[ So Qrow has dealt with impulses before. The urge to go seeking that something out is a deeply uncomfortable one, and he strongly considers flinging his keys in a random direction and storming off in the direct opposite one.

But he really, really wants to figure out what it is he apparently wants to find, and it's the first thing he manages to feel since arriving here that isn't confusion, discomfort, or grief. So he keeps looking. At least it's something to do.

Granted, when he finally stumbles across an old hearse and realizes this is what he's been looking for, he suddenly wishes he'd gone with his initial 'flinging the keys in a random direction' idea. But he's here now. All he does for a long moment is stare dully at the car.

Then, with an abrupt snarl, he reels back and slams his heel into the hearse, kicking a huge dent into the rear panel. Then he flings himself down and slumps against the door with a huge, grumbled sigh. Fuck, he already hates this place. ]

[ On one hand, it's not like it's actually his fault there's debris raining from the sky. The tornado did that, and his bad luck aura can't actually make anything impossible happen.

But it can make a bad situation worse. Wind catches a chunk of debris at just the right angle, makes it tilt in mid-air at just the right time. Within seconds its trajectory has changed enough to go from 'definitely not going to land on anyone' to 'definitely going to land on the poor soul standing next to Qrow'.

Fortunately, being plagued by bad luck for decades on end has given Qrow a pretty keen awareness of his surroundings. ]

Watch out!

[ That's all the warning the bystander is going to get before they're abruptly tackled. Qrow doesn't hold anything back, either, hoping to fling them both well clear of the impact. Hopefully whoever he's lunging at doesn't dodge or brace themselves too thoroughly. ]

[ Qrow can deal with the monsters, and the waking up somewhere weird, and the stupid hearse, and even the weird patch of scales that's grown over a scratch on his hand.

What he can't deal with is how cold it is. It's driving him crazy. He'd tried to take a hot shower but, of course, the plumbing decided right that moment to start acting dodgy and dumped gallons of ice cold water on him instead. So he's given up on that and gone for a more classic approach: blankets. Lots of blankets.

Like, too many blankets? Qrow appears to have grabbed every spare blanket and pillow in the lounge and now sits huddled underneath a massive pile of them. And he's still shivering. If everything else didn't feel fine he'd assume he was getting sick. Instead he's left to assume he's just losing his mind.

Either way, he's perfectly coherent, which means he meets any inquisitive stares with a flat look of his own. ]

What?

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