[Salem was only killable because of Deerington; if Ozpin could've killed her, the war would've ended a long time ago. Truthfully, Qrow has very little faith that they will defeat Salem or the Gods. But the kids haven't given up, so he's not allowed to either. Or at least, the version of himself still there isn't. He's relieved to leave it all behind.]
...Huh. Didn't realize you could get cold. [Due to the whole Robot Thing.] Yeah, sure.
[He scrubs at his chin stubble a moment, thinking.]
There's a place down the street I have a tab with. They let me eat, and I do chores and errands for them about once a week.
I guess it's not any weirder than all of us being squids.
[Will literally anything top being a squid? Qrow is not sure, but he expects to be proven wrong any time now.]
...Who's Macduff?
[Come on Anna does this look like a man who reads Shakespeare to you;;; it is unlikely he's read any work of literature that has not come in illustrated format at minimum in his entire goddamn life.]
Oh right, you guys probably don't have Billy Shakes. It's a play from back home about this dude who kills the king, becomes the king, and then does a whole lot more killing once he's on the throne. Fun little story about paranoia.
[she shrugs, the heavy shoulders of her coat rising and falling. it feels nice around her. maybe she'll make it part of her regular wardrobe even one the winter is gone.]
Saying the name of the play is also super cursed, if you believe theater tradition. Supposed to bring bad luck to anyone who says it.
[He sort of harrumphs, irritably. It's not like how he went off about the gods before, but there's a distinct sense he's deeply disgruntled about this notion.]
Sounds like a pain to keep putting it on. How do people even get tickets? They call it "The Cursed Play" at the box office, or what?
[The whole play itself sounds kinda yikes too, like someone decided to write a whole play about Ironwood, except actually as a king rather than a wannabe one. Bleh. He really wants that damn pizza now.]
[Let the record state how much he hates that he was actually right. He hates it a lot. But Qrow would rather chew on broken glass than have any kind of extended conversation about luck, so her subject change is perfectly timed.]
Depends on the crowd. Sometimes I'm the kind of pizza guy who'll order pineapple just to mess with everyone else.
[Pineapple on pizza is an abomination against gods and man but he has probably picked at literal garbage pizza in bird form before so like. Sometimes you choose violence, because it's funnier. You know how it is right Anna.]
[she knew that already, but she knows how to be appreciative. game recognize game.]
It's been long enough for me that I might just go with whatever for the hell of it. Pizza's like one of those real deep depression foods for me. [which makes it appropriate that they're going for it now.] So it's been a while. That and losing the whole... ability to get nutrition from food for a bit in the middle there.
In that case, might as well just ask about the specials. There's always some new mushroom-laden concoction the old lady's got going on.
[Yes, the owner of the pizza place that Qrow's formed this deal with is a badass little old lady. She may or may not have intense Maria vibes. Qrow is nOT predictable, how dare you.]
Yikes. Guess that's one perk of having blood again, huh?
[listen,,, he just really enjoys food ok....now that he no longer drinks, junk food is like his last remaining vice...]
Eh, I mean, I could still eat, but I was just doing it for the taste before I got my blood back. Kind of a lot to be said for, like, waking up and knowing your body will actually like what you put inside it.
[she looks around, trying to familiarize with these streets. with the Tower out and about lately, it's been hard to find her way around, but mercifully he seems to be taking pity on them. maybe he knows she's been up all night and she's not having a good time. maybe getting tight with Cloverfield has been a good idea so far.]
Or knowing your body won't later, but your head will now. [which is kind of the problem.]
[....Well shit. He can definitely relate to that last part, all too well.]
...Yeah. Knowing you can escape from everything for a while -- it's real easy to fall into.
[He's a little unsure how much she wants to talk about, though. She'd said she didn't want advice, and so that's why they're getting pizza, but here's the topic, rising to the surface again like yeast in bread.]
Getting used to being stuck with your thoughts is probably one of the hardest parts.
[...Aside the initial active withdrawal part, anyway. That sucked a whole lot.]
[she said she didn't want advice, but she says a lot of things. she takes a moment to think of how best to respond to that. whether she should open up a little or not. she's tired right now.]
