• Published 31st Aug 2018
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SAPR - Scipio Smith



Sunset, Jaune, Pyrrha and Ruby are Team SAPR, and together they fight to defeat the malice of Salem, uncover the truth about Ruby's past and fill the emptiness within their souls.

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The House of Schnee

The House of Schnee

Four months earlier…

Winter stood erect, back straight, one hand upon the hilt of her rapier, the other arm tucked behind her back, displaying perfect military posture.

Yet all the same she could not disguise her unease and discomfiture from Weiss as the two stood on the docking bay outside of Winter’s airship.

“You don’t have to tell me that you’re fine with this if you’re not,” Winter said softly.

“I’m fine,” Weiss murmured.

“If you are angry with me then I’ll understand,” Winter said. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“I’m not angry, I’m fine.”

“Weiss, I’m not doing this because…you can tell me how you really feel.”

“I said I’m fine!” Weiss snapped.

“Stop lying to me!” Winter yelled right back at her, taking a step towards her younger sister, her arm coming out from behind her back as she looked as though she was about to grab Weiss and shake her until the truth came out. “Who are you pretending for? I’ve already told you that you can tell me how you really feel about this so who are you lying for?”

“Have you considered that I might be lying for myself?” Weiss asked sharply. She turned away from Winter, and looked up to where the ruined stump of the tower was just about visible on the hills overlooking Vale; where the great tower that had once risen so high and so majestically into the clouds was now mostly rubble scattered on the ground with only a nub remaining.

“Weiss-“ Winter began.

“What good would it do to say that I don’t want to go back?” Weiss asked. “What good would it do to say that I don’t want to go…to that house, to mother and father? What good would it do to tell you how much I hate this? None at all. It wouldn’t change anything. So why should I say it?”

She felt her sister’s hand upon her shoulder. “Weiss, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Weiss said. “It isn’t your fault.”

“I’m the one who’s about to renege on my agreement with father, even knowing what that means to you.”

“Like you said, or were about to say,” Weiss said. “It’s not as though you’re doing this to spite me. You can’t abandon your post.”

“I-”

“Don’t,” Weiss said. “Don’t say it.” She closed her eyes, and sighed long and hard and deep. “Flash and Cardin are both in the hospital,” she said. “Flash is going to need a prosthetic leg to walk again. Professor Ozpin’s dead, the CCT is down, Beacon…Beacon’s gone, at least for now. The world is not what it was a few weeks ago, still less when the year began, or when you made your bargain with father. I’d have to be the most selfish girl in the whole of Remnant to demand that you keep your word for my sake, when General Ironwood and Atlas need you.” She snorted. “I’m sure that there are some people who think I’m precisely that selfish, but I have absolutely no intention of living down to their expectations of me.”

Winter spun her around forcefully, turning Weiss in place until she was facing her elder sister, who got down on one knee and embraced Weiss with both arms, squeezing her tight. “Thank you,” she said. “For understanding. I would have understood if you didn’t, but I’m glad you do.”

“I am a huntress in training,” Weiss reminded her. “The greater good of the world comes before our personal desires.” She hesitated. “Or at least I was a huntress in training. I doubt that I’ll be allowed to continue my studies in Atlas.”

“I’m afraid not,” Winter said. “Once you go home…Weiss, will you promise me something?”

“That depends,” Weiss said. “What is it?”

Winter stood up. “Don’t let father shut you away in that house,” she said. “Don’t forget that you’re not alone. Don’t let father make you forget. He won’t keep you a prisoner, but he might like you to think that you are. To convince yourself of it. Don’t.”

Weiss smiled, only a little but nevertheless the corner of her lip turned up. “That’s it? I thought you might ask me to do something arduous, not something that I was planning on doing anyway.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Winter said. “I only wished to be sure.”

“Believe me,” Weiss said. “I have absolutely no intention of simply wasting away in that house.”

Even if Atlesian socialite is the only role left to me, it’s still better than becoming a ghost in the halls of that enormous mansion.

A ghost like mother.

Anything would be better than that.


Present...

Weiss wiped her hands with a paper napkin. “That was really nice,” she declared. “Where did you find this place, Twilight?” she asked, in reference to the delightfully old-fashioned bijou tea shop where they had gone for lunch after the ceremony finished. Twilight’s friend Rarity had joined them on the way, and now they sat at a table just outside the café, finishing off their drinks as the traffic of the street – foot and road – passed swiftly by them.

“It’s convenient for where I work,” Twilight said. “Where I usually work, anyway.”

“Where you belong, darling,” Rarity said, holding up her tea-cup in a slightly affected way, with her pinky finger sticking out.

“Where I belong?” Twilight repeated. “Where I do good work, sure, I’ll accept that? But belong…I’m not so sure any more.”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Rarity said, with mock sternness in her voice. “You can’t honestly mean to tell me that you miss being out in the…the field!”

“I got to stand alongside Rainbow Dash, and Applejack when she was there,” Twilight said. “When I put on my armour I got to feel as though I wasn’t helpless and in need of protection. Don’t tell me that you don’t feel the same way, or why have you enrolled in remedial classes.”

“That,” Rarity declared. “Is completely different.”

“Is it?” Twilight asked sceptically. “You mean you’re not thinking of applying to Atlas next year under the new delayed entry program?”

“Oh of course I am, Twilight, why else would I be taking refresher classes in aura and combat technique?” Rarity said. “But the fact remains that the circumstances are quite different.”

“How?”

“Oh, darling, must you make me demean myself by spelling it out?” Rarity asked. “Because I don’t have a big brain the size of yours, now are you happy?” She sipped from her teacup. “It’s not that I want to become a huntress now any more than I did when we graduated from Canterlot; don’t mistake me, this isn’t some kind of delayed realisation on my part of what I want to do with my life. This isn’t destiny calling to tell me that it made an error the first time. It’s just that…what with that dreadful battle and Atlas being so short of huntsmen it seems…can I really justify standing on the sidelines while the world is in peril? I can’t protect Sweetie Belle by making dresses, as much as I wish that I could. Since I have a sword to offer Atlas it feels as though I ought to offer it. But you, Twilight Sparkle, you have a mind as fine as any and better than most, and I for one am in full agreement with those who think that you serve Atlas best by making use of it, not by stomping around in some tin can.”

