Chapter 51: I don't hate you, dad.
Thanks again to boothnat, who helped edit this chapter.
You can find her story The Traveler's Guide to Teyvat: How to not kill people - Chapter 1 - boothnat - 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] , on her AO3 page: boothnat | Archive of Our Own.
"Zama," Mr. S asked
"Yes?"
"I've told you all the information I got from the gods, right?"
"You've said that you have."
"Well?"
"Have you managed to deduce anything?" Mr. S clarified.
"No."
Are you sure? What happened to that "if we take x to be y" stuff you were using before?"
"The Schnee Manor is a closed system," Zama explained, "and every portion of it has a history of continuous sensor data that allows such an analysis of it's events to be feasible. The outside world is far more chaotic, and the majority of its information is hidden. Such conditions are best dealt with by a more intuitive approach."
Mr. S hummed and turned away. That was something to think on
It was not a pleasant emotion for him to experience, and every so often he would be drawn, as if in a mania, to look down at his right arm - at the gold bracelet which was tied around it, and which wouldn't have been out of place in a children's toy shop.
His car was parked in it's usual spot at K- Boulevard. He escorted his mother into the passenger side and he went himself to the driver's seat. The interior of the car was stuffy and warm. Mr. S fiddled with a cassette tape, attempting with a shaky, frustrated hand to insert it into the player before throwing it down in frustration. He brought both hands back to the steering wheel, looking straight ahead at the procession of cars in front. And- foremost in his field of view- the golden, shining exterior of the too-small bracelet softly caressed his right hand.
Keep the company from Falling Apart; don't get fired.
Those were the two thoughts that occupied Mr. S that morning. And wasn't from genuine interest that he set about repeating the phrase, either. Rather, it was to do with the fact that, for Mr. S, life had become rather byzantine lately, and he felt desperately that some simplifications were in order.
This wasn't because the events themselves had grown more confusing or complicated in any way. No, the situation was as simple as ever: Mr. S simply had to, first of all, keep his job as CEO of the company. In order to do this, he would first need to quit his job as CEO and let Schwarz take over, but of course that was merely a means to an end. The end?: Solving the White Fang mystery, and not only the White Fang mystery, but the secret conspiracy that was behind it as well, which he would of course do once the Farbe investigation, having been dealt with, gave him insight into the true conspirators behind the poisoning incident that had killed Mr. Schnee in the first place. Of course, all of this was most likely related to the two deities that Mr. Schnee had mentioned, and perhaps, of course, to the Grimm themselves. The key to all of this was rockets, and he had a board meeting today, too, where he would be sitting for a private review.
See? Easy as multivariable calculus.
But right now, none of that mattered. None except:
"Don't let company collapse; don't get fired."
There, that was his life's purpose compressed into a single sentence. And the upcoming performance review only served as a focus to hone the immediacy of the issue. Because, performance review was preordained, and everyone knew exactly what the outcome of the meeting would be: nothing.
Mr. S would be asked to voluntarily retire. He would refuse. Threats would be made about firing him in six months if the stock didn't go back up, and no mention would be made of the fact that the board was, in part, responsible for keeping it down. And then they'd pointlessly bicker until the meeting was over. The investors would be happy, the board would look responsible, and Mr. S would be happy to keep his job. All in all, the whole thing was about as threatening as milk toast.
Still, he was still left feeling disturbed, this morning.
Normally, Mr. S liked rain, loved it, as a matter of fact. As he looked at this morning, however, the dreary grey morning outside the window inspired nothing in him except a sick sensation.
Right. Schwarz was going to be acting CEO. He'd almost forgotten. Surprising, considering that was one of the few things actually related to his new directive: "Keeping the company from falling apart, don't get-" you know the one.
Because, really, in great part, not getting fired was a burden he was happy to have Schwarz carry.
And that reminded him, actually, why he'd asked Ironwood for the Rocket Team.
Because, you see, no matter how this review went, six months from now the board would hold another review. The important one.
And if, by then, the stock had fallen five percent below the market, then the Board, per the contract, would be able to fire him on the spot.
Currently, the stock was exactly five percent below the market, mainly because the Board sold just enough stock to bring it down to that number.
And, of course, the board held enough stock that they could tank the price by forty percent if they really wanted to.
You could see where this was going.
They forced his hand, but Mr. S would now have to build that rocket.
...
They say the man with a hammer sees every problem as a nail.
Well, Mr. S, as an Aerospace Engineer, saw this problem and thought: well, it's not exactly rocket science but, with a bit of effort, I can translate it into that.
How?
Well, as it is with lift offs, this was primarily a matter of timing.
In order to keep his job, Mr. S would have to, somehow, raise the stock by forty percent above the rest of the market before six months passed.
Considering that the SDC was a mature company with a market cap bigger than life, and accounting for the fact Mr. S didn't descend from MBA heaven on a chariot made of derivatives... well, suffice it to say, he was doubtful of his ability to meet the mark.
But, then, in the middle of a feverish dream one night- a crazy idea visited him. Well, it might have been more of a breaking an entering situation, now that he realized what he was doing. But it would work all the same!
You see, SCHN corp was the biggest company in Atlas- in the world. It controlled the majority of the dust trade and, in that business, didn't have much room left for growth.
But, do you know what the second biggest company in the world was? It was also Atlas Based, and, no, it had nothing to do with dust.
