Marble to skin

by y8ay8a

Robyn knew this was the worst idea she ever had. It did nothing to slow her down. / slow build attempt at a canon-compliant story - rating will go up in the future

2. Chapter 2

Winter's day always began with a black coffee, reports from the past eight hours, and a skim of the major news outlets. Opening her scroll, she was greeted with a face plastered over the front page of nearly all medias; one that was becoming more and more familiar to the general public. Winter squinted at her screen in discontentment.

Robyn Hill.

Her behavior those two evenings had really bothered Winter. People usually took the hint when she was being unresponsive or unengaging, but it hadn't seemed to bother her at all. In fact, it felt like Winter's placid, dry, even insulting answers only exacerbated Robyn Hill's interest in her. Winter's best speculation was that Robyn wasn't used to being disregarded so; being the hugely popular public figure that she was, she had swarms of people flocking up to her pretty much everywhere she went. The rugged blonde's agenda had taken Mantle by storm, and despite being such an outsider, her sheer charisma was quickly winning over Atlas too. And an outsider she truly was; Robyn was so unlike the upper class Atlesaian crowd that she stood out like a sore thumb at those soirées.

The woman's high visibility was the reason Winter wanted to blame for how magnetically she drew her eye, but she wasn't that good at lying to herself. Robyn Hill had a mesmerizing charm, and as Winter had followed the up-and-coming politician's rise to notoriety, it had taken her no time at all to realize that she wasn't immune to said charm herself. Which would largely have been fine if the woman had kept her distance. Why did Robyn have to take such an alarming interest in her?

Winter sighed and set down her scroll. With her elbows on her desk, she rested her head in both hands. She resented the tumultuous emotions that so easily arose in the presence of the other woman— a mere picture of Robyn had become enough to set her teetering. Winter exhaled a deep, meditative breath, trying to gather herself. Her eyes found the still-lit scroll she'd discarded, feeling herself again becoming agitated from the featured picture of the Mantle representative's almost smugly confident smirk.

Tearing herself away, she stood up, busying herself with getting ready for her day - starting with a cold shower. Winter had the unsubstantiated certainty that Robyn Hill's interest in her was very personal, as there was undisputable chemistry every time their eyes met. All things considered, however, Winter willed herself to discount that hunch because of how ludicrous the idea was. Given their political positions, Robyn Hill wouldn't even think of approaching her with such intentions. That left one viable reason for Robyn's attention: it had to be a sly ploy to take advantage of Winter's penchant for women to extract classified intel from her. Sure, it wasn't what Winter felt it was, but she really tried to make herself believe it. Which had honestly been much easier to do when she could still realistically imagine Robyn to be just another power-hungry and self-absorbed politician. Back then, willing disdain and antipathy to the surface, keeping up her glacial front had been almost effortless.

The problem was... Winter had the eye to recognize when someone was being genuine. And in Robyn's case, there even was a baseline of comparison to establish authenticity. Winter had observed the Mantle representative interacting with statesmen and wealthy attendees, charming them despite their reservations. She had seen what Robyn's forged smile and disingenuous courtesy looked like, and that face — the face that Robyn would put on for those people — wasn't the same one with which she argued her motives to Winter. There was absolutely no doubt that Robyn cared fiercely about the wellbeing of Mantle, that she'd told the truth about it being her only reason to campaign for that seat. And Winter had to admit, she couldn't think of a more honorable reason to want said seat.

Nevertheless, though she couldn't help the burgeoning respect for the Mantle representative, Winter needed to stay minded; she couldn't soften up to her. Should she be elected, quite a few of the policies Robyn would push for would interfere with the General's work, and although Winter was starting to be uncomfortable with some of the measures they'd had to take… Salem's threat was as real as it got, and sometimes… there were no good options. Someone had to make the difficult decisions, and Winter admired him for being able to do that. She just had to keep her head down, trust that he was making the right calls, and do what needed to be done.

She stared at herself in the mirror, straightening her uniform and making sure that her hair was impeccable before leaving. Winter had enough on her plate already without starting to second-guess the General's decisions, or worrying about that perplexing woman's fooleries; soon, she'd be a major player herself, with all the responsibilities entailed. Incidentally, Winter halted in front of a heavily secured door to which she had exclusive access. She liked to visit Fria daily if possible. Beyond her duty to imprint the old woman's mind with her presence, she had grown fond of her and hated knowing how isolated she was. As she stepped inside the secluded room, Fria stirred from her bed.

"Good morning," Winter greeted. "I'm sorry if I woke you up."

The old woman looked confused for a moment, and she glanced around the room before her gaze settled on Winter again. Finally she seemed to wake for real, a glimmer of recognition brightening her features. "Oh, Winter, good morning," she greeted sleepily. "Nevermind that, come in," she invited.

Following their usual routine, Winter began preparing morning tea. Breakfast would be brought a little later. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you for asking," she rejoined, searching for her bed's remote. "How's the weather outside?"

"Worse than it's been in a long time," Winter answered, laying out the tea set on a tray as she waited for the water to boil. "The heating grid is holding up, but if it keeps up like this, we might have a real problem on our hands."

Fria hummed, now upright in her hospital bed. "I miss the storms," she said, almost more to herself. "I miss a lot of things."

The guilty expression that undoubtedly washed over Winter's features made the old lady laugh.

"I don't blame any of you. We do what we must for the greater good. For the big picture," Fria reassured. "The world needs someone like you to inherit the powers. Someone who's prepared, and who won't be an easy target for her."

Winter nodded almost imperceptibly. She was very thankful that Fria was such a like-minded person; she didn't want to think of what they may have had to do should the bearer of those powers have been a selfish and uncooperative woman. Winter poured the hot water in the teapot, allowing it to take a deep tawny red before removing the tea infuser.

"I'm lucky to have made it this far, given what the alternative is," Fria continued. "I wish you the same."

Wishing to someone that they may end their lives in a military compound sequestered from their family might have sounded hostile in other circumstances, but with Salem on the move for the first time since the Great War, they both knew what risks came with being the bearer of those powers. Unless they found a way to defeat Salem, being a maiden likely meant an early death, and to Winter, the thought of making it to her eighties was a nice one. With this, Winter brought the tray over to the old woman's bedside, serving two cups without a word. She took her own and sat with her, watching as Fria reached out to the porcelain milk jug. She stared at it in her hand like she wasn't certain what to do with it, then put it down again, and slowly laced her fingers together, completely engrossed in the tea set on the tray.
Moments like these were becoming more and more frequent. Sometimes it was the small things, like losing her train of thought as she was speaking, or forgetting how she liked her tea. Other times, it was more worrisome, like waking up with no idea where she was, or forgetting members of her family. This made it all the more imperative that Winter be the only one to be in contact with her; Winter had to be at the forefront of the old woman's mind when the time came.

Winter set her own cup down. "Do you want me to prepare your tea for you, Fria?"

"If you would, please."

Winter poured milk in the cup and added a single cubed sugar, stirring it gently before handing it to her.

"You're very kind."

"Please, it's nothing."

As Fria slowly sipped from her hot tea, Winter glanced around the room. The old woman was very active in her art production, painting mostly landscapes, with a few portraits far and inbetween. The subject's faces had an increasing tendency to be blurry, as Fria's memory slipped slowly from her grasp. She'd once told Winter that everything she painted were real places and real people, that it was her way of preserving meaningful parts of her life. They were Winter's favorite topic of conversation; they helped her understand Fria better, and helped Fria maintain her grip on reality. Through the prolific paintings, Winter had a glance at the old woman's extensive travels as she'd started her life as a Huntress, and subsequently of her life with her husband and two sons as she'd settled in Atlas working as a nurse. In the last year, as Winter had been preparing to succeed her, she'd had ample time to sit with her and witness her stories before Fria's diseased mind started shrouding them in darkness.

Winter's eyes found the newest piece, still in progress. White fur was almost lost in the icy landscape, but it was there. Whether it was the vast, frozen deserts of Solitas, the labyrinths of Mantle's back alleys, the impressive cliff sides of Anima, or even the lush crimson forest of Forever Fall… Fria always included an arctic fox in the painting. At first, Winter had brushed it off, figuring it had to have been Fria's pet, but the old woman denied ever having one, and as time passed, she continued to insist on including the small animal in discordant scenery. It only ever showed up in depictions of landscapes Fria would have seen as a Huntress, about sixty years ago.

Talking it through and painstakingly poring over Atlas Academy's archives allowed Winter to puzzle out the answer; Fria's broken mind had transformed her then-travelling-partner and old academy teammate, an arctic fox faunus girl, into an actual arctic fox. Winter's cool blue eyes swept from the tiny animal painted on this newer work, to its figure on the multiple other landscapes. It turned out that this teammate of hers had been severely ill from dust-poisoning, having grown up in Mantle's slums in a family of miners. She had passed quite young while on the road with Fria, who inherited the maiden powers from her on that day.

"You never forget her, do you," Winter gently observed, walking up to that newest canvas.

Fria nodded, resting her teacup in its matching saucer. "She's a part of me," she answered.

It wasn't the first time Fria said something of the sort; Winter turned to her. "Do you mean this literally?" she inquired. "Are the previous maidens still… present? Inside you?"

"Oh no," Fria waved her off. "They're not living on in that way, I didn't mean to make it sound like there is a congress in my head," she said with a smile. "But… all their auras have imprinted onto the maiden powers."

"So you can feel traces of them all inside you?"

"I can, but they mostly come together as a single comforting presence," the old lady explained. "Like instruments coming together as a symphony, they feel like a whole. I can single hers out because I knew her so well."

Winter nodded. She'd gotten to know Fria well enough that she was confident that she'd be able to do the same in the not-so-distant future; it was a somewhat comforting thought. With this, she left the unfinished artwork to return to the old woman's bedside. There had been something else that Winter had wished to discuss with Fria today.

When she'd first accepted this duty, Winter hadn't thought it out quite this far, but… the General had recently sat her down to try and establish as far as possible what the line of succession may be. In the event of Winter's death as the maiden; if those powers weren't stolen by Salem's underling, who might be in her last thoughts, and so on. It might've been foolish of Winter to not have considered any of this before now… but being asked this, and subsequently being asked who might inherit from Weiss, should Weiss be killed as her successor, had left her grappling with guilt, fear, and some very dark thoughts.

"Fria, if I may," Winter started, taking the old woman's hand in hers. "Most of your life… there was no plan on who might succeed you," she carefully established. "From what I understand, it wasn't until about fifteen years ago, when the General learned about the stakes and sought you out, that you knew you'd pass on the powers to another warrior. You agreed that he would prepare someone for you."

