Chapter 31
"Eventful," would have been an appropriate moniker for the events of that night.
Adam was dead, McGarnagle in custody, a terrorist attack had befallen Atlas, Mr. S had been accused - and then immediately acquitted - of abetting that attack, and then, after everything, the night was capped off by an event so monumental that it overshadowed completely all of those previous considerations.
Mr. S got to eat.
They'd almost started packing the food away when he rushed into the garden, belaying the order to clean up as he went to the tables. It surprised him, how naturally the food came to be in his mouth. There was no great thought or special intention in his movements; he just ate, having long ago discarded any capacity for reverence.
"Mmmm, this is a good burger," Mr. S nodded through the mouthful of food he'd never stopped chewing.
And what a good burger it was, and what a good cucumber it was! What good food it was!
Slowly, he could feel his humanity returning to him as he took in the calories. His stomach filled with a comfortable sensation, and his heart started to beat properly as the blur of tunnel-vision induced arrhythmia cleared out of his head. He felt his breaths coming easier.
Schwarz, standing beside him, hardly noticed the departure from form.
"Uh, sir…" she began, hesitant to broach the topic.
"Yesh?" Mr. S didn't look away from the table as he stuffed down another mouthful of food.
"Off the record, just between us, uh… did you know about the attack?" she asked, almost wincing at his answer.
"What?" Mr. S turned an expressive incredulity onto her. "No! Of course not."
And Schwarz believed him.
Many others in Atlas, however, did not.
As promised, Camilla had made the proclamation of his innocence the following morning on public radio. "We have found no reason to believe SCHNEE CORP had any knowledge of, or connection to, the attack," she'd said, standing behind a podium so assaulted by camera flashes it was glowing, and looking all the time like she was reading off a hostage script.
And, still - would you believe it? - the people of Atlas did not believe.
So, it was perhaps with little surprise that, when the sun rose over Atlas that morning, Mr. S woke up to the serenade of threats the angry mob chanted outside.
"Down with Schnee! Down with Schnee!" They could be heard yelling over the garden walls, and through the speakers of the TV which hung - flipped out from the hidden auspices of the bedroom's south wall - just above the cabinet mirror.
Mr. S had of course volunteered to donate money to the rebuilding project. He'd even promised, on behalf of SCHNEE Corp, to finance the repair commission under very low interest rates.
They should have been grateful!
Mr. S had much to learn about mobs, however.
For one, people are far less amenable to charity when they think that the person donating stole it from them in the first place. Really - It's almost worse than not donating, in a way. Because, it's one thing to be stolen from; but it's a vastly different thing to be stolen from and then to have - some - of that money be returned while wrapped inside of a tax-deductible fig-leaf.
And, switching channels, there was another issue to deal with as well, because, while the city was refusing to investigate, the Board had taken it upon themselves to host a "private review" of his actions. He was told that he'd have to attend it in a few days, once all of the relevant parties had been assembled.
Probably - actually, no, definitely - they were going to attempt to screw with him now that the stock was rising.
And, looking at the stock, which had deflated from its night-time high, Mr. S noticed that it was now hovering just below the level he needed it to be in order not to be fired.
Of course, it was only barely below mark, and he had six months to get it together, but it was worrying for another reason. Because, from what he'd seen, the stock hadn't gone down for any discernible cause. He still had a temporary monopoly of Atlas dust, after all. So, upon looking into the cause of the depression, Mr. S noticed the rather large stock movements that had been incurred by the board just before the price dipped. Namely, he noticed that the board had loosed just-enough of their personal stock to depress the value just-enough to keep him in the metaphorical red.
"Schwarz?" he asked as he leaned over the edge of his bed, tying his shoe. "How much would the stock need to rise in order to insure against any of the board's tampering?"
Sieben had taken his eclectically scheduled day off, and Schwarz - now designated as his replacement - had, for customary reasons, elected to stay outside until Mr. S had finished dressing. And now that he was up to his shoes, Schwarz stood off the foot of his bed, looking straight away at the south wall.
"Are you asking about a situation in which they'd sell all their stock?"
"Yes, imagine a worst case scenario," Mr. S said fancifully.
"Um, I suppose - in order to keep up with projections - it would need to rise forty percent from it's current post, sir," Schwarz said, running the numbers.
Yeah, that wasn't happening, Mr. S acknowledged.
"I've got my shoes on, now," Mr. S said, standing up and allowing Schwarz to turn to face him with a relieved sigh.
"Oh, good, uh-"
"Down with Schnee! Down with Schnee!" A sudden spike in the outraged uproar on television came, full-broadcast, into their conversation.
On the screen, a large croud projected itself as it crowded around the gates of a large building with a Schnee insignia.
This protest, Mr. S could see, was actually non-local. It was a gathered group of faunus picketing outside of his Vale headquarters. He could tell the city by the fragmented stonework and charred artillery shadows.
"Uh, yes, I was going to ask how you'd like for us to deal with the protests?" Schwarz said, cringing. "The people, particularly in Minstel, are... asking for a strategy. Things over there seem… hectic."
The channel switched over to another scene, in Minstel, where a shirtless woman waved a banner over her head as she stood atop the hood of a car, who's trunk was smashed into the walls of a dust refinery. The image took Mr. S by surprise, because he was sure that the dust refinery actually belonged to the Greens. He guessed that the crowd had mistaken it for one of his. Popular discourse guessed that the crowd was made up of Schnee agents.
Upon review, this entire situation had brought him to the brink of jail, didn't help him at all with the stock situation, and now was forcing him to deal with world wide protests and public censure. Mr. S, as he contemplated the overabundance of issues that were flooding over him, as he saw the absolutely monstrous image of him that now pervaded the worldwide media, as he thought about the terrifying levels of control the board held over the stock, realized that... he felt pretty great!
Actually, forget great, he felt amazing! Because today was a new day! A gift of a new day, with fresh air, freely available, and cleanly delivered into his lungs; and he was about to have breakfast!
How? You may wonder, confused. How can he possibly deign to eat breakfast?
Well, rest your Machiavellian hearts, and remember that last night was not all tragedy. Despite everything, there had been one bit of good news: Adam was dead! And the leave restrictions was lifted! Mr. S could eat out! He could eat out! No one can poison fast food! It's like a portable wedding!
