s a serial killer stalking around these streets named Tyrian Callows, he’s a fucknig freak and I’m kind of a little too excited to have him as an NPC since I, Shira, have a bit of a love-hate relationship with him.

Other than that lots of Grimm, as with the rest of the RWBY cast! Sorry about all the Grimm guys we all have problems and issues

“It’s not just me, right? You see that too?” One hand on his hip, he gestured to the sign before chuckling. People were standing in line, moving on up and then grabbing hold of some sort of...Plant pot? Well, something was blooming.

A familiar face was seen, and he waved him down. “James, over here.” Immediately feeling a pair of violet eyes on him, he looked to her. “What? He’s my friend. And we’re not here together remember?”

     HE WANTED SO BADLY TO JUST LAUGH IT ALL AWAY, like the many they’d shared in the past, when things were— for lack of a better way to put it— simpler. they stood together, rather than apart, they knew their true enemy, and where to point their weapons. the lines were clear, and so was the mission, but now it was all a blur, smears of ink playing at being the bigger picture. he thought he knew who he was fighting alongside, whom he dared welcome into his heart— but who was he kidding? he should know better by now.

     none of this felt real anymore, like he was just talking to a dream… or maybe it was one of his nightmares, tormenting him with yet another of his mistakes. he’s been there time and again, closing that same vein over and over when all he wanted to do was let it. he should be dead a hundred times over, but it was always someone else, someone who never deserved what he wrought upon them. anyone could argue it was no fault of his own, but something beyond his control, just an unfortunate byproduct of the job or some crap. personally, he found it easier when they hated him for it. blame him, condemn him, push him away, cast him out— anything to make carrying the guilt easier.

     —did it really matter? he carried it with him wherever he went all the same.

                                 ‘ it’s your lucky day ’                                                                       what a joke.

     instinct commanded he reach back, take a hold of harbinger, reaffirm where things stood between them, but why should he have to? he didn’t want this, he never wanted this. the uncertainties were mounting, and he was faltering beneath their weight. qrow didn’t know whether he should be upset, confused, or angry, winding up instead a cruel mix of all of the above. things couldn’t very well go back to how they were, after everything, but one thing’s for damn sure—

          “ … you’re lucky that’s not my style. ” he couldn’t say the same for tyrian— or ironwood, for that matter.

There was his answer, at least. Qrow had very little to say, but at least the first full phrase was enough information for him to know where he stood. Not that he expected any kind of happy reunion, but at least Robyn had been civil with him. Whether it was due to necessity or no, they coexisted, and it seemed as though they were coexist well.

This...Well, it was worse than he expected, but given his lack of Semblance things could only really go so well for him. And that was to say, not very well at all. It was frustrating, he was frustrated, because...

Well, everything was frustrating, for a lot of reasons. None of those reasons showed on his face any longer, his momentary lapse gone, and casual mask back on his face. There wasn’t any reason to be honest about it, not with Qrow, not with anyone, but certainly not where he stood now.

Any gratefulness he wanted to give had been stripped away for the moment, gesture replaced by the clear fact that maybe he was better off dead, a memory that pushed Qrow forward instead of something hold him in place. Last memory of the man in front of him washed away by the expression he was being given now.

It felt like a shitty cosmic joke, to have one of the few genuine kindnesses given to him, something he never expected to have, in any circumstance, just taken away. Maybe he deserved it, he didn’t know.

“So that’s why, huh? At least I know where you stand.”

“And what to expect when I get Kingfisher back.” His shoulders squared, lips pressed into a thin line, his tone betraying him for a moment in that sentence, although it wasn’t as though they had left as friends.