“Evidently a lot of important people agree with you,” Twilight said, with a slight hint of a huff in her voice. “But I…I wish that…I wish that you’d reconsider that delayed entry to Atlas. You know that you aren’t made for this like Rainbow Dash, or even like Applejack.”

“I know that Applejack doesn’t want to be a huntress any more than I do, but does it because she feels she ought to.”

“Yes, but you’re not like Applejack,” Twilight said softly. “It’s bad enough worrying about her and Rainbow Dash – and now Blake, too – without worrying about you out in the field while I’m sitting in the lab.”

The two of them stared at one another for a moment, before they both broke out into laughter.

Weiss blinked. “Is something funny?” she asked, trying and failing to get it on her own.

“Not really,” Twilight admitted. “It’s just the irony that…I’ve spent so long thinking that Rarity and the others try to smother me, but given the chance I just want to smother Rarity the exact same way.”

Rarity smiled. “That I’m just like you and you’re just like me, darling. Truer words were never spoken.”

“At least you’re both getting the chance to do something for Atlas,” Weiss said, failing rather miserably at keeping the sense of resentment towards the pair of them for their good fortune out of her voice. “You’re both very lucky in that respect.”

Their faces fell. Twilight especially looked ashamed of herself. “Weiss,” she said softly, reaching out across the wooden table for Weiss’ hand. “I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t have brought the subject up-“

“No, I’m sorry,” Weiss said, shaking her head vigorously. “My feeling…I had no right to take it out on you, especially when you’ve been so nice to me, inviting me out, and making me this dress-“

“Since you don’t need to wear anything especially well suited to wandering the outdoors,” Rarity said. “You might as well look fabulous, darling. It isn’t as though you don’t have the looks for it.”

She had dressed Weiss in a silver-white cocktail dress that reached down to the floor but had a split skirt for ease of movement; a blue sash was tied around her waist and a silver-white shrug with long sleeves that fastened at the neck with a trio of sapphires dangling from the collar, matching her earrings.

“As I said, I appreciate you running this out for me,” Weiss said. “And if you are looking to improve your sword skills for Atlas…it’s an épée you fight with, isn’t it?”

Rarity nodded. “I can shoot passably well with a bow but the épée was my main weapon at Canterlot. I’ve tried to keep in practice, but you know how it is.”

Weiss did, in fact, know how it was; although in her case it was not her fencing skills that she had allowed to atrophy but her singing voice. She hadn’t sung in public for a year, after all, and she had no idea if she would be able to sing again if she tried. It was just how it went with these things: you chose something that was important to you and then you let other things fall by the wayside in the pursuit of that goal…until life intervened and suddenly you found that those skills you’d thought you wouldn’t use might actually come in handy after all. “You know, I’m a fair hand with a sword,” she said, with the modesty appropriate to a true Schnee. “If you need a sparring partner I’d be happy to show you a few moves.”

Rarity’s eyebrows rose. “You would…that’s extraordinarily generous of you, Miss Sch- I mean, Weiss. I couldn’t, I mean I wouldn’t want to impose upon-“

“It’s not imposition, really,” Weiss said. Anything to get out of the house. “I’d be happy to, if you’d like.”

“Then I would be honoured to accept,” Rarity declared.

“Then it’s settled,” Weiss said. She might not be able to fight for humanity as a huntress but she could at least make sure that Rarity was a little better prepared to do so in her stead than she might have been otherwise. “Are any of your other friends considering delayed applications to Atlas, too?”

“I hope not,” Twilight said. “I really can’t see Fluttershy or Pinkie Pie as huntresses.”

“That I’m just like you,” Rarity whispered, a smile playing across her features.

“Okay,” Twilight said. “I know, I know; but honestly, can you see it?”

“No,” Rarity admitted. “And as far as I’m aware neither Fluttershy or Pinkie is planning to take that step. Although Maud has; in fact she’s already back in service.”

“She is?” Twilight asked. “I didn’t know that; how do you know?”

“Applejack told me,” Rarity answered. “Apparently they ran into each other in Atlas; she’s filling in the missing space on Trixie’s team.”

“Who’s Maud?” inquired Weiss..

“Our friend Pinkie’s older sister,” Twilight explained. “She was on a team with Rainbow Dash and Applejack in their first year at Atlas, but she dropped out. She was going to apply to study geology at Everton.”

“Apparently she also thinks that Atlas needs huntresses right now more than it needs geologists,” Rarity said.

“So many students being graduated early,” Weiss said. “And people who passed combat school but didn’t apply for or pass the exams for Atlas being encouraged to re-apply, or apply later than normal. Twilight, is all of this a bad sign?”

“You’re asking me?” asked Twilight, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the one on the inside,” Weiss said. “You work for the military, and everyone knows that General Ironwood thinks a lot of you.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m privy to all of his secrets,” Twilight replied, sounding a little more embarrassed than the situation warranted. “But…it isn’t a good sign, obviously, but I don’t think it’s a terrible sign either. We won the Battle of Vale, but we lost a lot of good people in the process, and the general says that our enemies will be watching to see if we look weakened by it, which is why we have to make ourselves look strong; which is why we need to get more huntsmen out in the field, amongst other things. But it’s not like we’re cutting corners. Everyone like Rarity who applies late has to have graduated from a combat school, and they’ll get put through the same academy programme as any aspiring huntsman or huntress would. And as for the huntsmen who fought at Vale, don’t you think they’ve earned their accelerated graduation?” Twilight asked, but winced once she realised what she’d just said. “I’m sorry, Weiss, I’m so sorry that I-”

“It’s fine,” Weiss insisted. “My father wouldn’t allow me to take the oath even if General Ironwood wanted to let me take it. And considering that all I did during the battle was get my team-mates wounded I’m not sure that I deserve it as much as some others who fought in that battle.”

