Her life had moved so fast before. She lived her years at a breakneck pace and never gave herself a chance to relax and be a kid. So quickly she joined the school that taught her to be the Warrior she was, ending what little hope she had of ever having a childhood. A life. But now, eighteen years in, she finally was able to stop. Not that it was her choice to do so, but the stop came nonetheless.
Of the roughly 4000 restaurants in Argus, about half served some kind of seafood. Of those restaurants, nearly all served a dish cioppino. It was something of an Argus specialty, unique to the city and surrounding region.
Cioppino is a seafood stew, usually consisting of whatever happens to be the catch of the day in Argus combined with a tomato and wine sauce. Sometimes it was just fish, sometimes it was shellfish. The dish didn't discriminate against any protein so long as it came from the sea.
Every chef and homecook in Argus had their own way to prepare the dish that they swear is the right way. Some swore the protein choice was the key to the perfect cioppino. Some swore the secret was in the sauce and the wine that was used. Some swore it was the choice of bread that went in and some would say it was just about the company you ate with.
Weiss had yet to find a version yet that she didn't like, though she did perhaps have a bit of preference for those that were more shellfish focused. Restaurants and dives across the city had become used to the presence of the heiress as she continued her adventure through the city's cuisine.
It had all started after one day when she happened upon a dive a short distance from the Cotta-Arc household and she had her first experience with what would grow to become her favorite dish. Her obsession had taken her, methodically so, to every place in the city that served the dish.
Though whether that obsession grew from genuine enjoyment or just from a need of any obsessions, Weiss did not feel very keen to determine.
Weiss found herself justifying every order after a time. This one was saltier than the last. No wine in the sauce this time. This sauce was thicker. This dish is more soup-like. Haddock in this. Mussels only here. Scallops? Fun choice, that! Salmon? Maybe not her first choice.
Saphron and Terra had been so briefly excited by Weiss' absences from her room. It filled them with joy to see her finally venturing forth from her cave of unfolded clothes and unwashed mugs. After some time though, they began to ask her questions.
Questions! Was a leave not what they asked for before? Was she not fulfilling their wishes by going out as she did? Why should she answer to them anyway?
Because they granted her personal asylum, of course.
Rhetorical questions aside, Weiss found herself confused by their insistence that she actually return to the house. To spend more time there. 'But why?' she often wondered. She was out! She was enjoying things! Making friends, even, with the service workers of Argus. Sometimes.
Was this not the healthy hobby they poked and prodded her to find? Did the culinary arts and their appreciation not befit the Cotta-Arc ideals of how to spend your time?
Of course all this barrage of thoughts came to Weiss as she leaned over the bowl with spoon in hand. Her frustrations boiled away inside her, so she sought distraction in a meal meant to be boiled.
This one was creamier than some others; savory more so than some. The bitter aftertaste of wine chased the tender mussels that she peeled from their shells and chewed thoughtfully. She paired shellfish with stock and picked at soft vegetables until the bowl sat empty.
There was a small revelation that she found at the bottom of the bowl. Weiss wondered if Saphron and Terra were simply worried her activity wasn't as productive as others. Not as creative or active as other things.
As she sat there, alone in that dive, scraping the remaining sauce from the sides of the bowl with some soggy fries, Weiss had an idea.
The cold had left, at some point, it seemed. Steam rose from the moss covered ground, flooding the air with a murky, wet cloud that clung to the Warrior's skin.
At the edges of the town- was it a town? The Warrior seemed to recall it being something like that. No matter what the borders used to hold within, outside them sat a great wall of white. A snow storm raged and drowned the skies in a deep, icy white that gave her a strange pang of nostalgia as she looked at it.
The Warrior didn't recall caring for winter all that much. She didn't recall much at all.
Her back ached, protesting the sudden decision to turn to such physical work after spending so long slinging knives and cutting fish. The fisherman's brother had fallen ill recently, a 'brain fog' he called it, so Blake had offered to help in the offloadings until he was well again.
Today's catch was tuna, a very large fish with very sharp fins. A decent size tuna would be longer than Blake could stretch her arms out and likely almost as heavy as her. But for as much of a chore it was to unload them, the growling in Blake's stomach told her it would be worth it.
A sharp pain in her hand brought pause to her work. There was a tear in her glove where a fin sliced through all the way to her hand. She cursed as she removed the dirty glove from the wound, careful not to bleed on the fish. The fisherman saw the cut and told her to call it a day and that he'd finish up for them both.
Blake apologized to the fisherman and strode across the docks with her hand wrapped up in a white handkerchief. Blood quickly soaked through through the cloth, turning it a dark crimson.
The sun was beginning to set for the evening and the merchants were moving about the docks while they shut down their stands for the day. Further up the shore, the lights of restaurants and bars still glowed brightly as people from the city and the merchants themselves partook in dinner and liquid repasts.