Five years. [it comes out in a way that almost takes her by surprise.] That's how long my "while" was. Before I finally started pulling myself out of it and having to deal with my thoughts on their own.
[she's not looking at him when she says it, instead trying to pretend like she's still trying to find their pizza place.]
[Ah. There is an anxious moment, just the space of a breath, where he wonders what he really has to offer here. Not only did she manage to clean herself up in less than half the time it took him to get his shit together, but she'd been clean longer than he has.
Then the moment passes, and he rolls a shoulder.]
Must have been eleven, twelve years for me.
[That time is a muddle of grief and alcohol and the stress of keeping two little girls alive when their mother was gone. He's lost details like his own exact age when he gave up hope on finding Summer alive, or even finding a body to bring home.]
I'd only stopped a couple months when I first got drawn into the dream. Making it this far seemed kind of impossible back then.
[He doesn't want to say something trite like how she surely will be able to do it again if she's done it once before, or that he believes in her, or something like that. Really, he's not sure what to say. He's never exactly been to one of those support group things. He rubs at his neck.]
Look -- to be honest, I've got absolutely no clue how this works. This whole 'fellow drunks' thing. I'm probably the worst person to ever give anyone advice on how to unfuck their life, but uh. I get the feeling your original reasons for trying didn't make it out of the ocean with you, so...if you need anything, you got my number, I guess.
[if she had a hint of his history, if she knew at all what he'd been through, she would've been thinking "well yeah, no shit, he had to deal with way worse than i ever did". but at the same time, hearing that he got clean after twelve years just makes her wonder what's wrong with her that she can't stay that way with less than half of that under her belt. there's anxiety tinged with shame that's easier to let herself feel, and she doesn't move on from it the way he does.]
Nobody made it out of the ocean with me. [a dejected sigh as she falls back against a nearby building wall and crosses her arms over her chest.] That's the thing that's sending me back there. And I know you're not, like, an expert on anything or whatever, but, like. This is the first problem I've had here that I felt like other people could even relate to.
No weird doubletalk, no leaving details out 'cause they're too complicated, just. [a look to the sky.] Burnout girl pushing 30 falls off the wagon 'cause she's sad.
I dunno, at this point I think I'd qualify as an expert at being drunk. [He lets out a faint amused huff, self-deprecating.] Just...you know, retired.
[He shakes his head, then. Honestly, the fact that she still wants to try even without those people is admirable, from where he's standing.]
For what it's worth, if I didn't have family here, we'd be having a very different conversation. Hell, it's hard even when your reasons are right in front of you.
Yeah... yeah, god, it sure as hell is, huh. [sigh. family, friends, loved ones. she's working on making some of her own here, especially after the night she's just had, but he's still right.]
I had people trying to reach out to me when I was deep in it and I just didn't want to let them in. They were supposed to be people I was, like, holding on to and staying sober for, but it just didn't work. [she's. she can't talk around this. she just said, right, that this is all about no doubletalk and no leaving details out.]
It was my ex's sisters. I was supposed to let myself stay on good terms with them so I didn't end up completely alone even after she dumped me. But I just... couldn't act like a normal person around them. And I didn't know what else to do with my life as a fresh dropout in the city I moved to so I could be with her, like, six months earlier. So I just kept going back to the only thing that made sense. [christ. she's dumping her trauma on him. it disgusts her.]
I need to shove some fucking pizza in my mouth so words stop coming out of it.
[At first he's thinking that he understands only too well, what it's like to shy away from hands trying to reach out because there's too much grief and pain and despair in your heart and you will only pull them into the abyss with you. But then she continues, and her situation is entirely incomparable to his own in the end, after all. Anna might think his traumas are worse had she known them, but Qrow isn't really thinking in terms of comparison at all, here.
Perhaps not least of these is that he has entirely too many commitment issues to uproot himself for a single person like that. The only situation that comes close is changing his life for Oz at Beacon, the heartbreak he'd felt when the truth had come out and he'd been abandoned in the snow, back en route to Argus. But he had already been drinking for a long, long time before that; it had merely been his rock bottom.