This was the greatest day of his life!
This was the worst day of McGarnagle's life!
Not only had he embarrassed himself back at the Schnee Manor, but he was also-
"You're fired, McGarnagle! You're fired!" Chief vermillion shouted for the fifth time. "Turn in your badge, turn in your card, turn in your licence to kill, because you are fired!" He chewed angrily on the thick cigar that hung off of his lips, pacing back and forth across the entrance with blazing infernos for eyes. "Oh, I should have you arrested for this, McGarnagle! Arrested! Do you have any idea what you've cost this force with your antics, McGarnagle! Do you!"
McGarnagle sat quietly in the visitors chair, facing away from the pacing chief and staring ahead at the empty chair ahead of him. "Enlighten me," he said, a bored tone taking his lips.
"Oh, you just don't stop! I like you, McGarnagle, you're the best damn son'of'a bitch detective I've ever seen! You've thwarted more crimes than Argamesh himself! But that doesn't matter, now, McGarnagle! Because your carrier's dead! You've slit its throat from ear to ear! You've jeopardized everything I've done to get something like a cooperative relationship between this force and Atlas! Do you have any idea how much you've set us back? Do you have any care for how many-"
"I'm tired," McGarnage said.
"What!?"
"You talk a lot about rules… procedure. But I sometimes wonder how much that's worth to you."
"You'd better-!"
"I'm already fired, chief. Why not let me say what's been on my mind all these years? Who knows, it might actually help you to turn this simmering shithole around."
Chief vermillion, starting to look a lot like his name sake, and on the verge of setting his cigar aflame, was not afforded the opportunity for rebuttal.
"You're a good officer, Chief. I heard you did great things back when you were on the force, but you're not great anymore, you're cowardly. You talk big about protecting the force, but you're not protecting anything but it's paycheck. You tell me about hard necessities, and purpose, but it seems you've never learned about the hard necessities of justice. I knew Schnee wouldn't be getting off with anything but a light sentence, and I worked to stop it. I failed, and accept that I no longer have a place here, but don't stand there waiting for an apology like I'm an untrained dog."
"Oh..." Vermillion was shaking; having taken his cigar deftly in between his fingertips, clouds of ash were now flaking onto the floor from where the object - an undefined remnant - was crushed and burning into his smouldering grip, "you bastard!" he exploded, throwing the puffy remnant of his cigar. "You're fired! You heard me, fired! Turn in your badge! You-"
"You've already said that," McGarnagle, for the first time, revealed the clipped and senseless quality to his voice.
Vermillion was too busy seething to notice. "Ohh, just you wait, McGarnagle! Just you wait! You can forget about a good reference after this show! You'll be lucky to get a job as a night guard in a spotlight factory after I'm through-"
"Excuse me!" A jolly voice interrupted!
Vermillion, not recognizing the tone and voice, turned to see, peeking beyond the office door he'd just propped open, the upper half of Mister Schnee.
"Is this Cheif Vermillion's office!?" he asked.
"Uh, of course, yes!" Vermillion cheered. "McGarnagle, please leave us," he gestured with a hand, talking all polite like.
"Oh, that won't be necessary. I only need a moment," Mr. S said, walking into the room, held in one hand a bouquet of flowers, and in the other hand a half-eaten box of chocolates. "Besides, I'd been hoping to find McGarnagle. He's actually the one I've come to see."
"Really?"
"Yes," Mr. S said, and turned seriously to the sitting figure, who'd now turned slightly in place to face him. "I wanted to ask, you were the one who… subdued, Adam, correct?"
"Yes," McGarnagle's voice came, eminently hostile.
"Well, I just wanted to come and thank you personally," Mr. S said, speaking with the most reverential of tones.
McGarnagle was silent, and unsurprised. Gloating was not a foreign character to Mister Schnee.
Humility, however, was.
"I also wanted to apologize."
Chief vermillion, in the middle of lighting his second Cigar, paused - staring, wide eyed, at the man as he held the flaming lighter inches away from his face. His eyes were now taken with a far more literal flame, as the fire light reflected off of his impossibly surprised pupils.
McGarnagle was silent.
"I know we hardly know each other. In fact, last night was probably our first real conversation, but, still, I was embarrassed that you might come away with a bad view of me because of it. And, while I don't expect you to forgive me, I just wanted to come here and let you know how much respect I hold for the Atlas police force," he nodded at Vermillion, "and for brave officers like you who keep our city safe. And, I, in particular, have actually benefited greately from your heroic actions." Mr. S nearly welled up at this, thinking of the food mart he'd just been to. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to come to me."
Mr. S started to leave, when Vermillion called.
"Wait!"
Mr. S turned.
"Yes?"
Vermillion meant to ask, "was that a joke?" but soon recalled the instinct, instead, saying:
"Uh… McGarnagle was… right now we were just in the process of…"
"Oh, I certainly hope you weren't planning on transferring him!" Mr. S said.
"Uh… no."
"Good, we need men like him in this city. I expect to see great things from McGarnagle, chief, and great things from the police force! Have a nice day!"
And Mr. S left; and, like someone who'd cheated himself out of object permanence classes, chief Vermillion was left wondering if he'd ever been there in the first place. So shocked was he, that not once had he made a move to take the lighter away from his face.
It was, eventually, McGarnagle that broke the silence when, just as quietly as always, and not looking away from the wall ahead, he asked:
"So, will I still need to turn in my badge?"
Several hours earlier, Mr. S was standing atop the landing fields which crisscrossed the high roof of the Schnee manor, in the process of commandeering a shuttle for a personal jaunt into the city.
In his hand, were the perfect list of operable restaurants for him to visit. He had it all figured out, today, he'd go to the food mart, and from then he'd follow a random pattern algorithm to choose his next mark. They'd never be able to guess which restaurant he'd go to!
He was also wearing darker clothes than normal, along with a blue, formal hat - a small, though effective, attempt to not be noticed out in the city.
Because Adam was dead, and food was out there, and he couldn't wait to get out of here!