On a normal night, Blake would spend time among the people, with merchants and kind patrons offering her a place on their tabs when she grew hungry or thirsty. But with the extra chore of helping the fisherman, she'd been spending less time doing so. Not every customer or bartender thought as fondly as Blake did of the smell of dead aquatics.
Lucky for her, rumors of her blades in the dark carried further than she even needed to go. The story and threat of the dark vigilante had been doing more to keep ne'er do wells at bay than she ever did. And even more lucky was that the merchants thought the stories to be as true as she, and so the gifts and gratitudes never stopped coming to her.
But while Blake's corner of the docks that she shared with the butcher was dark, a sterling white flash outside her stand caught her eye.
Smothered in a heavy blue parka with shining white hair hanging loose down to nearly her knees, was none other than Weiss Schnee. The shivering heiress was rapping her knuckles the glass the shielded Blake's butcher block, peering back into her stand.
As Blake neared her stand and her friend, she could see the woman's breath fogging the glass as she leaned against the case and stared in at the fish still nestled in the ice within.
Blake moved silently through the inky black shadows that cast long across the docks by the setting sun, until she was right behind Weiss. The fur of the heiress' parka hood tickled her chin as she craned her neck over her shoulder and whispered in her ear. "Boo."
The noise that Weiss made just then was not one that Blake had ever heard before. The noise she made was one that Blake never knew how much she wanted to hear.
Blake did little to hide her smirk as she watched Weiss clutch at her chest from the scare. "Yours is not a face I ever expected to see in a place like this."
Weiss, half breathless and half shivering, said, "I don't know what would give you that idea. You must know I settle for nothing but the best. You must also know that this fish butcher comes highly recommended. Though the service is lacking so far ..."
Blake chuckled. "The term is actually 'fishmonger' and I happen to have on good word that she is currently nursing a hand injury. So you'll have to excuse the lackluster service."
Weiss furrowed her brows, evidently confused by Blake's words until she noticed the dripping red cloth wrapped around Blake's hand.
"If you want," Blake said, "you can come wait inside while I clean up."
Weiss hesitated to follow Blake, looking around for…something. Blake didn't know what her trepidation was, but she did understand. It had been nearly half a year since they'd spoken. As she dipped into the back of the stand, she left the door cracked open and unlocked.
The sinks and dishwashers sat silent and dry, as Blake and the butcher did their cleaning earlier that day. Directly across from the entrance was another door that Blake went through, flicking on the light as she did.
It was little bigger than a closet, with just enough room for a futon and a nice chair for reading. Blake turned on the lamp next to the chair and kicked on the space heater by the messy futon. She might have made a half attempt to make the bed, but her white sheets would probably disagree with her bleeding hand.
Blake squeezed into the tiny bathroom and set to cleaning her wound. The cut had stopped bleeding so heavily on her walk over, but given that a dirty fin was what made the cut, Blake was sure to disinfect. The bottle of rubbing alcohol by the sink was half empty already as she spun the cap off and poured it over the cut. She winced as it foamed over her hand, not that it wasn't a feeling she was well used to. With haste she rinsed the wound out and wrapped a sloppy bandage over it before stepping back out into her living space.
From the doorway to the bathroom, Blake stood for a moment and watched as Weiss Schnee slid the parka off her shoulders and kicked her boots off. She didn't notice Blake watching her yet, as she was preoccupied with scooting the heater closer to her and hanging her feet over the glowing orange coil contained within.
She thought several things as she stood there watching Weiss. Her hair was in rare form being left loose to pool around her on Blake's bed. The silvery white strands glistened in the dim lamplight like glass. Weiss' sleeves clung tight her arms, making apparent that it was an older shirt that Weiss had brought with her to Argus. Blake knew Weiss to be an avid fitness junkie and careful with her diet, but now she sat there with plump limbs and a soft cheeks, in stark contrast to the thin heiress of the past.
Blake thought to stay there, just watching Weiss exist there in her room. After all, she'd let herself be convinced that she'd never see such a sight again. That it was an occurance of days past and that it was for best it never did happen again. And yet here she was, having invited Weiss into her room willingly with the barely hidden hope that the heiress would accept.
Weiss caught Blake's form out of the corner of her eye and turned to her with red cheeks. Whether it was from the cold or something else, Blake didn't let herself speculate. Weiss cleared her throat awkwardly.
"Sorry it's not much," Blake said, "but you wouldn't believe how cheap the rent is."
"I think it's… cozy."
Blake chuckled as she took a seat on the chair across from the futon. "You don't have to pretend to like it. I don't really like it myself, but it is convenient."
"Yes..." Weiss said slowly. "So you're a….fishmonger? Is that really the term for it?"
Blake nodded.
"How did you…?"
"The butcher…" Blake considered her words. "The butcher was looking for help and offered an opportunity early on. It was a favor that turned into employment for me. Really it was more like an apprenticeship."