     HELL WAS A YAWNING PIT OF NOTHINGNESS COAXING HIS NEXT STEP, and he was toeing the brink. it welcomed him home, but despite the pain racking his heart, a soul with its pockets full of guilt like stones weighing him down in an ocean, despite every death haunting his conscience— he wasn’t ready to go back there yet. even as his eyes fell upon that scar branding the other’s chest, like a stain you could never wash away, even as it all came rushing back, and he was buried in the memories.

     no— he had a job to do, and he would see it through, no matter how impossible it seemed.

     although his thoughts had been momentarily derailed, he gathered himself, reaffirming a steeled gaze upon clover. no matter how much he wanted to reach out, grip him by the shoulder, to know that he’s real and this wasn’t just some dream… they had far more pressing concerns to deal with, like the fact they were worlds away from the task at hand and the source of their problems. sentiment cast aside in favour of an iron-clad expression, qrow reclaimed the space he had forfeit earlier, fists clenched by his sides.

                                                                 —-he wasn’t fooling anyone but himself.

          “ … honestly? i don’t know what to believe, or who to trust anymore. ” no matter how severe he may appear, how cutting his words might be, he couldn’t stem the quiver creeping into his voice. 

     at what point would enough be enough? at what point would he fall over that edge he tempted every damn day? 

                                                                in that moment, all of his scars were open.

There was so much he wanted to say. Wanting to be ripped out of the gaping wound in his chest and thrown at Qrow. His words stung, no matter how much Clover had expected them. Now, after everything, it was just an echo of an old conversation.

Maybe that was better - he didn’t know. 

Maybe it was better to have someone angry and bitter and hurt at him, and not making that expression that brought guilt back into his frame. Maybe it was better for Qrow to be mad at him, to be wary of him. Establishing neutrality with the others was...Simpler. They did not know he was dead, they did not even fully know his motives. Or they were Robyn Hill - pragmatic. Maybe Qrow wanted the same thing, for him to be angry.

He was and he wasn’t. He accepted everything that happened, but in retrospect there were so many things he wanted to say. They were bubbling up inside of him, a bubble of reactionary resentment that if said would only leave him hollow, full of self-pity and regret for speaking ill-conceived sentiments aloud. Things he was thinking, right now, in reaction to how few words Qrow felt the need to spare him, that there was a part of him that felt as though he was better left a chip on the other man’s shoulder rather than a specter standing before him now. It pissed him off, because some stupid, childish part of him had expected this conversation to go differently, when it was never going to.

He had expected everything to go differently, though, hadn’t he?

But the quiver in Qrow’s voice was what really made him back off any kind of hurtful words. Better to just stick to the facts.

“Well its your lucky day, you don’t have to trust or believe me.”

“You just have to look at our positions here.” A hand on his hip, he tilted his head, “I’m new here, and from what I’ve gathered you must have been here a while. I have no Semblance, a weakened Aura, and,” he had seen Harbinger before this moment, but locking eyes on it caused his seemingly unflappable expression to falter for a moment as his last glimpse of the huntsman’s weapons, blood red briefly before it was pulled out of him. 

His fingers on his gesturing hand twitched, his breath stopped for a moment. It had all only lasted a brief moment but was enough to show that he was wearing a mask. For Qrow, the others. That he was not so nonchalant about his own status as he seemed to be.

His scar stung, sensation moving through his chest.

             ❛   Heh— !  Some of the moms in Mantle might not’ve gotten the joke… We had at least one casserole per team almost every day he was on crossing duty. … I… wasn’t supposed to tell you that ‘cause we always ate ‘em after curfew, but—   ❜

       THINKING   back on Marrow, on their time in Atlas in general… It was definitely bittersweet. Still, her smile remained as enthusiastic as before; it was a lot easier to think back on it all when it was the little things — the things she barely gave any thought to at the time. It just became part of a routine she already missed a little bit — just as she automatically found herself honing in on his every word the second his voice changed, as if seriously receiving critical orders. Silver eyes flit from the windowsill to the bag, then reluctantly to the fridge. One deeep inhale should be enough… Unless — 

             ❛   Got it !  I’ve still got three uses of my Semblance left today, so we’re totally covered !  Count of three ?   ❜   Ruby suggests, already poised in a runner’s starting position — despite the fact she had no intention of running at all. Whenever she burst into petals, roses were all she could smell — and this place was in dire need of some unconventional, potent levels of air freshener. Win-win !

