Chapter 52: Only you will cry for them.

Chapter 52


Thanks again to boothnat, who helped edit this chapter.

You can find her deviantart by looking up "RobinTact Deviantart".


...

"Daddy, daddy!" A young girl came bounding over the carpet.

Mr. S extremely embarrassed and self conscious at the reverent attention she so loudly displayed for him in public, knelt down on one knee, raising an eyebrow and sparing a glance 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.

...

-Mr. S couldn't help but feel a spark of joy hum to life in his heart.

"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.

I mean, come on, it was a little funny as a phase, though.

...

-noticed the outline of his daughter as she peeked a sad eye past the thin opening.

"I- don't hate you, by the way."


A cold wash of water splashed up to greet him, and he gripped the cold porcelain like a lifeline.

Mr. S rose up, seeing his chilled, water-soaked face in the mirror, supporting his weight on the running sink below.

Did you ever wonder what it was like to have venom in your heart?

It was stupid, but he remembered when he used to confide to his wife about these things. Somehow that had always made him feel better, cleared out his guts. Now, though, Mr. S was painfully aware of how alone he was in this world, of how he couldn't really be honest with anyone. And it was the strangest thing; he'd never held honesty in such high regard before, but that one fact alone may have been what made it all so unbearable.

Back on earth, his life had been bad, terrible, but at least he had friends he could talk to, he had his brother. Here, he'd signed on to a life-time term of silence, and it was all just sitting inside him like a poisonous puddle. It hurt.

Strange to say, he had no trouble hiding it. Whatever he commanded, this body followed. He thought it better to smile and the face in the mirror played a convincing interpretation. It wasn't overt, but that was perhaps where the authenticity of the change lay. Mr. S- Mr. Schnee, looked happy, no sign of fakery about it. Or at least no sign that Mr. S could detect.

So it was surprising to him when, on the way to his summons, he ran into Weiss and she seemed not at all to be falling for it.

"Weiss," Mr. S nodded, especially careful not to show anything.

Weiss only replied with a subtle nod of her own, puffing up defensively as she backed away to the far edge of the wall.

Still, they were both heading to the same place, and, for such an important meeting, decorum dictated a certain refined pace that kept them together.

They walked side by side the rest of the way.

Outside, Willow and her son were standing, talking in hushed voices with the quartet of nurses.

Mr. S and Weiss stopped just beyond the reach of the council. Two of the nurses split off to greet them, one approached Mr. S, holding out a paper tag which she wrapped around his wrist.

"You do understand that this is to be a personal visit, and that it can and will be called off at any time at the discretion of the health staff?"

She repeated the words as if reading them off a card.

"I understand," Mr. S nodded.

And that seemed to be good enough for her. She left, joining the rest of the nurses as they quickly retreated down the separate hallways.

The aftermath of the scene was as tranquil as it always was in the Schnee household.

Except there had been one small change, one which no one spoke of but which everyone noticed.

Weiss… was standing quite a bit closer to Mr. S than she had been when they arrived. And, conversely, she'd drawn further away from Willow in order to do so.

Quieter glances were passed, acknowledgements made, and no action taken on any side as they stood waiting.

Mr. S had grown quite used to this state of affairs, and he'd grown quite sick of it as well. The quiet glances, the unspoken words, the… sheer pettiness of it all only served to inflame the sickening understanding that settled in him: that none of them could understand - were capable of understanding - the feelings that he'd consigned himself to suppressing.

Winter arrived just then, already wearing her bracelet tag, and the doors silently opened to allow them entrance.

The children went first, and Mr. S moved to follow- only to be stopped at the entrance; Willow stood in his way and moved him aside with a glance.

Mr. S drew closer, a curious look on his countenance.

"What do you think you're doing?" Willow spat.

Mr. S's look only grew more curious.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Willow's patience, patently expired, appeared to be growing all the shorter as a frightfully angry look took her.

"What I mean…" Willow harshed, "is why are you embarrassing yourself with that disgusting, self-sorry, look that's taken you."

Mr. S blinked.

"Oh, ho!" Willow attempted a knowing laugh, failing for how angry she sounded. "Are you trying to manipulate Weiss into a bout of pity for you? I didn't expect you'd fall so low! It appears to be working well enough for you! Tell me, why don't you just leave the girl alone? It's sad enough that you've thrown her desperately at that Faunus girl to win her favor, crying like a child isn't becoming of you."

Mrs. Schnee sounded exasperated despite the victorious tune she attempted to fix her words to.

"This isn't to do anything to do with Weiss-" Mr. S attempted to explain.

"I don't care who it's to do with!" Willow embarked onto another tirade. "But whatever it is you're doing, whatever it is that's the matter with you, I won't stand you parading about like a toddler with your woes in the middle of a summons! Consider well that I've put up with you all these years for one reason, and I won't look kindly if you try to ruin it!"

Willow punctuated the verbal jab with a physical one, hitting a finger into the side of his ribs. Mr. S felt something crack, as if someone had hammered a blunt nail into him and he was forced back a step.

That certainly woke him up. (Note: The dust suit was not included in the previous chapter.)

He barely held himself from expressing anything. Thankfully, Willow, lost in her tirade, and focused herself on keeping her cool, hardly mustered any attention in his direction.

She took a deep breath, composing herself before drawing close to speak directly into his eyes.

"It's the least you could do," she continued softly; "it's all that I've asked of you, so let me be clear and remind you, since you obviously seem to be forgetting, if you attempt to take this opportunity to be anything other than genial and cooperative… consider that I have more control than the rest of the board combined, and that I still haven't quite decided how the family will be voting in the upcoming review. So, be good, understand?" Willow smiled thinly.

Mr. S, coming from the sparkles of pain in his vision, attempted not to gasp his breaths as he nodded. "I understand."

Willow went inside.

Mr. S, after taking a moment to compose himself, followed. The sharp spike of pain that went through him with every step soon faded into a dull ache.