Weiss, meanwhile - also wearing dark clothes - and with bags stuffed hurriedly under her arms, dragged her tired friends about like a line of school children as she ran out onto the rooftop looking for a personal shuttle - because Adam was dead, and freedom was out there, and she couldn't wait to get out of here.
Their arrivals coincide by several minutes, resulting in their cohabitation of the airfield when, at dock-dawn of the morning, the first and only shuttle came down for a gentle landing.
In the cockpit, union work seemed to find its mascot in the irreverent auspices of the lady within.
She sat alone in the pilot's chair, a co-pilot in the chair next to her, speaking easily out of the large, rolled down, window that faced them.
"Last shuttle to Atlas!" she droned in a plaintive, uncaring voice. "Last shuttle to Atlas!"
"What do you mean 'last Shuttle?'" Weiss demanded, standing in line behind Schwarz and Mr. S, "it's only morning!" There, she pointed at the sun in explanation.
"We had to work overtime last night to shuttle the guests in," the lady explained. "Regs say we've got to put them in for inspection every four hundred miles, and I'm at 385." She tapped the dashboard of the machine solidly.
"What!" Weiss yelled desperately. "Are you saying there isn't going to be another shuttle out of here until tomorrow?"
"If you're lucky," the pilot said. "Mechanics say it might be up to a week, depending."
Here Weiss, distastefully, turned a compromising look onto Mr. S who, without a care in the world, had taken the back seat of the shuttle, still visible through the wide doors which opened into it. "Can't you go wherever you're going on foot? Our flight is in 5 minutes."
Weiss directed the question mainly at Schwarz, but it was Mr. S who answered, pointing a finger at the grassy knoll just beyond the main gate of the castle, where the surrounding two acres of parkland were overflowing with protesters.
"What do we want!" the lead yelled.
"Retribution!" the crowd yelled with discordant chaos!
"When are we leaving!?"
"Never!"
"Yeahhh, they're gonna be there a while!" the pilot noted, gesturing to the varied camping equipment they carried among themselves.
"You can take the shuttle with us, though," Mr. S offered.
"Where are you going?" Weiss asked.
"The consumer district."
"What! The port is in Mantle! The nearest tether point there ends in tundra! We'll never make it in time!"
"Yeah, and the guy who's piloting that shuttle is a real stickler for time, too," the lady drawled. "Kind of annoying, but he is the only guy we have that's certified to fly the Vale path during grimm season. Too bad he's taking a vacation tomorrow, though."
"How long until he gets back!?" Weiss demanded.
"Eh, about a week. Give or take. If you're in a hurry to get to Vale, you could connect through Mantle, of course, that-"
"The whole reason we're going to Vale, is so we can connect to Mantle!"
The pilot mulled that bit of knowledge over, eventually nodding. "Yeah, that makes sense. They are having a war on the Atlas-Mantel path, after all."
"Can't you go to the airport!?" Weiss begged, looking mainly at Schwarz again.
"Hey, I'm only authorised to make one trip there, and one trip back, no detours." the pilot called back.
"We only have security allowance for a two hour trip." Schwarz was adamant.
Weiss was about to scream when Mr. S, in his infinite magnanimity, decided to help. Hey, why not, - he thought - he was having a good day.
"Actually, how about we take you to the consumer district, and I'll have you chartered to go to Vale on a dust caravan? There's one leaving in several hours, after all."
Weiss had been surprised when he'd allowed her to switch back to her original school so easily, and her surprise, surprisingly, didn't lessen as the incongruities piled on.
She looked suspiciously over at Mr. S.
"What do you mean? Civilians aren't allowed on dust shipments."
"I'll put in a good word for you," Mr. S said simply.
"And, what do you want?" Weiss asked.
'Nothing!' Mr. S almost said.
Instead, he paused as the question drew some ideas in him.
"I'd like for you to spend the day with me," Mr. S said.
"What!? What could you possibly want that for?"
"Well, you are leaving Atlas, and we probably won't see each-other for several years."
"Yes? And?" Weiss said, looking very confused.
"Well, I'd like to spend some time with you before that happens."
"Ha! And what if I say no!?" Weiss said, very sure of herself.
"Then you won't leaving for vale until next week," Mr. S said, very much in control of the negotiations.
Of course, he really didn't care much about spending time with her. And, under most circumstances, wouldn't have pushed the matter; but, Mr. S, recalling his true mission now that the hunger had dissipated, remembered something that Mr. Schnee had told him.
"Very well," Mr. Schnee said at last, regret and obligation piling equally heavily on the words.
Painfully, with a ponderous turn of intent and expression, Mister Schnee passed himself against that charachter once more, which was now almost glowing with the imperious reality of its presence.
"I… have a secret," Mister Schnee said, calm and pausing for a dead moment, carefully considering his limited supply of words, "It's… something I regret doing, but that I can't possibly regret the consequences of."
That, he deduced, was not a lot to go on.
And he didn't expect spending several hours with Weiss would get him any nearer to finding it, either; but he had to try! Knowing that secret was the key to unlocking Mr. Schnee's stone prison, and therefore the key to getting someone who knew what they were talking about in the captain's seat!
All he knew was that Mr. Schnee regretted something, and while that only narrowed it down to everything about his entire life, he still couldn't pass up the opportunity to pick the brain of his most estranged daughter.
And, that most estranged daughter, he noticed, seemed to grow a little less estranged and a lot more wrathful as she sucked a breath in between her teeth, grit her jaws, and threw her luggage into the far wall of the cabin as she stomped her way in, walking past him and into the far recesses of the back seats.
Presently, the shuttle departed, and was soon a shadowy bead against the crimson sky.
Back at the port, with an excellent view of the distant shuttle, Winter sprinted out onto the roof. There, she doubled over with a hand at her side, huffing.
Looking with a concerned expression at the shuttle, and then back at the displayed schedule, she felt the strength of her voice stolen by her breathlessness as she fell into a deeper crouch and yelled: "Damn it!"
The back line of seats on the shuttle, Mr. S had gathered, were about twelve feet away from where he'd been sitting. So, he found it interesting that Weiss, while distant, never strayed further than those twelve feet once they'd stepped out of the shuttle. Mr. S didn't mind it much, and her friends, particularly that Ruby character, seemed to warm up to him as they went on their adventure. In particular, he found himself playing the part of an impromptu tour guide to the girl.