Guessed yet?
It was CCT corp.
Mr. S had read about the company during his studies. A lot had been reported about it in the news recently. Headline:: "White Fang Attack Nearly Destroys Vale CCT Tower." It certainty put that company in the papers, to put it lightly. And that headline was all the more extreme for the fact that, apparently, losing one CCT tower would shut off global communications for everyone...
Strange design choices aside, Mr. S was confused, at first, to learn that Remnant's solution to global communications was building really, really big ground towers.
Why, after all, would they go to all that trouble when satellites existed?
And then Mr. S did some reading and realized: Remnant didn't have any satellites. Remnant didn't have any space travel capabilities... at all...
Dust didn't work in space, and it had stunted their development in the other sciences enough to prevent the development of chemical rockets it seemed...
This, Mr. S found interesting. Because, although he knew very little about fiduciary responsibility, or stocks, or anything relating to business for that matter, he did understand that a company's value, fundamentally, was based on the goods and services it could provide. So, the thought came; the crazy, insane, absolutely inspired idea crashed into his head:
Assume for a moment that Mr. S made a deal with the board where, whenever they sold a bit of stock, his account would buy it up immediately on credit- with his five percent share as collateral. He would essentially be agreeing to buy the boards stock and promising to pay them back later.
Now this plan was, essentially, insane, but it would keep the board's shenanigans from harming the stock price too badly.
And, of course, the Board would be all too happy to take this deal because, well, it was insane. And why interrupt your enemy when he's in the middle of penning his suicide note? As far as they were concerned, and as far as logic dictated - Mr. S would never be able to secure the funds to pay them back. So, at the end of the six months, they could call on all his debts, get all their stocks back and they could claim his collateral share for themselves. On top of this, they could still fire him for defaulting on his debts!
They could get rid of him, increase their control of the company, and, best of all, they wouldn't have to sacrifice any stock while doing it! Whooo!
And Mr. S would be happy to let them think that.
But he'd been thinking, too, in the meantime.
CCT corp had about half the value of the SDC. That alone- Mr. S decided- was a fair appraisal of the global telecommunications market on Remnant. So imagine if, five months from now- when the Board had sold enough of their shares- some unimaginable, impossible, unforeseen technological advancement occurred, one that allowed the SDC to - overnight - take over the telecom industry?
Of course, one satellite wouldn't replace the CCT system, but a successful launch would make the writing on the wall very clear: the future of comms was space- the future of comms was the SDC.
And the stock market always reacted most strongly to the future. The price would jump at least a hundred percent before people came to their senses! Even after emotions cooled, the stock wouldn't fall below 160% percent of its present value! It was going to be hilarious!
And here's the funniest part: remember all those stocks the board sold to Mr. S on credit? He would only have to pay them the value of the stock when they sold it to him!
After the stock jump, he'd be able to pay back the debt with his pocket change! But more importantly, all the board's power, all of their control would be transferred over to him! He'd be calling the shots, then, and he wouldn't have to worry about the stupid stock ever again! Finally, Mr. S would be free to undertake his investigation about that stupid conspiracy!
But… something nagged at him.
The thought: why was he even trying to keep his job?
No, really.
He obviously had no business doing it, and every scheme he came up with to keep it was just another distraction from his actual mission.
Quickly, though, he reminded himself that there was a lot of power in his current position, and he'd be remiss to lose that.
Besides, you can't solve global conspiracies without money. Or, at least, you can't do anything about them if you're working three jobs to make rent by the time the enemy army starts rolling into town. Poverty was not conducive to super heroism, no matter what Spiderman said. Stupid comic, if you asked him.
But, to be honest, despite those reasons, he really didn't even want to stay on as CEO.
The only thing that was making him fight so hard to keep the job was that it was something to do! It was some clear, comprehensible goal he could strive towards: something decidedly lacking in the intractable web of mysteries that decorated the rest of his life. Well, that, and having the job was status quo, and Mr. S was desperate to keep as much of that as possible.
So, for those utterly unconvincing and pointless reasons, Mr. S decided that securing his employment would take priority… at least for a little while.
And of course, Rockets would see him through!
It was foolproof!
Mr. S's scroll rang.
"Hello?" Mr. S answered without checking to see who'd called.
"I can't send the missile design team today," Ironwood said from the other line.
To his surprise, Mr. S really couldn't muster the effort to even pretend to care. Strange, he remembered being more enthusiastic about the affair yesterday.
"Why?" Mr. S asked.
"I can't just take an entire team off the record overnight!" Ironwood answered harshly. "These things take subtlety, and that takes time!"
"Well, how long until you can send them?"
"I don't know, a day, maybe a couple of weeks."
"Ok."
Mr. S hung up.
Zama floated his jacket over to him and he put it on.
The suit actually felt lighter, significantly so, and it was intensely cool, even through his under clothes.
Mr. S checked his watch.
8:00 am. He had several hours still until the meeting, and Schwarz had been kind enough to clear his day in anticipation of the review.
A knock came. That was probably her.
"Yes?" He answered the door.
Schwarz stood on the other side, watching her tablet. The access card held deftly in her right, which tapped intermittently at the screen.