“Those casseroles were one thing that I definitely could smell. But considering the early graduation I could let a few things slide.” Three teams of huntsman were not many in the grand scheme of things, and there had been so much to do at the time - especially in the earlier days - that a bunch of teens sneaking around to share a midnight snack wasn’t really anything he was concerned with. Especially since it probably gave them a morale boost.

He wasn’t really going to argue with that. During those times, on the outside he had to make sure they were doing their jobs, but on the inside any small moment they could just be kids was something they deserved. And as much as he wouldn’t admit it, Penny having friends was something that just felt right. She deserved it, with the status of ‘hero’ having been thrust on her, too.

“One use should be more than enough.” A firm nod. Reaching to the side of the fridge, he grasped the fishing rod in his hands, and the handle of the fridge in the other. Poised to engage the moment he had to, he began the count. “One...Two...”

             ❛   Pff— Aaaa-hahaha— !  That’s — the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, and I’ve smelled Jaune’s shoes— !  ❜  

       THE   explosion of giggles was basically inevitable, one hand still clutching at her middle as she sways in place — her opposite hand busy fanning in front of her face. Don’t ask why she smelled Jaune’s shoes.

             ❛   I wish she’d thought of that slogan when Jacques was running… Ahaaa… I had a sleepover at my friend’s once, and we accidentally left the fridge open all night ?  Still smelled better than whatever that was. If you need someone speedy to grab everything you need in one go, I’m your man,   ❜   Ruby tacks on with a quick nod, one thumb jerked indicatively at herself as if extra clarification might be needed. … Why is the leader of the Ace Ops one of the most calming people to be around these days— ?

“Unfortunately at this point I think we’ve all smelled Jaune’s shoes. He’s lucky he picked up on getting Marrow coffee pretty early in, because his poor nose could probably smell them when they were on and laced.” Laughing, he walked over to the trash, undoing the back from around the bin as he got it prepared for whatever had to be thrown away to be immediately tied.

Oh, an even better idea. He opened the kitchen window, sliding up the screen. The trash bins were down there - perfect.

“And now that the election is going on and I don’t have to remain unbiased - not that I ever was since Robyn was the best choice - that is absolutely what she should have gone with.” Leaning against the sill, he gestured to the air. “Jacques Schnee - Smellier Than Jaune Arc’s Shoes.” 

A new bag was pulled out, preparations seemed to be in place. “Alright - here’s the mission plan, then, speedster. Follow my orders and you’ll get rewarded with food.” The tone was his stern huntsman leader voice, but obviously playful.

@petalbursting​ said:  “Now that is not a good smell.“

The fridge door had been slammed shut immediately, amusement coloring his expression ahead of whatever he was planning to say. “Wow, you think you know someone, but I guess Robyn can’t just go around campaigning for not getting rid of leftovers.” He knew it definitely wasn’t Robyn, and it wasn’t him, but a little teasing never hurt.

Especially since, in a strange twist of fate, two of the people he’s been able to have more casual conversations with are Robyn Hill and Ruby Rose.

A familiar face, one she had not seen for what feels like a strangely long time. There’s a different air about the usually lively Ace Operative, but she couldn’t identify any possible reasons behind it. The man had rapidly become one of the General’s trusted few, and Winter had come to similarly respect his dedication to the military. She couldn’t exactly say that she knew him well outside of their work, however.

❝ Likewise, I am glad to see you too, Clover. I trust that your assignment went well?❞ 

Now the latter of his words give her cause for concern. She knew that both of them received the General’s order, and she knew that both of them had heard Ruby’s desperate message. What she didn’t know was — what exactly did Clover do with that information?

❝ That depends on you. As much as I’d like to continue our camaraderie, there are just too many unknowns…❞  Taking a deep breath, she softens her speech. ❝ Clover, what happened out there? You seem…different somehow.❞

“It went fine. Last I remember, I was on my way back to Atlas.” She didn’t know, and he was going to keep it that way. It was a good decision, given her response to his inquiry on the status of their respective loyalties. Better to play his cards close to the chest. Particularly considering their presence in public, and that less than a handful were actually aware.

