Weiss Schnee regarded the makeup products before her as if they'd done her a personal wrong.
That was illogical, she knew. Makeup was just a tool. It had no purpose or agency of its own. It was no more good or bad than the hands that wielded it.
The thought didn't help. It didn't touch how she felt.
She was aware that she was externalizing. It was a bad habit of hers. Feeling uncertain and nervous about your situation? Focus on the shortcomings of others. Can't meet your own standard of perfection? Something or someone cheated you.
Don't know what image you want to present to the world? That awful, useless makeup is to blame.
Her eyes drifted upwards from the vanity, taking in her own image in the mirror, and she wondered why she didn't like it more. Her dress was beautiful, the loveliest money could buy. She was objectively pretty: porcelain-fair skin, appealing features, striking eyes—
Her gaze halted and her thoughts faltered.
That scar, though… was not 'objectively pretty'. Which meant she wasn't.
Was that why Neptune had…?
She ejected that thought from her mind, but she still felt it, lurking beneath the surface and clawing at her heart. She'd lost something, that day back in Atlas. The scar was more than skin-deep.
She raised her hand towards the ruined flesh, traced it down her face. The motion wasn't a habit; with her ironclad Schnee self-discipline, she'd kept herself free of any such tics. She was aware of what she was doing. She was aware of the scar.
It shouldn't have been there. The fight with the Arma Gigas had been going so well, and she'd indulged the notion that it wasn't such a big deal after all. Then its fist had come around quicker than she'd expected, with so much power behind it her aura hadn't been able to contain the blow. Then she'd needed the last dregs of that same aura to finish the battle, leaving none available to heal the wound properly.
The scar was a reminder of her flaws. Of her carelessness. She hated it for that. She hated how unavoidable it was, how on display it was. A Schnee needed to be perfect. The scar showed she wasn't.
She traced it again, top to bottom, finger skipping across her eye. She imagined her finger was like a tear falling from the eye, rather than the blood that had actually dripped there. What an absurd image. She hadn't genuinely cried in years. Crying was pauper behavior, her father had scoffed. Indulging your sorrows when there was work to be done? The poor were poor for a reason, he'd always said.
He'd also said she'd never make it on her own… yet here she was.
If Weiss wasn't just a Schnee, if she was more than a name—if she was someone who could become a Huntress on her own strength, and not on her family's standing—wasn't the scar proof? Wasn't it a declaration that she had faced danger, that she had earned her way here? Her father always insisted on seeing receipts. Weiss' were worn on her face.
Imperfect, but here. That's what Weiss was, right?
Well… in a general sense, she supposed. Not right this moment. Right this moment, she was supposed to be preparing for the Vytal Ball, not loitering in a bathroom. Yang, no doubt, was wondering where she was. Weiss could imagine Yang getting irritated that Weiss wasn't holding up her share of the work. What a slacker, she was.
Yang would probably punish Weiss by smuggling in a fog machine.
Yet here Weiss was, still staring at her reflection, as if it held the answers.
Weiss' lips pursed. It did not make her reflection look prettier.
Weiss felt a touch of despair, rising higher the longer she lingered. Even so simple a thing as leaving her father's house had left her permanently disfigured. What would the cost of freedom be?
Stupid scar. Stupid feelings about her scar. Why couldn't it just be one thing? Why did it have to be complicated?
Well. If it was complicated, best get it out of the way. Some out of the way, at least.
Grabbing at the makeup at last, she began to powder down her scar. If she couldn't be rid of the thing, she'd obscure it. She'd minimize it. She'd…
"Yang's looking for you!"
The voice came almost before the bathroom door banged open. Without warning Weiss' vision was full of Ruby. "Stop doing that!" she protested, warding the younger girl off.
"What?" asked Ruby, nonplussed.
Weiss took a breath to steady herself. Ruby seemed to alternate between fading into the background and being right in Weiss' face, with little in-between. If there was one place Weiss didn't want Ruby at a time like this, it was in her face. "Just clear out for a few minutes," Weiss said. "Let me finish getting ready."
Ruby's eyes flicked over the scene. "You need privacy to do your makeup?"
"I would appreciate some, yes," Weiss said.
Ruby leaned closer, giving Weiss the opposite of privacy. "You're trying to cover up your scar?"
"No," Weiss retorted instinctively. She didn't need to see Ruby's skeptical look before she winced. The only powdering she'd gotten done was in the area of her scar, which just created more contrast with her otherwise pale face. "Maybe," she amended.
Ruby scoffed. "Why?"
"I thought I asked you to leave," said Weiss, but Ruby still didn't, and Weiss gave up hope that she would. "Since you insist… I have complicated feelings about my scar. It is… complicated." Complicated enough to thwart Weiss' otherwise varied vocabulary, she thought with a cringe.
She could see Ruby trying to wrap her head around this. The girl's head cocked slightly as she blinked, looking puppy-like for a moment. "Why would you hide it, though? It's awesome, and it means you're awesome."