And, the first thing he showed her?
Why, the local restaurant, of course! Fulfilled, Mr. S walked out of the place with a content smile on his face, thinking better of mankind. In fact, he even started to reconsider his recent actions, particularly those he'd taken during the more extreme depths of his hunger. Yeah… he'd pretty much acted like an asshole after the McGarnagle revelation, he admitted to himself. And, you know, the conviction suddenly came to him, he ought to apologize! Yeah, that McGarnagle guy was just doing his job. That was no reason to call him a fool and recite Shakespeare in front of him! And, so, taking a quick detour, Mr. S did just that.
As he walked out of the police department and stepped out of the snow-covered streets once more, however - he did so, unaware of the cross-hairs that had been trained onto him.
Mr. S, in consideration of the dust palace incident, was not a popular figure at the moment. Everywhere, his face had been painted in unflattering colors.
In the scope, his face was a small familiar spot of features in the high magnification of the scope, and his image bobbed around against the targeter as Scorpa synchronized her breathes to his stride, leveling the errors of her motion as, with every breath, she bobbed the black cross in an increasingly precise parabola just around his head.
Taking another inhalation, and steadying the rhythm of her spark, she tightened her grip on the trigger, readying to exhale, and readying to fire when… she noticed something, in the precipice of her tunnel vision. Blinking her eye, she turned her attention there to the dark figure that shadowed Mr. S. She was a serious woman, with coal dark hair, and midnight eyes that sparkled against her warming skin - and she was looking at her... directly at her. The woman's eyes seemed to bore into Scorpia's eyes through the scope, and then they weren't anymore, suddenly, when a hard impact sent Scorpa tumbling onto her side.
Her rifle, she could feel, and hear, went falling down the chilly precipice of the building below.
Meanwhile, above her, a pink colored girl with a sugary outfit was digging a toe into her throat.
"Yes! That's four for me!" She cheered into her scroll, waiting a moment to hear the subdued response of the other lines. "Oh, and you're totally under arrest, by the way!" she said, turning her attention briefly back to Scorpia.
"Wha- who-"
"Oh, we're just Mr. Schnee's personal security forces, best that money can hire, you know, that sort of thing," she said, turning her hand aimlessly as if gossiping about some inconsequential topic. "Not that this is about the money for me, by the way," she hastily corrected. "I mean, I really care about this job. You know? It's like, I don't like to fail. Schwarz doesn't hire people who aren't committed!" She puffed her chest out slightly, hitting a fist onto her shoulder in martial pride. "It's just that I get so tired of having to give that speech to everyone I catch! Every time, its: 'Ahh! Who are you!?'" she mimed the voice with a fearful raise of her hands, "and I'm like 'we're his secret security force, duh!' I mean, why else did we catch you?"
"I-"
"Also, I'm supposed to tell you that you have a right to remain silent. Technically, we're not police, but anything you say to us can be used as a witness statement." Pressing a finger into her earpiece suddenly, the woman turned aside, speaking into thin air. "Yes, I told her she could remain silent! Stop yelling!" Turning into an annoyed tone of voice. "Yeah, so, you're totally going to jail, though. Of course, your public charges will be different because, duh, we have to remain secret, and we couldn't do that if we were on the news for stopping you. But, yeah, you still have a trial, so I wouldn't start admitting to any other crimes you may or may not have committed."
The woman paused her tirade suddenly, whipping her head to the side like a dog in front of a squirrel.
Deep in thought, she paused a moment before hastily returning her attention.
"Actually," she turned down to look at the woman, "tell me, do you think 'Pinks'; is a good nickname? My name's Pinkamena, but everyone calls me Pinks, and I'm not tooootallly sure if they're doing that to make fun of me in a good way, or to make fun of me in a friendly way. Like, I always thought Pinkamena-"
Never had Scorpia felt more punished for her crimes.
Mr. S, meanwhile, had never felt so great!
With his recent ability to eat, and his recent decision to apologize, he'd conquered both the physical, and moral hungers that had plagued him!
Yeah, he wasn't saying he was Gandhi... but he was basically Gandhi.
Heck, with these recent accomplishments, he was basically already halfway to saving the world. Whatever that meant.
Turning aside mid stride, Mr. S noticed Schwarz didn't seem to be in it. She stepped easily past a wandering child, her eyes, all the time, glaring off to a distant point off to the side.
"Schwarz, you alright?"
"Oh," she turned back to him with an extreme smile. "I'm fine. I was just… getting some reports about some minor troubles in the area."
"Nothing too bad, I hope."
"Nothing that couldn't be handled." Schwarz said, talking to him in that tone of voice which stated that he really didn't need to know.
And, so he endavored to know less, and to continue the guided tour of Atlas he'd been giving RWBY. Granted, he didn't know much about Atlas, so the tour consisted, mainly, of reading out whatever street signs he could catch a glimpse of. He did, however, find very little trouble recognizing the primary Schnee - currently Green - palace, despite the fact that it no longer had a sign indicating it as such.
"And, that, there, is the former Primary Schnee Palace," Mr. S said, pointing at the giant crater in the ground, as well as the various work crews and earth movers that tip-toed about it. The interior of the bowl, already covered in scaffolding, was half-filled with snow and ice-puddles from the remnants of last nights's snow storm.
"Oooooh!" Ruby said, with impressed overtones, taking a snapshot with her scroll. Yang stood a bit off to the side, while Weiss and Blake followed behind, dejected like a line of convicted ducklings.
"And that there is main-street," he said, pointing off to an iced over street sign that read "Main Street",
"Aaaaah!" Ruby said, raising her scroll up to eye level and snapping another picture.
And, Mr. S, struggling, looked around at the icy wasteland surrounding him and searched for something notable. The sun, having only just risen, and taking its time about it, worked to turn every bit of ice in the land into a a wet, and extremely slippery, bit of ice. Truly, Atlas mornings were shit.
Of course the engineers had planned for this, and the entire city was lined with space heaters for the more common public areas. Space heaters with were mostly inoperative due to the sudden explosion. Everywhere, there was ice, and determined work crews trying to repair the heater damage.