Not that he liked outright lying. But since she’d asked, it would have been more strange for him not to answer.

“Depends on me, huh? Not really the answer I was looking for.”

“Unless you’re testing my loyalties. Which I can reassure you aren’t in question.” She was asking if he was loyal to James, or had he turned after Ruby’s message. It hadn’t given any inclination on what side she was on.

Any concept of the passage of time escaped James in that moment, as the rest of the world passed on from stark clarity into something entirely more ambiguous. For an instant, he felt adrift in uncertainty. Surely he was not meant to feel this way; as though he were grasping at straws to maintain the same control that he commanded back in Atlas. However, their situation had shifted so rapidly– weighing any preparations James had accounted for down like an anchor at sea. In short time, new measures would require fashioning– a detail to which Clover had attuned himself most acutely.

They had no time to waste…

James could not say for how long he had lingered in the throes of his own thoughts before Clover brought him back again to the present– only that the deliberate and audible footfalls effectively foreshadowed the grip that bridged his re-connection. In returning once more with the present, James lowered the hand from his features, all the better to contemplate the sentiments put forth by the other in all sincerity.

Evaluating him now, for the first time since his arrival James felt assured of something. Every turn thus far had only harbored more cause for concern– as even the news accompanying Clover had striven to uproot whatever meager foundations the General had since established. However…Clover was one constant upon which he was able to depend– a steadfast and faithful pillar– and no doubt, he always would be.

Just so– James found himself grateful for the Ace-Op’s objectivity and understanding of his role in the bigger picture. There was so much still that Clover deserved to know– as the esteemed leader of James’ special forces, but also as a most dearly-regarded friend.

So it was in this moment that James’ free hand gravitated to the seat of the other’s elbow, grasping his arm in a brief, but distinctly earnest embrace, the words to follow a gentle profession of fondness.

“Thank you…. Your prevailing trust means more to me than you could ever know.”

                                                                    (I need you at my side; now more than ever.)

While the remark was spared a reticent degree of tenderness, it was shortly that this expression of warmth was once again veiled; as that minute chink in the General’s armor was repaired, and James’ expression fortified, becoming distinctly pragmatic, even utilitarian in nature.

“The game has changed.” Resolute, these words sounded– a sharp contrast to the sentimental assertion uttered prior. Additionally, too, did a sour note accompany the phrase, for it did not entirely encompass the gravity of the future they were facing. After all, while the imminent eradication of all life on Remnant may have amounted to little more than a “game” to her, for all those remaining…it was a battle against the clock.

“To aid our acclimation to this place, we need information– as much as we are able to gather. Additionally, I expect that allies will prove to be an imperative asset moving forward.” James reflected, hands clasped behind his back solidifying the rigid composure held by Atlas’ General. “However, our primary objective is to work as quickly as possible to regain that which we have lost– and to draft a plan of action in the event of our return.

“However, what I need from you presently is to rest, and to regain your strength. After all, I expect we will not be provided much of it come the near future…”

His own expression softened as his friend spoke once more. However unprofessional, these moments were appreciated. James was still in there, however deep inside his thoughts were locked. And they certainly could be locked, even from himself. No matter how good he became at reading the other, there were still parts he could not discern.

Still, the moment provided its healing, and the General returned to form. Just as anticipated, although not so insidious as it sounded. Clover simply knew when those moments were necessary, and they were necessary. People needed to know they were speaking to a person, because the emotions behind another person gave truth to their words. To show his hand, how he, Clover, felt, would only lend needed credence to the words of the Ace Ops leader. And reassurance was something very needed right now.

“I’ve had all the rest I need. If anything I am more restless than tired.” It was true. Aside from the large scar rending his chest, there had been no exhaustion accompanying his arrival. He wondered, based on the General’s injuries, that had he been pulled while still alive if he would have actually been tired.