Inside, he noticed that Weiss and Whitley were the worse actors. He could hardly tell from Winter's expression that they'd heard that entire altercation.

They weren't left alone for long; the nurses entered, accompanied by an old man that Mr. S guessed to be Nicholas Schnee: Willow's father.

He looked to be a very tired man, with stark white hair. Great bushy eyebrows curved like icicles over his closed eyelids. Every breath seemed to take effort. And, when he'd introduced himself, Mr. S had trouble registering, so tired and hoarse were his exclamations.

Despite this however, the man retained an imperial figure. And with the way everyone around him seemed to shrink back in reverence, one would think the wheelchair he sat in was a throne.

His body was built solidly,with calcified muscles and a kingly posture that sat him up to great heights

"Greetings… my dear family. I trust-" he lost himself in a coughing fit "-I trust this summons has not come at an inconvenient time."

Before the first word escaped him, everyone bowed, and Mr. S barely caught himself, following everyone's lead before a noticeable distance had formed.

"Of course not, father," Willow intoned with great sadness. "It's an honor to be with you. We would never consider time with you to be an inconvenience."

"Willow, is that you?"

"Yes, father." Willow reached out a hand to meet his blindly reaching hand, gently caressing the individual fingers. "We're all here," she promised. "Winter is here, too. She's back from the academy. General ironwood sent her so she could be with us!" Willow spoke loudly, and sounded nothing but genuinely happy. It was the sound of a mother who was happy, finally, to have her family all together.

"The academy," Nicholas said after a moment of silence, "Winter? Hmm," he continued, with some confusion.

"Yes, father," Willow answered. "Winter's been attending the academy. She's doing very well there. She's become the personal aid of General Ironwood! She's an exceptional student, father, and Weiss is following right in her footsteps."

"Good, good," Nicholas answered in his own time. And, for his own time, he fell silent. "And, how is Whitley; his tutoring is going well?"

"Whitley is in school, father," Willow answered. "He's done well, and he wants to be just like you when he grows up. He adores his grandfather, you know. We all love you, father."

"Haha!" Nicholas laughed a jolly laugh, one richer altogether like a very different man's. "I'm glad to see there are still explorers born in Atlas! It's a hard job, boy. You have to be tough. But I know you'll be up to the task."

Nicholas nodded his acknowledgement, and Whitley seemed ready to explode from happiness.

Again, a silence fell. This time, it came with a more portentous air, as everyone realized that there was only one person left that Nicholas had saved his words for.

"Jacques," he said, at last.

"Yes, sir?"

"You know, I may be blind, but, even I can hear three emergency alarms in one week."

"Of course sir," Mr. S half bowed again. "We've faced several unexpected challenges with security. I take all respon-"

"Are you faring well?" Nicholas asked suddenly, a kidly expression evident in his voice.

Mr. S found himself not quite on board with the sudden turn of implication. "Oh, uh…"

"Jacques," Nicholas said after a moment, "you know," he continued carefully, "that I have always loved you like a son." He brought a tight fist up to press against his heart.

"I... of course, sir."

"I knew as soon as I heard the alarms that… you were the most likely target. And, forgive an old man's sentimentality, but I couldn't help but think of your rather suicidal first charge back in Vacuo, hahaha!" again another round of deep laughter at the fond memory.

Mr. S laughed along politely, as did everyone else, in the manner of people far too familiar with the story.

"But…" when Nicholas spoke again, it was far more seriously, his tired breaths catching up with him. "You must also forgive me, but I was quite worried for you. What man could sit still knowing that a boy who he considers to be his son is in... such a position."

"I assure you, sir. I was hardly in…"

Mr. S trailied off as Nicholas raised his arm. Evidently, the man was gathering his breath.

"I consider you like family, Jacques. I always have. And, I'm proud of you, and I worry for you, and I can see that you've grown into a fine old man, hahaha! But… you know that I was never a believer in soft words, not when the harsh truth could save lives. I won't have you coddled in niceties so that you're left parading about like a toddler in the real world."

"Of course, sir."

"And, so, I must reprimand you for the grievous failures of security," Nicholas declared in a grave voice. "The Schnee name is an old one, Jacques. It is a banner of strength… of security," he added after a knowing pause.

"Yes sir."

"But, do you know how little importance that name holds, to tell the truth?" Nicholas asked.

Mr. S… felt trapped by the structure of the question. Thankfully, Nicholas took the opportunity to answer it.

"The name is old, and resilient, and it can handle a scandal or two," Nicholas said. "More important are the people behind that name, Jacques. I'm not disappointed because you lost the record. I'm… unhappy to hear that you put yourself and your family, and all the members of staff in danger. You do understand I won't take excuses. You are the head of this family now. Everyone looks to you. And anything bad that happens: it is your fault. It is your responsibility. That's what it means to have the honor of leading." Nicholas spoke with startling clarity, and with such sobriety that it shocked Mr. S to hear the words from the man who had been laughing so energetically not a moment ago.

"I understand completely, sir," Mr. S spoke the words, and meant them. "We've instituted new procedures. This won't happen again."

Mr. S spoke too quickly, nervous to leave, and held himself back from departing immediately after his sentence ended.

"I'm glad to hear it, Jacques."

Nicholas moved to turn away, on the edge of dismissing them.

And, through everyone, a terrible sigh of relief seemed ready to pass.

But then he called.

"Jacques," Nicholas questioned.

"Yes, sir?"

Nicholas paused again. And this time the tension was torturous, as everyone looked carefully through the corner of their eyes at Mr. S.

"You sound so nervous," Nicholas deduced with starling quickness. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Mr. S didn't know what moved him to say:

"Well, sir, to be honest-"

"Ahahahahahaha!" Willow broke in with such a loud, bright laugh, that Mr. S hardly noticed, at first, how close she'd come as she wrapped a caring arm against his and curled up against him. "Oh, Jacques, you're such a kidder! Oh, I'm sorry to have worried you, father," Willow evoked mid-laughter. "I haven't told you because I didn't want to worry you, but Jacques has been working like a mad man to fix the security breaches this past week! Why, he's hardly gotten any sleep! I keep telling him he needs his rest, but does he listen to me?