He rubs at his neck, feeling that prickle of unease that comes from being out of one's depth. He's not exactly emotional support material, tends to prefer to act as though he doesn't care about most things in general, but it's obvious she needs someone. Like many times in his life, Being There means the responsibility is his, whether or not he wants it.]
I mean, you can stop them if you want. I've never been great at talking, but I mean, I did spend twelve years trying to drink my problems into submission so I wouldn't have to talk about 'em, so I'm not exactly the example to follow here.
Yeah, and now you're clean and I'm backsliding so hard I'm breaking the sound barrier. [she's really not. it's really not that bad yet. there's anger bubbling in her throat but none of it is pointed towards qrow.] So I'm sitting here like what the fuck is wrong with me that I can't do it when you figured it out.
Especially 'cause, like, listen, we've talked a little bit, I can tell you've seen really bad shit. Meanwhile there's my idiot ass over here. [she affects a mocking voice directed completely at herself.] Oh, I'm so fuckin' sad, my girlfriend broke up with me. [and she looks away.] Get some real problems, asshole.
[There's an uncomfortable moment of sensation, like catching a glance of an inconveniently placed mirror, of wondering if this is what he sounds like when he gets into his particularly gloomy moods. He pushes the thought aside, breathing out that impatient feeling that crawled up his spine for a moment.]
It's not a competition, y'know. Losing people sucks, especially when they had a choice in it.
[Honestly, the things in his life that have hurt him the most have had nothing to do with his battle scars, as it were, or the things he's seen as part of the war against Salem. He grew up with death and destruction, after all. He was a bandit, a murderer before he was a Huntsman, and well before he was ever an alcoholic.]
And you already said you're on your own, here.
[A beat passes; that uncomfortable self-reflection bubbles back up, and he is unsure she is even liable to listen to reassurance spoken gently. He's not good at it, anyway; he allows his tone to sharpen.]
Besides, it's not as though telling yourself your problems don't matter will magically fix your drinking problem. Wasting your time getting mad at yourself for it is the fastest way to end up back at the bottom of the bottle.
[she tilts her head back and clunks it against the stone. there's a much deeper sigh, one that shakes her bones; she uncrosses her arms and plants her palms flat against the wall, but doesn't push off yet.]
It just feels fucking pathetic, man. I know you're right, but it's just like, really? I couldn't make it a month before hitting the bottle again? [and it's all tied up in the idea of whether she ever actually kicked the habit properly or if she just stopped being able to get drunk and called that good enough. she didn't do this right.]
And now I'm here after the worst night since my heart disappeared and spilling all my bullshit on you when you definitely didn't ask for it. So that's cool, too. Fucking god.
[He's not really sure which part of that is the comment that sets him off. One moment he's about as relaxed as he can be on this particular subject, just kind of vibing over the shared experience and trying his best to be understanding and kind about it like Oz had been the first time he admitted it to him, and then next moment his patience has suddenly snapped like a twig and his whole expression just kind of goes stormy.]
Yeah, well. I'd be willing to bet your rock bottom didn't almost get your family killed, so.
[He'll feel like an asshole for this later, probably. But he underestimated how painful his whole relationship with alcohol still is to him, apparently. Hearing her carry on about how much better he's doing when it wasn't that long ago since he got stuck hiding in a supermarket bathroom because he accidentally knocked over several bottles of liquor and couldn't handle being around it while it was being cleaned up...it triggers something petty and wounded in him.]
If you wanna talk about feeling pathetic, try going through that and still struggling with the process of getting cleaned up.
[Didn't he just say it wasn't a competition? Welp,]
[that's what gets her to push off, to take a step closer to him. her arms stay at her sides and her hands stay open; she's not far back enough into old habits to start throwing punches again. not yet.]
My family wants me dead, dude. [her hand comes up to push her hair out of her face so she can get both eyes on him, even if it doesn't change how much of him she sees. her jaw is hanging slightly open, showing top and bottom teeth in an expression that almost takes her by surprise herself, anger and incredulity fighting for dominance.]