“You still fought,” Twilight said. “It doesn’t matter if you made mistakes, or if you didn’t do anything to make you famous across the kingdom; you were there and you fought and that should be all that matters.”

Weiss smiled sadly. “That’s very kind of you to say, but my father doesn’t see it the same way that you do.” Her eyes were drawn upwards to the blue sky up above; a sky that was disturbed by the stately passage of a pair of Atlesian cruisers flying overhead, escorted by a quartet of Skyrays flying on either side of the great ships like minnows swimming alongside a school of whales. “Are there more of those ships in the sky than there used to be?” she asked. “Or did I just not notice them before?”

“There are a few more,” Twilight said. “When the CCT went down a lot of our ships scattered abroad decided to make their way back home; and now, until the CCT comes back up I think a lot of people don’t want to send them out again; at least not any further than Solitas.”

“So…this is it?” Weiss said. “The whole fleet is here and we’ve abandoned the rest of Remnant?”

“I don’t know,” Twilight admitted. “Detailed deployments…what we know about our deployment with comms down…that’s a little above my paygrade. I’m not sure that all the units out in Anima and Vacuo had a ship to get home in, and maybe they didn’t all come back. But I can see why General Ironwood is reluctant to send any forces out so far that he can’t talk to them.”

“I suppose that for the sake of Canterlot and others like it we should be grateful that you were able to restore communications across Atlas,” Rarity said.

“I was just one of a large team working on that,” Twilight said, her face flushing with embarrassment. “It was Science & Research’s top priority once the fleet came home. And I’m sure the CCT will be back up soon, thanks to the agreement with Blake’s parents on Menagerie.”

“Yes, how was the ceremony?” Rarity asked.

“It was…nice,” Weiss stated evenly, possibly forcibly. “Everyone had an appropriate sense of the occasion.”

“I do so hope it will all work out,” Rarity said. “I’ve heard that Menagerie fashions are just fascinating; as I understand it they started with the Mistralian fashion of the time but have diverged since in a way that makes a marvellous study of evolution in style; unfortunately it’s so hard to see for oneself…until now, at least.”

“I just hope that enthusiasm for the alliance with Atlas continues to hold until the tower is complete,” Twilight said.

“It’s not Menagerie that I’d worry about,” Weiss said. “Who wouldn’t want their home to be connected to the CCT, not to mention all the advantages that partnering with Atlas will give them? It’s Atlas, not Menagerie, that concerns me. My father can’t be the only one who isn’t happy about this.”

“But the council voted to sign the treaty,” Rarity said.

“What the council decides can always be undone later,” Weiss countered.

“But why?” Rarity asked. “What is there to object to in re-establishing the CCT network? Anyone would think these people enjoyed being cut off from the rest of the world.”

“Perhaps some of them do,” Weiss murmured. “For the rest…” She paused for a moment, arranging her thoughts in order. “It feels as though the world changed when Beacon tower fell. Except nobody knows what it changed into yet, not even the world itself; everything is in flux, and who can say when it will settle into a solid state again like it did after the Faunus Rights Revolution? Until it settles there are all sorts of people who think they can affect how the world settles, maybe even remake the broken world in their own image. And they are hostile to any rival vision that threatens their own.”

“Is that what your father wants?” Twilight asked. “To remake the world in his own image?”

Weiss shook her head. “My father has always been too pragmatically focussed on his bottom line to waste resources pursuing grand ambitions. But…I don’t know, I have a lot of time to think at home. Maybe I have too much time.”

“I don’t think so,” Twilight said. “It sounds frighteningly plausible, a lot like the way the end of the Great War heralded the collapse of the pre-war order, but a new order didn’t establish itself fully until the end of the Faunus Rights Revolution. Until then, like now, everything was – as you say – in flux; ideas battled against one another as much as armies did. Perhaps that’s what’s happening here.”

“If I had to ascribe any one idea to my father,” Weiss said. “I think that he would like to see the Vale tower rebuilt and with it the old order restored, everything as it was. That world was very good to him, after all; and to my family, I must admit. This uncertainty that we live in now…it’s not so good.”

“Uncertainty isn’t good for anybody,” Rarity said. “But the burnt toast cannot be put back in the cup once you’ve poured it down the drain.”

Weiss blinked. “How do you pour burnt toast?”

“My little sister is a cook unique in her…whatever the opposite of talent is,” Rarity explained. “And I say that with all due love and affection, you understand.”

“What about you, Weiss?” Twilight asked. “What kind of world would you like to see?”

“I?” Weiss repeated, having to think about a question she hadn’t really considered until this point. “I…as I said, the old world was good to my family, and I had my life planned out in it: graduate from Beacon, become a huntress, restore the honour of the Schnee name in a field wholly unconnected with my father and his…conduct. But now…Rarity, you’re quite right, we can’t go back to the way things were no matter how much we all might want to. That being said, if you were to ask me what I’d like to see the world become? I don’t know. I’ve had a lot of time to think but I haven’t thought about that. I suppose I think we’re on the right track now: reaching out to Menagerie. We can’t hide away from the world, or huddle behind our ships and armies. We shouldn’t let the fact that the world is changing change our sense of obligation towards the kingdoms.”

“I don’t think it will,” Twilight said. “I mean, I hope it won’t. Cadance and General Ironwood won’t let that happen.”

So long as they’re around, Weiss thought, but did not say because it would have been a very gloomy thing to say. “I just hope,” she began to summize. “That when the tower rises, all of these ships that we can see overhead depart again, for places that need them more.” She smiled. “Replaced with all the new ones that are being built, isn’t that right, Twilight?”