"Yes?"

"How do you cope with it? Knowing you would burden someone you love with this responsibility?"

"Oh, I didn't know," she dismissed, "my last thoughts would have been of my husband, and then I had my two boys… so I always reckoned my powers would find a stranger."

Winter nodded reluctantly; a maiden being married essentially threw any line of succession out the window, at least until she had a daughter, which hadn't been the case with Fria. She did have granddaughters, but the only period of Fria's life of which she still retained clear memories was between her mid-thirties to her early fifties, and thus it seemed that Fria had forgotten her sons had any children. As ugly as it made Winter feel, it was better not to remind the ill woman of the existence of any loved one who might threaten the passing of the powers to her. "What about when you were younger?" She quickly continued instead. "Wasn't there a friend? A cousin? Someone you were worried for?"

"My memory might be playing tricks on me, but… I don't think there was anyone," she answered, shaking her head. "You know who would succeed you?" She then inquired, somewhat curious. "You're not married, Winter?"

It was at least the fifteenth time that Fria had asked this. "I have no romantic attachments," Winter reexplained patiently. "I was recruited for this young enough that I... " she exhaled. That wasn't true. She'd been recruited at eighteen, but she hadn't known that she had been approached so young because she was being groomed to be a maiden. Having been told about Salem and the impending danger, she had made the decision of her own accord to focus solely on that; to not let any sort of personal relationships distract her from the fight to come. It seemed that this sort of dedication was part of why she'd been chosen. Little did Ironwood know that part of the reason for her dedication had been that it had given her a substantial enough excuse to avoid even thinking of romance, as she had still been struggling to come to terms with her sexuality. What she hadn't expected was that being recruited and seeing her future overtaken with Salem's impending war made romance appear so trivial that it in turn abated the struggle within herself. It was easier to accept that she liked women when she felt it didn't matter because nothing would come of it anyways, having renounced romance. This was all the more true now that she was to receive the Winter Maiden's powers; she knew she couldn't risk falling in love and placing an unsuitable successor next in line.

Winter shook her head. "I was recruited young enough that I didn't have time to develop romantic relationships. And I haven't allowed myself this distraction knowing what it may cost us in this war."

Fria nodded understandingly. "So who are you worried for?"

"My younger sister."

"You don't think that James will try to prime your mind with someone else?"

"No," she grimly said. "Given the situation, we need to be as prepared as possible for all eventualities, so we've recently discussed it. The General knows that Weiss would receive the powers from me; he sees her not only as a viable candidate, but as the best possible contingency plan," Winter explained, warily holding the old woman's gaze. "And I agree, I don't like it, but I agree. Weiss is an accomplished fighter, she's brave, and has a brilliant mind. And she has a good heart. She can be trusted with these powers. She would objectively be a great candidate on all accounts, and all things considered, we're lucky that the person who'd be in my last thoughts is someone who'd unquestionably take up the fight, and do so very capably."

With this, Winter stood abruptly, feeling a sudden need to move, to do something, anything to help the restlessness that these thoughts brought to the surface. "I know this," she insisted, pacing the room. "I know it would be for the best in the grand scheme of things, I've resigned myself to the idea. My head knows. But my heart…" she stopped, again looking over at the bedridden woman. "I… struggle with the idea of not only burdening her with the inheritance of yet another unwanted responsibility from me, but also with making her a target, not to mention... making her cautious about who she allows herself to get close to, as I've become."

Fria watched her with an empathetic expression. "I wish I had some wise piece of advice for you," she deplored. "But that's not something I had to experience."

Dejected, Winter nodded in acceptance. In addition to not having had any young women for which Fria could have been immediately worried, it had also been a different time. Salem had been dormant, or at least, she had gone into hiding for dozens of years. After the Great War, the fighting having stopped among faunus and men, the incidence of negative emotions dropped and the kingdoms fortified. Peace reigned, at least within kingdom borders; it was a time in which the old Osmar, and his subsequent incarnation Ozpin, erected humanity's best defenses against Salem. Which meant that for most of her life, Fria hadn't felt like she had a target on her back. She had no reason to worry about which of her loved ones might become the next target should she fail to safeguard the Winter Maiden's powers.

Winter found herself gazing at the paintings again, at the arctic fox and her ethereal presence in those lush landscapes.

"If it's any consolation," Fria continued, pulling her from her spell, "I believe in you." She patted her bed, gesturing for Winter to join her again, which she did. "When James sought me out, he showed me what candidates he had in mind. None of them seemed quite right to me," she explained. "But a few years later, you enrolled at Atlas Academy. You were still very young, but you were always the most promising candidate to me. And James was also convinced when you grew more as a fighter in your first year at the academy alone than some do in their entire career as Huntsmen."

Had she not already been sitting, Winter would have had to. She had never realized that when she'd first been approached to be recruited as a Special Ops, still unaware that the true intent was to groom her for this destiny, Fria had already been aware of her. "So... you helped? In choosing me?"

"The final choice was always James's, he knew best what qualities were needed for the fight to come," Fria explained. "But you seemed to be born for it, down to your name," she added, smiling. "You know, I saw what your grandfather could do at the height of his prime," she continued, her eyes illuminated with wonder.

It was a story that Winter had heard more times than she could count, but she didn't stop the old woman, as it gave her pleasure to recount it. Fria and he had once crossed paths in the frozen tundra outside of the then-capital Mantle. She had been traveling alone, on her way back from a hunt, while Nicholas and his team had been scouting the area for dust in the hopes of establishing a dust mine. This had happened years before the SDC became the empire it was to be. Fria had joined forces with them to push back a swarm of Beowulves.

Idly listening to her, Winter let her thoughts stray back to her worries. After the Fall of Beacon, she had accepted this responsibility knowing full well that it meant her death if she wasn't good enough. Amber's fate was a grim warning; soon, Salem's most vicious fighter would be coming for the Winter Maiden's powers, and Winter would have to safeguard them. And sure, she trusted her own abilities to unflinchingly take on any of Salem's underlings… but she had never faced off with a maiden before, and this new Fall Maiden had slaughtered Ozpin despite the ancient power within him, despite the memory held within him of thousands of years of combat experience. Last but not least… the undead and immortal thing that Salem had become would of course shake anyone's self-confidence. All of it made Winter very aware of her potential demise, and things seemed all the darker now that the General had the grace of reminding her that she'd gambled much more than her own life when she'd accepted this role.

She felt like a fool for not having anticipated that she may doom Weiss along with herself. Nevertheless, Winter knew very well that she was one of the best candidates on the face of Remnant for this, and, with all things considered —the fate of humanity in the balance against her or her sister's life— Winter's sense of responsibility killed any inclination she might've had to step down. That same sense of responsibility told her that, no matter how much she loathed the idea of deferring to her sister with yet another unasked burden, they were lucky that in a worst case scenario, the person who would inherit from Winter had the skill and heart to be trusted with this power. They were lucky that Winter had isolated herself such that she had no romantic attachments, because that may have fostered a dire situation. What if the woman that Winter had made her life with was a civilian? The maiden powers made one strong, but for someone with no combat skills it wouldn't have been enough to fend off Salem's Fall Maiden underling. Winter couldn't even imagine how catastrophic it might have been should she had loved someone unable —or worse, unwilling to cooperate with the Atlas Military.

Quite against her better judgement, Robyn Hill's cocky grin floated through her mind. Winter shook her head, clearing the image.

Ridiculous.

---

It had been two weeks since the last event of the sort; two weeks since Winter had last seen her.

Robyn Hill's campaign had gained traction; so much so that she was emerging not only as a serious candidate, but as a front runner. Her appearances on television and in the papers had increased tenfold, posters of her face lined every street of Mantle, and the more popular she became, the more agitated the masses were becoming. Security hadn't yet been increased, but it was only a matter of time. Winter fully expected the other attendees to barrage Robyn with questions about how she planned on keeping Mantle under control.

Though Robyn didn't always attend those events, she would be there tonight. Beyond the fact that she was the hottest topic on Solitas and everyone expected her to be there… Winter had verified the guest list and confirmed the RSVP. She tried not to think about how she'd found herself going out of her way just to confirm the woman would be there. Winter told herself that she'd only done so to quell her restlessness with guessing whether or not she should prepare herself to be barraged with questions again. A little voice at the back of her head called her a liar. That same little voice pestered her mockingly when Robyn Hill finally appeared that evening and Winter simply couldn't detach her eyes from her. It was utterly beyond her control; she scrutinized every gesture, every twitch in her expressions, every shift in her mannerisms. Quite embarrassingly, knowing that Robyn had noticed it —she glanced over to meet her gaze every so often— did nothing to suppress Winter's itch to stare.

And how could one not stare? Robyn was tall —much taller than most women; such that she couldn't have been inconspicuous even had she conformed with the implicitly understood dress etiquette, which she didn't. While the other guests tried to impress each other with lavish demonstrations of wealth, the woman showed up in Huntress gear. Clean and unarmed, to be sure, but her hair still as barely tamed as it always was. Nevertheless, her nonconformity did nothing to detract from her success; even with this crowd, with whom she consorted for hours.

Once the evening had inevitably progressed from networking opportunity to drunken rubbish, Robyn stepped up to her. "Here we are again," she said, a smile dancing on her lips.

"So we are," Winter dryly rejoined.

Always entertained by her deadpan attitude, Robyn's smile only widened. She had the courtesy to place herself at Winter's side, leaving her view of the other guests unobstructed. "How have you been?"

Winter reined in the urge to just keep staring at her, instead looking on straight ahead. "I'm alive."

"I'm alive as well!"

"I had noticed," she grouched, feeling slightly mocked.

"I have to say, I had also noticed you were alive, although you're doing a pretty good job of convincing everyone else that you're a fixture. I didn't see anyone else even try chatting you up today."

The blonde's light ribbing made her somewhat self-conscious, and Winter's more caustic side surfaced. "That's because everyone else isn't as dense as you. They got the message the first time they tried conversing with me," she said, suddenly regretting her words, as the momentary fear that Robyn would decide to actually let her be this time passed through her. As fast as that fear arose, Winter chased it away; she should be driving her off!

"Oof," Robyn laughed, ever-buoyant. "And I thought we were doing better than that."

Emboldened by the other woman's dauntless attitude in this little dance they'd established, she didn't second-guess her pull-no-punches retort this time. "There is no 'we'. No friendship will be established," Winter affirmed, much in an attempt to convince herself.