If I actually did drink myself to death, my dad would celebrate one less dyke in the world. [she gives it time to sink in and to let herself breathe a few times, and once that initial burst is out of her system she shifts her weight backwards.] So good work not making this a competition. I already knew you were gonna win. That was my goddamn point.
sorry for the delay ahhh ... wanted to do this justice and then time got away from me lmao
[He fucked that up. He feels it the moment he sees her face, but what really drives it home is my family wants me dead. Unwanted. Alone. He knows only too well how that feels, much as it would ring far too hollow to say now. He deflates visibly, that momentary spark of anger that had risen in him crumbling as though he'd been splashed with cold water.
Fuck. Maybe it was for the best he never really had anyone to talk to about this, since apparently he couldn't stop himself from being an asshole about it on day one. Some part of him thinks maybe he should make an excuse and leave instead of subjecting her to pizza with him, except that will almost certainly end with her at a bar and he cannot simply wash his hands of that now that he knows. He closes his eyes a moment, searching for the words.]
...Sorry. I shouldn't've said that.
[But that's not good enough, not when it's obvious he meant it, just not ... like that.]
Look, I don't even know why Neo sent you my way. She of all people knows I'm kind of a huge asshole. [It's not like he's ever really been kind to her, save fishing her out from the rocks that first day in Trench. Hell, he's literally threatened to kill her if she hurts Ruby again.
He sighs, and his voice is tired when he presses on.]
I was being a dick about it, but my point was that I barely had my shit together with important reason to stay clean all this time. When you've got nothing to lose but yourself? Shit, forget about lasting a month, I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere in a week.
...Knowing that, I got pissed off at you calling yourself pathetic.
[They always do say the things that remind you of yourself make you the angriest. He knows better than anyone the kind of pity party he can throw himself. It was easy to lash out at the reminder.]
[that's not really helping things, in anna's mind—she's always known that her problems are less intense than others and she already feels bad enough at herself for not being able to keep it together when other people can. when they have. but it's not the point, either. her hands are jammed in her pockets and she's not looking at qrow when she replies, but she also isn't scowling anymore.]
It's fine. I don't know what I'm doing here either. [she means it in the broader sense, and she continues before he can jump in.] I'm not the kind of person who talks about her problems with people. Never have been. But I'm really trying here, and maybe it's just 'cause I'm... exhausted and I've seriously had such an unbelievably terrible night, but I just. I don't know, dude.
I just want to eat some pizza and talk about how fucking shitty it feels to be so comfortable doing something that's destroying you. Or whatever. I don't know. You're sober and I'm not, and I don't know actually know how you stick with it. 'Cause the only reason I got sober in the first place was because alcohol stopped being able to do anything to me.
[that's kind of the crux of it. she's not. proud of this, this fact about herself. but she turns her head to face him, and she's speaking from the heart now. or whatever passes for it.]
I never learned how to break the habit. Not all the way. I learned a little, sure, but I only got sober because the habit got broken for me. Now I have blood again, so I can get drunk again, and it's just so goddamned easy to fall back on it.
Pretty sure us not being able to talk about our problems is how we became drunks in the first place.
[It'd be interesting, if Qrow ever cared to examine it, that he never uses the term alcoholic. The disparaging term comes more easily to his tongue, perhaps because he's not kind enough to himself to see it as a disease or an affliction of any kind. Easier, to choose the term that implies a character flaw, or a pattern of bad decisions. If the drinking isn't a competition, the self-loathing might as well be.
The rest of what Anna has to say, though, sticks uncomfortably in his ribs. The question of how he was able to stop isn't a question even he really knows the answer to, even if he always has the "why" in the back of his mind. Mostly it was a matter of desperate, terrified avoidance. He tossed away the flask in some remote drawer he'd never have to look at it again. At the beginning, simply being offered a drink at a party was enough to make him flee the entire premises. He lived with people who would notice if he slipped. But then...all that ties back to his why, doesn't it? All the precautions in the world wouldn't help if he didn't have that intense yawning chasm of fear for what ruin could lay in wait for him if he were to get blackout drunk again -- being dragged from a Brunswick Farms yet again, but without his loved ones this time.
Anna doesn't want to hear about any of that. It'd be salt on an open wound at this point, wouldn't it? There's an uncomfortable silence wherein Qrow rather wishes they were still walking, because it'd be less awkward that way.]