Everywhere, that was, except just several hundred yards in front, where a semi circle of freshly exposed tundra grass indicated operational space heaters.
"And that!" he said, pointing off to a clearing in the far distance, "is the carnival!"
In there, beyond the wall of colorful tents, a gigantic bustle of people could be heard chattering, as half the city seemed drawn there for the convience of warming their feet.
"Huh!" Ruby breathed in with a baited gasp, looking over at Mr. S, and then at the carnival, before looking back over at Mr. S again. "Can We?" her expression seemed to ask.
"At the end of our tour!" Mr. S said, hoping to prolong his interaction with Weiss, despite the disspointly mute stance she'd taken for most of the morning. "First, I'll show you the precipice. It's just next to the carnival, actually! I think they built the attraction there so the Ferris wheel would have a good view."
"The precipice?" Ruby asked.
"Oh, uh, it's the edge of the city, basically."
"Edge of the city?" Yang asked this time, confused.
"Well… yes," Mr. S said. "It's where the border of the city was set up when they decided to float it."
"Float it?" both Yang and Ruby said at the same time.
Mr. S looked over at both of the girls with mild confusion.
"Yes," he answered. "That's why the city is floating today."
"The city's floating!?" they both yelled in concert, looking over at each other with astounded looks.
"No way!" Yang denied.
"I told you the horizon looked different, I told you!" Ruby gloated, smirking over at her sister.
Mr. S, again, looked over at Weiss, who had her temples in hand. You didn't tell them? His look seemed to say.
"Why didn't you tell us!?" the sisters demanded of her.
"I thought you knew!" She yelled over at them. "Atlas is the most powerful city in the world! What kind of school did you go to, that I'd need to show it to you like it was some big surprise!?"
"Ok, Patch doesn't have the greatest schools!" Ruby admitted with teary eyes. "Why do you keep bringing that up!"
"I'm not bringing it up! You just keep asking obvious questions!"
"Ok, well-"
"How about we just go to the precipice." Mr. S said, shepherding them away from their argument. "It's really a magnificent view!"
"Please, do not spit over the side," the chipped sign read, it's bolt holes rusting as they affixed it to the metal safety-railing that encircled the city.
Next to it were a pair of stationary binoculars. "Experience the View! 25 cents," the sign next to the artifact read.
And, what a view it was!
Below, was the old city of Mantle. Granted, the old city was currently in the middle of a hurried clean up after the unfortunate sewage break, but it still looked alright from a distance.
But it wasn't the only view, Mr. S noticed, hunched forward against the head set; for, ahead of him was the majestic horizon of the northern sea, and the impeccable brilliance of the southern sky, and there was the sun-!
Ok, ow, ow, don't look at the sun.
But, still, all around him were magnificent vistas!
And, behind him, was the continuing argument.
"Look, Ruby," Weiss stressed, "I'm sorry if I sounded derisive. I didn't mean that. But, you just keep asking me these very basic things. It's as if you don't even know anything about this world! You're almost worse than Jaune! I was just saying that you seem to be missing some very basic knowledge. Like to what person, would it be a surprise that Atlas is a floating city? It's one of the biggest cities in the world, and floating is its most notable feature!" Weiss started up again, sounding very angry and derisive. "I mean, what were they teaching you- YANG!"
Yang, eyes bulging, nearly tipped over the edge as she hastily tired to slurp back the stand of spit which dangled from her lips, rapidly twining it up in her index fingers with a panicked expression.
"No! Don't swallow it back!" Weiss ran over stuffing out several handkerchiefs as she set about cleaning a reluctant Yang's face, Yang, pulling away from the not so gentle touch of the heiress as she ground the cleaning implements against her cheek.
"What was that?" Weiss demanded. "The sign says 'no spitting'"!
"Come on, it's already covered in sewage!" Yang implored, gesturing down at the city.
"What, I don't see any sewage!" Ruby said, disappointed, having run over to bend her entire upper body over the edge of the railing, her feet lifting off the ground as she pendulated over the metal fulcrum.
"That's because you're staring at that weird metal thing, Rubes. I'm surprised you can even see the city."
"Yeah, actually, what is that?" Ruby, at once forgetting her disappointment, pointed to the large, flat sheet of metal which stuck perpendicularly out from the side of the floating city.
It hung just several feet beneath the edge of the precipice, and it's great area was pressed with embroidered designs of various abstract knots. Looking to either side, Ruby could see twins of the structure lining the edge of the city, appearing once every several yards around the perimeter.
"Actually, what are those?" Ruby corrected, instinctually turning to Mr. S for eludication.
Mr. S, having, by this point, digested several books worth of knowledge about Atlas in an attempt to not seem like an outsider, actually found the study coming in handy!
"Oh, those are called, 'Cliff Hangars'," he answered readily. "When Atlas was floated, they used those as landing ports and hangars for small shuttles until the tether system was constructed. Of course, once the tethers were set up, shuttles were no longer necessary to travel, and these fell out of favor." He gestured to the Cliff Hangar, with an immediate shrug. "Nobody actually uses these anymore, honestly; they just found it was too expensive to remove them, and the city didn't care, so they left them in place."
"Wow," Ruby said taking another picture.
"Yeah," Yang agreed, spitting over the side.
"Yang!" Weiss yelled, about to explode. "You… Well!... Actually... just, go to the fair," Weiss said, tired of her growing headache.
Mr. S started to push back, but was preempted.
"Look, we'll talk there, ok?" Weiss said, unenthused. "It's obvious you want something from me, so I'm not sure why you're insisting on making everyone come along."
Mr. S, having to this point centered their tour around more quiet spots in an attempt to speak to Weiss, nodded in appreciation of the pragmatism, and waved them along.
"Very well," he admitted "I have actually been meaning to talk with you."
At that work from Mr. S, and at a nod from Weiss, they traveled along the edge of the city, curving towards the distant carnival ahead. As they traveled along, the rest of the group casually separated themselves from Weiss and Mr. S, forming a bubble of distance around the pair in what was either a show of courtesy or fear. Even Schwarz, confined to the limits of her allowances, stepped off several feet to the side, allowing them as much privacy as her work could allow.
