#redreaping

[cataclysmal]

LIKE A DAZZLING BEACON, SHE'S GUIDED. nothing so much as destiny, were it a thing to exist, but merely through whims of her very own upon crimson eyes befalling a familiar silhouette. maybe, she thinks, this has merely been but some game with how often this comes to be. what else would one call so many instances of meetings as this? strewn between departures and returns; as if it were some star-crossed dance which they find themselves wrapped in together. it was... a strange feeling, for someone like her.

perhaps one she had always made efforts to cast her gaze from—

but, maybe for a moment, she might allow herself just the briefest glance as hands slip down to loosely cover his eyes. soft, despite all deliberate means. briefly, she wonders if she needs even speak for him to know who it is that plunges him into makeshift darkness so boldly. and to this, she smiles in contemplation if she should keep quiet just to see. yet her fingers remain, as if bearing a flightless bird who longs for the sky, though feels it may never reach it as she speaks.

❝ You know, I'm really going to start thinking you're doing this on purpose. ❞

@redreaping

[kindredsever]

⠀⠀⠀EVEN⠀⠀without the use of her Semblance, she doesn't think finding him ever would've posed a challenge. Call it a twin's intuition, or perhaps call him predictable after all these years — but if there was a dimly-lit room in a dimly-lit tavern, odds are he was occupying it. Her footsteps were relatively muffled by the myriad conversations going on around them, unlike the none-too-subtle groan of wood as she nudged a chair out with her boot. It slides from its original centered spot, angled more so her back would face the opposite corner — and without so much of a 'hello brother' or 'is this seat taken,' she sinks down and rests her arms against the back as if it had her name on it. One would assume they've only been out of contact a matter of minutes, but despite her casual air, that crimson gaze is as shrewd as ever... and she's not sure what it is she sees. A discrepancy, to be sure — she can't shake the feeling she's missed something...

⠀⠀⠀❛ ⠀That's new,⠀ ❜⠀⠀she remarks, brow raised as she glances at the decidedly tame drink he's barely touched. It wasn't just bottom shelf — it was no shelf.⠀❛ ⠀Good thing I didn't go through the trouble of buying this time.⠀ ❜

@redreaping ——— s.c.

[kingfishersluck]

@redreaping

It wasn’t too much of a surprise, and while there was relief there was trepidation. According to Robyn Hill, they had both been arrested even after he died in the process. How, or by whom, he couldn’t be sure, but they had been caught. Robyn’s reaction had confirmed he had actually died, and deep down he knew that he had been killed. He had felt it upon waking, and he had remembered watching the sun rise.

Robyn Hill had felt easier to confront.

“Before you ask, too, I’m not here to arrest you.” It stumbled out, the familiarity - same as with Robyn. It was easier to be easy-going. Because, the reality was, he really had nothing left to lose, here.

“Not that I had succeeded the first time, anyway.” The small smile was easy, wry - but brief. Pushing everything down, compacted and settled in his stomach. “But I heard from Robyn. That afterward,” trailing off for a moment, he connected the dots. They’d gotten caught because instead or pursuing Callows, Qrow had turned around stayed with him.

“Well, I’m not sure Robyn believed me, and you may not either. But I’m glad to see you’re here in one piece.”

[ribellaione]

redreaping said: murder is okay sometimes

   thanks uncle qrow 

[petaltrail]

@redreaping replied to your post:            SHE’S   been stacking one block of soap...

thanks jenna marbles

yeah ?? you gonna help or what ????

[headmastering]

@redreaping

It’s late. Ozpin can’t sleep. So here he is, walking in the brisk winter night alone. Eventually he distantly recognizes he’s wandered into the more seedier parts of the ward, and slows his pace.

Not out of fear or caution. Armed with his cane and all of his abilities and magic restored to him, the former headmaster can handily take care of himself. He just does. His gaze trails the buildings along the street, fixing in on one in particular: A pub or bar, still open, bright and vibrant. He pauses, giving it a long look.

No. He shouldn’t linger here. It’s not as if a familiar face will just stumble out of the building. Besides, that particular meeting- It’s one that swallows him with dread.

Oz has hardly taken a step away from in front of it, before he hears the door swing and slam open loudly, echoing in the night and making him jump. Turning to look, Ozpin falls very still. Brown eyes meet red in an instant.

Oh no.

Something drops heavily in the pit of his stomach, as the two regard each other in a brief silence. Out of everyone he’s wronged, this one carries the most personal weight. ‘Worst luck of my life.’ His eyes still sting just remembering their last words. He was right.

But the wizard won’t run.

“...Qrow.”

The other deserves much more than that, after all.

[cataclysmal]

          MUCH LIKE A FAIRYTALE, ONE without those fleeting, happy endings which all parents lulled to their sleeping children. already she can feel more of her affinity return, like some distant connection long lost upon arrival, even the depths of her contract returning. ah, were it only that, instead of such a ghastly face peering down upon her as if she were naught but something to be disposed of. but that was always how people looked at her, wasn’t it? something of detest, merely a filthy child who brought misfortune upon those in her wake---

                                   shouldn’t you be cast away to die?                                         why is that thing here?       drop it in quickly!

          words like these mean nothing to her. what could contest to the pent up paint of loneliness which she has ignored for so long already? rather, it is only their next set of hisses after that cause eyes to widen, gaze whipping behind her to see the countenance of a familiar man as the jury recoils briefly in panic. ❝ Another one! Another Child of Ill-Omen is here... cast it away together with that disgusting creature! Erase it! ❞  how grating, she thinks, features already falling flat with displeasure.

          ❝ ... annoying. You’re so annoying. Shut up, you old coot. ❞ an instant snap, though her eyes hardly leave the other, almost unimpressed that he’s heard more than she thought necessary. ❝ Why’re you here? Qrow. ❞ despite the question, the juror hardly waits to reach out in hopes to restrain one of the two threats of their timelines.

                                                         「 @redreaping 」

[cataclysmal]

          ONLY THE SLIGHTEST GLEAM HAD captured her attention, shimmering like finely polished rubies beneath the most brilliant of lights. like shifting winds she steps forward, deflecting with ease the path she was just on; naturally so, as if such a disorienting change of direction was what she had intended all along. how many has she seen within her life? some dull, not quite scorned by the world for their hue, while others muddied and brown... no, not like his---not like  theirs. impulse, the very thing which guides her palm to cup the man’s face without refrain, turning so that she could gaze into them with ease.

          never was she one to abide to the whims of consideration, even if the years have simmered her once youthful approaches, let alone in the wake of meeting someone else who bore such accursed eyes.

          ❝ You have red eyes, also... ❞ spoken softly, nigh wistful, and more a question than statement as fingers remain tender against his cheek. perhaps, like she, he was steeped with something ruinous and abyssal, too...

                                                          「 @redreaping 」