"It's nothing he hasn't been able to see us through, however" Willow said, looking up at Mr. S with adoring tones and he felt himself recoil lightly from the contact when she reached up a hand to caress his chin. "You have no idea how much he cares for this family, father. And I hate to whine, I hate to interfere with your rights to speak to him how you like, but I must protest, that you have been entirely too harsh on my dear Jacques!" Willow leant a head against Mr. Schnee's shoulder, wrapping his arm in a hug. "He's such a dutiful husband, and he's so absorbed in his work. He's always trying to embiggen the Schnee name! He's just so overworked at times. Oh, I know I shouldn't complain, father, really. I know how much you had to go through to keep him! I was just so glad when you finally got him for me, the happiest girl in the world, and I just hate to hear you say such things as you have."

Willow broke out her sentence in two or three breaths, speaking with such passion and genuine belief that Mr. S was left reeling from the chipper woman that had wrapped herself around him. Recoiling lightly from the very intimate contact, he felt frozen.

"Of course," Nicholas said, taken aback, as far as he could be. "I shouldn't keep you waiting here, in that case." He turned his head to acknowledge the crescent his family formed around him. "Jacques, get some rest," he nodded his head at Mr. S.

They were hurriedly escorted back into the hallway, and the doors closed behind them.

Mr. S barely took two stops before he stopped. He felt suddenly sick at the ordeal he'd just had to sit through, they all did.

Willow, most of all, seemed to be greatly disturbed as she leant against a nearby wall, hiding her face from the rest of them.

"What was that?!" Willow snapped with a breathy tone, turning to Mr. S. "What were you thinking!? What did I tell you!"

"Maybe he just wants to tell the truth!" Weiss sprung up, standing to face her mother.

"The truth?" Willow smirked, addressing the answer to Mr. S as if he'd be the one who'd spoken. "You ruin everything and now you want to tell the truth!? Repenting early? You're not dying that young."

"Would you stop!?" Weiss yelled, aggressively pacing, though notably not moving forward any closer to her mother. "Would you stop making everything about him!" Weiss gestured heavily at Mr. S. "Would you stop making it about you! We haven't been able to talk with grandfather for years, actually talk with him, all because of you!"

"You're blaming me?"

"I'm blaming the lies! Stop with the lies! You can lie to yourself, but stop dragging the rest of us with you! I want to tell him the truth!"

"He can't hear the truth!" Willow broke viciously, turning to loom over her smaller daughter. And, it was notable how quickly Weiss cowed away. "He can't understand the truth! All he can be is tortured by it until he forgets! And I won't do that to my father, not for you, not for anyone!"

"He forgets little things!" Weiss rebuked, gaining strength from the anger her mother's words inspired. "He forgets names and dates; but he remembers us! He remembers his family! And he wouldn't forget the truth if you'd just told it to him in the first place!"

"It's too late for that!" Willow's fury peaked to new heights, and her voice boomed through the halls, and she burned with such visible rage that Winter rushed from Whitley's side to stand over Weiss. "I won't have you disobeying my orders, Weiss! And I have no respect for your childish demands! I won't tell my father the truth just so I can have the honor of explaining it to him over and over again! He's an old man in a terrible situation! The best thing that can happen is that he dies in his sleep tonight!"

Willow's breath hitched, crashing her sentence to a halt as she realized what she'd said.

Everyone froze.

Mr. S moved to action.

"I'm sorry about what I said in there, Willow," he said calmly, as if he'd forgotten completely her earlier words. "You know I wouldn't jeopardize his health. I was only planning to tell him more about the security breaches when he asked. I wouldn't have revealed anything that you wouldn't have wished."

Willow nodded, said something in acknowledgement that went unheard and left.

It was a strange way that the rest of them just dispersed, as if they were strangers, all eager to go home.

And, despite himself, Mr. S couldn't help but feel a little bit more at home when he caught sight of Schwarz.

Apparently, she'd been looking for him, to tell by her intense interest.

Mr. S felt uncharacteristically happy to see her. It was like meeting a friend after tough times. They hadn't had much opportunity to be together lately, he realized.

"Schwarz!" he greeted tiredly, a happy look in his eyes.

"Schwarz?" Mr. S spoke curiously.

A stern, professional demeanor greeted him as black eyes stared solemnly into his.

"What is it?" Mr. S felt his smile grow more subdued.

"It's about Farbe, sir."

"Right!" Mr. S perked. "What did McGarnagle find out?"

Schwarz hesitated. "He didn't find anything out, sir."

"What?" Mr. S attempted a joke, "was she immune to his charms, after all?"

"Farbe's dead, sir."


When using a woodsman's axe, you must be careful to always keep a tight grip on the haft. You don't want anyone to get unnecessarily injured.

Proper technique dictates that you grip the belly of the haft with your weak hand. When swinging, allow your strong hand to slide along the handle so that both of your hands touch at the base just before impact.

The sharp edge of the axe kissed the skull, and the thing broke open like some horrendous flower. The sound was something like a hard shelled chocolate éclair being bitten open, only richer, somehow. Funny that, they always said sounds moved down a scale when transmitted through the jawbone.

The strong hand is not meant to deliver power. The good woodsman knows that the power comes from the leverage of the ax, why else would anyone concentrate so much weight at one end of a stick? The right hand- Mercury's strong hand in this case- was meant for control; it was there to ensure that the ax landed where he wanted it too. And, once guided there, the axe- by the look of things- seemed more capable of handling everything. Swinging it harder would just be a waste. Besides, it was necessary to ensure that you didn't hit your target too hard, being able to easily retrieve your weapon after each swing was key.

Mercury took a step back, flicking back on the handle and drawing the ax out. An arc of blood that went streaming into the air like a mono-color rainbow.