"I've had to push back the meeting several hours," Schwarz began, "it shouldn't affect your modified schedule however, it's currently set for f- uhh-" Schwarz had never been one to lose her place in a sentence, so it was strange how dramatically she picked up the habit now, as she looked expressively up at his face with wide, worried eyes.
Schwarz stepped back from him nervously, in time with deliberate blinks she used to recalibrate the image her eyes were sending her.
"Is my schedule still clear, otherwise?" Mr. S asked, stepping through into the hall.
"Uh, yes," Schwarz nodded softly, moving further back.
Well, that was good enough for him. Mr. S carried on through the hallway.
"Uhm… sir, forgive me for being so bold but… I can postpone the meeting to another time if it would be more convenient."
"Now why would you do that?" Mr. S asked, rapidly developing a headache as he walked out into the public hallways with their over bright lights.
All around him, the castle seemed alive again, filled to the brim with servants as the work crews cleared out. The servants, perhaps for their previous absence, seemed more notable to him now, and he couldn't help catching some staring at him, to tell by the hasty way they glanced aside whenever he happened to look at them.
Ruby, in addition to being a huntress in training, was also quite the interior designer. She quite liked brutalist architecture, with an emphasis on security devices. She also liked the color red.
And now that she and the rest of her friends had been given allowances to play with...well, she could see a lot more red in her future self's room, as well as a requisite amount of green in her future- red- bank vault.
However, the comically oversized dollar signs were prevented from fully replacing her pupils by the very resounding and immediate 'no' Weiss and Blake gave Beryl, who had been tasked with giving them the bad news.
Now, naturally, teams RWBY and Juniper were in complete solidarity with the couple, who were their friends.
However, let's revisit for a moment, the exact amount of money we're talking about here.
Mr. S was currently panicking, as people are wont to do whenever the police come to accuse them of consorting with terrorists.
After Camilla had been politely escorted from the Schnee grounds, Schwarz spent the next several minutes briefing Mr. S on how likely Camilla was to reopen this case, as well as how likely she was to succeed in prosecuting him.
With the evidence that she had, Schwarz was convinced they could settle this in court twenty years and several dozen appeals in the future. Nothing for them to worry about, in any case.
Mr. S was far less blasé about the issue, and only nodded along to give the illusion that he was following.
So, it was with this weighing on his heart that he received the topic of allowances for Weiss and the rest of their guests.
"Pardon?" he said..
"Yes, I imagined you'd want to open up lines of credit for them," Schwarz continued. "I think it would go some way towards decreasing their anxiety about working with us."
"Oh, yes, of course," Mr. S agreed, not fully comprehending her sentence but trusting that nodding would see him through.
"And how much would you like to allow them?"
What was the last question again?
"10,000 Lien a month should do," Mr. S answered confidently. Yeah, that seemed like a valid number. Sure, why not, he thought, still not certain what bill he'd just agreed to paying.
"Will that be for each of them, or cumulatively?"
"... each of them."
And so, one should perhaps not be too surprised at the small argument that broke out.
Because:
"10,000 lien a month, Weiss!" Ruby begged, "A month! I could actually pay off my student loans with that money!"
"Student loa-" Weiss sputtered. "You never went to college!"
"I meant for elementary!" Ruby corrected, obviously.
"You paid for that school!?"
"Everyone pays for school, Weiss" - Ruby, suddenly subdued, looked askance with a dark look to her eyes - "one way or another."
Weiss… had become lost, somehow, in the thread of their conversation, and was thankful when Blake- the only person to actively back her in this conversation (oh, Weiss would be keeping a list of everyone that didn't) - spoke up.
"Ruby," Blake chastised, a familiar, if warning tone to her voice.
"But the money's already been made, Blake!" Ruby rationalized. "We can't do anything about that, now. But what we are able to do, is make sure the money goes to a worthy cause, where it would otherwise just be spent to perpetuate the system that made it!"
"And you're willing to give it all to charity?" Blake asked rhetorically.
"Yes!" Ruby promised, quickly retracting: "well, most of it." A half-ashamed look took her as she looked down and fiddled with her fingertips, mumbling; "It'd go to a good cause."
The rest of their friends, with the exception of Pyrrha, were almost all in Ruby's camp, although most lacked the initiative to speak out about it. And those that did made sure to do so tactfully, for fear of setting off another "faunus children are dying in the mines" guilt trip session.
Weiss, also sensing this inevitability, cut in to end the argument.
'We are not taking the money!" she announced, daring anyone to make a counterproposal.
Everyone fell silent.
And it almost became awkward before Yang broke in.
"Hey, what's up with the help?" Everyone, sitting in a circle on the lawn grass, looked up at the couch above them. Yang stretched out on a sunny spot like it was a deck chair and looked aside at the staff through her aviators. She had commandeered the couch and dragged it out onto the lawn earlier that morning- having realized by now that the gardens were one of the few places Mr. Schnee was unlikely to visit. Yang had become especially aware of Mr. S's location after the second time she found herself tripping as she desperately attempted to buckle her pants mid-run, on her way out of the bathroom, because her watch had taken to beeping as the only mobile red zone in the palace decided it would be a good idea to walk within restraining-order distance of her.
No, Yang wasn't bitter.
"The help?" Weiss said, sounding almost disgusted. "This isn't a variety hour soap opera, Yang. They're called 'staff'."
"Well, whatever they're called, why are they sprinting?"