Robyn snorted with amusement. "Say that all you want, but I've already grown on you."

"That's a bold claim," Winter shot back, though she couldn't bring herself to deny its veracity. "What makes you believe such a thing?"

"Let's see…" she trailed off, pretending to think it over. "Besides how you've been waiting all evening for me to come up to you? For one, I got a joke out of you last time. Two, you've been answering in full sentences," Robyn pointed out. "Before, some of those answers you've given me would have been only one word." With this, she looked Winter over up and down, making a point of exaggeratedly evaluating her posture. "Three, I have to say, you also look less tense; you've been dropping your guard."

Winter pursed her lips, straightening into a more rigid stance.

Robyn chuckled. "Can't let yourself relax around me, now can you?"

"It would be unwise," Winter granted, her eyebrows twitching into a light frown.

"To say the least," the other woman agreed, her ever-present smile audible in her tone.

Though she refused to look her way, Winter could see in the periphery of her vision that her unsolicited company threw her seemingly untouched drink in a nearby potted plant and exchanged her newly empty glass for a fresh one as waiting staff passed by. She had previously noticed that, although Robyn always had a beverage in her hand, she never seemed to drink from it. Winter almost wanted to ask, almost. She knew better than to needlessly engage the blonde; it would only encourage her to stick around.

As a professional conversationalist however, Robyn had no need of Winter's help in finding something to chat about. "It came to my attention that the Ace Ops have finally chosen a replacement for the guy they lost," she said. "I hear you guys have a faunus rookie?"

"We do."

"He's the first faunus to manage something like that, isn't he?"

"He is."

"It's great to see things are finally changing," Robyn commented delightedly. With this, she leaned forward a bit, successfully catching Winter's gaze. "What do you think of him?"

Holding the other woman's riveted stare, Winter was somehow reminded of how emphatically she'd been interrogated about May. She hadn't understood the insistence then, but the common thread of discrimnation was too obvious to miss with this second instance. Robyn wanted to know if Winter held any of the typical Atlesian discriminatory attitudes, and it wasn't hard to project that Robyn would pester her until this was elucidated. "If you're asking about whether or not I care about Marrow being a faunus; I don't. It's inconsequential," Winter frankly said, seeing Robyn's smile widen. "As to what I think of him: he's still a little too reactive."

"Not everyone has it in them to be a living statue," the blonde playfully pointed out.

She knew Robyn was taking a dig at her, but decided to roll with it. "I take pride in this ability."

"As you should, it's impressive," Robyn complimented. "So, does this mean you don't like him?"

"I didn't say that," Winter corrected. "I only said he was too reactive. He'll settle down as he gets more seasoned."

"And in the meantime?"

"He's not my charge to mentor," Winter flatly indicated.

Robyn laughed again; evidently, she really enjoyed these dispassionate, matter-of-fact retorts. "Right, you're not part of the famous team," she waved off in a light-hearted tone, but as she said this, the incongruity seemed to hit her. More seriously she asked; "Why aren't you…? Penny has another title and all, but you don't. Why aren't you part of the Ace Ops?"

It was such a trivial thing, but the fact that Robyn had called Penny by her name this time made Winter want to smile. She did her best not to let it show. "I have different duties," she dismissed.

"Like?"

"It's classified."

Robyn stared at her, unimpressed with this answer. "Are you just saying that to avoid explaining, or is it really?"

"It is truly classified," Winter graciously clarified.

"Right, right. So other duties... which don't include babysitting rookies," the blonde mused out loud.

Winter just couldn't help herself; "They don't, but they seem to include babysitting overgrown children," she jeered, designating the room with a motion.

Robyn had a candid outburst, laughing in a warm and endearing way; Winter hated how exhilarated she felt about obtaining such a reaction. Robyn puffed out a breath as she regained her composure, wiping the corner of her eye. "Would you rather be around real children? You strike me as the type who doesn't like kids much."

"I don't dislike them," Winter answered, telling herself she should focus on the crowd she was meant to supervise instead of making puerile comments to make the other woman laugh.

"Color me surprised," Robyn exclaimed. "I gotta say, I can't picture you playing with a kid," she added. "Seems to me like you'd be a pretty strict mom."

"I wouldn't," Winter expressly refuted, "because I wouldn't be a mother."

"Oh? You already made up your mind about that? Is your significant other on the same page?" Robyn asked offhandedly.

Winter's gaze snapped to the other woman. How blatant. Could she have been more obvious about fishing for information?

Robyn's deep purple, hypnotizing eyes were intractably fixed to her features, on the lookout for any clue of what may be going through Winter's mind. Her voice sounded lower, more luscious as she continued; "...Or is there no significant other?"

Winter's hands, clasped behind her back, tightened over each other. "Respectfully, that's none of your business," she answered, keeping her voice steady.

The tall blonde wasn't deterred; she cocked her head as she took a step closer, though not quite into Winter's personal space. "Even if it's not, what's it cost you to answer?"

Winter narrowed her eyes, refusing to be the one to break eye contact first. Robyn was unbothered by the developing strain in the air; the ghost of a smile she perpetually sported unwavering. Staring at her straight-on, up close and for an extended period, Winter couldn't help reflecting on how Robyn's highly feminine facial features didn't fit her cocky swagger or her rugged, masculine style. The discrepancy was exceedingly attractive.

As she mused over this, Winter realized her train of thought was getting derailed, and tore her gaze away, returning to the crowd. Gathering herself, her frazzled brain reminded her of just how easy that information would be for Robyn to find out and that she might as well give it up. "I'm married to my job," Winter finally groused.

"Is it a happy marriage?"

"It's a rewarding one."

"Even when you have to work events like these?"

Quite involuntary, Winter grimaced. Robyn laughed again, and Winter couldn't help but look her way again. The way her eyes shone when delight illuminated her features was so enticing that Winter couldn't suppress the urge to witness it; seeing it again made her heart flutter.

With one hand on her hip and her forgotten drink in the other, the tall blonde gazed back at her for a moment in silence, that amused gleam not completely faded. "Here's an idea," Robyn suggested, "why don't you have the rookie do this job in your stead?"

"It's not advisable."

"Because his impression of a statue still has room for improvement?" She guessed.

Her eyebrows raised in an unimpressed manner. Robyn was world-savvy enough; she should've known why. "Miss Hill," Winter calmly said, "he's a faunus."

For the first time that evening, Robyn's demeanor lost some of its implacable joviality. "So…? What? You're hiding him?"

Though Winter kept reminding herself that she should be taking any opportunity to make the other woman want to leave her alone, she also didn't want to misrepresent her peers. "We're not; he wouldn't have been chosen if him being a faunus was an issue," Winter said. "But he was just appointed, and these people aren't ready to treat him with respect. In addition, he wouldn't take their prejudice impassively. In a few weeks, when he's proved himself, made a reputation for himself, and when these people have had some time to get used to the idea of a faunus they have to act respectful towards; then he'll be in attendance at events of this sort," she explained. Her attention had drifted to the far ends of the room; each on their respective side, Vine and Elm were cordially interacting with some of the guests. Marrow certainly wouldn't be getting the same treatment, not yet anyways. "There's simply no sense in unnecessarily exposing him to these people's cruelty when there's plenty else for him to do."

"You're protecting him," Robyn surmised. She gave a pleased hum. "You people aren't all bad, are you?"

"Our duty is to protect the people and the peace," Winter answered, "this means everyone, Miss Hill."

There was a short silence. Robyn put her free hand in her pocket, also staring out at the crowd in front of them. "Everyone, but the ones with money first," she said under her breath.

Given the lavishness of the event at which they were in attendance and the caliber of the security detail, it was hard to deny. Winter realized her shoulders had slumped, and she straightened again; her own priorities weren't reflected in this. "Money doesn't govern the work that I do," she contested.

"Oh, I believe that coming from you," Robyn granted. "But that's how the world works, and you of all people should know that better than most; you know what money can buy."

This stung more than Winter would have cared to admit. She exhaled gently, somewhat dejected; "...I also know all too well what it can't buy."

It caught her interest such that Robyn didn't just look her way; she turned completely to her to stare interestedly. "And what's that, Schnee?"

Money hadn't been the answer to any of her grievous feelings — her nihilism in the face of a dismal future charted for her as her father's heir, her intense loathing for the vain society she had been expected to take part in, the abyss within herself at the thought of her life being a meaningless masquerade, and the conflict within as she wrestled with who she was and her repressed sexuality. The pressure of expectations and the fear of judgement had crippled her for years. Winter wouldn't have known where to start even had she wanted to share; "It doesn't matter," she quietly waved off.

"It matters to me," Robyn affirmed, evidently pressing ahead because of the change in mood. "I'd love to know what it is that the entire Schnee estate couldn't offer you."

Just thinking about it made her feel worn out, and somehow Winter couldn't muster the strength to keep the defensive façade. "There were a multitude of areas in which my family's estate left me unfulfilled," she disclosed, surprising even herself with what she was revealing to the other woman. "But my work with General Ironwood has helped for the better part." It was the truth; it had liberated her from the life she never wanted, and instead gave her a vocation, a role that was meaningful; to which she could dedicate herself with pride.

"For the most part huh?" Robyn mused. "What's left unfulfilled?"

The only thing that had been left unattended was her very human need for love and intimacy, which she'd voluntarily cast aside. Winter made the mistake of glancing at her present company as she reflected on what yearning she kept locked away and the loneliness that it brought. Robyn's magnetic almond-shaped eyes, with their deep, rich purple color and lush eyelashes; her radiant, silken tan skin; her high, sculpted cheekbones; and her full, plump lips left Winter helpless to stop herself from admiring her, and she just knew that what longing she felt had transpired in her gaze as Robyn's expression changed.

With her amusement somewhat abated, the tall blonde tilted her head. "I see," she said, almost more to herself. She stepped a little closer; she was definitely in Winter's personal space now. "Is it something I could help with?" She suggested, her voice warm and enticing.

Winter's heart was suddenly pounding. Robyn was close enough that a somewhat hazelnutty fragrance that Winter hadn't noticed until now filled her senses. The blonde's presence overpowered her; for a few seconds, Winter lost track of anyone else in the room, or even where they were. She was severely tempted to say yes, to end this ambiguous dance, to surrender to the bewitching chemistry between them. She more or less managed to take a hold of herself. "I can't accept that," she managed, her voice frustratingly strained.

Robyn's now smug expression told of how aware she was of the effect she had. "Why not? It'd be a shame for you to be left wanting if I can do something about it."