His next step back was far more stiff, and turning he was disgusted to be reminded of the rather strong limp that persisted in affecting him. With the rush wearing off and the mood settling along with all the bodies, he was now in a state to appreciate the slight inconvenience.

Scowling, he walked over to a nearby log and drove the ax into the wood with another flick of his wrist. He fell onto the log, sitting; the axe handle stuck up into the air on his left.

Just then, the body with the cherry fountain for a head decided to topple, sending a spurt of dark blood spattering onto Cinder's obsidian shoes. She looked down at the speckles with disgust, despite the fact that they were hardly noticeable against the glossy black exterior of her heels. Really, she seemed set to start complaining about her outfit again.

"Can't you do anything right!" She snapped for the third time that day.

"It'll be fine," Mercury droned, not looking up from the fallen robot that lay next to the log he sat on.

Mercury had gotten quite good at taking care of his legs. He had to, considering there were few prosthetics repairmen he had the chance to see at Salem's. Still, this level of damage was…

He looked down at the prosthetics, their metal surface gleaming through the shredded remains of his pants.

Well, they'd been incapable of firing any bullets. He would have bitched more that Cinder didn't take enough care when extracting him from that iceberg- considering her chosen method of excavation turned out in the end to be immediate, explosive mining, but, considering he wasn't in a jail cell at the moment, he decided some generous patience with the woman was due on his part.

He reached out towards the broken robot. It was an older model- he was sure these had actuators that were compatible.

FROOM!

A wall of flame rose up between him and the robot. He drew his hand back, quickly rethinking his earlier commitment to patience as he looked up at Cinder, who was now scowling down at him. Or, at least, he thought she might have been scowling, it was difficult to tell with the dirt-based mascara highlighting her features.

"We don't have time for you to play mechanic," Cinder commanded. "This place is obviously a target:" Cinder gestured to the bodies of Atlesian agents littering the grounds. "If you're in such a hurry to fix your legs, you can do it once we've gotten a bullhead. Now get up, we have to find the hideout, and I don't think the Atlesians are going to wait for us to find it before they send out another team." Cinder punctuated the sentence with a sudden turn, wiping a specle of dried blood off the shoulder of her dress and flicking it away.

Mercury, seeing the sense in her words, as well as the sense in not further antagonizing a maiden, shrugged his shoulders and leapt up from his sitting place. Pulling the axe free, he slung it over his shoulder and caught up with the woman, idly gazing around at the scattered woodland. "What's the name of this cell, anyway? I think it was called the five rings or something?"

"Who cares," Cinder cut. "They're small potatoes with delusions of grandeur. And I doubt they're in a survivable position to tell by the attention they've managed to attract. She looked aside at the great fire that was gouting out from the cracked side of a broken and crashed bullhead. It was a strike-unit model. Someone very high-up must've ordered this attack.

"Then why are we here?" Mercury sniped, growing more annoyed as another bramble caught onto his stiff leg.

"We need to get back to Salem," Cinder answered patiently, "and for that we need transportation. I trust our allies out here will be kind enough to provide the means. It doesn't appear as if they'll be needing their transports." Cinder smiled darkly.

"And you're sure they've got a bullhead?" Mercury pressed for the twentieth time.

Cinder, also for the twentieth time, didn't answer.

"Hold still!" A shocked voice commanded from the darker depth of forest to their right.

"Oh, there you are!" Cinder smirked, turning to face the, heh, 'ambush party'.

"We said hold still!" the voice shrieked. The clack and level of weapons could be heard from the darkness.

"We come in peace!" Cinder shouted, eyes brightening as she noticed the golden ring insignia that glimmered out from the shoulder of one of the figures in the darkness. Ah, the one ring, she remembered them. "We come as emissaries of the dark lord!" she struggled to remember the cover story they'd given these morons, all the while stepping slowly closer. "As you can see, have destroyed your enemies for you!" She gestured back to the dying carnage. "From the looks of things, we couldn't have come as a more convenient time!"

The best thing about cultists: once you said the right words, they fell in line like trained puppies.

"Ahh!" Cinder sighed, feeling the massaging warmth work it's way into her shoulders from the sauna towel she'd draped around herself like a cloak.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Mistress Cinder?" a delightful young girl Cinder had taken a liking to marched closer to her, holding out a silver plate before her. "Sun-bright," Cinder thought her name was.

"How is my ship coming along?" Cinder took the glass of whiskey off the platter.

"It's all ready, Mistress!" Sunbright beamed up at her.

"Good," Cinder smirked. "Also, don't call me mistress," Cinder commanded.

Despite her words, Cinder actually quite enjoyed when Sunbright referred to her as "Mistress". It was just that, at the moment, she enjoyed more the feeling she got by telling Sunbright not to call her "Mistress" and thereby upholding that self-righteous sense of the egalitarianism she prided herself upon. She knew, of course, that Sunbright would lapse and call her "Mistress" continue to call her mistress, unless Cinder insisted upon it that was, which she wouldn't. No, in the future, Cinder planned to just let out an exasperated sigh whenever Sunbright lapsed and called her "Mistress". She would sigh in just such a way as someone who had done everything they could to get a person to give up a bad habit and had, after grievous, genuine effort resigned themselves to the fact that some people just don't change.

"Of course, Mistress," Sunbright beamed. "I'll keep it in mind, Mistress."

Cinder sighed exasperatedly.

Just then, they barged into the central headquarters.

Well, if you could call a wooden hut with some computer monitors headquarters. Cinder wrinkled her nose at the thick scent of tobacco that filled the room, and at the dense clouds of smoke that hovered through the air, and revealed the streaks of sunlight which pierced through disjointed boards of the hut wall.

Mercury, as with everyone else in the room, was more invested in the incoming transmissions, which had been screaming through the comms all morning.

On the screen, a field of feeds could be seen, growing more and more lonely as they winked out, one by one.

"Mayday, mayday!"