Twilight laughed nervously. “You know that I can’t talk about stuff like that. It’s all strictly classified.”

“Everyone knows that they’re building new warships at Park Place,” Weiss said.

“Everyone hasn’t had it confirmed officially,” Twilight corrected. “And so I can neither confirm…nor deny. All I will say is don’t worry, the Kingdom is in safe hands.”

“I’m sure it is,” Weiss said. “The world may be changing but I really hope that Atlas doesn’t change too much. For all its faults…there’s a lot to like about this city.”

“It is a gem,” Rarity said. “The soaring jewel of Remnant. And that’s why we have to take good care of it.”

“And we will,” Twilight said. “All of us.”

“Not quite all,” Weiss said. As much as I might wish otherwise. She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “I should be going. Thank you so much for lunch, Twilight; you’ll have to let me pay one of these days.”

“It’s fine,” Twilight said. “My treat.”

“That’s my point, it’s always your treat,” Weiss insisted. “You do realise my father hasn’t cut me off, don’t you?”

The slightly shamefaced look on Twilight’s face confirmed Weiss’s suspicion that that had not been obvious to Twilight. “You can get the bill next time, if it bothers you that much,” the bespectacled girl relented.

Weiss nodded her head. “That’s very…not generous, exactly, but you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I think so,” Twilight said. “See you around, Weiss; have a good day.”

“I’ll try,” Weiss said softly, before she said farewell to Twilight and Rarity and left them behind, pulling out her scroll as she walked away and using it to summon a cab, which arrived swiftly enough at the street corner to take her home.

The ride passed in silence, but it also passed as quickly as could be expected as the streets of Atlas gave way to the vast estates of the super-rich, who flaunted their vast wealth by acquiring great tracts of land upon the limited and slightly cramped floating rock on which their city rested and then not building upon that land. In fact much of the palatial grounds of the Schnee manor, and others like them – none so grand, of course, as there was no family so wealthy – had nothing on it at all but well-trimmed lawn, maintained by a small army of gardener androids programmed to mow and water and to pull up weeds wherever they might be found. None of those gardeners were out now – they only came out at night, so as not to disturb the pristine views – and so as Weiss’ taxi took her into this mansion district the overall effect was of a vast well-tended barrenness, that might belong to someone but was inhabited by no one, as though some disease had stolen all life away and left the buildings and the gardens and the self-aggrandising monuments intact and unblemished.

The cab pulled into the extravagant driveway of the Schnee Manor, driving past three obelisks topped with the family’ snowflake symbol – speaking of self-aggrandising monuments – before coming to a stop behind a pair of other hovercars. One was white, and looked to be an official car, either from the military or from the Council; possibly father had a visitor, to discuss his opposition to the new Menagerie treaty. The other was a private vehicle, painted black, which Weiss didn’t recognise.

She supposed that she would find out who it belonged too soon enough as she got out, paid the driver of her cab – with a generous tip, of course – and walked briskly towards the front door where it nestled under the columned portico.

The door opened before she had quite reached it, opened by the welcome sight of the ever-efficient Klein Sieben. “Welcome home, Miss Schnee.” He said, as he bowed to her.

Weiss smiled. “Good afternoon, Klein. How is it that you always know exactly where to be?”

“Oh, it’s very simple, Miss Schnee: I’m a butler,” Klein replied, his eyes as brown as coffee twinkling a little as he stepped aside to admit Weiss into the family home. “Did you have a good morning, Miss?”

“Yes,” Weiss said, as she walked through the door. “I did. It was…it was nice.”

“You were out with Miss Sparkle, I believe?”

“Yes, and one or two of her friends.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Schnee, but there are some who might say that Miss Sparkle’s friends are not entirely suitable company for a lady in your position.”

Weiss stopped, and turned to face the old family retainer. “Frankly, Klein, the fact that some people say that – and I think I can guess who – positively seems like a recommendation.”

Klein stared at her for a moment. His eyes shifted to a red like glowing embers. “I couldn’t have put it better myself, Miss; I’d avoid anybody who said such things – except one of them pays my wages.”

“Klein!” Weiss said, in mock-scandalised tones. She sighed. “Did my father tell you to tell me this?”

Klein’s eyes returned to their previous brown colour. “Your father might tell you himself, Miss; consider this more of a warning.” His eyes changed colour again, this time to a cool blue like the waters of the ocean around Solitas. “I’m just glad that you’re happy, Miss. When I came home, not that I wasn’t glad to see you, but I was worried that you’d forget how to smile here.”

“Not yet, thank goodness,” Weiss said. “I know that – Twilight aside – none of them are of my class. And I know that a couple of them are faunus, not that that ought to matter…but they’re also lovely people, and I think I’m lucky to have them in my life.”

“Then that’s all that matters, Miss, and let the world say what it will.”

Weiss smiled. “Quite, Klein.”

Klein’s smile remained in place, but his eyes returned to their prior brown colour. “Mister Schnee asked me to send you to his study as soon as you returned, Miss.”

“He’s not preoccupied?” Weiss asked. “I saw the two cars outside.”

“Mister Schnee and Young Master Schnee both have guests,” Klein informed her. “Nevertheless, your father was quite explicit: you’re to go and see him immediately upon your return.”

Weiss’ eyebrows rose. “Whitley? Whitley has guests? Who?” She hesitated. “Never mind. Thank you, Klein.”

“A pleasure, Miss Schnee.”

Weiss began to walk through the oversized hallways in the direction of her father’s study. The Schnee Manor was truly vast, built large enough that if a race of giants had suddenly descended upon Atlas and taken it for themselves they could have lived in large parts of the house without much trouble; in fact, when Weiss was very young, her grandfather had told stories about how he had taken the house from ferocious giants, not by fighting them but by tricking them into giving him their gorgeous home so that he could live there with his family.