Winter still couldn't detach her gaze from those intractable, spellbinding purple eyes. "I'm fine," she claimed. "If anything, you're doing the very opposite of helping."

"What?" Her lips drew into a corner smile, flashing pearly white teeth. "What am I doing?"

Just how helpless Winter was suddenly caught up with her, prompting her defensive instincts to flare up. "That's a very good question," she retorted. Having caught herself, she stepped back, putting a more conservative distance between them. "What are you doing?" It was obvious that Robyn was playing on that undeniable attraction, but Winter couldn't accept that such a smart and savvy woman would be heedless enough to ever consider acting on it— it was just too outlandish. There had to be some form of political gain to be made, some way that Robyn was looking to exploit Winter's capacities or position.

"Why are you spending part of every evening with me? State your intentions," Winter demanded.

Robyn smiled innocently. "You're simply the best company in this place."

No matter how wry and unfriendly she had forced herself to be, especially in contrast to the jovial atmosphere around them, Winter nevertheless knew that the blonde was being sincere with this claim. "How sad," she deplored.

Robyn laughed that candid and so endearing laugh of hers, and Winter's stomach tied itself in knots. Again, she felt an urgency to push her away; it suddenly felt crucial that Winter put an end to this habit that had formed of chatting through those never-ending evenings. "You should be mingling with the people who you need to win over," she urged.

"Maybe I am doing just that," she suggested.

"If you expect me to clandestinely roam the back alleys of Mantle with your rag-tag band of hooligans, you have me pegged very wrong."

"I expect no such thing," Robyn rejoined, apparently still in a marvelous mood.

"I'm very committed to my duty, and loyal to the General," Winter nevertheless insisted.

"I see that you are," the rugged blonde acquiesced. "That's not what I meant when I suggested winning you over," she added before leaning over, her voice lower, "and you know it."

Winter's entire body tensed as sudden warmth washed over her; she could tell her face had reddened.

Robyn unflinchingly gazed at her, amusement written all across her face. "I think I'm doing pretty well too."

"You've reached your limit," Winter resisted, dread leadening her stomach.

"Schnee," a male voice interjected, making her jump. She'd been so wrapped up in Robyn's provocative insinuations that she hadn't noticed Clover as he'd approached them. Making a motion of his head, he indicated the main door. "You're required; emergency communication from Argus."

Winter frowned deeply, instantly shifting to business mode, wordlessly moving with him towards the exit. She spared Robyn, who waved goodbye, a last glance before leaving. "What's happening?" She asked, once out of earshot of any guests.

"Argus has just received word from Haven, there was a coup."

Winter's eyes widened.

"Haven didn't fall," he said, before she could barrage him with questions, "a new faction of the White Fang stopped it, along with some unaffiliated Huntsmen."

"Thank god," she murmured, still in disbelief. "Any reports of Weiss's presence on scene?"

"Nothing about her came up. Not yet anyways," he answered as they hastily walked down the academy corridor. All things considered, they were lucky that this event was being held at the Atlas Academy reception hall. "You truly expect her to turn up wherever there's trouble, huh?"

"Yes, she's fantastic at that," Winter grumbled, quickly heading from the military headquarters area of the academy grounds. "Has the General been alerted to this coup? Are we sending forces to investigate? Will we attempt to track down the perpetrators?"

"He's informed. We're staying put; Argus will send someone to investigate the aftermath."

Winter felt her jaw tighten with vexation. She expected that answer, but it didn't mean she liked it; she had been itching to get out there and find Weiss. There was however no reason to send anyone all the way from Atlas, as word of the coup would have reached Argus by train, it being too remote for the Haven communication tower's range. Which meant that word of it had reached Argus nearly two days after the event. Salem's forces had long vacated already, and all there was left to do was overview the damage and find out a few details.

Clover sensed her aggravation. "You know that even if we were sending people all the way from Atlas, it wouldn't be you," he reminded her. "Not with Fria's deteriorating condition."

"I know," she sighed. As grim as it was, with Fria losing more and more of herself by the day, it was imperative that Winter visit her daily. And if push came to shove; if Fria got so bad that they couldn't trust she would pass the powers on to her, Winter had to be available at the drop of a hat to go through the transferring process with the machine they had developed. Of course, that was to be used only as a last resort; setting aside how it would essentially mean murdering Fria, there were no guarantees that Winter emerging from the machine after the transfer wouldn't emerge as an entirely different person. This machine wouldn't transfer only the maiden powers, it would transfer Fria's aura along with it; making it less a magic solution than a last resort. This caveat had been the entire reason that Ozpin's candidate had hesitated in Beacon, it had been the only reason that the transfer had been delayed and that Cinder Fall could get her hands on the second half of the maiden powers. Winter was fully prepared and wouldn't hesitate to step into that machine should they be backed into a corner, but no one wanted to find out what the process would do to Winter's personality or sense of self if it could be avoided. Which meant she was stuck waiting.

"Bide your time," Clover said encouragingly. "Once the truth is out and we've weathered the storm here, we can move out and help the other kingdoms. You'll get to look for her."

"Yes, but in a disastrously more dangerous world," Winter griped. She didn't even want to think about the crisis that was sure to ensue as the truth was revealed, and especially of Weiss being lost in that chaos. "What else do we know? Any word from Lionheart?"

"He's dead. No news about the spring maiden or Haven's relic," Clover said, as they entered the military facility part of the academy. "We need to brief the envoy on what information we need without explaining the situation. Thus... me coming to get you. Cordovin insists on speaking with you personally."

The thought of that troll of a woman made her roll her eyes. "About what?"

"Questions about the envoy."

She stopped to stare at him. "...You're very capable of giving her directions."

"She still insists on speaking with you," he said. "Not arguing with her again."

"Of course," Winter muttered under her breath. It wasn't the first time that their Anima ambassador went through hoops to speak with Winter personally. That woman had a disproportionately inflated sense of Atlesian patriotism, and she regarded anything and everything purely Atlesian as the God of Light's greatest gifts to Remnant. The Schnee lineage was one of those things.

Her heels clacking on the metal flooring resonated through the empty halls as they made their way to the core of the complex. Winter fumed in silence at the uselessness of being fetched for this.

Clover's voice pulled her from her ruminations. "She likes you, you know."

Of course Cordovin liked her, besides being a Schnee, she was the General's right-hand woman. Cordovin flocked to power —perceived or otherwise— like a moth to flame. "That bootlicker likes my name and my rank," Winter grumbled.

"I meant Hill."

Her heart skipped a beat. "...Oh," she mouthed, realizing the wind had been knocked out of her. He couldn't have overheard what they'd been saying, so he would have deduced it either from body language, or from Robyn insistently hanging around her. Maintaining her composure as best she could, she kept walking, throwing a furtive glance his way. "Yes, I know."

"Why would she ever?" He asked, seemingly very amused.

Having been wondering that herself, Winter was visibly perplexed. "I don't know," she answered softly, completely mystified.

Her somewhat demure answer had Clover's bantering grin leave room for a more empathetic disposition. "...I was just joking, you know, you're not unlikeable."

His awareness of her lukewarm but professional relationship with his team was likely why he had felt the need to retract his jape. It may have appeared to him that she had issues building authentic and congenial relationships; Clover evidently hadn't realized that she was the deliberate architect of her situation. Winter made quite the effort to be distant enough to alienate anyone who might decide to be too friendly with her; she had started doing so while attending Atlas Academy, first for disliking the type of people her name would attract, and subsequently to allow herself the freedom to focus on her training. The privacy afforded by keeping people at a distance was something she'd grown to enjoy quite a lot, so she had never felt the need to modify her behavior. There were a handful of people with whom she had chosen to cultivate friendships or close personal relationships, and those were amply sufficient.

"I put a lot of effort into being unlikable to people like her," Winter explained, opting to leave it up in the air what she meant by that. She knew Clover would understand the designation to mean politicians and party attendees, but... in Robyn's case, Winter also meant to designate attractive women.

"Ah," he gave. "I didn't realize you were like that on purpose."

She came to a full stop, turning to him. "Are you serious?" Winter balked. He had witnessed multiple instances of her being not only frosty, but downright rude to party attendees; had he seriously thought she didn't know better but to behave that way? "You never thought that I might simply not want to engage with these people? You found it more plausible that I wouldn't have any manners?"

He laughed. "No, but you aren't that much friendlier to the team," Clover reminded her, "so I thought… you wear your name well. Some people aren't very warm, and that's fine."

Her gaze dropped to the metal floor for a second; "I'm focused, that's all," she muttered, resuming walking.

"Is that what it is?" He nonchalantly rejoined, following suit. "All work no play is eventually gonna burn you out, you know. Hill's interest might be a good opportunity to let loose and have a little fun while you can."

Winter's heart jumped in her throat, her blood chilled. She'd never told anyone, never acted on her desires, so how could he possibly know? She stopped again, plastering a convincing frown on her features. "What are you trying to suggest...?"

He'd stopped about two steps ahead, and turned back to face her. "Well you know; when the world learns what we're up against, there won't be time for any of that anymore," he said, misunderstanding which part she'd taken issue with. "So now's the time to make a little room to have fun," he reiterated, this time with a wink.

"Are you telling me to-…?" She couldn't even bring herself to voice it, the lump in her throat hurt. "I'm not… like that," she lied.

It took him a second to process, then he looked awfully embarrassed. "Oh. My bad, I thought-"

"Why?" Winter cut in.

"Well you know, Atlas Academy, rumour went."

Winter frowned even deeper. First, she hadn't been aware of any sort of rumour about her, but more importantly, Clover's time at the academy didn't overlap with her own; he was eight years older. Any of that gossip he would have heard from Harriet, Vine, or Elm, who all had one to three years over Winter, and whose time at the academy subsequently did overlap with her own. Did this mean that everyone had heard of this rumour? It made her awfully self-conscious of what her colleagues might have been saying unbeknown to her. Served her right for keeping such an alienating distance with them.

Clover looked apologetic. "Since you took it in stride when I brought up that she's into you, I figured it was true."

"I took it in stride because Robyn Hill's preferences aren't exactly a secret," Winter shot back. "And it's quite obvious that she has taken a liking to me, for whatever reason."

"You're right, I'm sorry," he answered, looking genuinely remorseful. "I shouldn't have relied on baseless rumors. It had to have been spiteful gossip. Kids can be—hell, people can be nasty. And they like to talk."

"Does everyone think that I'm…?"

"A lesbian?" He finished for her, making her wince. Clover didn't seem to notice. "I don't know about everyone. But a lot of people, yeah— we all did."