Weiss turned to follow Yang's gaze to the exterior glass. Several members of the help were rushing about the inside, with postures that were slightly more stiff than usual, with some- indeed as Yang had hyperbolically put it - sprinting.
From an exterior shot, it wasn't a lot to go on.
But… the manor was like a living organism in many ways. It had an atmosphere, several thousand lawyers, a circulatory system.
And Weiss's heart fell as she saw the tell-tale signs. Looking wide eyed at at the passing servants like a doctor examining blood flow, Weiss underwood with immaculate certainty that-
Mr. S felt a horrible, sick sensation welling up inside of him.
He felt so much shame he wanted to crawl out of his own skin, so much hatred it hurt him to experience it.
And, against the advice of his better angels, he elected not to end the day early and go back into his room to be alone.
Mr. Schnee generally had a tidy breakfast right after waking. Often, it was delivered to his room. Lunchtime, in contrast, was a portable mess that involved many servants who tried to combine formality and convenience and only failed marginally at providing either. Normally, Mr. S tried to accommodate them; but at that particular moment - despite his completely empty schedule - Mr. S found it completely beyond his ability to give a damn. And he ordered lunch to be drawn on the hour!
Naturally, things were a bit more hectic this time.
And Mr. S couldn't help noticing how many mistakes everyone seemed to be making this time around- and it wasn't just because of the lack of forewarning on his part, Mr. S was sure.
A maid's jittery hands splattered some gravy onto the table napkin, overshooting the plate it had been intended to land in, and nearly staining Mr. S's dress shirt.
"Oh- apologies, sir," her voice shook as she fell to a deep bow, her face pale with terror.
"It's fine." Mr. S answered with an uninterested baritone. Still, he nodded to the maid in the customary manner, to let her know it was forgotten- trying extra hard to keep his expression neutral.
The maid hardly acknowledged the effort and turned away, racing to the nearest door, trying to reach it before the onset of tears.
All other members of the staff in the vicinity stood frozen, stiffening whenever he turned his attention onto any one of them and in general looking like terrified members of a variety-hour soap opera.
Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells all of a sudden, Mr. S realized. He didn't understand why this was, and not for one moment did he imagine that it might have been because of him.
This wasn't obliviousness, on his part. Despite his feelings, Mr. S had worked hard not to let any of it show. To his mind, his mental state was a private one, and therefore had no cause to influence anything beyond the boundary of his thoughts.
Unfortunately, reality had a contrary opinion and wished to express it.
Tumultuous feelings raged within him with a harrowing depth. And even as Mr. S worked his hardest not to let any of them show, his body took the liberty of defaulting to Mr. Schnee's more familiar habits of expression. Normally, this was a feature, which - even in his most uncharacteristic moments - worked to persuade everyone familiar with Mr. Schnee that Mr. S was no impostor. Now, it only convinced them to run, which was what everyone elected to do as soon as lunch had been set.
Mr. Schnee's emotions were naturally subtly expressed. With him, it took a keen eye to discern cold rage from calm. A subtle coolness to the features, a slight downturn of the lips, a minute death-threat streaming from the eyes. These were the signs that many in the staff were familiar with, and which the rest were swiftly warned of. And it was why, like an ant colony at war, every member of staff rushed about the interior, trying to look busy and, if at all possible, to avoid attracting the attention of their nervous supervisors. Because Mr. Schnee rarely expressed such strong emotion. And he'd never before dared to enter into a public location while in a state other than perfect control. So, when looking at Mr. S- who was overflowing with horrible, sick, rage- every member of staff was quick to clear the immediate area. Although, they were also careful not to stray too far, either. Mr. S could see, occasionally, that the patrols of staff beyond the doors had increased, and often included the same person appearing several times in succession. Regardless of whether it was a duplicate, however, every person that passed was glancing not too subtly into the room, and at him.
Mr. S elected to have the rest of his lunch outside.
Coincidentally, he went into the same garden section Yang had banked on him not appearing in.
And it was due to this turn of fortune that they became aware of his presence early.
"What!" Yang groaned in disbelief as her watch set beeping. " Didn't you say he had a meeting or something right now?!" She turned the accusation on Weiss, frustrated as she leapt off the couch and hurriedly gathered up her stuff.
"Apparently not," Weiss said with collected reserve, standing calmly in time with Yang as everyone moved to follow her.
They were interrupted however. A human shadow cast its shape over them, and a voice drew their attention to the top of the retaining wall that fenced off their section of garden.
"Pyrrha!" Winter spoke with a stern voice, looking directly at the girl. "I've been looking for you."
"What for?" Pyrrha asked.
Winter commanded simply. "It's time to begin your training."
"Is the big guy gonna be there?" Yang asked.
"If you're referring to my father, no." Winter answered with a repugnant look. "I understand he has a review board to attend at this time."
"Apparently not," Yang waved her wrist, jangling the panicking watch.
Winter looked curiously at the contraption. "In any case, I doubt he'll be present for Pyrrha's lessons."
"Mind if I come along, then?" Yang asked. "I need someplace to hide from the guy, since I'm apparently not safe enough to stand in his presence," speaking now with some bitter annoyance.
