A/N: This is a companion work to Stalwart, which can be found on my profile page. This is not a independent story and should not be read as one.
In order for the references to make sense, you will need to have read through to Stalwart, Part 2: Mistrial.
All copyright for canon goes to RoosterTeeth. I do not own any characters, their likenesses, nor sell or maintain this work of fan fiction for profit or material gains. All spoilers for RWBY are unmarked. All publicly available canon is used as source material.
This work is rated for mature audiences. This work is not family friendly. All characters, due to the nature of the involved circumstances (war, war crimes including rape and sexual enslavement, trauma, death, PTSD, soldiery and similar themes), are not to be perceived as children. No characters under the age of 15 will be depicted in a sex or sex adjacent act. No characters under the age of 15 will be sexualized in any manner. This author does not support or tolerate pedophilia, or "minor attracted persons". Assume all sex acts that are indirectly depicted are consensual. Violence will not be tagged or trigger marked. THIS TEXT IN PARTICULAR DEALS WITH SEX AND SEX ADJACENT WORK.
This is your global trigger warning. It will not be repeated. If you are sensitive to the above themes and topics as well as topics on their peripheries such as mental health, crime and general worldsuck, please do not read. Continue at your own risk.
Thank you for reading. Please review.
Her white hair fell in a satin curl on the floor, the sword barely missing her neck.
"GET OUT!"
She ran down the hall, her father chasing after her, her bare feet freezing on the marbled floor. The nightgown tangled around her legs.
"You have embarrassed me for the last time!"
"I hit a bad note! I haven't sung in months! Father, please!" She crashed into a suit of armor, grabbing the ornamental shield as it fell.
"Shame you didn't die at Beacon like your sister." He stood over her, sword raised for the kill.
"Jacques! The news!" A servant turned a blind eye to her plight, he stormed up the hall.
The shield fell as she trotted back to her room, shearing off the rest of her hair with scissors at her vanity, a glass music box the only thing of her sister's that she could save as her father threw her things in the trash.
"Mistress," A box with silver clippers slid onto the table, Klein's red eyes shining in the mirror. "It is not salvageable. Allow me."
The remaining tufts of hair fell on the floor. A buzzcut and blue eyes looked back at her.
"Mistress, you father is becoming increasingly unstable. It is in your best interest to leave at once." He pressed travelling clothes into her hands. "You must go."
She was careful, yet the money ran out in a month and a half, even living off a loaf of bread, even busting her asses on missions given under the table. Myrtenaster's pieces laid broken in her bag. She sold her earrings, then her jacket. The pants were threadbare. She reeked.
She cradled a cup in her hands, sitting against a wall, her hair filthy grey, skin breaking in the cold as the cruel Solitas winter bore down on her. Her Aura flickered in the chill, Mantle's streets covered in ice. The television across the street sat behind grated windows, the headline scrolling through the holes. "Weiss Schnee found Deceased in her Sleep."
'Oh, how the mighty have fallen...Winter...dead and gone. Weiss Schnee thrown to the streets. Why did I go back home?'
Few spared the time to look at her in the eye, just another blue eyed wretch in the streets, a lien or five landed at her feet.
The dark crept in. She stumbled through the alleys, looking for a restaurant to beg at, or to pick scraps from.
Something cracked into the back of her skull, and the alley's foul floor hurtled into her starry vision, laying sideways in the muck.
Giggling. Purple Eyes. Arcane words, a vial pressed into her mouth.
"HEY!"
The vial dropped. The giggling scurried away.
A pair of golden shoes crept into her vision.
Silence.
-.-.-.-. * -.-.-.-.
She woke on a black couch, the scent of strawberries thick in the air, her vision still wavering.
"Well, well, well." A pair of hips and a shock of pink. "We've got a gem o-"
She woke up on a different couch.
"It's a concussion, Lil Miss. It takes time. I'll be back tomorrow."
She woke up in a white bed, sitting up slowly. A white dresser. A white curtain. A black nightgown around her legs, wires running in and out of her arm, the beeping of a monitor in her ears.
"HELLO?" Weiss called out to the empty room.
The door opened. A woman with broad hips and pink hair strutted in, dark tattoos on her thighs, her chocolate skin peeking through the slits in her green dress. "You're finally awake." The lady disconnected her from her wires, not shying away from any of her bodily fluids. A heavy necklace with a arcane symbol dripped from her neck. "I suppose you have many questions, Weiss Schnee."
"How..."
"Nobody else in these parts has white hair and blue eyes. Well, it's white now."
"You washed me?"
"Darling, I washed, dried, medicated, and watched you." She threw the wires away, turning off the squealing monitor. "I expect a thank you."
"Thank you, Ma'am."
"I'm not going to keep doing it. You live under my roof, you'll work for it. Can you walk?"
She eased out of bed, her ribcage visible through the sheer silk. She stumbled her first few steps, hips showing through thin skin.
"Gods. Let's get you fed." The woman offered her arm, she held on for dear life as she walked her into a small den, calling someone on her Scroll. A few minutes later, a bowl of rice porridge and a mug of broth appeared in the hands of a woman in black, who set it down on the coffee table.