"Oh." Winter had to let it sink in. There she thought she'd kept that part of herself well under wraps, but a chance slander had outed her this long ago? She felt exposed and vulnerable, and didn't know how to reconcile all that. Trying to put it aside for the sake of the conversation, trying to get a quick handle on herself, she reasoned… none of her peers ever treated her with disrespect or condescension, or in any way that she could attribute to homophobia. It was a somewhat liberating thought, and in that moment, she figured… if it changed nothing, why keep up the lie?

Before she could find it in herself to go back on her word, Clover decided to fill the awkward silence that had pervaded the air. "There wouldn't be those sorts of misunderstandings if you were a little more open, you know, everyone would be happy to know you a little better," he commented, and instantly he seemed to catch himself. "I mean, no pressure if you'd rather remain professional with the team, that's your prerogative. But maybe being isolated as you are isn't helping with rumors; it wouldn't hurt you to make a friend or two."

As the conversation had been sparked because of a certain blonde trying to 'befriend' her, Winter found herself asking; "Do you seriously think that Robyn Hill —of all people— is someone I should be friends with?"

"I didn't necessarily mean her either," he laughed. "Although to be fair, she's the only one I've seen try this hard."

"She can keep trying, I won't budge," Winter claimed firmly, however unconfident she was in her assertion.

There was a small silence as they resumed walking, albeit not in the same hurry. Clover glanced over at her again. "You know, actually… thinking about it, the General may find it useful if we could call Hill friendly," he suggested. General Ironwood had been butting heads into a stalemate with the other two council members, and had taken to bypassing their veto in some instances. "Another council member weighing in in our favor could be a good thing."

"Robyn Hill's policies and ideas will never be in our favor," Winter disputed, very much disliking where this was heading.

"You never know. She's reasonable, unlike the other candidate," Clover said with a grin. "If she has a soft spot for one of our own… it might not be a bad idea to capitalize on it."

"I'm not prostituting myself," Winter flatly said.

"You know that's not what I'm suggesting," he shot back, still smiling. "I meant; she's already chatting you up. It's not too much of a leap to make her friendly."

It went without saying that he hadn't been trying to suggest that, but Winter had hoped that reaching this far might have him drop the conversation. "Surely there are other, better people to make her friendly," she grumbled.

"It's you she's interested in, is it so hard?"

Winter exhaled. "Clover, I'm not a good choice. It can't be me," she disputed, as levelheaded as she could. "Once I have the powers, the line of succession depends entirely on how I feel about the people who surround me," she reminded him. "I have to be careful about… any sort of attachments."

"I get where you're coming from, but I don't think it's worth concerning yourself this far."

Weighing her arguments and where this conversation had brought her, Winter realized it was her chance to be honest. She came to a halt and took a deep breath; here went nothing: "I lied."

Clover stopped walking a few steps ahead again, looking back at her.

Winter made herself hold his gaze. "I lied when I said I wasn't… about that rumour," she guiltily admitted. Seeing understanding dawn in his eyes had her look away, somewhat embarrassed. "I'm sorry. It's not something I ever told anyone about, or acted on… and I… had no idea that somehow people knew," Winter explained. "I'm appalled to learn that… that this thing that I thought I had kept secret was in fact widely assumed."

Clover approached her again. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know."

"That's easy to say for someone who didn't grow up in Atlas," she unenthusiastically shot back. As if it'd help clear it a bit, she shook her head. "I've… gotten over it, for the most part," she awkwardly added.

He gave an understanding nod. "So, it's the first time in your life that you've talked about it?"

"...Yes."

"I'm honored."

"Don't be. It simply seemed absurd to insist on a lie now," she explained. "And… I meant for you to realize that I do have to be careful. If I were to let down my defenses and allow Miss Hill to… to get close to me… I fear that I might give her exactly what she wants," she dreadfully admitted, allowing him to grasp how she was already succumbing to Robyn's charm. "And if I did… it would be an impending disaster because… I don't do that. 'Have a little fun' I mean. Being intimate with someone isn't something I could take lightly," she explained.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Winter found herself walking again. It might have been an urge to pace, but they also did have somewhere to be. "War is at our doors, Salem's chosen one will be coming for the maiden powers," she continued, "being the Winter Maiden puts a target on my back and, though I'm confident in my ability to safeguard those powers, I have to be mindful of what sort of successor I could doom you all with." She didn't need to say anything more, his expression told about how well he'd followed her rationale, but she continued nevertheless. "What if I get killed and Robyn Hill gets the powers? How does that sound to you?"

"Point made," he yielded. "She's not a bad person, but…"

"Exactly. It has to stay Weiss."

This didn't seem to sit well with him. Clover looked over at her with some uncertainty. "...And that's fine with you?"

"Yes." Winter inhaled deeply. "There's no helping it. I'm only human; I love my sister with all my heart, I always have. I can't crush feelings that existed long before I was ever chosen for this." They stopped in front of an elevator, and Clover pressed the up button. Winter considered her next words for a short moment. "If the worst happens when the Fall Maiden comes for me, it'll be one of two options; she either overwhelms me such that I fixate on her and pass her the power, or... I don't, and my last thoughts would be with whoever I cherish the most," she outlined, keeping steady eye contact with him. "At the moment, that's unquestionably Weiss, and the only way to spare her that would be if I were to… fall in love." The elevator dinged and they both stepped in. Winter sighed deeply. "How would you go about making me fall in love with someone convenient?" She proposed, watching him closely. "And who? Harriet? Elm?"

Her suggesting this seemed to side-track him. "Are either of them your type?" He piped up interestedly.

"No… I… I don't think I have a type, if any—… It doesn't matter," she quickly waved off, not letting them get sidetracked. "Feelings don't happen on command, and they don't disappear on command." Winter asserted strongly. "Weiss… she's an excellent fighter, she's capable enough to be a valuable asset, and she has a good heart; she'd do the right thing. And she'll cooperate with you. She can be trusted to carry the torch after me; I see no reason to gamble changing that."

Clover stayed silent for a moment, his eyes trained on the glowing number displaying the floors passing by. "So you accept that you need to isolate yourself from real friendships or love... in order to guarantee you can doom your sister to the same fate as you," he surmised quietly. "It's a sad life you've committed to."

"We do what we must," Winter murmured. "My personal happiness is far outweighed by the wellbeing of Remnant."

"...And so is Weiss's personal happiness?"

Winter felt her jaw lock as she grit her teeth against her will. "Yes," she nevertheless answered between clenched teeth. "I know she would understand," she affirmed. Her eyes darted to lock with the other Specialist's. "But make no mistake, knowing that Weiss would succeed me is nothing more than tying up the loose ends," Winter asserted. "I don't intend to die, and I don't intend to let her be saddled with the same thoughts and responsibilities I am," she resolved. "There is a way to defeat Salem and we'll find it. And I will pull through."

With this, the elevator dinged again, the doors opening. Winter stepped off first.

"As time goes by, I understand more and more why the General chose you," Clover offhandedly commented.

"I'm not sure whether you mean that as a compliment," she grievously said.

"I'm not sure either," he admitted. "But I have an insane amount of respect for you."

---

Winter shot upright in her bed, sweat drenching her back and the covers she'd thrown off leaving her damp skin exposed to the chilly air. The goosebumps went unnoticed, her mind reeling in its attempt to process the dream that had jolted her awake just before dawn. It wasn't the first time that she had an erotic dream, but… usually, she dreamt of faceless strangers. Fantasy women. Never a real person… until now. It made her incredibly aware of how much that woman had gotten under her skin. Winter brushed her hair out of her face, hands shaking, trying to steady her breath. The dream had felt so real; the warmth and weight of another body against hers, the touch of hands impudently transgressing past her pristine uniform, the sound of Robyn's alluringly warm voice in her ear…

Stumbling out of bed, Winter made her way to the bathroom to get some water. She was parched, and it was no wonder; her body felt almost feverish with how dizzyingly riled up it was, and she still felt beads of sweat running down her spine and the back of her legs. The crystal clear images of her dream remained vividly seared in her mind's eye; half-lidded purple eyes and messy blonde hair sticking to moist tan skin, or her tongue running over those plump lips. Along with these scenes, Winter's senses were filled with lingering ghostly sensations; moist breath burning her neck, the intimacy of skin against skin… and she could almost make out the faintly sweet scent that clung to Robyn.

Winter gulped down the water so fast that she had to catch her breath, slamming her glass on the concrete countertop. Her eyes found the icy blue ones of her reflection in the bathroom mirror, and she scowled at herself.

Heedless fool.

Both her hands clasped on the sink, she took deep breaths, trying to appease the tumultuous storm within. She'd been well aware that Robyn Hill had gained some ground in her enterprise to win her over, but she hadn't realized just how much. Winter splashed cold water on her face in a vain attempt to shake off her dream, to shake off the indecent images and the arousal that came in waves with it. There was no way she was going back to sleep like this; even had she wanted to, how livid she was with herself would have prevented her from finding any more rest. She promptly decided that she would benefit from starting her day by working off that pent-up energy; she had ample time to do so before she had anywhere to be.

Quickly changing into the military-issued sweats she trained in, she hurried out the door, tying her hair up in a ponytail as she marched down to the fitness center. Given the early hour, the halls were completely deserted as she crossed from the residences to the training facilities shared with Atlas Academy. Winter nevertheless didn't forecast she would remain alone very long. Her credentials as she moved from building to building would flag her presence, and sooner or later it would draw the attention of the only person who never slept.

"Winter!" The jolly call echoed in the stern grey halls.

As expected. Winter didn't turn around, but she did stop to wait for the hurried footsteps to catch up with her.

Penny promptly appeared to her side, almost vibrating with energy. "You're up early!" she remarked. "You're heading to the training room?"

"Yes, I need to blow off some steam. You're welcome to join me."

"Blow off some steam," the redhead repeated, thinking about it excessively seriously. "This means that you are stressed, correct?"

Winter hummed in disapproval. "Not quite," she readily admitted, though quickly decided it might be for the best to settle with that. "But I guess you could say so," she added. Penny had gotten markedly better at deciphering complexities with emotions, but sexual frustration was a thing that Winter wasn't ready to start explaining, nor did she believe Penny to be in a place where she could understand it.

"I see," Penny nodded. "I understand," she then added with a hiccup.