...Honestly? For a long time, it felt less like it was destroying me and more like the only thing keeping all my wrecked bits together. Like a shitty glue where little pieces fall out all the time, but it still held enough to do its job, and that was good enough.
[It's surprisingly difficult to admit. He's talked about the drinking a little to a few select others, talked about why he stopped and a couple of those times even a little about how hard it was. He's never told anyone why he drank. About how keeping the knives in his heart dulled felt like the only way he could keep it beating.]
It's just--there came a time when that wasn't good enough anymore. When there weren't any more pieces that could fall without taking down the whole thing, everything that made keeping me together matter to begin with.
[He rubs at his neck, and eventually just standing there trying to talk about this starts to feel a bit overwhelming, and he starts to pace a little.]
As for how .... I mean, shit, it sounds stupid, but I don't really know? This whole time, I kept expecting to fuck it up. I'd just--look for ways to put that off. Like...if it was raining, I'd tell myself I didn't wanna get soaked and wait out the storm, and after the storm I'd have to stop watching TV or whatever else, get up and find my wallet, and then my keys, right? I'd make it a pain in the ass to go, and I didn't live alone, so I'd have had to make sure nobody heard me either, because then I'd have to look them in the eye and lie to them.
[His pacing comes to a slow stop, and he raises a hand to rub at his neck.]
And things never stayed peaceful in Deerington long. Any moment you could end up somewhere like that corpse boat in September and have to escape, or suddenly get attacked by monsters, or some other nonsense.
[He rolls a shoulder in a vague shrug.]
Point is...you already know how to start. If you start looking at it as having to be sober for the rest of your life, of course it's gonna freak you out. But right now is doable. An hour from now is doable. Tomorrow's doable. Next week, next month, next year can wait.
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[Salem was only killable because of Deerington; if Ozpin could've killed her, the war would've ended a long time ago. Truthfully, Qrow has very little faith that they will defeat Salem or the Gods. But the kids haven't given up, so he's not allowed to either. Or at least, the version of himself still there isn't. He's relieved to leave it all behind.]
...Huh. Didn't realize you could get cold. [Due to the whole Robot Thing.] Yeah, sure.
[He scrubs at his chin stubble a moment, thinking.]
There's a place down the street I have a tab with. They let me eat, and I do chores and errands for them about once a week.
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[she puts her hands in her pockets and tilts her head upward in his direction, acknowledging the idea and silently agreeing with it.]
Everything's more complicated than it looks. Lay on, Macduff.
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[Will literally anything top being a squid? Qrow is not sure, but he expects to be proven wrong any time now.]
...Who's Macduff?
[Come on Anna does this look like a man who reads Shakespeare to you;;; it is unlikely he's read any work of literature that has not come in illustrated format at minimum in his entire goddamn life.]
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[she shrugs, the heavy shoulders of her coat rising and falling. it feels nice around her. maybe she'll make it part of her regular wardrobe even one the winter is gone.]
Saying the name of the play is also super cursed, if you believe theater tradition. Supposed to bring bad luck to anyone who says it.
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[He sort of harrumphs, irritably. It's not like how he went off about the gods before, but there's a distinct sense he's deeply disgruntled about this notion.]
Sounds like a pain to keep putting it on. How do people even get tickets? They call it "The Cursed Play" at the box office, or what?
[The whole play itself sounds kinda yikes too, like someone decided to write a whole play about Ironwood, except actually as a king rather than a wannabe one. Bleh. He really wants that damn pizza now.]
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[which she's almost impressed by, despite the clear signs that he doesn't want to think about anything like this right now.]
So what kind of a pizza guy are you? [she is desperate for another line of conversation while they find this place.] Pineapple, yes, no?
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Depends on the crowd. Sometimes I'm the kind of pizza guy who'll order pineapple just to mess with everyone else.
[Pineapple on pizza is an abomination against gods and man but he has probably picked at literal garbage pizza in bird form before so like. Sometimes you choose violence, because it's funnier. You know how it is right Anna.]
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[she knew that already, but she knows how to be appreciative. game recognize game.]
It's been long enough for me that I might just go with whatever for the hell of it. Pizza's like one of those real deep depression foods for me. [which makes it appropriate that they're going for it now.] So it's been a while. That and losing the whole... ability to get nutrition from food for a bit in the middle there.