"Atlesian units in the eastern sector-!" Krisssh! Static cut off, the feed quickly replaced with an alternate line. "Atlesian units in the wes-!" Krissh. "They're everywhere!" Krissh. "This is base Mountain reporting-!" Krishshs. "This is base Hork-!" Krishh! "This is base Howler-!" Krissh! "We are all dying!" The final feed grew to enormous proportions to encompass the screen. The single audio line warbled extremely as the desperate voice on the other side yelled out. "We are all dying-!" the sound interrupted as the great boom of explosions overtook the voice. "-by the great eye! By the great one!-" echoes boomed. "-all dying! All dying-!" krissh!.

The room was suddenly filled with a sullen silence, as everyone looked at one another, and up at the blank screen.

The base leader, a middle aged faunus woman stood silently up. She let out a deep breath.

"You… cannot stay here," she spoke to the woman behind her with softly closed eyes. "You are a maiden, and more important to the cause than this one battle; we will hold ourselves-"

"Uhm, high priestess," an awkward voice coughed nervously.

"What!" the woman snapped eerily, turning an eye onto the person.

"She, uh, already left," they gestured back behind the woman, where a wide open door flapped lightly in the wind.


Cinder stood on the ramp to the bullhead, looking back at the gathered crowd of attendees that had followed here and were gathered in a tight crowd around the pad.

Mercury was already in the main body, a pack slung over his shoulder as he looked impatiently down at her.

"We should go now," he gestured with a nod to the cockpit behind him.

"Just a minute," Cinder glanced her eyes around the flock of people until- there! Her eyes alighted onto the short tuft of golden hair she'd been looking for. "You, Sunbright, right?" Cinder pointed out the girl, who seemed ready to squeal in fangirlish enjoyment.

"Yes!?" she called with a chirp.

"Come with me," Cinder said.

"'Ok!" Sunbright bounded onto the ramp.

And that was that.


"Hahaha, you're still thinking there's a way out of this, don't you?" Farbe stifled her laughter.

She paced, increasingly agitated. She stared into the mirror, and the person there finally seemed to get it because: "You've still managed to catch the eye of someone very big," Farbe let slip an excited chuckle.

"And, when they bring the hammer down…"


It was a carcass.

The eyes had burnt out, and it's flayed body was sprawled uncomfortably in the corner, it's dried guts bursting from the emaciated body that had cooked in the metal cell.

Farbe's cell was half a kilometer underground.

Schwarz had known that wouldn't be enough.

She looked about herself carefully as she stepped into the space. Engineers in hazmat suits crawled across the space, inspecting every oddity.

Schwarz and Mr. S stood side by side in their own suits. The suits were hardly necessary, the cell had cooled down and the air inside now carried an average temperature of two hundred degrees. It wasn't a problem for hunters.

However, Mr. S had requested they wear hazmat suits, citing the possibility of poisonous gasses and remnants of vaporized metal. The police hardly begrudged him, and themselves implemented the suggestion for their own forces. There were very few things that a hazmat suit could protect from that aura couldn't, but the sheer strangeness of the present case incited caution.

A careful glance around the rest of the cell revealed deformed, warped surfaces that ballooned out into the surrounding bedrock. The metal had been eaten away completely in places, and fern-like metal depositions built up in glimmering clumps, probably resulting from the rapid cooling that had taken place after the initial presence of vaporised metal.

This… was no dust explosion, Schwarz immediately assured herself That much was obvious. In fact, the only reason the engineers kept suggesting the idea was because none of them could imagine anything else that could do this.. She could hear her steady breaths echoing against the inside of her helmet, as she panned her gaze over the cell once more.

The explosion had started in the center of the room. From there, a wave of plasma flashed into existence, contained for a moment by the energy shield before that, too, failed and the plasma was released into the rest of the cell complex.

Looking around, everything in the cell was similarly damaged. Nothing stood out.

Except…

There was a small hole in the ceiling, about the size of a quarter.

Mr. S had been the first to notice it, and Schwarz caught on when she noticed him arcing his head back to stare at it.

The cell was half a kilometer underground. Fifteen hundred feet of solid earth and rock and metal stood over the complex, all of it capped by a military grade dust shield. And, if Schwarz was right, something had tunneled a quarter-sized bore through it in an instant before detonating, at last, here: precisely in the center of Farbe's cell.

Schwarz looked over at Mr. S, who had spent the past several minutes staring at Farbe's body in the corner. The morbidity displeased her, and, only slightly for her own elucidation, she asked: "any thoughts?"

Mr. S looked up once again at the hole. The bore hole had collapsed, and only a dark hole was visible now when they looked up at it.

"What do you mean?" Mr. S asked.

"What do you think happened?"

Mr. S inhaled deeply through his nostrils, struggling against the suit filters. "Well…" he sighed, crossing his arms as he stared up at the hole, "I guess they brought the hammer down."

A moment passed before Mr. S spoke again.

"Also, Schwarz," he said.

"Yes?" Schwarz asked.

"Upgrade our roof shields."


The review board meeting took place in a surprisingly inauspicious place.

A simple room in the Schnee Manor had been cleared out and fitted with two desks and about thirty chairs.

One of the two desks was Mr. Schnees, and he and Schwarz sat side by side behind it's mahogany surface. Looking out ahead of them, the other 27 chairs were sprawled across the remainder of the room area.

Beside him was the other desk, where his prosecution was sitting. Or, rather, where his prosecution was supposed to be sitting.

It was funny, he'd expected the prosecution to be headed by one of the directors, Schen or Drama or Heinel Lutz or somebody.

Rather, he was surprised to find that his prosecution consisted of… some woman he didn't know.

Something about her irked him. Something about her voice or tone of speech or something.

And it wasn't just that, it was everything about her.