"Of course," Winter said, somehow amicable despite the military discipline that cut her sentences into cinder-block exclamations. "In fact, I think it would be beneficial for all of you to attend." She panned her gaze over the rest of the group. "You are Pyrrha's friends, and are the only people she'll have regular contact with that know of her status as Fall Maiden; it would be appropriate for you to attend her training." Winter said this simply, with a cool reserve that didn't expect any rebuttal.
And, everyone, seeing the sense in this, moved to stand and follow Pyrrha.
Everyone, that was, except Weiss, who sat gently back down onto the grass, subtly moving Blake to sit down with her. The move did not go unnoticed.
"Is something the matter Weiss? Are you not coming?" Winter asked.
"I'll come later," Weiss answered with a half-hearted smile. "I think I'll stay here for a while."
Blake moved to support her girlfriend. "I'll stay with you, then," she said, leaping to agreement. "We'll catch up with you guys later!" she waved at the rest of the group, urging them to leave and overwhelming their incredulous looks with the earnestness of her response.
Winter was far less phased.
"Very well," she acknowledged with a short nod, moving her attention to Pyrrha and calling for the rest of the group to move along.
And, very soon, after some hasty - if awkward - goodbyes, Blake and Weiss were left alone together.
The silence went unspoken.
"Thank you," Weiss said crisply, looking off towards a corner of the dividing wall.
Blake, far more hesitant, reached out a hand - "do you want to talk abo-"
"No," Weiss said, certain.
"Why not?" Blake asked.
"Because I don't want to," Weiss leapt to a stand, pacing away towards a scattered line of shallow woodland. "It's none of your business, anyway."
"It is my business, Weiss," Blake insisted, following after her. "I've been in this castle for over a week, and you've done everything in your power to keep me from seeing Winter. What is it for? Are you ashamed of me?"
"You know that's not it!" Weiss spat, still moving forward.
"Then what?" Blake asked, softening to a tone of innocent credulity.
"I don't know!" Weiss exploded. "Ok? I just don't know what's going to happen if she…"
Blake was silent at first, then blinking wide with understanding eyes.
"You said she wouldn't have a problem with us, Weiss!"
"I know what I said," Weiss suffered. "I just don't need to find out if I was wrong or not, right now. Gods know I've been more than wrong enough, lately." Weiss touched a hand to her temple, paused, noticing her presence in the heart of the woodland, and having lost sight of the small clearing she and Blake had just left.
"I don't understand," Blake said, confused. "You said you wanted us to tell your family-"
"I wanted to tell Father, Blake," Weiss admitted, leaning for support on a nearby tree. "Because I never cared what he thought- I know how that sounds!… It's complicated, ok?" she finished weakly, begging with such a tone that Blake let it be. "You… I've never told you how much Winter means to me, have I?" Weiss choked out a laugh. "She's the only person that's ever cared for me. Ever since I was a girl in school, she was the only one I could look up to! She's the only one, Blake. The only one I've ever had. I- I would do anything to reconcile her with you. She's a good person, Blake!" she blurted out, throwing her arms down and pacing feverishly. "You can't even imagine the things she's endured for my sake. She's the one who did everything for me! But… It's all so difficult. Atlas isn't like Vale. The things people say here… they teach people that Faunus are like animals! They actually say that! Oh, it doesn't happen in the schools but everyone who's lived here knows. But she's a good person, Blake! She's the most kind, selfless, patient, caring person you can imagine! I owe her so much! But they teach things differently in Atlas, and Winter was always a gifted student." Weiss transformed suddenly, looking almost painfully tired. "And she can be very… sure of herself. I don't know if Winter will approve of us."
"And, if Winter doesn't approve?" Blake's eyes took on a hard look. "What then?" a resolute tone echoed in her voice- demanding honesty.
Weiss answered immediately. "Then I would break off all contacts with her," she answered, looking directly into Blake's eyes. "I don't know if she'll accept you, but if she doesn't - then she can stop calling herself my sister."
Blake looked into Weiss's eyes. And she was struck immediately by a wounded regret at ever having demanded an answer from the girl.
"No! Weiss!" The words broke themselves from Blake, and she rushed with quick steps to support the girl, who looked suddenly very weak. "Don't say things like that!" she said with a terrified whisper, looking over her shoulder as if fearing any echoes of the words. "I'm such an idiot, asking you to-! I'm not going to come in between you and your sister, Weiss. We'll find a way to both be with you! And she won't disapprove in the first place. I know she won't!"
"I'm not going to abandon her!" Weiss said with annoyance. "You don't understand anything! I would do anything to convince her, everything, just get her to accept you, but - I… I know I can't change her mind. I know I'll have to ask her and I know she won't give false answers."
"She won't disapprove." Blake insisted.
"You don't know her!" Weiss looked at Blake with some genuine rage. "I do! I don't know if she'll approve, but I know she won't change her mind, whatever she ends up thinking."
"She hasn't said anything bad so far!"
"She's perfectly capable of being civil, Blake. She can look you in the eye with politeness and tell you that you're 'debased and incapable of rational thought.' She can live with someone she hates for years and say nothing. Ask the rest of my family! And I won't have that, Blake! I won't; not with you!" Weiss turned away suddenly, voice quivering in anticipation. "I'm going to force it. I'm going to find out what she really thinks! And if she's not willing to change her mind… then, then she can hold off on ever speaking to me until she does!"