Weiss had been so much younger then, but she remembered this house being much livelier when grandfather had been alive; there had been a much larger staff, old servants who had been with him for years, retainers who went all the way back to the first expedition of the nascent SDC, parlourmaids and footmen, old Laberna who had taken care of two generations of Schnee children. All of them gone now. It was just the family and faithful, efficient Klein, four of them – with Winter away – rattling around in a house that could hold a small army.

It had been a long time since she had particularly liked this house, and being away and then being forced by circumstance to return had only heightened her dislike of it. Everything was far too big, from the oversized suits of armour guarding the staircase to the giant sculpture of the King Taijitsu in the interior courtyard to the series of vast and mostly empty rooms that sprung off the long corridors.

It was down one of those long corridors that Weiss was walking when she heard the sounds of laughter coming from one of the rooms nearby.

Or giggling, to be more precise. Feminine giggling.

“Oh, Whitley! You shouldn’t have!”

“But I did,” came a voice that Weiss recognised as belonging to her brother, Whitley. “And they look beautiful on you. Dug from amongst the dust deposits in the Schnee mines.”

“They are gorgeous,” said another girl, a different voice to the first. “They really suit you.”

“Of course they do,” said the first girl. “All of Whitley’s gifts are perfect.” She sighed. “But now we really have to be going.”

“Must you?” Whitely said. “So soon?”

“I’m sorry,” said the first girl. “Daddy’s expecting me back home.”

“And I suppose we wouldn’t want to make daddy worry, now would we?” Whitley said, as he ushered out two girls into the hallway where Weiss – having stopped almost without consciously deciding to do so – was waiting for him.

Weiss didn’t know either of the two girls with Whitley, although they both looked to be about Whitley’s age. One of them had silver hair, worn in a single braid draped over her shoulder, and large curved glasses over her lavender eyes; she was dressed in a white shirt with a pink ribbon tie, a grey pleated skirt, and wore a necklace of jade beads around her neck. The other girl, the one standing closer to Whitley, had hair that was purple streaked with white, with a tiara-shaped hairclip similar to the one that Weiss wore set slightly askew in it; her eyes were pale blue, and around her neck she wore a diamond necklace that was almost certainly the gift from Whitley that had so delighted her and her companion; she wore a pink dress, with a white sash around her waist and a purple jacket worn over the top.

“Ah, Weiss,” Whitley greeted her in a genial tone. “I didn’t realise you were back. Allow me to introduce Diamond Tiara Rich and Silver Spoon. Girls, this is my elder sister, Weiss.”

Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon both curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Schnee.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Weiss said. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” Diamond Tiara said. “We were just leaving. Goodbye, Whitley.”

“Every hour we’re apart will be an eternity,” Whitley said, as he tenderly kissed her on the cheek.

Weiss kept her face straight and her expression neutral as the two girls walked past her down the hall, heading for the door the opposite way that she had come. Only when they had gone did she allow herself to say, “Someone became quite the charmer while I was away.”

Whitley pouted with embarrassment. “Laugh all you want, sister, they’re much more suitable companions than the type of company you keep nowadays!”

“That is…” Weiss stopped. What was the point? “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“You go away to Beacon,” Whitley said. “And even when you’re back you spend every moment you can out of the house, and yet you begrudge me one or two visitors?”

“I don’t begrudge you anything,” Weiss said. “I was just taken by surprise. I don’t remember you being so…tender.”

“You’ve been away for a year,” Whitley reminded her. “And I didn’t stop growing in that time.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t,” Weiss said. She hesitated. “You didn’t seem to have given Silver Spoon an expensive gift.”

“She’s Diamond Tiara’s friend, I think they were at school together,” Whitley said, his tone becoming slightly dismissive. “She’s here…I suppose you might call her a chaperone.”

“How…old fashioned,” Weiss said.

“Perhaps,” Whitley said. “But it’s not without its advantages. I get to have two girls fawning all over me instead of one.”

Weiss’ eyebrows rose.

Whitley sighed. “Honestly, sister, that was a joke. When did you become so po-faced and humourless? Aren’t aspiring huntresses allowed to laugh?”

Sometimes, but only at things that are actually funny, Weiss thought, but she was too grateful to Whitley for not snidely referring to her as a former aspiring huntress to actually say so. “Those diamonds,” she said. “Do you always give Diamond Tiara things like that?”

“Fairly often,” Whitley admitted. “They looked good on her, didn’t they?”

“I suppose,” Weiss said. “But doesn’t it…don’t you ever wonder if-“

“If she’s only here because of the Schnee name and the Schnee wealth?” Whitley filled in. He laughed. “I don’t wonder it, big sister, I know it.”

Weiss blinked. “She…she told you?”

“Of course not,” Whitley said. “That would be very gauche of her. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“And it doesn’t worry you at all?”

“It might, if I were in danger of becoming not a Schnee,” Whitley answered airily. “But I’m not, so it doesn’t.” He laughed again. “Honestly, Weiss, do you believe that only feelings that are blind to family and circumstances ought to count? Do you think that such a thing is possible? Do you know how childishly naïve that makes you sound? We are what we are, and nobody can be unaware of that. Do you really think those riffraff you waste your time with aren’t out for everything they can get? In the whole of Atlas you won’t find a single person who isn’t looking to their own advantage first and foremost.”

If you really think that it’s because you’re not looking in the right places, Weiss thought. She felt fairly confident in saying that Twilight and her friends did not associate with Weiss because they wanted gifts or money; in fact Weiss’s wealth – when they weren’t assuming that her father had cut her off – seemed to rather embarrass them, as if they were afraid that Weiss would make the same assumption that Whitley had leapt to: Rarity, for instance, had been at great pains to make sure Weiss understood that she wasn’t charging for this dress, seemingly out of fear that Weiss might think that she was overcharging. They were so keen not to appear to be freeloading off Weiss that it was honestly beginning to make Weiss feel like a bit of a freeloader herself; if this kept up she might have to put her foot down and make it clear to them that there was a difference between paying her own way and being taken advantage of.