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[Yes, the owner of the pizza place that Qrow's formed this deal with is a badass little old lady. She may or may not have intense Maria vibes. Qrow is nOT predictable, how dare you.]
Yikes. Guess that's one perk of having blood again, huh?
[listen,,, he just really enjoys food ok....now that he no longer drinks, junk food is like his last remaining vice...]
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[she looks around, trying to familiarize with these streets. with the Tower out and about lately, it's been hard to find her way around, but mercifully he seems to be taking pity on them. maybe he knows she's been up all night and she's not having a good time. maybe getting tight with Cloverfield has been a good idea so far.]
Or knowing your body won't later, but your head will now. [which is kind of the problem.]
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...Yeah. Knowing you can escape from everything for a while -- it's real easy to fall into.
[He's a little unsure how much she wants to talk about, though. She'd said she didn't want advice, and so that's why they're getting pizza, but here's the topic, rising to the surface again like yeast in bread.]
Getting used to being stuck with your thoughts is probably one of the hardest parts.
[...Aside the initial active withdrawal part, anyway. That sucked a whole lot.]
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Five years. [it comes out in a way that almost takes her by surprise.] That's how long my "while" was. Before I finally started pulling myself out of it and having to deal with my thoughts on their own.
[she's not looking at him when she says it, instead trying to pretend like she's still trying to find their pizza place.]
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Then the moment passes, and he rolls a shoulder.]
Must have been eleven, twelve years for me.
[That time is a muddle of grief and alcohol and the stress of keeping two little girls alive when their mother was gone. He's lost details like his own exact age when he gave up hope on finding Summer alive, or even finding a body to bring home.]
I'd only stopped a couple months when I first got drawn into the dream. Making it this far seemed kind of impossible back then.
[He doesn't want to say something trite like how she surely will be able to do it again if she's done it once before, or that he believes in her, or something like that. Really, he's not sure what to say. He's never exactly been to one of those support group things. He rubs at his neck.]
Look -- to be honest, I've got absolutely no clue how this works. This whole 'fellow drunks' thing. I'm probably the worst person to ever give anyone advice on how to unfuck their life, but uh. I get the feeling your original reasons for trying didn't make it out of the ocean with you, so...if you need anything, you got my number, I guess.
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Nobody made it out of the ocean with me. [a dejected sigh as she falls back against a nearby building wall and crosses her arms over her chest.] That's the thing that's sending me back there. And I know you're not, like, an expert on anything or whatever, but, like. This is the first problem I've had here that I felt like other people could even relate to.
No weird doubletalk, no leaving details out 'cause they're too complicated, just. [a look to the sky.] Burnout girl pushing 30 falls off the wagon 'cause she's sad.
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[He shakes his head, then. Honestly, the fact that she still wants to try even without those people is admirable, from where he's standing.]
For what it's worth, if I didn't have family here, we'd be having a very different conversation. Hell, it's hard even when your reasons are right in front of you.
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I had people trying to reach out to me when I was deep in it and I just didn't want to let them in. They were supposed to be people I was, like, holding on to and staying sober for, but it just didn't work. [she's. she can't talk around this. she just said, right, that this is all about no doubletalk and no leaving details out.]
It was my ex's sisters. I was supposed to let myself stay on good terms with them so I didn't end up completely alone even after she dumped me. But I just... couldn't act like a normal person around them. And I didn't know what else to do with my life as a fresh dropout in the city I moved to so I could be with her, like, six months earlier. So I just kept going back to the only thing that made sense. [christ. she's dumping her trauma on him. it disgusts her.]
I need to shove some fucking pizza in my mouth so words stop coming out of it.
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Perhaps not least of these is that he has entirely too many commitment issues to uproot himself for a single person like that. The only situation that comes close is changing his life for Oz at Beacon, the heartbreak he'd felt when the truth had come out and he'd been abandoned in the snow, back en route to Argus. But he had already been drinking for a long, long time before that; it had merely been his rock bottom.