Glancing her way, Winter shook her head. "I'm sorry, that wasn't clear at all. You can ask me to clarify if I'm not making sense to you," she offered. Many times before, she'd encouraged Penny to talk things out with her if she failed to understand, but some inhibition evidently remained. "I had a dream that agitated me such that I couldn't sleep anymore," Winter vaguely explained.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"It wasn't, but… it didn't sit well with me," she admitted. "It's nothing to concern yourself over. It's simply that it feels like the final straw, adding to a lot of other stressful things I have had a lot on my mind; Weiss's unknown whereabouts, my preparing to take over after Fria, concerns that her declining health may not allow her to pass her powers to me naturally, the never-ending list of to-do for the Amity tower, the recent coup on Haven, anguish over awaiting further news from Argus… and these… political events, at which our presence just seems completely unnecessary..."

Penny cocked her head inquisitively, her ginger hair bouncing lightly as she walked in step with Winter. "I thought you may have liked them since you made a friend."

The white-haired soldier abruptly stopped. "What friend?" She asked, knowing full well what would come next.

"Robyn Hill!" Penny exclaimed. "Isn't she your friend?"

Her throat tightened. Winter found herself unable to deny it the way she would've wished. "What makes you believe that she's my friend?" she instead asked.

"Well, you looked so happy to see her last evening," the redhead explained. "And you never talk to anyone, but you've been talking to her a lot."

At a loss, Winter stared at her companion. "I looked happy?"

"Unquestionably! Excited, even!"

Had it been anyone else saying this, Winter would've rolled her eyes and dismissed it, but… Penny could pick up micro-expressions, muscle tension, and a panoply of other cues unavailable to human eyes. Which meant that Penny had factually read excitement in Winter's features. It didn't matter how Winter had tried reasoning with herself that she should be chasing Robyn away, and it didn't matter that she had done her best not to bask in or let herself enjoy the attention that Robyn insisted on giving her. None of that mattered because those had been efforts that Winter had made to repress what was there, and Penny saw what was in fact there, beyond the attempt at self-control.

"You noticed that I looked excited to see her…" she repeated in dispirited resignation and, as Winter tried to wrap her mind around it, she suddenly became very aware that micro-expressions weren't the only thing that Penny could have picked up on. "Did you see that in my expression, or was there something else?"

"Oh, I noticed that in your expression," Penny beamed. "But I did notice other things!" She added, manifestly delighted to have the opportunity to get into it. "Rise in heart rate and body temperature, dilation of pupils, faint activation of sweat glands, change in voice pitch," she enumerated, counting on her fingers. "I meant to ask Dad about that, but since we're here, you can explain!"

Her head was spinning; how betrayed by her body she felt was beyond words. "They are… things that may happen with stronger emotions," she carefully explained, completely astounded with what fluctuations Penny's systems could detect on the human body. "Anger, embarrassment, excitement, just to name a few, might produce some of those changes."

"Oh, I see," Penny nodded attentively. "So it was excitement? That your friend was there?"

Winter cleared her throat uncomfortably. "It's… something like that," she managed, her voice more or less steady. She wasn't very inclined to explain that this specific grouping of biological reactions were unambiguously caused by attraction, but knowing that Penny could detect it so incontrovertibly… Winter couldn't help taking the opportunity to find out; "What about… her?" She awkwardly inquired. "Does Miss Hill have any... similar… physiological changes? Around me?"

"Yes, she does!" The redhead unabashedly confirmed. "She's also excited to see you!"

Having expected that answer didn't make it any less flustering, and Winter felt the blood rush to her face; she knew she'd reddened, and her head felt light. She hadn't needed this unequivocal confirmation from Penny's readings; Winter had known from the very first time that Robyn had looked her way that Robyn was attracted to her, and even if she hadn't seen it in her gaze… Robyn had verged upon the matter more than once. It still felt different to have this tangible proof. Winter braced herself with a mental slap; sure, it was absolutely certain that Robyn's attraction to her was real, but it didn't discount that Robyn's enterprise may still be an attempt at obtaining classified information, she reminded herself.

"Are you okay, Winter? Your temperature suddenly rose by point forty-six degrees."

"I'm fine," she rapidly waved off, recovering some of her cool. "Listen, Penny," she closed in, lowering her voice even though no one else was around, "could you please do me a favor and keep all this to yourself?"

However puzzled she appeared, Penny nevertheless nodded. "I think I understand," she said. "The General also told you not to make friends?"

Hearing this, Winter had to pause; she blinked rapidly in confusion. Since Penny had been rebuilt, she hadn't been assigned a new team, and the students who had masqueraded as her team during the Vytal Tournament had gone off to other missions all over Remnant. But being almost permanently on Atlas Academy grounds, it wouldn't have been too hard for Penny to develop friendship with some of the students, the way she had when she'd wandered Beacon's ground and had befriended Weiss and her team. "...Is that what he told you? That it's better for you not to make friends?"

"Yes," Penny answered. "He said that there was no time for that."

Did this mean that Penny had been alone outside of her associations with the Ace Ops? Then it was no wonder that she flocked to her whenever she had free time. Winter's gaze remained on the innocent redhead. The General had good reasons for all he did, and if he had come to believe that Penny shouldn't invest her time in building rapports with students, he must have thought it through, Winter decided. "...He simply doesn't want you distracted," she rationalized. "There will be ample time for personal relationships once we've weathered the worst."

"I see," Penny nodded, following Winter to the gym area. "Is this why you want to keep it a secret that you made a friend?"

"No, it's… friendships aren't an issue. The problem is with Miss Hill specifically."

"Why?" She questioned inquisitively; her features then suddenly set in a grave manner. "Is she a bad person?"

Winter shook her head faintly. "That's not it. I believe she's in fact a very good person," she confided, plopping down on a floor mat. "But. She isn't exactly sympathetic to the Atlesian military. The policies she's proposing are in direct opposition to what we need at the moment," Winter explained, placing herself into a hurdler stretch. "She's bad news for us; I shouldn't be warming up to her."

Penny sank to her knees to be on a similar eye-level as she watched her stretch. "So... you're doing something wrong?" She asked hesitantly.

Giving a hum as she switched legs, Winter glanced at her companion. "I wouldn't say wrong per se, but it is ill-advised," she conceded, meeting the vivacious green eyes. "I'm trying to remain professional, but Miss Hill is awfully charming, and I can't help being…" Winter exhaled a little shakily, trying to decide on how to phrase it. "I can't help being somewhat fond of her." With this she moved both legs under her, preparing for her next position. "It's a delicate situation, and I would rather it not be advertised."

"I see." The redhead answered. She nodded earnestly. "I understand! I will keep quiet."

"Thank you," Winter said gently. Eager to change topics, she gave Penny a light smile. "Onto a more worthwhile topic; you start your solo patrols in Mantle on Monday. How are you feeling about it? Do you feel ready?"

Penny lit up with enthusiasm. "I'm nervous but excited! It will be my first unaccompanied assignment! I will be fully independent!"

---

Winter's cool blue eyes bore into the back of the woman's head.

Almost every night she'd been having those dreams, and she had mulled them over more than she was comfortable with. Beyond pondering over how much significance she should grant them, Winter had caught herself incessantly speculating over how close to reality those recurring dreams might be. Things like… what did Robyn's body actually look like under all those layers she wore, or would Robyn be as assertive as her mind's eye insisted on painting her? It had all brought her to a place where she had been equally dreading seeing Robyn again… and impatiently anticipating this evening. She couldn't believe she would ever be looking forward to an event like this one, and even less how adolescently her mind was gallivanting.

Nevertheless, Winter's attention was locked inflexibly on her, as she'd been unable to stop herself from doing over the course of the last weeks. But unlike how she would usually fixate on Robyn's features, observing her expressions and mannerisms, that evening Winter couldn't help how her gaze wandered. Her incessant fantasizing raised the same questions again and again, and their constant reiteration coerced her into trying to elucidate some of them. Robyn's huntress gear consisted of four layers of clothing and two belts; a total of six layers; effective against the cold, and also effectively hiding her waistline. It was impossible to tell if the woman had a pronounced hourglass figure or if she had a strong, thick core. It was easier to gauge the size of her chest; none of these layers could camouflage it. Nor were they hiding her broad shoulders or the substantial muscle mass in her arms. She might have been a politician, but she certainly wasn't a defenceless citizen, and Atlas Academy records corroborated that; Robyn had graduated with honors. She had chosen the hard work to be done in Mantle over the cozy position in the military. It wasn't a scenario unfamiliar to Winter; she could have been wallowing in a nauseatingly luxurious lifestyle had she taken her birthright.

Hours ticked away until quite late in the evening, yet Winter was still alone. Robyn had made eye contact a few times throughout the event, but had somehow gotten lost in the crowd. Some guests had started leaving and Winter found that she was fretting over whether or not the Mantle representative might have lost interest in her. The prospect of going back to solitary never-ending soirées left her embarrassingly despondent.

Dwelling on this, Winter noticed an unmoving presence at her side. She didn't need to look to know who might've rooted themselves at her side this way.

"Took you long enough," Winter griped in her best detached voice.

"Were you waiting for me?" Robyn's smile was evident in her tone.

Her face warmed. "I expected you, it's not the same," she corrected.

"I've gotten predictable?"

"You're anything but predictable."

"I'm at least this predictable," Robyn disputed, laughing. "We both know I wouldn't have gone the evening without making time for you."

"I didn't know. The novelty might have worn off, and you could have remained with the people you were actually here to see," Winter explained.

"Were you fretting over that?" The rugged blonde posed, unknowingly hitting a bullseye. "You don't have to worry about that, I'm not gonna bail on my only friend here."

"We're not friends," Winter instantly countered.

Robyn snorted, ever-amused. "How defensive," she remarked light-heartedly. "Either way. It's comforting to have company who equally dislikes these events."

Winter felt the same, but she refrained from commenting on that. Her lack of repartee might also have stemmed from being taken off guard by Robyn calling her presence comforting, of all things. Aside from Weiss, she couldn't think of the last time someone might have felt that way about her presence. Discreetly, she glanced over at her counterpart.

Robyn seemed temporarily engrossed with the glass she held. With a twist of her wrist, she made the beverage in her glass swirl, watching the liquid sway. The ice had long melted, diluting the untouched drink to a pale color. As she sometimes would, she poured the contents of her glass in a nearby potted plant and, as a waiter passed by, she exchanged her empty glass for a full one. Resuming her position, she came aware of Winter having watched the entire thing.

"I prefer to keep my mind clear, so I never drink at events like these," Robyn kindly offered, finally elucidating a behavior that Winter had refused to ask about. "But… I also don't want any of them to be on their guard, so I'd rather they think I'm drinking as much as they are. Hence, cycling these," she finished, raising her fresh glass.