Although she hoped it wouldn’t come that. Twilight’s friends could be an eccentric bunch – to put it politely – but they were also very lovely people, and they’d been very welcoming to Weiss; she didn’t want to put that at risk with an argument about money if she didn’t absolutely have to.

And as for Whitley’s more general point…the idea that Blake, princess of Menagerie turned humble servant of Atlas, was out for herself was so laughable as to destroy said point in one fell swoop. And when Weiss thought of Twilight in the lab, earnest Applejack, dour and gloomy Rainbow Dash whom she had seen the least of all Twilight’s friends, or even faithful Klein puttering away to keep the house in order, she was of the opinion that, far from being the kingdom of grifters and chancers that Whitley’s words would imply, Atlas was full of people giving the best of themselves with no or very little thought for themselves; they were just the sort of people that Whitley lacked the experience – or the care – to look down and notice.

“Anyway,” Weiss said, because there was no point in saying any of that to Whitley. He probably wouldn’t understand, and anyway she didn’t want to get into an argument with her brother. To tell the truth she was glad to hear some laughter in the house for once, and if he had found some enjoyment, and someone whose company to take enjoyment in, she could hardly begrudge him that even if it wasn’t the sort of company that could have satisfied her.

She felt a little sorry for him that it did satisfy him, but at the same time she was self-aware enough to wonder if she was just being patronising with an attitude like that. “I should go. Father wants to see me.”

Whitley’s expression settled into a slightly self-satisfied smirk. “Good luck, sister.”

“Thank you,” Weiss said, as she walked around Whitley and continued through the empty, cavernous hallways, all painted in a cold blue that seemed to amplify their size and emptiness alike, all seeming so cold as if the walls and floor were made of ice instead of stone.

She reached her father’s study soon enough, and as she approached Weiss could hear raised voices from the other side of the sturdy wooden door.

“I am talking about the good of Atlas!” Jacques Schnee said. “Our entire kingdom!”

“You’re talking about the good of your company,” came the other voice, which sounded…was that General Ironwood?

“What’s good for the SDC is good for Atlas,” Jacques declared. “You may have forgotten that the prosperity of this kingdom is built upon the prosperity of the Schnee Dust Company but I have not, and neither will the people.”

Weiss opened the door a fraction. It was General Ironwood, sitting on the other side of a low table from her father. The general said, “The people? What are you saying, Jacques?”

“I’m saying that I have no intention of staying silent in the face of this folly,” Jacques said. “The destruction of the CCT wiped out millions of lien’s worth in assets or rendered them inaccessible-”

“Then I’d think that you would want-“

“Not to mention the withdrawal of your military forces from overseas locations that has probably meant the loss of countless SDC facilities to bandits or grimm,” Jacques continued. “And now you want to compound all of that by subsidising a competitor?”

“You’re exaggerating,” General Ironwood said.

“I understand that we’re paying these faunus to set up a rival dust mining operation.”

“When that happens they’ll be buying Atlesian mining equipment and hiring Atlesian expertise-“

“And paying for it all with Atlesian money!”

Weiss stepped inside the office.

“Jacques,” General Ironwood said. “I would think that you would want to see the CCT network restored as quickly as possible. Or do you enjoy sending out couriers to your facilities?”

“There is already a perfectly good tower in Vale if only you would repair it,” Jacques said. “And if the Valish don’t want you there then force the issue. And while you’re at it you can take back my facilities at Cold Harbour which have been unlawfully seized by the new government.”

“The Atlesian military does not exist to be a militia for the SDC,” General Ironwood said, with a certain chill in his voice.

“Although you’ve been happy enough to treat the SDC as the research and development arm of the Atlesian military in days gone by,” Jacques reminded him.

The door swung shut behind Weiss with an audible thud and a click of the latch which drew the attention of both men.

Her father’s stare was hard and cold. Weiss clasped her hands behind her back, which she tried to straighten.

“Miss Schnee,” General Ironwood said, as he rose to his feet. He bowed, placing one hand upon his heart. “My apologies, I should have been gone by now.”

“There’s no need to apologise, sir,” Weiss said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nevertheless, it is time I was going,” General Ironwood said. He glanced at Jacques. “I think we’ve said all that there is to say.”

“For now,” Jacques said softly.

General Ironwood stared at him for a moment. Then he simply said, “Goodbye, Jacques,” before making for the door. Weiss stepped aside for him. The general paused when he reached the door. “Miss Schnee, know that if you ever-“

“Goodbye, James,” Jacques said pointedly.

General Ironwood gave Weiss a glance that was sympathetic, but ultimately powerless as he opened the door and stepped out through it.

Once more the door swung shut, leaving Weiss alone with her father.

She shivered a little. Her father kept the study colder than the rest of the house for reasons best known to himself, but that wasn’t the only reason for Weiss’ tremor.

“Did you forget your manners while you were away?” he asked, turning away and walking back to his desk.

“I’m sorry, father,” Weiss said softly.

Jacques didn’t acknowledge that he’d heard her. “Building a whole new tower instead of repairing the old one, funding competition to the SDC, treating with an island of exiles and runaways as if they were our equals, and the hero of the hour is a robot!” he shook his head as he sat down. “The world has gone completely insane. And to think that Ironwood is feted as the victor of the battle of Vale, as though any victory could outweigh the loss of the CCT.”

“I’m sure he feels the weight of that,” Weiss said. “That’s why he wants to restore it as quickly as possible.”

Jacques sighed, as though Weiss’ opinions wearied him. “I hope you can at least appreciate the absurdity of us giving potentially vast sums of lien to Menagerie at the same time as the so-called Dragonslayer is being sent out on a publicity tour to raise money for the military. But, I suppose that it does provide an opportunity to show that the SDC has the best interests of this kingdom at heart…unlike some on the council.”

“I…don’t understand,” Weiss admitted.