She was very… preppy…. like a soccer mom. Or like a college girl trying to mimic one. She was dressed in a skirt suit and heels, and every so often she would put an unnecessary skip in her step that turned her around and forced her to fix her restraining skirt. And moreover, she put on the effect of somebody who couldn't sit down, and had at the first opportunity left her desk to pace before the audience as if she were in the middle of a lecture. Every so often, she would interrupt her sentences at the most senseless moments to direct a stern, "Mr. Schnee" in his direction. "That's right, isn't it, Mr. Schnee?", "And of course you are aware of this, Mr. Schnee?", "I think it's interesting, Mr. Schnee…" She repeated these phrases incessantly, as if making sure that he were still paying attention.

Of course, Mr. S wasn't paying attention.

He was obligated to be here, but, considering his own prosecutors sent an intern to head the meeting in their place, he didn't feel too guilty about dozing off.

He quickly woke up in the eleventh hour, however, when he heard an inflection in the girl's voice that suggested she was talking about something relevant.

"...and the board is therefore officially recommending that you resign, effective immediately, subject to the terms listed above. How do you answer, Mister Schnee?"

Mr. S sat up a little straighter. Tireldy, he tilted his hand up and his eyes down. He read off notecard which Schwarz had carefully prepared for him, and which contained on it precisely everything he would be required to say during this meeting:

"No," Mr. S said.

The woman smiled a wide smile, one which attempted to affect genuine understanding and even happiness at his decision.

It was fake.

"Then I must defer," she began, affecting regret, "to unanimous decision of the board and recommend the early termination of Mister Schnee's contract, and, illustrious members of the Schnee Corp. holdings-" she turned suddenly to the chairs, focusing particularly onto two prominent figures sitting at the front, "I strongly recommend that you support the board in this decision. Recall, that Mr. Schnee has-"

"The Atlas government declines to vote," a man in a military suit spoke up, impatience present in his voice even as it failed to show on his face.

"The Schnee Family holdings declines," Nannen, sitting in as a representative beside the man, fitting her words just after his.

"Well," the woman huffed out shortly, her wide smile dimming just a little. She turned to face Schwarz and Mr. Schnee, lifting her hands out a little. "That accounts for a supermajority of the votes," she declared. "As there has not been a decisive decision, the board withdraws their file to rescind Mr. Schnee's employment contract."

It would be a lie to say Mr. S let out a sigh of relief. But, he was glad to be done with the business.

He moved to stand.

"However-" the woman spoke up.

Mr. S eased back into his chair.

"The board, in the absence of reasonable accommodations to their concerns, is forced to move to put you, Mr. Schnee, under probationary status until the annual review six months from now. Under such terms, your ability to exchange stock will be limited: excepting of course-" she added with a sly smile, "-your generous agreement to buy the board's stock on an unconditional basis."

"The Atlas government declines-" the military man spoke up.

"Ah!" the woman interrupted, pacing. "I'm afraid, illustrious representative, that your vote is not the final word, here. The board contract stipulates that probationary status is a blind vote matter. Everyone in the room will be allowed to vote," she gestured out to the remaining chairs, "and all top thirty holders' votes will be given equal weight," she emphasised the word, leaning over to smile at the Atlas and Schnee representatives,"regardless of their holding value.

"And, remember!" she interrupted the crowd, "a super majority is not required to carry a decision in this case, so by not voting, you're only hampering your own interest! And-" she interrupted finally, halting the wave of hands that rose to vote: "do note that according to regulations, a vote can-not be held until I" she gestured to herself, "officially call for one. Don't worry, I won't take too long, and, in any case, I'm required to hold the vote within two hours of the matter being brought forward," she said, clicking a button and starting a timer which, ominously, started counting down from two hours.

A groan went through the audience, and the woman started her presentation.

Mr. S rested his chin against his hands, supported his elbows on the table, and fell asleep.

He was so tired after everything he'd seen today, that his mind effortlessly became quiet in the face of it all. And, when he closed his eyes, vivid dreams recalled in his head.


"You've always had an overactive imagination, you know!" his mother laughed beside him in the car. "I remember your tenth birthday as if it were yesterday!" she beamed. "You built that rocket and launched it from the backyard, oh, you should've seen your aunt's expression! I've never seen her so shocked. 'Why, that boy's always so quiet!' she told me!"

Mr. S laughed along, actually resonating with his mother's words. And, despite himself, he actually started to feel a bit of joy sneak into his heart.

"But…" his mother fell quiet suddenly, solemn. "You know, your daughter takes so much after you!" she said, still beaming despite the change of voice. "She hasn't visited me in a while, hasn't she?" she sulked lightly.

"Like I said, she's going to be with my brother!" Mr. S chided he was impatient. "We're driving there right now! You know she's a good girl. She takes these things to heart. You shouldn't talk about her like she doesn't care about you!"

"Oh," his mother said.

Mr. S fiddled with the radio, forgetting himself as he drove through a narrow pass through the forest. The trees were high on either side, and a thin, blue strip of sky ran above them.

Suddenly, in that blue strip, a white line raced across at incredible speed, and a sonic boom hit them.

"Oh!" his mother startled, wide eyed."My," she breathed, clutching her hands.

"Don't worry, it's just a plane," Mr. S reassured.

"What will they come up with these days," she complained. "Is it one of those Concordes again?" she asked, calming herself down.

"Might be."

"Of course you'd be the first to know what it was!" she beamed with pride. "Your eyes were always in the skies, you know. Do you remember your tenth birthday! In the backyard-"

"Yes, I remember," Mr. S said, a bit too impatiently, regretting it for how taken aback and confused his mother looked.

Finally, they arrived. His brother stood waiting on his front porch while Mr. S escorted his mother out of the car.

"Oh, my," she stopped in her tracks when they were barely three feet away from the car. She looked around herself, distressed. "My cane!" she cried softly. "Where did the thing go!"

"It broke last month, mom, remember," his brother stepped off the porch.

"What?" She asked, hardly understanding. "My cane."

"It's in his house!" Mr. S suddenly blurted, pointing to his brother's porch. "We're walking there right now!"

"Oh, well…" she said, sounding placated.

His brother smiled. 'Right this way, mom."

"Oh, you're so good to me," she took his arm. "It's always so nice being with family. If only A- visited more."