Strangely enough, the tearful hug Blake encased her in didn't come with the usual recol of discomfort for Weiss. She was genuinely glad to accept it, and to lose herself in the warm sensation of genuine love- for a moment, anyway.
Weiss drew away, looking worriedly at some trees.
"I still think you're worrying too much," Blake attempted to comfort. "I know I don't know her, but you've told me enough. She wouldn't be willing to destroy her relationship with you over something like this."
"And what if she is willing?" Weiss asked philosophically. "I'm certainly willing to do the same over my convictions, why shouldn't she be allowed the right?"
"Weiss," Blake said, growing annoyed - mainly at the sharp edge of fear Weiss' words elicited in her. "She's not going to denounce you over some prejudices."
"She hasn't spoken to me ever since I arrived here!" Weiss said with increasing panic. "She's not one to yell, Blake. If she truly hated me at this moment, I wouldn't know until five years from now when I realized we hadn't spoken for all that time." Weiss laughed again with a nervous jitter.
"She hasn't spoken to you because you keep avoiding her!" Blake snapped. "Just listen to yourself, Weiss. Even your father doesn't seem to have a problem with us! You're not going to estrange your sister of all people over this!"
Weiss was only silent.
"What?" Blake asked.
"My father isn't from Atlas," Weiss said. "It's not a fair comparison."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying he's from the East!" Weiss said. "I never really put it together before, but it all makes sense now!"
"What?" Blake asked, confused.
"That he doesn't hate Faunus!" Weiss said obviously.
"What?" Blake asked, even more confused.
"It doesn't mean he likes faunus," Weiss swiftly clarified. "But things are different over there. I remember as a child we were read bedtime stories about Dara and other faunus heroes. And, he never objected to that, even when the staff made a fuss. No wonder he doesn't care about you!"
Weiss finished her treatise with such conviction, such belief that the overwhelming confusion of the past week seemed washed away in one fell swoop. Of course he didn't care! She thought. He never cared!
Still, unacknowledged, there were some important grains fixed against her theory. Why, for example, if he didn't care, would he be willing to take such a financial disaster just to accept them? Why continue accepting them now? It was no secret that he was being called in for a performance review primarily because of the social scandal he'd perpetrated by not immediately disowning Weiss. But these were minor details, and Weiss ignored them before they had time to come to full prominence.
Blake was skeptical for a far different reason.
"I never imagined he had such feelings," she said with a deeply cynical note to her voice.
"Don't twist my words, Blake," Weiss flashed her hand with frustration. "I only said he might not be as rabidly anti-faunus as most Atlesians which, frankly, is not a high bar to clear. Besides…" Weiss paused, looking off into the distance, "sometimes I wonder if he's even capable of feeling anything at all."
It was a surprisingly impactful admission for her to make, and -in her state - Weiss was left shaken.
"Who can't feel anything?" Ruby suddenly appeared next to her with a puff of petals and a bright smile.
Weiss faced her teammate with a cool, expressionless look.
"My father," she admitted softly, as if answering about the weather. She turned to see Pyrrha and the rest of the group - save, of course, Yang - arrive into the wooded area. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Winter was called away before we could begin," Pyrrha answered with an abashe smile. "It seemed serious."
"Do you know why she left?"
"Dunno," Nora shrugged, "they wouldn't tell us."
"They didn't say," Pyrrha shook her head.
"Where's Yang?"
"Well, it appeared that Mr. Schnee was still in this area," Pyrrha smiled sheepishly by way of explanation. "We had to leave her behind by the lake."
By now they all stood next to Weiss and Blake, and they seemed to be able to tell the harried atmosphere that greeted them. Silent glances passed between the new arrivals, and feeling them drawing suddenly too close, and sick of the suspicion, Weiss took to walking in a random direction, knowing that they would follow, but glad to not have anyone look her in the face as she led them.
"Um, Weiss, is everything ok?" Ruby asked.
Just then, Weiss exited the woodland, appearing almost too suddenly in the middle of the flat clearing where Mr. S had taken his lunch.
Mr. S sat frozen against the chrome bench, looking out at the cooling remnants of his lunch. He took up a half eaten apple, looking sickly at it before putting it away with a look of mild disgust.
His depression had caught back up with him, and Mr. S was only now realizing its effects.
God, he'd been one fuck up of an idiot.
Mr. S resisted the urge to slam his head into the bench, settling instead for a painful grit of the teeth and a tight shut of the eyelids.
He ran his curled fingers over his face, raising them to comb through his hair.
God, he'd been an idiot.
He thought, for some reason, like some child, that going to another world would invalidate everything on earth that he'd been running away from! What? How was that even supposed to remotely work? Was the distance supposed to make it not matter all of a sudden? "I'm coming here because I have nothing left-" bullshit! What did he think was going to happen exactly? What was any of this supposed to fix!?
He felt his throat constricting and a sudden wave of nausea rose over him. The urge to throw up wasn't from the glut of food he'd long grown sick of, it was a purely emotional phenomena, characterizing the ceaseless, unbounded hatred, hatred, hatred.
God, he'd never imagined he'd miss the hunger and panic of the past week. It had been a distraction, at least. Now, though, when he was well fed and his biggest problem consisted of an upcoming performance review, well, his mind was left free to wallow in that concoction of horrors it had created for him in the wake of-
Mr. S interrupted the memory with a deliberate effort.