“Miss Polendina is appearing at the Nicholas Schnee Concert Hall in the coming weeks, to open this tour of hers here in Atlas. In addition to a generous donation from this company, I have offered to host a fundraiser immediately following the event…and to have you sing in the concert hall before Miss Polendina’s appearance.”

Weiss frowned. “You want me to sing?”

“It will be your first public performance since you went to Beacon,” Jacques said. “A delight for your fans, something that will make a lot of people very happy and surely drive up donations.”

“I…I suppose it will,” Weiss murmured. She was reminded for a moment of Rarity, trading the needle for the sword because the latter was of more use to Atlas at that moment. Weiss would have preferred the sword, but since that was denied to her why not take up the voice instead? Atlas needed help. It needed good huntresses, but since Weiss could not be a huntress then didn’t she have an obligation to help however she could? Father was right, she hadn’t made a public appearance in some time, that might generate excitement, and donations. And it was for a good cause: Atlas didn’t need just good people, it needed guns and ships and prosthetic limbs for those like Flash who had made great sacrifices for the world and for humanity already. What right did she have to refuse simply because she wasn’t a great fan of her stage persona as Weiss Schnee, the snow angel, the princess, the perfect, untouchable songstress? What right did she have to say that such feelings mattered more to her than the good of Atlas and the world? What right did she have to put herself above the cause? “I’d better start practicing,” she said.

It was hard to tell on account of his moustache, but Weiss thought she saw her father smile. “That’s my girl.”


“So,” Blake said from out of the scroll. “I understand that Weiss Schnee is making her return to the stage.”

Weiss snorted, and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t.”

Blake frowned. “You’re not happy about this?”

“Why should I be happy about this?”

Blake’s expression was blank. “Because…I don’t really know, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t be happy about it either.”

Weiss sighed, reflecting that it wasn’t really Blake’s fault. She hadn’t known Weiss for all that long, after all, so how could she know. Nobody knew, not really; all of her new friends had only known her since she had come to Beacon, none of them had known her in the days when she was actually singing.

Plus, she wasn’t exactly open about her dislike of her time on stage. Mostly because Twilight was a fan of her music and she didn’t want to seem too churlish by disdaining it in front of the other girl. She remembered enough about professionalism to recall that you always put it away in front of the fans, especially when said fans were so friendly and obliging as Twilight.

And so Weiss began with, “Don’t tell Twilight I said this.”

“Okay,” Blake said slowly.

“It was my father’s idea that I should sing in public,” Weiss said. “I sang for my grandfather before he died, he said it…it made him feel better. I sang for my mother, too, but that was it really; I was very young at the time.” She remembered how she would spend hours, sometimes even days, practicing a new song with Laberna before proudly showing off what she’d learned to grandfather, or mother. “And then my father…first he was just showing me off to his guests at parties…and then he was showing me off to the whole kingdom.” She’d actually enjoyed it at first, being the centre of attention in the ballroom, the applause, the way everyone told her she had the most lovely voice, she sounded like an angel. And then the stages kept getting bigger and bigger, the people kept getting further and further away…the applause had rung more and more hollow in her ears. “Only it wasn’t me he was showing off, it was the idea of the perfect Schnee daughter: an ice sculpture with an angel’s voice. Serene and untouchable.”

“You’re a lot of things,” Blake said. “But serene isn’t really one of them.”

Weiss snorted. “That’s exactly my point. It wasn’t me that they wanted to see, it wasn’t me that they were celebrating. It was someone my father had made up, who just happened to have stolen my voice. The rest…the rest was the daughter he wished he had.”

“I…” Blake trailed off. “I had no idea.”

“That’s why I stopped singing when I went to Beacon,” Weiss said. “I didn’t have to. One producer tried to pitch the idea of an album called Anthems of a Huntress.”

“That sounds…tacky.”

“He showed me some of his proposed lyrics, it was very tacky,” Weiss agreed.

“I thought you wrote your own lyrics?”

“I wrote the songs that nobody listens to, like ‘Mirror, Mirror’ or the ‘Path to Isolation,’” Weiss said. They spoke to her own soul, or had done at least, but they didn’t really speak to a commercial audience in the same way. “My popular songs – even the ones that aren’t covers – are written by other people. Although the idea that I write all my own songs is another part of the image created for me. The point is…the point is that I wanted to leave all of that behind. I didn’t want to sing about a romanticised version of the life of a huntress as though I were at Beacon as their pet singer, not as a student; I didn’t want to record from my dorm room. I wanted to be a huntress, I wanted to find my own way as a huntress. And now…now not only am I not a huntress but I’m right back exactly where I didn’t want to be.”

“Do you have to do it?” Blake asked. “Your father can’t make you.”

“He can’t physically drag me up on stage if that’s what you mean,” Weiss said. “But…this isn’t about him any more than it is about me. This is about Atlas. This is about our kingdom having the resources it needs to defend itself. This is about people like you; if I can’t stand beside you in the field then at least I can help you this way.”

Blake frowned. “You shouldn’t have to do something you don’t want to because you feel a sense of obligation. You don’t owe yourself to anyone.”

“Maybe not,” Weiss said. “But I’m not so self-absorbed that I don’t realise how petty it would be to put my dislike of singing over the cause that I’m going to be singing for. Besides, I might as well do something productive. I can’t just sit around the house or go to lunch with Twilight for the rest of my life.”

“You think you’re going to be here for the rest of your life?” Blake said.

“It’s what my father would like,” Weiss said.

Blake smiled.

“What?” Weiss asked.

“You’re so strong,” Blake said. “There’s no way that cage is going to hold you forever.”

Weiss didn’t know what to say to that; it was a compliment, without a doubt, but at the same time it was the kind of compliment that was very difficult to respond to. Thank you would seem insufficient, but anything else?

Fortunately Blake rescued her from needing to say anything by continuing to speak herself. “To tell you the truth,” she admitted. “I don’t really understand why you let it hold you now.”

“Because...where would I go instead?” Weiss asked.