"Ah, sorry mom," Mr. S spoke, voice tightly controlled and smile doubly so. "She's... " he took a breath to compose himself. "She's back at my place. We just missed her."

"Oh, can she come visit us?" she pleaded. "I haven't seen her in who knows how long!"

"Next week, mom," Mr. S smiled, "promise."

Mr. S startled awake.

Mr. Schnee's white suit shone like the moon.

His frosted tips hung down in front of his eyes, and glimmered brilliantly against the changing light of the projector screen.

The desk shook violently beneath him as Schwarz slammed her hands on its surface. Her chair pushed back as she stood to face the still smiling woman.

"I would remind all those present that the board has been a primary voice behind SDC policy with regards to mining activities!" Schwarz's voice barely held back from becoming a true yell. "This accusation is baseless!"

"Oh," the woman replied sincerely, "remember, Mr. Schnee, that the board has never once dictated the terms with which the SDC is to conduct it's mining operations. Furthermore," she turned her gaze back to the chairs, "the board has refrained from interfering with Mr. Schnee's decisions regarding the Faunus issue. And yet now you seek to blame your failures on us." She turned her gaze onto the desk in the middle of her pacing. "I should say this conduct hardly befitting a CEO. And I encourage everyone sitting here to note and remember this lack of decorum when you vote later. Remember, your decision matters a great deal, and it is the opinion of the board that he at least be placed under probation until a more final decision can be made at the annual review."

"Liar!" Schwarz roared, the wood creaking under her exertion. "The board has consistently demanded we lower costs, even to the detriment of the company. They are still demanding it to this day, despite the fact that we have made it clear, time and again, exactly what would be required to reach those levels. We have our warnings and prospects in writing, given to the board a decade in advance! Warnings that have gone unheeded. And you stand there and claim no interference?"

"The board requests that Ms. Tochter remain seated," the woman replied sternly.

Mr. S put a soft hand on Schwarz's arm, bringing her down.

"Thank you!" the woman smiled crisply. "And, as to your objections, I will repeat that the board has never once instructed Mr. S in any way regarding the mining activities of the SDC. We have, for the sake of our investors, always maintained the highest standards of fiduciary responsibility, and have thus, of course, requested that Mr. Schnee reduces margins, but that is a simple and reasonable request on our end. We never, after all, specified how Mr. Schnee was to achieve those milestones.

"Frankly, Mr. Schnee," she turned once again to face Mr. S, "it is the board's opinion that you are the primary cause behind the SDC's recent and historical troubles. Who is responsible for the failures of this house, if not you?"

Mr. S reached out a hand just in time to keep Schwarz from saying something undue.

The woman smiled at ths, and continued unabated.

"Your policies, which you enacted without input from the board, which you drafted without its recognition, have resulted in vast declines of worker health and safety." She clicked to the next slide, and several people gasped audibly as the show started. A starved faunus - a teenager - sat half dead against a rubble pile.

The the woman placed her clicker down on a nearby desk, pacing away from it as she continued her speech and the slide show continued automatically.

"Dust mining has fallen to become one of the world's most dangerous industries. Despite supposed advances, the conditions and injury rate have worsened from historical averages, and they still have not reached their past levels."

The slide turned by itself, and another renewed ghastly groan came from the audience. It was a faunus, adult, this time, dead, missing two limbs, crushed to a paste.

Schwarz was far calmer, and spoke in a mirror of the professional courtesy the woman adopted. "Our record is among the best in the industry," Schwarz stood up. "If our record has worsened, it is only because the entire industry has worsened."

"The board requests that Ms. Tochter remain seated," the woman repeated, more sternly.. "Your methods of enforcement have been called cruel, evil, barbaric, among other words. The Atlas government has recorded a real and significant increase in White Fang recruitment and activity in Schnee mining towns."

"White Fang Recruitment is higher in low-income regions. It is no secret that mines are not located in city centers." Schwarz, this time, remained seated.

The woman only smiled, and waited.

Soon, the slide turned by itself, and this time audible cries were heard from the darkness. Several members of the audience turned to look away from the screen.

"SDC" was branded on the throat of a five-year old faunus girl.

"We lost control of those regions years ago!" Schwarz said angrily. "You know this! We have no affiliation with black-market miners, no matter what letters they choose to put on their brands!"

Again, the woman only smiled, as the slide turned, and a children's burial filled the screen.

An eternity seemed to pass before they were finally privileged with the next sight of a bloodied stump where his ear should have gone.

A mutilated arm.

A starving child.

A burial for a boy.

It was the same image over and over again, in different forms.

And through it all, Mr. S sat stoically at his desk, a hard glare masking him against the false smile of his prosecutor.

Off to the side, the pictures continued running through, growing ever more horrible. And they were all photos. Real pictures, not the renditions and text descriptions people were so used to. The minutes passed, and the photos mounted and Mr. S kept his glare on the prosecutor, who's smile seemed to be straining greatly with each new image. Everyone in the room quickly seemed to regret the photos. Apparently, the woman had been waiting for him to use his rights as the accused to have them remove the photos.

It was a nice legal tactic.

And it was true, if Mr. S had asked - the prosecutor would have been required to immediately comply and to remove the pictures.

Sitting as he was, in grief wracked fury, however, Mr. S only thought of the pictures as fitting. He could have sat there for hours, taking them in and all their implications. This wasn't hard heartedness, on his part; if anything, he felt everything more strongly, and that was precisely why he wanted the pictures up, forever if necessary.

The woman hardly lasted three minutes.

"Put down the images… please," she said at last, a little shake coming through her practiced inflections.

All too quickly, the projector shut off, and the room lights brightened.

As everyone blinked away the spots in the eyes, the woman quickly addressed them, losing her professional cadence as she rushed the words out.

"We will now be holding a vote."


Mr. S walked alongside Schwarz.

He paused at the border to the entrance.

There were few staff around, it was a private room.

Nora whooped lightly as she twirled about in the roller-coaster aircurrents Pyrrha created for her.