"Ok," Weiss said. "What?" speaking quickly.
"What, what?" Mr. S chuckled, "can't a father want to talk?" he asked.
"No, he can't," Weiss said, "not after 11 years of neglect, dad!" She spoke the words with rising acid, and with an emotional distance that belied the poison in her words. "Not after blackmailing me into gawking around like a tourist with you."
"Would you have come, otherwise?" Mr. S retorted.
"No! And, I shouldn't have to! I don't want to! What part of 'leave me alone' can't you understand!?" Weiss's voice broke like a glass harmonica, and released a stream of tears - quiet and sudden tears.
It was a disheartening sight, but not one Mr. S couldn't understand. People didn't break when situations got stressful, most of the time. They broke when they eased up. And, Weiss, he presumed, really only felt safe when she'd been guaranteed safe passage away from him. And, he wasn't a stranger to that feeling, either. His life hadn't been all sunshine and paternal love, either, from his end. But, despite knowing that, and despite empathising, Mr. S still was at a loss with what to do. He wasn't extremely good with people…
He was, however, good with numbers.
"Wait," he turned to her suddenly, "you said I was neglectful for the past ten years."
"Yes?" Weiss was facing away from him, cleaning up her cheek trails with the heel of her hand. "What of it?"
"You're seventeen," Mr. S noted.
"Are you just going to sit here stating the obvious?"
"So, I wasn't so bad until you were seven?" he said.
"No," Weiss denied, "I think I just managed despite you back then. Mother was-" She took a deep breath, troubling herself to be calm.
"I'm-" Mr. S started his sentence, and then choked on it.
He had, out of habit, readied himself to say, "I'm sorry," to this stranger, to this girl he barely knew, like he had to so many strangers in the past.
But, he remembered… he was this girl's father. Or he was playing that part anyway.
Mr. S had a daughter, once, and even their bad memories were dear to him, now. And now he was lying to this girl, pretending to have that same connection. Granted, he was doing it - he thought - for good reasons; but he really, really hated lying, and he definitely wasn't comfortable saying "I'm sorry," on Mister Schnee's behalf. That… would perhaps be too great a lie for him to stomach, and for her, too, he gathered from the disdainful expression that crossed her face when he started his sentence.
"I'm..." he repeated, and cleared his throat, "I'm surprised... to hear you admit, that even some of our memories together were… not as bad."
"Of course they weren't," Weiss snapped, still refusing to look at him. "Anything that goes on long enough has differences. All that means is that you were worse some days than others, happy? Are you expecting a thank you because you actually acted like a father for seven years!?"
Now, that, Mr. S decided, had been an informative admission.
"I… know I'm responsible for how we've… come to be," Mr. S said, speaking carefully so as not to say something that the real Mister Schnee hadn't admitted to. "But, I'm trying to fix it now. I'm trying to recall who I was before. It's important." He said, trying to code everything, including his demands for information.
"What? You're trying to remember yourself into being decent?" Weiss scoffed.
"No." Mr. S said. "I'm just trying to find out how I've been to you." Weiss started to speak, but he cut her off. "I know the obvious! But, I've always wondered what questions you may have had."
Weiss turned to look at him. And, coldly, she began to speak.
"Are you listening to yourself?" She asked, looking earnestly into his eyes, even as her fists shook with rage. "What questions I may have had? How I saw you?... Whitley's afraid of you!" she yelled. "Do you know that! It's not as if you couldn't have! I can't remember the last time I felt anything but bile from you! Why do you think Winter's off in the military all the time! Why do you think I'd help you with anything, just because you've come now saying 'you regret!? I mean, do you have any idea what you sound like, coming out to me after all these years with this!? What even am I to you!"
Mr. S chained himself to the brief list of truths he could muster, remembering what Mister Schnee had told him.
"You're my daughter." Mr. S said, straining under the weight of his words, consoling himself with the thought that he wouldn't be saying anything that Mr. Schnee himself hadn't. "And, I don't expect you to believe me, but I do care for you."
"Yeah, that's why you've twisted my arm to bring me here." Weiss rolled her eyes.
Mr. S didn't slow down. "I'm asking you now, because I've been put in the position of having few people to trust and… I'm rather inclined to favor that you're one of the people I can depend on. I know we've had our differences, but I wouldn't leave you out to any harm, and I know you, at least, wouldn't disregard me, either."
"Yeah, yeah," Weiss said, more subdued.
Mr. S wondered at the sudden shift in her character, when an explosion rocked the fair grounds to the east, nearly bowling him over.
Weiss, the thought already planted in her mind, was eager to search for and quick to find the red portal which, flying high in the sky, sent her heart rocketing.
They were already in the fairgrounds now, and, to their left, the garish tent-walls and carnival attractions formed a haphazard border against them; the safety rails of the precipice rose against their right.
"Blake!" the whisper pulled itself involuntarily from her lips, and Weiss left, jetting off towards the fair in a blur, and disappearing from Mr. S's view: which saw nothing but the after image, and heard nothing but the monstrous crack of her departure as he felt himself, already off balance from the explosion, pushed back by the resulting shock-wave and began stumbling back, falling.
Schwarz was beside him in a nanosecond.
Taking careful view of her surroundings, she whipped her head to the side. The red portal, formerly high in the air in the distance, was now gone, and reforming right next to them. At the moment, it was a small, fist-sized thing swirling in the air and growing.
Working at speed, she looked left, right, center, there! Yang, was stepping back from a carnival stand, looking worried in the direction of the recent carnage. Fire and smoke were rising in the distance.
Without thought, Schwarz ran. Reaching the girl in a flash, Schwarz grabbed Yang by the shoulders, and didn't stop running. Already, they'd traveled a hundred Yards by the time Yang mustered a non-violent reaction to the intrusion of her personal space.
"There's a portal coming!" Schwarz yelled. "It's tied to you isn't it?"
Yang looked at her with horrified, wide, eyes, her guilt immeasurable and speaking volumes. "I-"
"No time!" Schwarz yelled. "Just keep running to the other side of the city as fast as you can! Don't stop! I'll send your friends after you!"