He resisted another wave of painful nausea.
His teeth chattered as he fluttered open his eyes, looking everywhere with them and seeing nothing.
Again, he felt a strong pull at his right side, though this time the phenomenon was less of a mystery to him, because, in the quiet moments that had been provided to him recently, Mr. S remembered his daughter's bracelet. The cheap gold plated thing she'd taken care of so well it looked almost brand new! He'd left it back on Earth!
Again, another terrifying wave of nausea passed, this time he felt the world warbling around him.
Of course he'd left it back on Earth! He felt a giddy laugher rising up in his soul. What else could he have expected when he asked to be brought here! His body was dead on earth, and that bracelet was probably going to be buried, still wrapped around the right arm of his corpse. That was a comforting thought, at least. His brother would be sure to make sure the bracelet was buried with him.
And that comforting thought should have been the end of it, right?
Perhaps so, but… that bracelet… had been a great source of comfort to Mr. S. And for some misguided reason Mr. S, when he'd hastily agreed to his transport here, had assured himself that he wouldn't need it on Remnant. Why had he been so stupid?!
Unconsciously, vivid images made their way...
Mr. S had developed an intense dislike of himself and everything around him. The pain of it was sharp and constant and every so often he would be drawn, as if in a mania, to look down at his right arm - at the gold bracelet which was tied around his wrist, and which wouldn't have been out of place in a children's toy shop.
His car was parked in it's usual spot at K- Boulevard, and he escorted his mother into the passenger side. Once safely inside, he drove swiftly onto S- street and from there onto the highway. The interior of the car was stuffy and wam. Mr. S fiddled a bit with a cassette tape, attempting to insert it into the player before throwing it down in frustration.
He brought both hands back to the steering wheel, looking straight ahead at the procession of cars in front, and at the golden, shining exterior of the too-small bracelet that caressed softly the skin of his right hand.
He felt a great sadness, looking at that bracelet.
And, it had been an unfortunate recollection.
Because, really, all this anger, and self hatred, and sickening rage at the unfairness of it all - it was all preferable to the serene melancholy that washed over him, at all those happy memories that came flooding back whenever he remembered the bracelet carelessly.
...
"Daddy, daddy!" A young girl came bounding over the carpet, making Mr. S feel extremely embarrassed and self conscious at the reverent attention she so loudly displayed for him in public.
Mr. S knelt down on one knee, raising an eyebrow and taking a look at all the other, more experienced parents, who hardly batted an eyelash at the display and carried on with their conversations. Geez, were kids always this loud? Mr. S wondered.
"Indoor voice, A-" he suggested gently. A recommendation which went unheeded as A- squealed loudly and held up a toy necklace up to her neck, looking up at him with half-tearful eyes.
Still, despite his unfamiliarity, embarrassment, and utter terror in the new position he found himself in, Mr. S couldn't help but feel a spark of joy hum to life in his heart.
"Ok, we can get it," he said with a short sigh.
And, if you looked at the absolute and utter sense of amazement that took over the wondering eyes of the little girl, you might have thought the necklace cost more than fifteen bucks.
She shook slightly, as if her little body were struggling to contain the joy until, at last, she leapt up and squeezed Mr. S in a tight hug.
"I love you dad!" she squealed, again with a vulgar level of volume, softening her voice a little as she whispered into his ear that other line she was so fond of using with her parents. "You're my favorite dad," she added a little dreamily. "I love you more than anyone else in the world."
…
"I hate you, dad!" A- yelled, shortly before slamming her bedroom door.
Mr. S was only very amused about the situation, and, in deference to his daughter's incredibly stern and serious demeanour, resolved not to laugh at her dark-black eyeliner… anymore.
I mean, come on, it was a little funny as a phase, though.
The door opened quickly once more as A- peeked her head through, shouting: "And it's not a phase!" before she slammed the door, just after the last syllable expressed itself.
Mr. S quickly recused himself, hurrying downstairs before his resolve not to burst out laughing fully failed him.
He was stopped at the first landing, however, when a small change of wind signaled the opening door
Mr. S looked back and noticed the death metal outline of his daughter as she peeked a sad eye past the thin opening.
"I- don't hate you, by the way," she admitted with a shy voice, shutting the door very quickly before he had a chance to respond.
…
Mr. S always remembered that episode fondly, whenever he thought of his daughter. It was always a sign of her great maturity, and it was a comforting thought for him. It assured him that, no matter what happened, that his daughter would grow into a good woman, whom he would always be proud of.
And she proved his expectations more than right.
Mr. S had been given the honor of giving the speech at her birthday party this year, managing to hold back his gloating looks from reaching his wife, who'd lost the coin flip.
He rang his champagne glass full of water, and, as the party fell down to quet murmurs, he directed an earnest gaze at his daughter.
And she looked back at him.
She turned fully in her seat to pay attention, her every movement backed by an assured confidence. She was beautiful, kind, intelligent, and the way she could look into people's eyes, without nervousness or demand, she showed her character immediately as a person capable of empathy, and of true love. And everyone loved her for this. She had no shortage of friends and, despite how that made Mr. S's wallet cry whenever he was responsible for catering her parties, he could honestly say nothing made him happier than her happiness. And… a little secret, while A- could look at anyone with enough care to stun them, Mr. S felt a little teary whenever she looked at him and he noticed that she, despite having grown up now, hadn't forgotten her love for him either, and that she wasn't too embarrassed to say - now that she was getting ready to head out and make her mark on the world - that perhaps he hadn't done too bad of a job raising her, and that she loved her dear old dad - or at least that she didn't hate him!