"Thank you. Have her sheets changed." The pink haired woman's grey eyes looked Weiss up and down, as she brought trembling spoonfuls of porridge to her mouth.
"You are a very lucky girl. Others would have brought you in for bounty. Others would have done worse. Luckily, I got you out of that bind." The woman sat opposite her, the spoon remained in the bowl after the fifth spoon, Weiss holding her stomach. "Don't hurt yourself trying to eat."
"...what do you want from me?" Weiss looked at the pink and white striped walls. "What will you do to me?"
"Nothing, when you can't even finish a bowl of porridge. Get healthy. Then we'll talk."
"What do I call you?" She held the mug of lukewarm broth.
"Lil Miss Strawberry."
A fortnight came and went before she could get down the stairs without help. A broom and a dustpan were pushed into her hands come the end of the third week, and she found herself cleaning halls, scrubbing dishes, drying laundry, in the same dark uniform of the woman that brought her food.
A kit of black box dye appeared on her dresser, after the fifth, a strawberry shaped note attached to the corner: "Hop to it."
She wore a scarf over the setting dye while she worked through her last two rooms, sliding into her own to rinse out it out.
'She's not a cruel mistress, at least.' She ran a towel over her frame, her hair long enough to be called a pixie. 'And you're not in a position to try to run. There's nothing to do and nowhere to go in the dead of winter. And no one else to save you. Winter...Jaune...Pyrrha. I hope you're better off at wherever waits after this life. Ruby...where did you go?'
She stepped out of the bathroom. A different woman in their shared uniform stood at her bedside, gesturing to a white shift. "Dress. Lil Miss wishes to see you."
She shrugged into the dress. 'I'm tired, and I have work to finish. What does she want at this time at night?' She followed the employee up to the penthouse, her hair drying in the heated air.
The open was opened for her and she was pushed in, the door slamming behind her. On either side of the room stood thick curtains in soft pink. A altar with a familiar arcane symbol stood in the corner. Lil Miss Strawberry sat behind the sole desk framed by black chairs, a Grimm fur at her feet, two glasses of dark sparkling liquid danced in a thin fluted glass. The broken moon lit the room.
"What is this? What is that in that corner?"
"Little girl. Sit down." She did.
"You have done well to fatten up. Did your work without complaint. I'm impressed."
Weiss stared her in the face. "What is it that you want with me?"
"I want to offer you power." The older woman stared back. "I know your father very well, and I want to offer you the opportunity to seek payback." She turned the television to the news, the headline blaring "Weiss Schnee Foundation founded by Jacques Schnee. Funds to go to Beacon Survivors."
"What's in it for you?"
"Seeing Jacques Schnee weep." A smile spread over her face, saccharine in its sweetness. "And watching his own daughter deliver the pain will make it sweeter."
She scanned the sparkling liquid with her eyes. "What's that?"
"The beginning, if you want it. I can train you in the art, teach you to bring men and women to their knees, flowers will fall at your feet. The police wouldn't touch you. And if you play your cards right," the woman lit a herbal cigarette. "Atlas will spin for you."
"The art of what exactly?" She bunched the dress in her fists.
"Sweetie, there's a reason why you don't clean below the fourth floor." A perverse smirk spread across the Strawberry's face as recognition reddened Weiss' face.
"I wouldn't! I co-"
"Couldn't you?" Strawberry thumbed through her Scroll, a photo of a pale skinny girl from the back projected into the air.
Weiss hung her head. "I was starving..."
"You'd do anything to have it gone...but the past ain't the past until the fat lady sings. Would you like to be the fat lady? Metaphorically speaking?"
"At what cost?"
"Power comes at a price, my girl. Even the power to decide your fate. And if the cost isn't obvious, then you should go now."
Weiss tore the shift, redder than the woman's lipstick. "And if I say no?"
"Do you remember the ball your daddy took you to when you were twelve? I was there." Shame darkened her reddened face. "What your daddy doesn't know is who makes the wine. And who runs this city."
A tall man with blonde hair and lemon yellow eyes stepped into the room.
"You're late, Citron."
"I apologize, Ma'am."
"I'll ask once and only once. Will you accept the offer on the table?"
"You can't guarantee my success. Why should I?"
"You will guarantee your success. I simply offer the tools." She got up from the desk, taking one of the glasses with her and sashayed over to the altar, pouring another glass of the dark liquid from a pitcher, passing the potion to the man. The candles died one by one. "Will you throw aside your father's hold?" They clinked their glasses, swallowing it all in one gulp. "I'll count off. Three."
The final candle on the altar blew out, the echoes of club music shaking the floor.
"Two."
She picked up the glass and swallowed the shimmering contents, the taste lush like wine and sweeter than honey.
"Good."
Her vision swam. Her clothes burned, heat pooling in her chest. 'I can't breathe.' She fanned herself, with her hands, then the folder left on the desk. Laughter filled the room, then the sounds of kisses. Her thighs burned. Her hands pulled off the dress, it pooled at her feet. The curtains drew aside revealing beds, soft and luscious. The man and the hills and valley of his muscles came into view and so did the swell of hips and tattoos. Her throat dried.
She drank freely.