A black band sat around her thighs in ink.
Lil Miss Strawberry, who allowed her to call her Silk spent until Frost Break drilling her with lessons familiar and unfamiliar. Modeling. City Planning. Gun Practice. Persuasion. Rhetoric. Sewing being the mistress' most preferred. She brought her muslin, then cotton, then silks as she got more comfortable. Weeks passed under pricked fingers and blinding lights.
"You don't buy your dresses, sweetpea. You make them. No one can know your body better than you. It is your temple. And you are its goddess."
So Weiss labored on a new project, after long nights of entertaining guests with idle chatter and boring ballets, working on a black evening dress for a masquerade ball, mask included.
'Surprisingly, none of asked to sleep with me. Is it obviously Weiss Schnee under this black hair? My mother would weep to see me now. The perks of being dead.' She clipped the thread and re-positioned the cloth under the needle, glasses sliding down her face.
"Willa! You're got a customer!"
"It's the LIGHT OF DAY!"
"He's paying thrice as much!"
The fabric slid to the floor, only to be thrown into the table as she slid into a dark grey dress, sprayed the roots of her hair black and slid in green contacts. 'Back straight. Shoulders loose. Try not to scowl.'
She slinked down the stairs after the elevator bottomed out at the second floor, head held high, meeting a young man with a missing wedding ring.
"Hello, Lady." He bowed lightly, looking at the line underneath her tights. "I understand that this are your leisure hours, but may I take you to lunch?"
'Freckles. Orange eyes. A killer smile.'
"You may." She took a purse proffered by the desk attendant, heavy with a pistol and followed the man out of his arm.
The Bistro was chatter fell as she entered and a special menu was pushed into her hands. Champagne sparkled in the sun, the streets free from snow, the trees , the talk was light and well met, veering into the unveiling of Winter's statue.
"Excuse me, Lady, but I have a question to ask you..." He fumbled in his pockets for something.
"I'm sorry, but I am married solely to my work."
"That's not at all what I was asking..." He took out a badge, the symbol of the Atlesian Military Police shining.
She seized up, reaching for her purse, hand wrapping around the trigger of her gun. "I owe you nothing."
"You don't...Weiss Schnee." He put it away. "Don't worry, I want to help you."
"You want to help my father."
"No, I honestly don't. Now please, put the gun away. Here comes the waitress."
Steak au Poivre. Lobster Bisque. A refill on the champagne, the bottle left behind. Flowers for the Lady.
"What do you want?"
He passed her a folder. Listed were charges to be leveled against her. "I can book and jail you right now, and you can spend your life in jail or you can help me out. I need you to do me a favor. Sneak into your father's house and get me his financials." He slid her a chip and a card. "Download the files onto this. Call me when it's done."
"Why should I?"
"Because of this." He flipped the page, a floor plan of a new Faunus slum designed as a prison, called the Winter Schnee Memorial Penitentiary. It would be so far off shore that it would be impossible to escape, a port the only way in or out.
"You loved your sister. Do not let him have the final say."
"...Take me to her."
He did, they parked the car a block away. The statue itself was in a quiet park underneath the island, but accessible to both Mantle and Atlas, ringed by budding magnolia trees. She laid the bottle of champagne that the restaurant owner pressed into her hands at her feet, the stone damp in the light drizzle. The officer laid down the flowers. "I...knew her from Basic." He looked at his shoes, leaving something omitted. "I don't think that she would approve of you living this life, but I know the choices that women make are difficult. Weiss, please. For the memory of your sister, do the right thing."
He left her standing there, her payment clicking onto the altar.
"Why do people wait until we are dead in order to render us beautiful?" She knelt, the sequins digging into her knees. "Winter, remember me, wherever you are now."
-.-.-.-. * -.-.-.-.
She snuck in through the way out.
Her father was a vain man, believing that his name or his money made him untouchable. The white halls and the white floors and the white curtains were dull in the moonless night. She padded through the corridors in her bare feet, a sleek black dress matching the soiree below.
She turned a corner, the door to Jacques' office left ajar.
"Excuse me."
She bit her tongue instead of scream, whirling around to find Klein's yellow guys.
"Come this way." She followed without hesitation, Klein leading her to the library, a stack of books on the table. With a key he produced from his belt, he unlocked them, memory chips falling out like dominoes where pages should have been.
"Um...mind telling me the joke?"
He played one on his Scroll. "When I see her, I'm going to kill her, how dare she run off to Beacon! That's one less tart to marry off!" She caught her shaking knees.
"Sir, sir, what about Whitley?" Another man interjected.
"Kid's wrapped around my fingers. And if he isn't, I'll fix that too." Klein unplugged the chip.
"You do not want to hear the rest, Mistress. I have waited a long time for this day. I have endured since your sister's...incident...and will not let it happen again. Go." He poured the chips into her purse. "Make things right."
So she crept back towards the soiree below.
'This is too easy...why is everything being handed to me? Is this trust? Why is everyone deigning to me?'
She passed under the portrait of her sister, done after her funeral, after the smoke of sixteen guns blew out. She looked older than she remembered, hair falling to her waist as it once did, the console table below the frame still lit with candles. Her mother stood in front of it, chanting prayers.
She backed up.
"Did you come to pray?" Her mother turned towards her, her words slightly slurred. "Weiss?"
"Moth-" Her mother moved faster than she thought she could, squeezing her to death.
"Did she bring you here?" Willow dug through the cabinets, producing a small glass music box, broken but still beautiful. "I saved this. Take it with you."
-.-.-.-. * -.-.-.-.
The limo ride back was quiet.
'Things are being handed to me. First, a high class position in Mantle's underbelly. Then, the police commissioner's son, now this? ...Is my sister watching over me? Oh gods-'
Gunfire crashed that train of thought, the limo veering into the lamppost, her neck throbbing from the impact. The engine caught fire, two of three of her companions were dead. She kicked open the door on the curbside, rushing through the fray, skidding through back alleys, and thundering up the stairs.
"Silk?" She ran into her office. Checked the bathrooms. Checked the work rooms, Checked-
Silk Strawberry's bedroom was a mess of blood.