Yang, and Jaune played on a set of identical handhelds, Ruby stood behind them, looking over their shoulders and attempting to track both games simultaneously.

Ren sat meditating, enjoying the air currents in his own way.

And Weiss reclined in the far corner, curled up next to Blake, fingers intertwined with the girls .

She sat up when Mr. S arrived, Schwarz at his side.

The air currents had stopped, as had everything else, as the kids stared at the new arrivals. It wasn't their presence alone that garnered this reaction, but rather the peculiar, businesslike manner in which the pair approached Weiss and Blake.

"Father," Weiss nodded, moving to stand and hardly gaining any height for it.

"I would like to speak with Ms. Belladonna." Mr. S said.

The silence, if possible, seemed only to grow quieter.

"Nobody's stopping you," Weiss answered with a confident nervousness.

"I would like to speak to her alone," he answered, looking slightly over his shoulder to direct the words to the rest of her friends as well.

"We can talk," Blake stood up.

Weiss sent a hard look back at Blake.

Blake sent back a look that was harder.

Weiss relented.

"Let's go," she grit out, and everyone flocked out behind her.

Schwarz, despite her every protest, had been convinced beforehand to join them. She was the last one out, and closed the door behind them, leaving Mr. S standing in the corner of the cavernous room with Blake.

Her back was to the corner, and she looked trapped with the distance she tried to keep from him, and which left her pressed against the back of the corner as she rapidly deflated from her earlier assertiveness.

Mr. S cut to the chase.

"Ms. Belladonna, I want you to head the faunus outreach committee."

Blake, to her own surprise, reacted with very little shock. She didn't know why, but it was almost like she'd been expecting the proposal.

"Why me?"

Mr. S only gave a confused look..

"The faunus community already hates me for being White Fang," Blake Explained. "They'll just hate me even more if I start working for you. The PR won't help your company."

"I'm not doing this to help the company's image. I actually want to do something good," Mr. S answered. And, for some reason, maybe a quality of his voice, Blake didn't disbelieve him.

Still, she wasn't beyond skepticism.

"Why not just hire one of your accountants to send the money to appropriate places? Why all the titles and news conferences? Surely, someone of your experience would realize how little respect anyone would have for the committee?"

"Because you're a humanitar-" Mr. S sighed, closing his eyes and rethinking his words.

"If you're trying to say you want a faunus, I'll have you know there are Faunus accountants too," Blake said forcefully. "Believe it or not, some of us do make it past secondary school. If you want a token mascot, I'm sure you'll find someone." Blake smiled a thin smile, and moved to walk around him.

"It's because you joined the White Fang," Mr. S said at last.

Never had Blake refocused her attention more quickly, as she stared with wide eyes up at the man.

"You were a child when you joined, weren't you?"

Blake nodded.

"And it was before the… attacks."

"Yes," Blake, again, nodded.

"It… takes a special kind of person to join a peaceful protest, Blake. There aren't many faunus I could hire who've done that."

"Lots of us have. There are literally thousands of Faunus like me protesting you right now! And I wasn't always peaceful," Blake growled, pulling away from him.

"And that's what makes you so necessary, Blake," Mr. S turned to her. "You made a mistake in staying with that organization, but you had the courage to leave it. And you had the character to attempt to make up for your failures. And you had the heart, after everything, to care for Weiss Schnee." A heartfelt tone was the accompaniment.

"There are no faunus like you, Blake." Mr. S said, a sad gleam to his eyes. "None that will talk to me, in any case."

Blake's mind was whirling from the assault of incongruity. And she wobbled physically as she stepped back away from him, panicking.

"I'm not qualified!" she spat out.

"I'm not asking you because you're an expert, Blake. I need someone who I know will do the right thing. There will be people to help you, but I need someone that can lead them in a good direction."

Mr. S only grew more earnest with every passing word, and a true light seemed to shine within his eyes.

Blake was terrified, hackles raised as she pressed back against a near wall.

"You're insane! I'm a student, a huntress! Just hire some faunus who knows what they're doing, if you're actually serious about this. There are literally thousands of good people you could ask!"

Mr. S took a deep breath, stepping back a little from the cornered girl.

"You're wrong," he said.

"What?" Blake said, offended.

"You still think I don't care, but I assure you that I care more than you know, and that I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't… "There are people suffering, Blake- because of me, because of everybody, thousands and thousands of people. Everyone I talk to assures me that they care, that they're horrified by me, and might be telling the truth." Mr. S took another deep breath.

"But, even if they do care, Blake, they won't understand- not like you can."

Blake, less fearful now, stepped forward from the wall carefully. "What do you mean..."

"They're not capable of understanding," Mr.S continued. bitterly "They'll post a thousand pictures of a starving child, but they can't bring themselves to look at it for too long. They can stand any carnage as long as they're not blamed for it. They'll moan with pity at the mine deaths, but they won't lift a finger to do anything except blind themselves to it.

"Everyone I speak to assures me how deeply they care," Mr. S paced, "how tenderly they feel for all those faunus dying in my mines, and maybe they are right, maybe they are telling the truth… but they will never understand." Mr. S put special emphasis on the word. "They aren't capable of understanding those faunus.

"But you've done more than most. You've sacrificed more than anyone has been able to acknowledge. You know what it's like to try to make things right. You know that when it's all over, you're the one bearing the weight of the grief.

"You have to be the one to stand up for the faunus, Blake." Mr. S assured. "Because only you are capable of understanding them. Only you would cry for them."

Mr. S finished his sentence with a collapsing note

"That's not true," Blake shook her head. "There are others."

"Not ones I can trust, Blake," Mr. S said. "Weiss has trusted you enough to reveal herself to you, trust me there are few people that could manage that with her."

"And you trust her judgement, now?" Blake spat.

"Yes," Mr. S nodded.

Blake was silent.

Mr. S looked intently into her eyes.

"I'll do it."


Also, checkout this commission story, OZ!

s/14011689/1/OZ