And, maybe it was vanity adding this, but Mr. S still prided himself on claiming to still be her favorite dad in the world.
She was his entire world.
And his world was perfect.
Mr. S finished the speech to a round of laughter, and the rest of the party hardly stuck out to his memory, except for one interaction, when his daughter called him over for a private conversation.
"What is it?" Mr. S asked, walking over to the quiet corner, away from the huddled center of the party.
She looked down, fixing her hair before looking back up at him.
"Dad," she said, a resilient expression supporting her.
"Father!"
Mr. S woke with a start.
Refocusing his eyes, he noticed the gang of teenagers that had walked in on him from the nearby forest.
And he looked over at Weiss.
"What is it?"
Weiss took a step back. Why had she called out to him like that?
She brought a hand up, trying to justify the word that had slipped from her. It had been a shocked call on her part.
Weiss was disturbed, because she was one of the handful who could claim to have a true understanding of her fathers's feelings. And she could see that her father was nearly on the verge of tears.
"Um… um," Weiss stuttered. "It's nothing," she said at last, turning to take her leave. "Sorry to bother you."
And she turned, walking at a brisk pace back to the forest.
"Um, Weiss, what was that?" Ruby asked, sounding genuinely confused.
"What?" Weiss asked, failing to hide her intense nervousness.
"He was just asking what you wanted? Why are we leaving all of a sudden?"
"Because he obviously didn't want us to be there," Weiss snapped.
Everyone else was looking at her, now, noticing her distress, and seeming incredibly worried about it.
Weiss could hardly blame them. To them, father probably looked to be the very picture of calm. Of course they would be worried when she started panicking for seemingly no reason.
Only Pyrrha seemed to have some inkling of understanding about her. She'd grown up in a noble house, too, Weiss recalled.
Weiss sighed.
"Look, he's not looking very patient, ok?" Weiss answered, picking up her pace as she headed away from her father. "He's probably worried about his performance review," she waved their concerns away, knowing that explanation to be a lie even as she said it. "We shouldn't bother him."
Her words surprised her.
More than that, however, Weiss was surprised at the great worry that she felt. It wasn't worry for her father. Rather, it was very confusing, but, all her life, no matter what was happening, Weiss's father had always been a pillar of strength. He was cruel, selfish, arrogant and incapable of taking any action that didn't make her life worse, but he was also a man who Weiss had rarely seen falter, who was stoic under every circumstance.
And Weiss…. Weiss had never seen him like this. He never expressed such emotion, and if he did, he always kept sure to contain it to his private quarters.
And, much ashamed as she was to admit it, that had always been a great comfort to her… one which she only noticed once it had been lost.
When the White Fang had taken Cousin Hagel hostage, Weiss had taken comfort knowing that her father would make no mistake, that he would remain aloof from all the terrifying responsibility of the situation.
In a way, his behavior during this past week had only been a further confirmation of this fact.
But… this, what she'd seen… it terrified her to think what could have brought him to such a state. And it reminded her again of her conviction, the one which she'd set out before Whitley all those days ago, that no matter what she would find what her father was hiding, because it was all too obvious, now, that he was hiding something.
Further thought on the matter was delayed, however, when Weiss nearly ran into the Head Maid, Nannen.
"Oh, excuse me," Weiss apologized in a hurry, moving to walk around the woman.
A hand stuck out to interrupt her.
"Weiss Schnee," Nannen pronounced with great gravity. "You have been summoned for a meeting."
This sudden announcement shocked Weiss, and she could only nod dumbly in acknowledgement.
"Summoned" was not a word lightly used in the Schnee household. Only three people in the Manor could "summon" anyone: Father, Mother, and...
"Am I to go now?" Weiss asked.
"As soon as possible," Nannen answered.
Weiss turned back to the rest of the group, surprised to find expectant looks on their faces.
"We're not allowed to come, are we?" Nora pouted.
Weiss raised a questioning eyebrow.
"She said the same to Winter," Pyrrha supplied with a strained smile.
Weiss smiled apologetically. "Family stuff," she explained. "You guys stay with Yang, I'll be back shortly."
And Weiss departed. The rest of the group headed back to the lake where they'd left Yang.
...
Mr. S, still caught up in the whirlwind of his emotions, had very little patience for Nannen or for anyone else when she stepped into his clearing.
"Mr. Schnee, you are being summoned for a meeting," Nannen respectfully announced, rising up into an arching stand and speaking with the same tenor reserved for speaking to royalty.
Mr. S hardly looked up from his reflection in the chrome bench. "Reschedule it," he ordered, not bothering to ease any patience into his voice.
Nannen's response was as stern as it was immediate.
"Jacques!" she yelled, sounding unabashed and with deep reprimand.
Mr. S looked up immediately, surprised. No one in the staff had called him Jacques, ever. And no one in the staff had ever dared to yell at him.
Nannen took a deep breath, composing herself and preparing to give the announcement a second try. She paused and focused expectant attention onto him.
"You are being summoned," she reiterated crisply, "by Mister Schnee."
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