“Atlas,” Blake suggested, unknowingly repeating the offer that General Ironwood had not been able to finish articulating. “The kingdom needs huntresses.”

“My father would never allow that.”

“He doesn’t own you,” Blake growled softly. “Nobody owns you.”

“Actually...unfortunately...in a sense he does,” Weiss said. “I went to Beacon because he allowed it.”

“You’re not his property.”

“No, I’m his daughter,” Weiss said. “And as I am his...he may dispose of me.”

Blake’s eyes widened, even as her ears lowered with anger. “Are you...seriously? In Mistral they’d think that was ridiculously old-fashioned. Do you honestly mean to tell me that your father can just treat you like his property?”

“Who would gainsay him?” Weiss asked. “Who would stand against his wealth and power and influence for my sake.”

“You know who,” Blake whispered.

“Yes,” Weiss said. “And that’s why I won’t ask you to do it. This isn’t fighting beowolves, this is the kind of fight my father always wins.” She sighed. “But...perhaps it’s for the best in any case. My father isn’t going to be around forever, and when I’m head of the company then I can start doing the right thing, the way grandfather used to. On the other hand, if I run away from that, then the company will pass to my brother Whitley, and Whitley...won’t care, as long as the money keeps coming in.” Put like that it sounded very noble, but Weiss knew that it wouldn’t have restrained her for one moment if she had had the opportunity to get out. If she’d had somewhere else to go, somewhere she could escape her father’s reach and the peril of Atlesian law then she would have gone there in a heartbeat.

But there was no such place. Everyone she knew was in Atlas, with the arguable exception of Cardin Winchester, and even if he was willing to shelter her - which was by no means certain - Vale didn’t sound like the best place to be from the garbled rumours that were coming north to Atlas.

Everyone else she knew was in Atlas, and she could not - would not - expose them to her father’s power like that.

She changed the subject. “Would you like to come to the concert, and the reception afterwards? As my guest?”

“To see you sing even though you don’t want to?”

“To be my guest,” Weiss repeated. “Someone at my side at the after party?”

“That bad?”

“You have no idea.”

“You’re not selling this very well.”

“Be under no illusions, I’m not asking you because I expect you to enjoy yourself,” Weiss said. “I’m asking because…because I don’t want to be alone there.”

“There are probably other people you could ask who will appreciate it more,” Blake said.

“I’m sure they’ll get their own tickets,” Weiss said. “I know it’s a little selfish to ask, but…please?”

Blake was silent for a moment. “You won’t get in trouble for inviting a faunus?”

“I’ll be fine,” Weiss insisted. “Is that a yes?”

Blake’s lips twitched upwards. “Yes, if you want it so bad.”

“Thank you,” Weiss said. “You…I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You won’t need to do that.”

“Say that after the party.”

“You still won’t need to make it up to me,” Blake said. “What are friends for?”

“Not talking about themselves incessantly,” Weiss said. “How was your mom?”

“Very confident,” Blake said. “Or at least she seemed that way.”

“Seemed?”

Blake shrugged. “She has to be a little nervous. So much is riding on this, but…there are times when I still can’t believe this is real. Recognition, a CCT, investment. I’m only sorry that it took all of this trouble to get it.”

“I know what you mean,” Weiss said. “But at the same time…I just can’t see it ever happening any other way.” People like her father were too comfortable with the way things were; they would never have changed without the massive system shock caused by the Battle of Vale.

Father still doesn’t want to change. “Do you wish you’d gone with her?” Weiss said. “Your mother, I mean; to see your home changing in front of your eyes.”

Blake’s hesitation betrayed that, yes, a part of her did wish that, but what she said was, “No. Atlas is my home now. I’ve given my word to General Ironwood. I’m committed.”

“What’s that like?” Weiss asked. “Being a part of something bigger than yourself?”

Blake looked thoughtful. “I never feel like what I’m doing doesn’t matter,” Blake said. “Even when what I’m doing is insignificant and small; because I’m part of a great engine, and the engine is doing great things…but only if I’m at my best, and doing my best no matter small the thing I’m doing my best at is.”

“It must be nice, to wake up each morning with a sense of purpose and direction,” said Weiss, who woke up each morning with a vague sense of dread at the prospect of having to find something to do to fill twelve to sixteen hours – she’d tried going to bed early, earlier in fact that some of her bedtimes when she’d been an actual child, but she didn’t actually sleep so that only left her lying in bed feeling empty and directionless as opposed to sitting around the house feeling the same way; it wasn’t a great improvement. Twilight and the others – Blake included – did their best, but they couldn’t spend all their time with her, even on the scroll; eventually she always had to come back to his house, eventually the call always had to end. Eventually she was always left with nothing.

“I…I wish that there was something that I could say to make it all better,” Blake said. “But there isn’t. All I can say is…hang in there, as inadequate as that sounds; we’re all here for you, Weiss, whatever and even whenever. And like I said, you’re strong. Stronger than you think, maybe. You’ll get through this, I know you will.”

Weiss chuckled. “You might not know the words to make everything better,” she said. “But you know the words to make me feel better…right until I realise I’ve made everything about me again.”

“It’s fine,” Blake said.

“It really isn’t.”

“Yes, it is,” Blake said. “Am I supposed to talk about how wonderful my life is while yours…isn’t?”

“Good point, I really don’t want to hear that,” Weiss admitted. She sniggered, and after a moment Blake almost laughed too. “I’ll let you go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Weiss said. “I…I have a song to write for my big return. You…you could say you’ve inspired me.”

After all, Weiss Schnee’s return to the stage deserves a Weiss Schnee original.

“Okay,” Blake said, a trifle reluctantly. “Goodnight, Weiss. Don’t give up.”

“Never,” Weiss said. “Goodnight.” She hung up.

She put her scroll away, and flopped down on the bed with a sheaf of scrap paper as she began to scribble away.

I am not your pet, not another thing you own

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