Her advice was heeded, and - in its turn - back at the fairgrounds, the portal was diminishing, quickly losing substance as its focus fled away. Soon, it lost size, and translucency, and altogether disappeared.
Mr. S, for his part, splashed onto the warm mud of the fairgrounds, catching himself on a hand and a knee as snow-melt and dirt soaked into his trousers.
Unsurprisingly, he'd failed to notice the exact details of recent events.
He did, however, looking down the long alley of the carnival, notice the most recent arrival.
A man in a bowler hat stood casually off in the far distance, walking closer and, very occasionally, flickering forward between one spot and another, leaving behind him, rising dust trails as markers of his wake.
Soon, he was within telephone distance, and stopped, twirling a cane in one hand.
"You're Jacques Schnee?" he asked, looking down at him with a jolly figure.
"Look," Mr. S put a hand on his knee, rising into a stand, "if this is about the dust palace, I honestly had nothing to do with that."
"Oh, you don't have to lie to me!" Torchwick said, giving. "Really, I tip my hat to you - managing that bit of deception. I mean, I was working with Adam and I didn't suspect. And, have you seen the numbers! My portfolios have gone through the roof because of you! Did you know I was on the verge of selling when the attack happened! I really thought you'd lost it after the initial depression, but I'll be honest, I was a fool to ever doubt you! Bravo, my friend," Torchwick clapped casually, cane hanging off one hand. "In any case, that's not why I'm trying to kill you."
"You're here because of Adam?" Mr. S guessed.
"Pfa!" Torchwick laughed. "No!" he calmed himself, once again taking a more professional tone - "I'm here because I have certain benefactors, and they're quite keen to see you dead."
"I… don't imagine I'd be able to convince you to take a bribe?" Mr. S gathered, slowly walking back from the man.
"Hmm," Torchwick mulled it, "that... wouldn't be good for my health," he decided at last, when an explosion took off behind him.
Mr. S, startled, bumped back, feeling himself arrested when his back pressed against the safety barrier, the chill steel seeping against the cloth of his jacket.
Blinking his eyes, and looking to the space behind Torchwick, he saw, through the falling clods of dirt that plodded about the space, Schwarz, hunched forward and crossing blades with what he assumed was a scorpion faunus.
"Haha! This one has fight!" The scorpion man yelled, as Schwarz grit her teeth, bearing down on him.
Torchwick looked back at the scene with surprise, and not a little bit of fear. "Yeah," he said, looking at Tyrian who - having hooked his blades onto Schwarz's - was wrestling with the woman to keep her still, "thanks for the save," Torchwich begrudgingly admitted.
"Your backup isn't coming!" Schwarz yelled over at Torchwick. "Raven hasn't made it through her portal, and I doubt she'll be in any condition to make a new one while her focus is running full speed to the other side of the city!" She grunted, pulling a hard charge forward, and managing to slide Tyrian several feet over the wet grass before, once again, she was halted. "I suggest you leave now if you know what's good for you!"
Torchwick looked back worriedly again at the encroaching violence, but then looked confidently back again at Mr. S. "No, actually, I don't think I will," he shouted over his shoulder at the woman. "I just got here, and, to be honest, I'm wondering how long your blonde will be able to keep up that sort of pace. Not too long, I imagine," he said, planting his cane into the ground definitively at the statement, and leaning onto it with a content smirk.
Her gambit having failed, Schwarz turned to the next, obvious choice of action.
"Mr. Schnee, get out of here! I'll hold them off!"
And, oh, how Mr. S wanted to; how his desperately shaking legs and rapidly beating heart attested to his deep and unresolvable craving to run away. Unfortunately, he was realist, and realized that, despite having done cross-country that one time, he was unlikely to be able to outpace these bullet people. So, he turned to Schwarz and answered, heroically:
"I'm not going to leave you here, Schwarz!"
"You have to! Leave! Now!" Schwarz yelled with a tyrannical voice, bringing to bear all that intense professionalism and sense of duty that drove her to know that, whatever her position, this was her arena and her responsibility and, consequently, her turn of command.
Tyrian, getting the upper hand, pushed back against her with a sudden exertion, bringing them back to their original spot, laughing madly all the while.
"Yeah, I'd listen to her," Torchwick said casually, pointing back at the scene.
"Then leave," Mr. S said.
"Excuse me?"
"I know your type," Mr. S said. "You haven't stopped looking back at her ever since she arrived. I doubt you'd've even noticed her if your friend there hadn't intervened on your behalf."
"What are you getting at?" Torchwick asked.
"I'm saying you're unusually skittish for a professional killer. I imagine you're the type to get other people to do the dirty work, and I imagine you're probably not too well equipped for a straight fight."
Once, when he was a younger man, Mr. S - fresh initiated into his first calling - found himself assigned some 'relevant reading' by an over obsessive Middle Manager. It was some bunk about Management Principles of Sun-Tzu and Ghengis Khan, or Whatever.
Of course, Mr. S didn't read it, no one did. However, the episode did inspire him to check out the Art of War, and he remembered something from it just this moment. It wasn't anything useful, that could get him out of this situation, mind - rather, it was something that worked to bring sense to the situation. Sun-Tzu, he recalled, had said something along the lines of: "When outnumbered, trap your men against a wall, and they, seeing no opportunity for retreat, will commit themselves totally to the fight."
He was paraphrasing, but the general idea, he could now see, applied pretty generously to his situation.
Not the part about fighting, mind - god no, he had absolutely no chance if it came down to a fight.
But, seeing no avenue of escape, and little chance for victory, Mr. S committed himself totally to his act. It was something that came with the certainty of it all. His only option was talking, so he would talk, with none of the emotional distractions like "hope of a snowball's chance in hell" or "a fighting chance" to get in the way.
The result?
Well, let us say he committed himself totally, so totally that even he himself started to believe it when he, standing up with a straight back and a low heart-rate, looked Torchwich straight in the eye and said:
"If, you're eager to turn this into a violent affair, why not come here and do so? I've grown rather bored of all this talking, to be honest."