Something to keep in mind, going forward. Not that he was attempting to concoct some elaborate charade, but he should be injured in the absence of his death.

  Ozpin merely fixes him with a dark look before rolling his eyes.

     “You know, I’m actually very, very tired of people misconstruing my reincarnation cycle as a simple series of do overs, and not a very long drawn out death that eventually overwrites what’s left of my soul into nothing remotely recognizable.”

      It’s said with perhaps more venom than he intends. Oz heaves out a sigh.

      “No, I don’t understand all of it, but still more than you realize. Imagine waking up like you did here, except not in your own body for one, and two with little to no control over your awareness or physical form. I’ve done it thousands of times, each as a different person.” He waves his hand away. “But this isn’t about that particular experience, just a part of it.”

     “It’s about waking up, realizing your death actually happened and coming to terms with the apparent truth that: what you do doesn’t matter anymore, or at the very least can’t change what’s been done. Grappling with regrets. Wondering if you should even grieve, if the dead who left them all behind really should hold that privilege. The guilt of dying. The frustration.”

      “Because you’re right. It changes nothing, but what you’re going through actually does have meaning whether you acknowledge it or not. If not to yourself, then to- as you implied- the people who actually care. The ones who have to go on without you, because your well being, even in death or whatever hellish limbo we’re currently under, matters to them.”

      Now Oz just seems tired. Maybe he’s wasting his breath.

      “I can’t convince you that I care. I won’t try to, but if I could indulge a moment of your thought: I’ve lived this silent hell, not just here but worse, where you feel like you have to shove it aside and never speak of it in the name of duty, in supporting those remaining.” He looks away, off to the view that only Savior’s Respite can provide as he continues. “I offer my sympathies, because I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone- not my enemies and certainly not someone I have some degree of respect towards.” He turns.

       “So I’ll leave you be. I won’t tell anyone. It is your business. Make of it what you will.”

Clover remained silent as the headmaster spoke, squaring his shoulders and keeping hands clasped firmly behind his back. It annoyed him, pricked at the scar rent through his chest and out his back and irritating him. Pricking over and over again at the back of his mind. Like so many incessant little jabs. Teeth ground for a moment as he considered snapping back again, even if he had already felt the first time was unprofessional.

Still, it pissed him off. And he wanted to return Ozpin’s venom with venom of his own. At least, as much as he could muster.

“While I will apologize for making assumptions about your experience, you started this with an assumption about mine.”

“Dying in the line of duty clearly isn’t the end of duty. I am here, now. I have my own thoughts on the matter, but do not think I have made the decision to carry on lightly. I have someone important to me, and if I have to hold it together for him, then I will. It’s what I signed up for. It’s what I’m good at.” Walking over to the edge of the cliff, he gazed out beyond it.

“Grieving is a luxury. A luxury I do not believe either of us can afford. You haven’t been able to afford it longer than I have, and maybe your existence is endless, but I would take the chance to be able to do something back home any day. All I can do is be here. You compare it to waking up here, except at least you are still with what you know. You can still fight.” His hands squeezed into fists, one tight around the other, before his shoulders fell with a sigh.

@headmastering​ said:  “ Stop acting so nonchalant about getting killed.”

Clover paused, expression unreadable. Needing a moment to gather his thoughts on the matter was an understatement, since he had not expected to be approached about the matter. He’d prefer not to talk about it, particularly it being brought up so aggressively. Out in the open. It was preferred to be walked around, a topic not to be addressed directly.

“Why not?” No point in asking how he knew, since Clover had a pretty good guess. Shaking his head, his expression remained unreadable. “It changes nothing. You should know better than anyone, right?”

“Though maybe not, this isn’t the end of the line, not for you. For me? This is it. There’s no return to Remnant, or anywhere else. I exist here now, or in a body bag on some airship at this point.” Crossing his arms, previously unreadable expression darkened uncharacteristically. It was irritating, to be talked down to like this. By someone who didn’t know how he felt. 

“I don’t think you get to lecture me about this, of all people. At least, from what I know.” Entirely the opposite, really.