[ ever since blake sat her down at the kitchen table a few days ago to peel back the layers of self-blame yang wrapped herself in, she's felt...well, "better" isn't quite right. "less devastated," maybe. her family is broken (again), but it's not up to her to fix it single-handedly (again). there's a support system now--oscar, ruby's one billion friends, blake, uncle clover, uncle qrow. she doesn't have to do this alone.
but in the quiet moments, when her mind wanders, she relives that moment in the hotel. qrow in the doorway of the hotel room, shaky and pale, haltingly explaining that they need a doctor now. ruby, looking small and young in his arms, a crimson blooming underneath the towel wrapped around her eye. herself, contentment curdling into a thick, suffocating horror in the pits of her stomach when the realization of what's happened slams into her.
the memory keeps yang awake or jerks her out of uneasy sleep. it's why she's taken to spending most of her time in the basement at night, the organized chaos of half-finished schematics and precarious stacks of dust crates a welcome respite.
and it's why yang is confused when she blearily staring around her bedroom. she was in the basement--no, the laundry room, moving a load of clothes from the dryer. she must have fallen asleep at some point, but that doesn't explain how she'd ended up in her own bed with the load of laundry and breakfast, besides. the answer appears and sits on her bed once she's finished devouring her eggs: qrow, all long legs and arms and anxiety. ]
Morning, [ she grumbles in between bites of toast. ] And don't knock tile floors 'til you try it.
[ grim jokes and dry humor is the universal language of huntsmen remnant-wide. it has to be that way when you don't typically live past 40. still, she hears the kinder, softer words that qrow can't bring himself to say. ]
...slept okay. Thanks for the breakfast, Uncle Qrow. And the clothes.
no subject
but in the quiet moments, when her mind wanders, she relives that moment in the hotel. qrow in the doorway of the hotel room, shaky and pale, haltingly explaining that they need a doctor now. ruby, looking small and young in his arms, a crimson blooming underneath the towel wrapped around her eye. herself, contentment curdling into a thick, suffocating horror in the pits of her stomach when the realization of what's happened slams into her.
the memory keeps yang awake or jerks her out of uneasy sleep. it's why she's taken to spending most of her time in the basement at night, the organized chaos of half-finished schematics and precarious stacks of dust crates a welcome respite.
and it's why yang is confused when she blearily staring around her bedroom. she was in the basement--no, the laundry room, moving a load of clothes from the dryer. she must have fallen asleep at some point, but that doesn't explain how she'd ended up in her own bed with the load of laundry and breakfast, besides. the answer appears and sits on her bed once she's finished devouring her eggs: qrow, all long legs and arms and anxiety. ]
Morning, [ she grumbles in between bites of toast. ] And don't knock tile floors 'til you try it.
[ grim jokes and dry humor is the universal language of huntsmen remnant-wide. it has to be that way when you don't typically live past 40. still, she hears the kinder, softer words that qrow can't bring himself to say. ]
...slept okay. Thanks for the breakfast, Uncle Qrow. And the clothes.