That was a clever strategy; Winter almost smiled. "Hmm."

Robyn gasped. "Was that a pleased hum?"

"I suppose," she admitted.

"So you approve of at least one thing about me," she playfully said. "I'd toast to that, but it's not like either of us will drink."

"Indeed."

"Maybe we can toast together when you're not on duty," Robyn proposed with a wink. "Come down to Mantle one of these days, I'm easy to find."

Winter willed herself not to address the invitation. "I don't drink," she said instead.

Robyn looked surprised. "Ever?"

"Ever."

"Why not?"

Discussing this was rapidly making her feel testy. "I just don't."

"Is it 'cause you're always on duty?"

"I'm not."

"So are you allergic to fun?"

"I don't equate alcohol with fun," Winter snapped aggrievedly. Thanks to one too many wretched childhood memories, the very idea of getting inebriated revolted her. "The sloppiness and disarray of intoxication is repugnant," she acrimoniously added.

There was a short silence, as Robyn evidently considered the immoderate bitterness in what she'd said. Winter could feel the other woman's gaze on her, she deliberately kept her own somewhere far off, on other guests. How she hated when her temper slipped; that it had just now made her mood even fouler.

Robyn watched her cautiously. "One glass isn't an entire bottle," she calmly reasoned.

Winter's features set further in discontentment and she felt her jaw set; if she said anything more at this point, she would regret it. Unpleasant memories pushed their way to the surface despite her best efforts to dismiss them, and Winter's gaze was strenuously fixed to the crowd in front of her.

Exhaling a disheartened sort of short sigh, Robyn moved herself from her side to directly in front of Winter. Because of the height difference, Winter was forced to raise her gaze to Robyn's face in order to not be staring at her chest. For once, there was no trace of amusement on the blonde's features, her eyes holding an empathetic gleam. "You're gonna scare them if you keep glaring like that," she said, bringing her back to the present moment and allowing her to realize that she had started spiralling. "Breathe."

How close Robyn stood cast a shadow over her and created a sense of privacy, a temporary seclusion from the bustling around them. Winter closed her eyes for the length of a deep breath and re-centered herself.

"...Better?"

"Yes," she murmured, still shaking off how taut she'd gotten and more importantly… trying to digest how disquieted she was that Robyn de-escalated her mood so quickly, quietly, and effectively.

After lingering a few extra seconds, Robyn moved to her side again. Her tone was genuinely sympathetic as she asked; "Was that about your mom?"

Winter opted not to answer. As her mother sank further into her addiction, she had stopped attending public events altogether, and though the extent of her problem may not have been widely known to the public, she had made a fool of herself enough times at social gatherings for everyone to be somewhat aware of the situation.

Her silence was telling enough for Robyn; "I see," she softly said. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Winter rasped, hating that there was still some strain to her voice.

"For pushing it," the blonde offered. "And not realizing any sooner. Sometimes I don't know where to stop when I get curious."

Ruing herself for being so transparent, she shrugged uncomfortably. "I'd rather we leave that alone," she frankly said. "I left it all behind when I enrolled."

"Hmm. You said something like that before," Robyn noted, "when you were saying that money hadn't been the solution to any of your problems and all."

Hearing that, Winter was at once brought back to the conversation they'd been having before Clover had interrupted, and how Robyn had been narrowing to what tangible chemistry there was between them. Her hands clasped behind her back tightened over each other, anticipating this conversation might also be heading there.

"Seems to be a common theme with this generation of Schnees, huh? Your sister also didn't seem to care enough about the money to listen to your dad," Robyn instead said, kindly opting not to put Winter through another tense exchange so soon. The blonde took a second to collect some hors d'oeuvre from the platter of waiting staff passing by. She also got rid of her drink completely. "I'm guessing you two have a close relationship? Seeing as she's taken a page or two from your book and then outdid you spectacularly… I get the feeling that you two were joined at the hip."

What that was meant to refer to —electing to train at a Huntsman academy, defying their father, or doing away with their heirdom— Winter didn't know. She might have paved the way, but Weiss had indeed outdone her on all accounts with the grandiosity of how much further away from the social expectations that their name had burdened them with she had diverged.

"We didn't have that sort of symbiotic camaraderie because of our age difference," Winter said. In childhood and early teenage years, six years was too big of a gap for the sort of closeness that Robyn had described. "But we have a satisfactory relationship."

"Satisfactory…" she repeated. "So not the best even with her, huh?"

"Weiss is the person I care for most in the world."

Robyn's eyebrows shot up; "That's not just 'satisfactory'," she rejoined, now smiling. "It's sweet. You're actually pretty close then."

"I don't know about close. Between the age difference and our family situation, most of our lives, Weiss has looked up to me as a role model," Winter explained. She thankfully hadn't had to assume the role of a caretaker to her siblings, there had been Klein and many other domestics to meet those needs, but she had felt the pressure to grow up fast and model the best behavior she could in order to contrast their parents'. "I've… done what I can to set a good example and encourage her the best I know how."

"So she's a mini-you?"

"There was a time where she tried," Winter acknowledged, remembering countless instances in which her sister had tried to emulate her; fom basing her weapon off of Winter's to attempting to mimic her frosty façade. "But she's long outgrown that phase; Weiss is indubitably her own person," she added. Talking about her had Winter grow nostalgic; it was almost despite herself that she continued. "Unlike me, Weiss is… foolhardy, messy, defiant… and also… vibrant, gregarious, open-minded, and really caring," Winter sighed; she missed her.

"You really love her," Robyn noted, her eyes holding a glimmer of affection. "I'd be curious to meet her."

Said glimmer left Winter somewhat troubled. She knew it likely wasn't affection towards her, that the warmth in Robyn's eyes was from enjoying the wholesomeness of the way she spoke of her sister, but still. "Don't count on it," she said more defensively than she intended.

"If you're worried I'd be a bad influence on her, I swear to be on my best behaviour."

"Bad influence or not, Weiss is evidently fully capable of getting herself in trouble all on her own," she muttered glumly. "Either way, she's not even on this continent."

"I heard about that," the blonde chirped.

"Everyone heard about that," Winter griped. "Disappearing such, without a trace."

"Without a trace?" Robyn repeated in surprise. "Even you don't know where she is?"

"She left shortly before I made it back to Atlas. With the status of global communications, there's no reaching her." If Weiss still had been somewhere on Solitas, she would still have been in range; Winter would have been able to ensure she was safe. "If I could, I'd be out there tracking her in person," Winter admitted.

"What do you mean, if you could? You don't seem to be that busy, you've been at parties like these for the last two months," Robyn pointed out. "I mean, no complaints, I love having the opportunity to make friends with you."

"We're not friends," Winter interjected, though claiming that after the very personal bit of conversation about her family felt like a lie.

"Sure, whatever, the point is, you don't look busy at all. What's keeping you?"

Something that couldn't begin to be explained. "My presence in Atlas is imperative," Winter instead summarized. "I simply have to trust that Weiss can take care of herself until I'm in a position to leave the city."

"So… you're not busy, but you can't leave." Robyn thought out loud. "Which means you're on standby, just like the rest of the military." With the borders closed, the dust embargo, and their entire firepower stationed around the city since the Fall of Beacon, it wasn't hard to deduce this, and it wasn't hard to jump to the next logical conclusion. "You guys really think that after Beacon and Haven, something will happen here too, huh?"

"We don't know," Winter said, although they were certain that there would be an attempt on Atlas. What they didn't know was when. "Until we find out more, we're not taking chances."

"Is that also why dust shipments have started being confiscated?" Robyn promptly inquired. "Thanks to the General's dust embargo, exports stopped. So why would anyone need this much dust?" She questioned, getting visibly agitated.

Glancing her way, a frown developed on Winter's features. This felt similar to what happened earlier, as Robyn had mentioned that she had a hard time stopping once she was onto something. Unlike earlier however, this fed into a narrative that Winter had suspected was the actual purpose for the other woman's persistence with her. Disillusionment started to creep in.

"And as if that wasn't suspicious enough," Robyn continued, "you guys are hoarding supplies that could be used to repair Mantle's perimeter wall. And I've heard from all sorts of manufacturers that custom parts are being special-ordered," she established, broadcasting some of the findings she'd gathered. Robyn stared at her point blank. "Seems to me like you guys are doing something beyond just 'not taking chances'."

She should have known. Yes, Winter had tried to remind herself that this was likely what Robyn's masquerade was all about, but deep down she hadn't been able to convince herself of it. How cheated she felt allowed her to grasp this, and how crestfallen she was forced her to realize how much she'd wanted Robyn to be genuinely into her. "It goes without saying that we wouldn't idly wait for an attack," Winter uttered discontentedly. "Stop this. You're wasting your breath."

The blonde didn't seem deterred in the slightest. "I'll find out sooner or later."

Everyone will when Amity is launched and Salem is revealed to the world, Winter thought. And now that she'd convinced herself that the other woman was playing her, she really wanted to be alone. "You've finally shown your true colors."

"What?"

"You've been circling me feigning other motives, but you want information."

"Of course I want information, everyone does," Robyn snapped back, annoyingly frankly. "Everyone's talking about it, you gotta know that, right? Since the news of the attack on Haven a few days ago, even those sleazy, self-involved clowns, they're speculating and they're worried." Her deep purple eyes were unfalteringly locked with the pale blue ones as she earnestly defended her case. "Come on, Schnee. I'd have to be a moron to think you'd just chat away intel; people like you don't get to be high-ranking officials by being sloppy with state secrets. That's not what I'm doing here."

Winter didn't want to let herself be convinced so easily, but Robyn seemed completely genuine and what she'd argued was sensible. "You said you'd find out sooner or later," she pointed out.

"Yeah, I will," Robyn confidently shot back. "But I'm not expecting to find that out from you."

Winter squinted one eye dubiously. "So?"

"So, I truly haven't been circling you for any other reason than: I like chatting you up, you're interesting."

"It's not the only reason," Winter disputed.

"True," Robyn acknowledged, her smile suddenly stretching her lips again, "it's also because you're really easy on the eyes."

Her face fell— how cheeky! Winter opened her mouth, but she didn't know what she wanted to say to that, so she closed it again. Her heart suddenly thumped so hard that she could feel it in her fingertips, and she could feel herself redden by the second.

Robyn laughed. "Chill, I'm teasing you."

Being thrown from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other had something snap inside of her, and Winter fully turned to face her. "You're not teasing me, you're testing me," she accused under her breath.

