[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.
[it takes a while for him to say anything that's immediately helpful to anna, or at least she thinks so, but she also has eye, so she can see that this is important to him. it feels like even if he didn't really want to talk about any of this stuff, he's kind of laying it all out for her anyway. maybe he just needed a push. maybe that's the point of it.]
[the first thing he does say that gets to her comes late, around the idea of things never staying peaceful in the dream for very long. there's no reason trench could possibly be the same way, and she can't... she can't imagine having been too drunk to move in recollé when lives depended on it. it twists her stomach, and maybe it's because she's been awake for too damn long, but it almost sours her appetite to think about it too hard.]
I know so many people, [and she starts slowly, like she's building up to something bigger,] Who would found a new city just to kick my ass from here to there if they caught me being too drunk to do the shit that needs to be done. I guess I gotta find some people like that around here. Then just... keep doing it every day. I've been there before and I can get there again, right?
[with luck, that's how it works. maybe it would help motivate her if she knew someone who'd... no, that was grim, even for her. she could find the motivation on her own.]
Sure hope you're feeling better after all that talking. I think I'm probably gonna get there, too. Just, uh, one thing. [and this one has less weight behind it, because she doesn't know how to handle stuff like this without deflecting.] My cigs stay. I don't have a problem there. I literally don't even have lungs.
[Anna you can't just call him out on having feelings and vulnerabilities like that, even if he's just kind of spilled his guts about them. He is Sir Not Going To Acknowledge That Comment, okay. There's a moment where he looks halfway flustered before he takes a breath, sorting himself out on the exhale.]
Heh, fair enough. Well...you've got one guy, at least. Assuming you're not already looking for the first opportunity to run for the hills, anyway.
[He tries for a faint smirk, even if the whole Attitude™ is a little hard to reach at the moment, after said gut-spilling.]
The pizza isn't gonna be that good, just for the record.
Oh, dude, I'm not looking for good food. I'm looking for the shittiest, greasiest thing in the world. Real Recollé-style pizza. [and she's at least feeling better enough to put on a fake fantasy new york accent and lean into it.] The thinnest crust imaginable, pepperoni curled up so it just becomes a little edible cup of grease, slices so big you gotta fold them up with one hand so you can flip off the people on the street with the other.
[and she cuts the accent before it gets too silly. this is a serious conversation. she clears her throat.]
Anyway. None of that probably made any sense to you, 'cause I don't think Remnant has a city like mine, but. Whatever, I said it anyway. [she's not even forcing a casual smile anymore.] I ain't gonna bail now, is what I'm saying, I guess.
Probably not exactly, but I think I got the idea. Pretty sure sketchy hole-in-the-wall joints are universal.
[He grins. The vibe reminds him of some parts of Mistral, or the kind of 4 am craving sorts of dives he would go to when he was soaked knee-deep in booze himself. The idea of a city where people regularly just walk down the street eating too-big pizza while flipping off annoying people sounds like a transformative experience tho tbqh.]
This place, I wouldn't exactly call nice, but it's cozy and got good food.
[It would be what one might consider a solid Budget Restaurant if, y'know, money existed in Trench.]
Not the worst place to stick around for the long haul, at least.
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no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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,]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[the first thing he does say that gets to her comes late, around the idea of things never staying peaceful in the dream for very long. there's no reason trench could possibly be the same way, and she can't... she can't imagine having been too drunk to move in recollé when lives depended on it. it twists her stomach, and maybe it's because she's been awake for too damn long, but it almost sours her appetite to think about it too hard.]
I know so many people, [and she starts slowly, like she's building up to something bigger,] Who would found a new city just to kick my ass from here to there if they caught me being too drunk to do the shit that needs to be done. I guess I gotta find some people like that around here. Then just... keep doing it every day. I've been there before and I can get there again, right?
[with luck, that's how it works. maybe it would help motivate her if she knew someone who'd... no, that was grim, even for her. she could find the motivation on her own.]
Sure hope you're feeling better after all that talking. I think I'm probably gonna get there, too. Just, uh, one thing. [and this one has less weight behind it, because she doesn't know how to handle stuff like this without deflecting.] My cigs stay. I don't have a problem there. I literally don't even have lungs.
no subject
Heh, fair enough. Well...you've got one guy, at least. Assuming you're not already looking for the first opportunity to run for the hills, anyway.
[He tries for a faint smirk, even if the whole Attitude™ is a little hard to reach at the moment, after said gut-spilling.]
The pizza isn't gonna be that good, just for the record.
no subject
[and she cuts the accent before it gets too silly. this is a serious conversation. she clears her throat.]
Anyway. None of that probably made any sense to you, 'cause I don't think Remnant has a city like mine, but. Whatever, I said it anyway. [she's not even forcing a casual smile anymore.] I ain't gonna bail now, is what I'm saying, I guess.
no subject
[He grins. The vibe reminds him of some parts of Mistral, or the kind of 4 am craving sorts of dives he would go to when he was soaked knee-deep in booze himself. The idea of a city where people regularly just walk down the street eating too-big pizza while flipping off annoying people sounds like a transformative experience tho tbqh.]
This place, I wouldn't exactly call nice, but it's cozy and got good food.
[It would be what one might consider a solid Budget Restaurant if, y'know, money existed in Trench.]
Not the worst place to stick around for the long haul, at least.