❛ you think i’m some trophy to be won ? ❜ he is a ghost bird , something that teeters on the in - between : born for the freedom of the skies but bound to the ground . he belongs nowhere , neither that wire nor in the air .
❛ you think you’re so special , don’t you ? you think you can say and do anything without facing the repercussions ! your alcoholism isn’t a coping mechanism, it’s an act —- something for you to hide behind and blame your problems on ! ❜
his fists furl , a rare and extraordinary anger claiming him .
❛ this is why i left you , qrow ! you saw me just as everyone else does —- as an extension of their own will ! ❜
“ Oh, so this is about me now? ” He makes a hoarse, crowish sound half - like a laugh. “ That's real nice. Real considerate of you. Since when do you — ”
And it's out before Odet can stop it.
Qrow is only half - unsure where it comes from.
He stills all at once, overcome with an awful, hueless sensation. He suspends in motion, inert as an unfinished feeling
or some other kind of death.
“ Oh, fuck you. ” He spits, finally.
He regains his colors one at a time. He begins with red.
“ Fuck you. Fuck you. I think I'm so fucking special? You self - important son of a bitch — do you really think that everything I do, say, and think trails back to you? ” His voice raises like a low fever. “ Is that really all I am to you? I'm not just the slightest bit more complex than your fucking ex? ” He throws out an arm. Behind them, a vase falls from its shelf and shatters.
As if it were a conditioned response, Qrow sobers. His eyes move to the broken vase, which now lay on the floor. The glass shards flicker in their slip of moonlight. He watches it for a moment, depreciating the way it catches the light off its own spilled water, winking like people. He grits his teeth so hard it's audible. His eyes return to Odet.
“ Newsflash, asshole: I've got other things going on. ” He continues at a simmer. “ But you wouldn't know that, would you? ”