"And are you happy here?"
Blake didn't have an answer for that. Yes, she was happy for a purpose and a warm bed. No, she wasn't happy to be alone. Instead of sharing those thoughts she said, "it could be worse."
Weiss nodded and the two sat in silence for a few minutes. Neither woman felt the need to do anything for time except be in each other's presence. Blake nearly jumped when Weiss finally spoke up.
"Are you okay?"
Blake could see in Weiss' eyes that that question was as much herself as it was for Blake. It was a question like a dam holding back all the other's she wanted to ask instead.
Blake answered with a question of her own. "Are you?"
"No."
That was an honesty that Blake hadn't expected.
"At least I don't think so," Weiss said. "I... I haven't had an incident in several months, so that is good. I think. But…"
"But you feel guilty?"
Weiss shook her head, "I think that's the worst part. Am I so selfish to think I'm more lonely than I am guilty?"
"No. I feel the same."
"But you must be more used to it than me," Weiss said.
Blake felt a hint of anger build up inside her, but she fought it back when she saw the look of regret on Weiss' face. It wouldn't be fair, she thought, to lash out at Weiss. After all, they were both in more or less the same boat. Also: Weiss was not wrong.
"Sorry," Weiss said.
"It's fine."
"Do you…" Weiss hesitated. "Have you heard anything from…"
"Nothing," Blake said. "I don't know if she has a way to reach out even if she wants to."
Weiss was silent for a moment before she spoke. "So... is the fishmonger well enough again to, uh, mong some fish?"
"That is not even close to being right," Blake said with a chuckle. "What would you like?"
Weiss stayed in Blake's room while she went out to prepare a package for her. Blake had been saving several cuts for herself, but decided to give them to the heiress instead. She was just finishing up when Weiss emerged from the back, hidden inside her bulky coat again.
"You're just in time," Blake said. "If you're squeamish, that is. I just finished monging the fish."
Weiss smiled at the joke, sending a warm jolt of some kind of feeling through Blake. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a fancy red wallet.
"Oh," Blake said, "this is on me."
Weiss frowned. "No, I can't do that. Please."
"I'm serious, Weiss. If you have to justify it, just call it repayment for all those times I didn't come to visit."
"Blake," Weiss said, "you know I can afford it. I want to pay-"
"Then you can pay for dinner some other time," Blake said before Weiss could finish. "Call it an I.O.U."
Weiss looked like she wanted to object, but instead she just sighed as she tucked her wallet away. "Fine," she said. "But I will pay next time, got it?"
Blake nodded. "Although next time, we should meet elsewhere. The docks aren't the safest at night."
"Oh?" Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Do you not think I can protect myself from the common criminal?"
"It's not you I'm worried about."
Weiss wore a smug smile as she took the package of fish from Blake. "You know," she said, "if you want to come over, I am making dinner tomorrow. Seafood dinner. In case you couldn't tell."
"I'd assumed as much."
Weiss twisted her hair about her finger, red from the cold. "If you can't make it- If you don't want to come, I guess-"
"I don't," Blake said.
Weiss nodded. She pulled her hand from hair and stuffed it back into her pocket. With a curt nod to Blake, she started to walk away.
Blake called out, "but if you promise not to fight any locals, I'd take some leftovers if you don't mind the trip."
Weiss slowed, but didn't stop. She simply turned her head so Blake could see the smirk on her lips as she walked away.
And Blake did see the smirk. She hadn't ever imagined she'd find herself missing Weiss Schnee as much as she did then.
She had to keep her wits about her. Careful not to let the mold that hung her clothes heavy on her back distract her. The moss lands grew, but even still the Man in Green lurked ever closer.
The other man had not made it through the first night. Or was it the second? Had it even been more than one night?
The Green One had taken swings at her before with rusted blades, but she had been able to fend him off so far. A rusted red rifle had been left with her by someone, so she kept it on her to keep the Green One away. He was relentless though, coming more and more often as time went on.
She had to be careful not to let him distract her. After all, she remembered that a Warrior was somewhere out there with her too.
Weiss cut herself while chopping vegetables. Blood ran red through the creases in her fingers. She cursed under breath so as not to startle Terra, who was mashing tomatoes to a paste.
Excusing herself from the kitchen, Weiss retreated to the restroom to clean the wound. The blood swirled in the sink as she ran her hand under the faucet. It was clean cut from a freshly sharpened knife, but it still stung as cold water flushed it clean.
Weiss moved to grab bandages from the cabinet, but the sight of the blood sinking down the drain gave her pause. Deep crimson moving so fast in the porcelain, circling around and around over a backdrop of stark white. Sinking and vanishing down a dark hole, never to be seen again.
She couldn't place the feeling, but something about it gave her a sense of deja vu. Curious as it was, she thought not to let mind linger on it too long.