Weiss frowned; a mixture of fear and anger swelled up inside of her. "How do you know that? I never told you how I got this."
"You will when you're ready," said Ruby with unflappable certainty. It would have been infuriating if it weren't so sincere. "I know it's a great story."
"Don't be so sure," Weiss mumbled.
"Oh, right!" said Ruby brightly. "You don't know!"
"Don't know what?" said Weiss indignantly. The idea of Ruby knowing something she didn't…
"You weren't raised by Huntsmen," Ruby said, matter-of-fact as you please. "How many scars have you seen up in Atlas?"
Scars? Inside that bubble of safety, idealized beauty, and unlimited plastic surgery budgets? A world where people wore white gloves to signal that they were literally above labor and danger? "None."
"Sounds boring," said Ruby. "Yang and I, we lived around Huntsmen our whole lives. They have a different take on scars."
"Do they?" said Weiss testily.
"They say scars are cool," said Ruby. She was as undeterred as ever by Weiss' temper, and had edged closer to get a clearer look at Weiss' reflection. "They say, you know a Huntress has really been doing it if they have scars. Every scar has a story, and a Huntress who tells you the story must like you."
Weiss hmphed. "Well, I certainly won't be telling you my story, then."
Ruby rolled right along. "Being a Huntress is so dangerous that if you take a hit bad enough to scar you, most of the time you don't walk away. If you get scarred and survive the fight, you must be really stubborn, and strong, and hardcore."
Ruby was standing next to Weiss now, close enough to feel alongside. They were looking at each other's reflection in the mirror, seeing eye-to-eye via the glass. "Huntsmen dig scars," Ruby said, more quietly.
Weiss swallowed. It was harder than she'd expected. "Do they?"
"Totally," Ruby said reassuringly. "Back at Signal, kids would get these crazy ideas in their heads about scarring themselves to look good. Dad was always having to break 'em up before they hurt themselves."
Scars… looking good. It was hard for Weiss to handle the notion. It kept slipping through her fingers. She would have thought it all a joke, but there was no hint of that in Ruby's face. She was, as ever, painfully open and bright.
Weiss gathered herself. "You're saying you think the scar makes me look prettier?"
"To a Huntsman," Ruby said with a nod. "Which means this is the right place for you to be!"
"Well, I knew that," said Weiss, trying for flippant in pure self-defense.
It didn't deflect Ruby, and Weiss was beginning to wonder if anything could. "Uncle Qrow always said, a gal with a scar must be one bad mother!"
Having heard tales of this 'Qrow', Weiss strongly doubted those were his exact words. That thought, though, was a distant one, because Ruby's eyes had drifted to Weiss' scar, and lingered there. Weiss felt exposed, open before that gaze. Self-discipline kept her in place, but her insides writhed.
Yet Ruby's face didn't look like others' had when they looked at her scar. Her gaze was not an Atlesian gaze. There was no hint of horror, revulsion, distaste, pity… none of that. There was only intrigue, and maybe a hint of admiration.
Ruby looked away from the mirror; Weiss suddenly remembered about breathing. She blinked twice, and saw Ruby putting the powder away. "Don't hide your scar," she admonished gently, before turning to face Weiss directly and making Weiss feel, if anything, even more naked than before. "I think it's your best feature."
And now Weiss felt like she was gripped by the same metal fist that had scarred her in the first place.
"Ruby Rose," she said determinedly, even though it felt like her mouth was full of ashes, "are you… flirting with me?"
At that, Ruby flinched. She blinked rapidly. "What? No! Of course not. I mean… uh… yeah. You didn't know, so… I told you! Right."
Weiss nodded, which was surprisingly easy; she felt light-headed, and her ears were full of buzzing. "Right. Of course."
Ruby took a step backwards, wobbling uncertainly on unfamiliar high-heels. "Oh! And my sister—Yang—you know she's Yang—she was looking for you! So… now you know!"
And she was out the door in a flurry of rose petals.
Weiss shook her head, as if trying to clear it after whatever had just happened. She wasn't sure she could put a name to it. All she knew was that her heart was galloping, and she felt a strange warmth in her chest, and she didn't hate her scar as much.
She looked in the mirror again. She saw her reflection smile slightly.
One bad mother.
It was laughable for someone to self-censor that much, yet, somehow, for Ruby it worked. The point still got across. Against all odds, it took root.
Weiss righted her posture. Chin up. Back straight. Shoulders slightly back. There she was. There was Weiss Schnee, scar and all.
Maybe she wasn't objectively beautiful after all. But she was subjectively beautiful to the people who mattered. To them, she wasn't beautiful in spite of the scar, but because of the scar. The people who couldn't see that? Well, who cared what they thought!
If Neptune couldn't see that, he was a fool. He didn't know what he was missing. She'd stick with the people who could.
Her heartrate didn't slow as her thoughts drifted.
The people who could…
Next time: Bite the Hand