Torchwick, seeing the resolve, and feeling a bit taken aback, though still unwilling to lose face, took a small step back, ready for flight, while, in the same stance, he began to raise his cane in aim-
"I should warn you," Mr. S said, preempting the gesture, "that, if you leave now, for good, there will be forgiveness. I'm busy, and I'm willing to… overlook this indiscretion. But, the moment you pull that trigger… I will kill you."
Torchwick hesitated, and lowered his cane. but covered up that hesitation with a desire to talk.
"Kill me?" Torchwick taunted. "What can you know about death?"
"It's a bloody world in my business," Mr. S leaned back again against the rail and set to fixing his cuffs. "Not to mention, an inordinate amount of people seem interested in mine, including, if I recall correctly, your benefactors."
"That they are." Torchwick said. "If it helps, I honestly suggested someone else be our target."
"Silence!" Tyrian yelled back from where he still was trapped with Schwarz. "Do not speak of the process!"
Torchwick ignored him. "Curious?" he asked, keeping his attention firmly trained onto Mr. S now.
Mr. S leaned over against a pair of stationary binoculars that were erected next to him. He did this to keep himself from acknowledging the sugar-pink girl that was, from the far distance, now quietly sneaking up on their group.
Considering the fact that she was in his, and Schwarz's, line of sight at the moment - he guessed her to be, generally, on their side. Of course, he didn't look at her, no. He kept her as a pink spot in his periphery while keeping the main of his focus trained on Torchwick, trying to distract him.
"Who wouldn't be?" Mr. S answered. "It's not often people manage to get this close to me uninvited. A person who can organize that seems like someone to know."
"And, what?" Torchwick asked, "you want their card?"
"Their exact location would be fine, actually." Mr. S said, blood heightening as he noticed the pink girl had grown closer, and was now in a close position, redaying to pounce.
"And, you expect me to tell you that?" Torchwick asked.
"No," Mr S answered as the girl crouched low, ready to dive, "I expect you to die!"
And, the girl launched forward with a crack, barreling into Torchwick and sending their bodies dragging through the dirt on the diagonal, digging a trench through it as a vast rumble ran through the earth, felt through Mr. S's feet.
Torchwick, in the chaos, managed to send a haphazard shot that landed between him and Schwarz, dissolving the bounds that held her to Tyrian as the two of them leapt apart from the mess of dust that had exploded into the air.
Mr. S, ears ringing and holding back several coughs, tumbled back against the railing, hardly noticing that the binocular pole next to him had - with a crash of polygons, -transformed into a tri-colored girl who - with a smile and a curtsy - reached out a hand and, gently, pushed him that little bit further over the edge of his imbalance.
She, he'd noticed when he finally looked at her, was already walking away from him while he, legs lifting involuntarily off the ground as his upper body tipped him over the railing, felt a sudden, heart wrenching sense of vertigo as Schwarz, unnoticed by him, fell into another tangle with Tyrian.
And, watching as the world turned around him, Mr. S fell like a dead weight, tumbling in time to the scenery.
It was a weightless feeling that hit him as he dropped uncontrollably off the side of Atlas, a thousand foot fall below him.
And then, several moments later, he stopped, brought to a sudden halt by a flat metal plane, embroidered with pressed figures of abstract knots.
The shuttle hangar! Thank god for apathetic local government!
He took all of this in with a thundering heart and rapidly fogging breaths.
He shivered, noticing the sudden extreme chill of the high air now that he'd fallen beyond the borders of Atla's artificial atmosphere. In-fact, he felt a little light-headed as well.
The morning sun beamed in behind him. Mr. S rose steadily onto his knees on the plane, shivering. As he did so, he noticed that the metal plane was just a bit off from being perpendicular. It was, now that he noticed, actually tilted several degrees in a downwardly direction; whether that was by design, or degradation, he wasn't sure.
He was sure, however, that thin sheet of ice and slippery water which covered the hangar, wasn't.
And, another thing he noticed, was that he was sliding down!
It wasn't a particularly fast slide, he was only moving several inches every ten seconds or so, he was, however, speeding up.
And, it was strange what such a slow movement did to the rapidity of his heart because, over the course of his slow slide, Mr. S looked around at the metal, plate hangar he was situated on and saw no handholds.
Flat. Everything was crisply flat and covered by ice. The edges were rounded off corners with nothing, but ungraspable smoothness lining them. The steel was flat, the ice was flat, and his heartbeat, soon, he was sure, was going to flat-line when he smashed onto the ground below at terminal velocity.
Now he was at the final quarter of the meta plate, and his feet were peeking dangerously over the edge.
Looking up at the edge of the city ten feet above him, and seeing little chance of rescue, he laid flat, trying to slow his decent as his body slid steadily over the edge. He didn't know why he bothered, but his body cried out on instinct, trying to prolong his life as, with a lurch, his hips went over the edge, and brought a sudden jerk that sent him sliding several inches at speed before he pulled out his broach pen, and stabbed it into the ice, managing, for a moment, to halt his decent - until the pen skittered off, anyway, and his quickly stiffening fingers found no purchase to catch it again.
Damn it! Why didn't he get the one with an icepick instead of an eraser! Why did they invent erasable ink!?
At this point - as his lower abdomen left the plate - Mr. S was resigned to his fate, but struggling against it nonetheless as he frantically palmed at the wet surface of the ice - his legs, he intensely bent against the underside of the structure, ignoring the icicles that jabbed against his upper thighs and trying, as it were, to grip the structure with his body.
But, he did so to no avail. And, as he did so, he looked again at the attachments which held the hangar against the sides of the city, and deduced, after studying the nature of the metal bars that held it against the rock that - indeed - the slight angle of this metal plate was by design. Or, at least, it was within the tolerances set out for it.
To think, if this thing had just been installed a few degrees higher, this wouldn't be happening.
As the very last portion of his upper body left the object, and he felt himself on the verge of, with a sudden jerk, falling to his doom, Mr. S thought, frantically, some appropriate admonition or curse to depart with.
He thought of the people who made this damned steel port, he thought of the city council that allowed it to be made, but came up short on names.
So, instead, looking down at the metal plate he was sliding down, he defaulted to - with the last of his salvageable breaths - cursing the inanimate object of his demise instead.
What were these things called again?
Oh, yeah.
He hated Cliff Hangars!