Robyn evidently didn't expect to be called out on it, she looked genuinely intrigued. "Why do you say that?"

Winter glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. "This isn't idle talk, it isn't mere teasing," she fumed quietly. "You're prodding to find out if I'm… if I'm receptive."

Robyn didn't lower her voice at all. "Ah, so you believe me? That it's about that and not your connections or intel?"

"I don't know what to believe," Winter admitted, assessing her cautiously. "You must know how absurd an endeavour like this one would be, so how could you be serious?" With this, she again scanned their surroundings, ensuring they hadn't caught anyone's attention. "And what makes you believe I'd even think of indulging this… this whim?"

"...For one, I've made my intentions clear enough and you still haven't shot me down," Robyn pointed out. "Doesn't that mean there's something there?"

Winter wished she'd have been able to stare her square in the eye and vehemently affirm that she wanted nothing to do with her, but she couldn't bring herself to so blatantly lie when they both knew Robyn was right. "You should leave," she instead said, uncomfortably resuming her military stance.

"What?" Robyn laughed. "I'm not done."

"I am."

"I think we should talk about it."

"I don't want to."

Robyn gave her a disingenuous wounded puppy look. "You're hurting my feelings."

"Good," Winter hissed.

"Is that how you treat every woman you've got a crush on?"

Disbelief slacked Winter's features as she gaped at her. Heat flared in her cheeks as the blood rushed to her face so fast it made her dizzy.

"What?" Robyn's lips slowly stretched into that unnerving cocky smirk. "Don't you?"

Even had she been able to find her voice, Winter wouldn't have known how to answer. She couldn't believe the audacity, and she couldn't gather herself.

That brazen grin only widened. "You're really obvious about it, you know."

It had her blood reach a boiling point. "Drop it," Winter warned lowly, much more threateningly than she intended.

Her impishness abruptly doused, Robyn uncertainly stared down at her. It looked like she was trying to gauge how seriously she should take that warning, but all in all, she was clearly intimidated. Ultimately, she opted to concede. "Fine," Robyn puffed, crossing her arms. "I'll leave it alone for now."

With how agitated she'd gotten, Winter wasn't cross to have a second to retrieve her composure. Having had an inkling that Robyn knew she fancied her was one thing, but having it out in the open was another. It definitely felt a more vulnerable position to be in. She glanced at her quickly; Robyn might've desisted from the topic but not from keeping Winter company, as she was still rooted at her side.

Not one to remain silent very long, Robyn's attention had already wandered to another topic of conversation. "Oh hey, your other friend is here today," she chimed, designating Penny with a gesture of her hand.

Other? It took a second for her to realize Robyn was calling herself her friend again.

"Hey, Penny," Robyn called, before Winter could object. "Penny, come chat with us for a second," she invited, beckoning for the redhead to join them with a motion of her hand.

As prompted, she approached them. "Robyn Hill." Penny looked like a deer in headlights. "Salutations."

"Salutations," Robyn answered, evidently amused with the greeting. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

"To me?" Penny unsurely glanced over at Winter, and it didn't take long for the white warrior to understand that the hesitancy was due to the conversation they'd had earlier that week. Penny was apprehensive about socializing with Robyn because Winter had called it 'ill-advised'.

"Yes, you," the tan blonde encouraged. "Since you and the ice queen here are such good buddies, it made me curious about you," she then explained.

"Oh, I see," Penny perked up; she looked really happy with the interest. "And have you and Winter become 'good buddies' too?" She asked, air-quoting with her fingers.

"First name basis huh? Sorta jealous," Robyn commented, meeting the pale blue eyes for a fleeting moment. "She says we're not, I say we are, agree to disagree for now."

"I haven't agreed to disagree about anything," Winter interjected.

"Yeah, well if you're gonna be like that, maybe I'll be Penny's friend then," Robyn casually threw back.

The range of emotions that passed on Penny's features told Winter exactly what had gone through her head; excitement at the idea of making a friend, remembering Winter's caution about befriending Robyn specifically, followed by a dire attempt at containing herself. "Inadvisable," Penny finally managed.

"Why's that?" Robyn inquired, though she didn't look surprised. The redhead was the equivalent of a Special Operative after all, and most of the reasons why befriending Winter would be impolitic for the Mantle champion similarly applied to Penny. But the blonde seemed hellbent on throwing caution to the wind. "You're Mantle's Protector and I'm from Mantle. Shouldn't we be at least a little friendly?"

"That is irrefutable logic," Penny admitted. "But Winter said…" she trailed off, glancing at her eyes wide.

"That she wants to keep me all to herself?" Robyn winked at her, and again, before Winter could object, she turned back to Penny. "By the way, while we're on the topic: 'Protector of Mantle', what's that supposed to be?"

"Are you inquiring about my tasks?" Penny clarified, earning herself a short nod. "The primary aim is rapid response to Grimm breaching the outer perimeter walls. A subordinate yet nonetheless important objective is to keep the peace, and to do so with a less intrusive presence than the Knight patrols," she explained with pride. "I've been adjusting to my new tasks with an accompaniment, but starting next week, I will be doing solo rounds."

The Mantle representative looked somewhat impressed. "You'll be fine without any help?"

"Affirmative!" The redhead exclaimed. "And, I can respond even faster on my own; I can respond at any time of the day or night as I am unburdened by biological necessities. And I can fly there with more ease than a team responding with a ship."

"Makes sense," Robyn acquiesced. Her arms crossed, she looked her up and down swiftly, quite obviously still trying to make up her mind about her. "So I'll be seeing a lot more of you going around in Mantle, won't I?"

"Yes!" Penny smiled a little wider. "Though my father prefers residing in Mantle, I haven't gone out on my own very much. I look forward to being better acquainted with the city!"

"Your father?"

"Dr. Polendina," Winter clarified. "One of the greatest minds in Atlas."

"A scientist," Robyn reflected out loud. "Of course… it's not like you would've come out of an egg."

"An egg—oh that's a joke about my origin," Penny giggled, smiling from ear to ear, "that's funn—" she abruptly stopped, as she caught herself in her amusement. Again, she stared at Robyn with eyes wide as saucers. "I should go!" She declared, promptly doing so.

Watching her escape through the crowd, the tall blonde was a little stumped. "She looked… stressed," Robyn commented, disconcerted. "She really does have emotions, huh?"

"I told you her aura is real; she has a soul," Winter matter-of-factly rejoined. "She's nothing like the Knights or Paladins."

"Huh, so she's not," Robyn pensively said. Finally, she detached her eyes from the still visible ginger antennae and turned to Winter again. "So what's got her so wired up?"

"Talking to you," Winter indifferently explained. "She's too nice to be unfriendly."

This seemed to amuse the blonde tremendously. "What, is she also trying to be a mini-you?"

She rolled her eyes, though the idea of Penny attempting to emulate her did amuse Winter. "That's not it," she nevertheless admitted. "While she evidently enjoyed conversing with you, she was conflicted about it. After she asked about your… insistent lingering in my vicinity, I was forced to explain why neither she nor I should be friendly with you."

"Should," Robyn repeated, nudging Winter with her elbow.

She pursed her lips, choosing to ignore the camaraderie in that gesture. "Are you implying that my behavior is friendly?"

"Yep," Robyn shot back. "Look at you, having full-on conversations with me. If that's not friendly behavior for you…" A buzzing noise distracted her from her train of thought, and Robyn reached for her scroll on the inside of her vest. The face of a young-looking sheep faunus was displayed on the screen next to a message notification.

As Robyn busied herself reading it and answering her teammate, Winter's gaze drifted from the lit up scroll to the woman's features. For someone so frustratingly good-looking, Robyn didn't seem to be too aware of it. Or at least, she didn't rely on that to make people like her, what with her overlooking dressing up for the occasion, opting for no makeup, and her messy ponytail. Now that Winter was closely observing it though, that tousled ponytail made her hair look somewhat coarse from afar, but the pale blonde bangs falling against her cheekbones looked bouncy and supple. Winter wondered if it was because Robyn simply neglected to brush the hair she tied back, and how different it may look if she'd allow someone to give it a proper comb through.

It was stupid, but Winter itched to fix it. If the way her bangs framed her face was any indication of how that mane might sit on her shoulders once properly tamed, it would look stunning. The pale platinum blonde had a warm undertone to it that complimented gorgeously the rich color of her complexion—which was just another thing that Winter couldn't help admiring. Her own skin was so pale that the blue of her veins easily showed through, sometimes almost eerily so; in comparison, Robyn's bronzed skin looked radiant and healthy.

"Do I have something on my face?" Robyn asked.

Snapping out of it, Winter tore her gaze away. She had to stop behaving like an infatuated fool.

"What were you staring at, so longingly?" The tall blonde teasingly insisted.

"Keep dreaming," Winter muttered defensively, though she'd been fully gawking for no other reason than an irrepressible urge to do so.

Robyn was unruffled from her ever-amused disposition. "I don't think I dreamt that up."

Not in the mood for another round of embarrassment, Winter opted to remind her: "You said you'd leave it alone."

"I did," Robyn conceded, "sorry about that."

Though she said that, she hardly looked sorry at all, and Winter absolutely expected her to bring it all up again, sooner rather than later at that. So she pursed her lips, noncommittally scowling at her.

"Don't give me that look," Robyn laughed. With this, she quickly motioned to her scroll as she put it away. "I've got to go. You don't want me to leave on that note, now do you?"

As if such a lukewarm glare would ever discourage Robyn from approaching her again. "Does it matter?"

"To me it does," she frankly said. "I don't know how many more of these events I'll be attending; I think I've gained as much as I could with these people, so it won't be worth coming anymore," Robyn explained. "Might be a while before I see you again."

Hearing this, all traces of crossness melted off her features, taken away by the sense of loss that washed over her. Winter had gotten so used to having the monotony of her week broken up by this irresistible troublemaker, she felt genuinely abandoned at the prospect of returning to her solitude.

"Don't look so disappointed, you'll make me feel bad," Robyn ruefully shot with a light chuckle. "But hey, the offer still stands if you want to—... well, not toast together, but... you know. The drinks are just an excuse for friends to get together."

Her 'we're not friends' quip died in her throat as she realized that she was already calculating how and when she would be able to see Robyn again.

The dashing blonde smiled that oh-so-charming smile of hers. "I'd love to see you when you're not on duty," she said. "I'm not hard to find, so drop by when you have some time off, huh?"

"I can't do that," Winter said, incredulous.

"Sure you can," Robyn assuredly shot back. "I'll make sure you don't regret it."

-TBC