He rubs at his neck, feeling that prickle of unease that comes from being out of one's depth. He's not exactly emotional support material, tends to prefer to act as though he doesn't care about most things in general, but it's obvious she needs someone. Like many times in his life, Being There means the responsibility is his, whether or not he wants it.]
I mean, you can stop them if you want. I've never been great at talking, but I mean, I did spend twelve years trying to drink my problems into submission so I wouldn't have to talk about 'em, so I'm not exactly the example to follow here.
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Especially 'cause, like, listen, we've talked a little bit, I can tell you've seen really bad shit. Meanwhile there's my idiot ass over here. [she affects a mocking voice directed completely at herself.] Oh, I'm so fuckin' sad, my girlfriend broke up with me. [and she looks away.] Get some real problems, asshole.
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It's not a competition, y'know. Losing people sucks, especially when they had a choice in it.
[Honestly, the things in his life that have hurt him the most have had nothing to do with his battle scars, as it were, or the things he's seen as part of the war against Salem. He grew up with death and destruction, after all. He was a bandit, a murderer before he was a Huntsman, and well before he was ever an alcoholic.]
And you already said you're on your own, here.
[A beat passes; that uncomfortable self-reflection bubbles back up, and he is unsure she is even liable to listen to reassurance spoken gently. He's not good at it, anyway; he allows his tone to sharpen.]
Besides, it's not as though telling yourself your problems don't matter will magically fix your drinking problem. Wasting your time getting mad at yourself for it is the fastest way to end up back at the bottom of the bottle.
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It just feels fucking pathetic, man. I know you're right, but it's just like, really? I couldn't make it a month before hitting the bottle again? [and it's all tied up in the idea of whether she ever actually kicked the habit properly or if she just stopped being able to get drunk and called that good enough. she didn't do this right.]
And now I'm here after the worst night since my heart disappeared and spilling all my bullshit on you when you definitely didn't ask for it. So that's cool, too. Fucking god.
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Yeah, well. I'd be willing to bet your rock bottom didn't almost get your family killed, so.
[He'll feel like an asshole for this later, probably. But he underestimated how painful his whole relationship with alcohol still is to him, apparently. Hearing her carry on about how much better he's doing when it wasn't that long ago since he got stuck hiding in a supermarket bathroom because he accidentally knocked over several bottles of liquor and couldn't handle being around it while it was being cleaned up...it triggers something petty and wounded in him.]
If you wanna talk about feeling pathetic, try going through that and still struggling with the process of getting cleaned up.
[Didn't he just say it wasn't a competition? Welp,]
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My family wants me dead, dude. [her hand comes up to push her hair out of her face so she can get both eyes on him, even if it doesn't change how much of him she sees. her jaw is hanging slightly open, showing top and bottom teeth in an expression that almost takes her by surprise herself, anger and incredulity fighting for dominance.]
If I actually did drink myself to death, my dad would celebrate one less dyke in the world. [she gives it time to sink in and to let herself breathe a few times, and once that initial burst is out of her system she shifts her weight backwards.] So good work not making this a competition. I already knew you were gonna win. That was my goddamn point.
sorry for the delay ahhh ... wanted to do this justice and then time got away from me lmao
Fuck. Maybe it was for the best he never really had anyone to talk to about this, since apparently he couldn't stop himself from being an asshole about it on day one. Some part of him thinks maybe he should make an excuse and leave instead of subjecting her to pizza with him, except that will almost certainly end with her at a bar and he cannot simply wash his hands of that now that he knows. He closes his eyes a moment, searching for the words.]
...Sorry. I shouldn't've said that.
[But that's not good enough, not when it's obvious he meant it, just not ... like that.]
Look, I don't even know why Neo sent you my way. She of all people knows I'm kind of a huge asshole. [It's not like he's ever really been kind to her, save fishing her out from the rocks that first day in Trench. Hell, he's literally threatened to kill her if she hurts Ruby again.
He sighs, and his voice is tired when he presses on.]
I was being a dick about it, but my point was that I barely had my shit together with important reason to stay clean all this time. When you've got nothing to lose but yourself? Shit, forget about lasting a month, I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere in a week.
...Knowing that, I got pissed off at you calling yourself pathetic.
[They always do say the things that remind you of yourself make you the angriest. He knows better than anyone the kind of pity party he can throw himself. It was easy to lash out at the reminder.]
NO WORRIES i understand
It's fine. I don't know what I'm doing here either. [she means it in the broader sense, and she continues before he can jump in.] I'm not the kind of person who talks about her problems with people. Never have been. But I'm really trying here, and maybe it's just 'cause I'm... exhausted and I've seriously had such an unbelievably terrible night, but I just. I don't know, dude.
I just want to eat some pizza and talk about how fucking shitty it feels to be so comfortable doing something that's destroying you. Or whatever. I don't know. You're sober and I'm not, and I don't know actually know how you stick with it. 'Cause the only reason I got sober in the first place was because alcohol stopped being able to do anything to me.
[that's kind of the crux of it. she's not. proud of this, this fact about herself. but she turns her head to face him, and she's speaking from the heart now. or whatever passes for it.]
I never learned how to break the habit. Not all the way. I learned a little, sure, but I only got sober because the habit got broken for me. Now I have blood again, so I can get drunk again, and it's just so goddamned easy to fall back on it.
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Pretty sure us not being able to talk about our problems is how we became drunks in the first place.
[It'd be interesting, if Qrow ever cared to examine it, that he never uses the term alcoholic. The disparaging term comes more easily to his tongue, perhaps because he's not kind enough to himself to see it as a disease or an affliction of any kind. Easier, to choose the term that implies a character flaw, or a pattern of bad decisions. If the drinking isn't a competition, the self-loathing might as well be.
The rest of what Anna has to say, though, sticks uncomfortably in his ribs. The question of how he was able to stop isn't a question even he really knows the answer to, even if he always has the "why" in the back of his mind. Mostly it was a matter of desperate, terrified avoidance. He tossed away the flask in some remote drawer he'd never have to look at it again. At the beginning, simply being offered a drink at a party was enough to make him flee the entire premises. He lived with people who would notice if he slipped. But then...all that ties back to his why, doesn't it? All the precautions in the world wouldn't help if he didn't have that intense yawning chasm of fear for what ruin could lay in wait for him if he were to get blackout drunk again -- being dragged from a Brunswick Farms yet again, but without his loved ones this time.
Anna doesn't want to hear about any of that. It'd be salt on an open wound at this point, wouldn't it? There's an uncomfortable silence wherein Qrow rather wishes they were still walking, because it'd be less awkward that way.]
...Honestly? For a long time, it felt less like it was destroying me and more like the only thing keeping all my wrecked bits together. Like a shitty glue where little pieces fall out all the time, but it still held enough to do its job, and that was good enough.
[It's surprisingly difficult to admit. He's talked about the drinking a little to a few select others, talked about why he stopped and a couple of those times even a little about how hard it was. He's never told anyone why he drank. About how keeping the knives in his heart dulled felt like the only way he could keep it beating.]
It's just--there came a time when that wasn't good enough anymore. When there weren't any more pieces that could fall without taking down the whole thing, everything that made keeping me together matter to begin with.
[He rubs at his neck, and eventually just standing there trying to talk about this starts to feel a bit overwhelming, and he starts to pace a little.]
As for how .... I mean, shit, it sounds stupid, but I don't really know? This whole time, I kept expecting to fuck it up. I'd just--look for ways to put that off. Like...if it was raining, I'd tell myself I didn't wanna get soaked and wait out the storm, and after the storm I'd have to stop watching TV or whatever else, get up and find my wallet, and then my keys, right? I'd make it a pain in the ass to go, and I didn't live alone, so I'd have had to make sure nobody heard me either, because then I'd have to look them in the eye and lie to them.
[His pacing comes to a slow stop, and he raises a hand to rub at his neck.]
And things never stayed peaceful in Deerington long. Any moment you could end up somewhere like that corpse boat in September and have to escape, or suddenly get attacked by monsters, or some other nonsense.
[He rolls a shoulder in a vague shrug.]
Point is...you already know how to start. If you start looking at it as having to be sober for the rest of your life, of course it's gonna freak you out. But right now is doable. An hour from now is doable. Tomorrow's doable. Next week, next month, next year can wait.
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