AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hoping to stick with the same 3-4 day update schedule I did with "On RWBY Wings," but I figure I'd "prime the pump" a bit with a new chapter today. Plus I had a lot of fun writing the Happy Family Schnee.
Herrenchiemsee is a real place, one of Ludwig II's three castles/palaces (the others being the better known Linderhof and Neuschwanstein.)
Building 102415 (Base Exchange and Cafeteria)
Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada
8 May 2001
Like most American military bases, Beacon had a relatively large Base Exchange—BX in USAF language—and like most BXs, Beacon's had a number of small eateries inside. Besides the usual Burger King, Popeye's, and Subway, there was a locally operated place called A Simple Wok. The owner/proprietor was an older Chinese gentleman; none of the pilots knew his real name. He was simply the Shopkeeper. He never corrected the pilots when they called him that; he would just smile and nod.
"Afternoon, Shop," Yang greeted him. He grinned and gave her a small bow. "Bowl of the regular, please."
"Same same," Ruby added. Another grin and bow.
"Ah…do you have anything low salt and low fat?" Weiss asked. She had weighed herself that morning, and found she had gained weight. Not much, far below what the Luftwaffe would consider overweight, but Weiss was sensitive about it. The Shopkeeper threw her an OK sign.
"Fish," Blake said simply. He gave her a thumbs-up.
It took the Shopkeeper about ten minutes. Before each of them he placed a heroic bowl of noodles, topped with Southern fried chicken bits for Yang and Ruby, baked chicken for Weiss, and heaps of tuna for Blake, who openly drooled at the sight. "I got it," Weiss said, and tossed her Schnee GmbH card on the counter. Weiss was paid fairly well as a Luftwaffe Oberleutnant, but when she felt like splurging, she drew on her considerable wealth as the heiress to the SDC.
"Whoa," Ruby teased, "living large, Weiss? Usually you squeeze pfennigs so hard Otto von Bismarck's ears bleed."
"Otto von Bismarck isn't on the pfennig, you dolt," Weiss told her. She was glad it was Ruby who was doing the teasing; Yang probably would've said Hitler. "Think of it as a thank you for voting me into the 2V2 round." She jumped in surprise when the Shopkeeper threw the card back to her. "Declined," he said, his lips barely moving.
"Declined? That's impossible. Run it again." The Shopkeeper did as asked; it was declined again. Weiss stared at her card in disbelief. "This has never happened before. Ever."
"Oh God, no," Blake cried. The tuna was so close she could taste it, but the United States Marine Corps frowned on dining and dashing, and she didn't have any money on her. They were still in their flight suits.
Another card slid onto the counter. "Relax, Blake. I'll get it this time." Pyrrha Nikos smiled at the Shopkeeper; her card wasn't declined. She took a seat next to Blake. "Hello again!"
"Pyrrha!" Ruby ran over and hugged her. Ruby was sweaty and needed a shower, but Pyrrha didn't seem to mind. "Hey, Jaune! Hey, Nora! Hey, Ren!" Ruby greeted the rest of Juniper Flight as they arrived.
Ruby was fanatically loyal to her flight, but she would put Juniper right with them. Whereas all but Weiss were Americans in Ruby Flight (Blake was dual citizenship with Menagerie, but Ruby didn't count that), Juniper was diverse: Jaune Arc, the tow-headed leader of the flight, was French; Nora Valkyrie, short and ginger-haired, was an American; her beau, the raven-haired Lie Ren, was Chinese; Pyrrha, with bright red hair, was Greek. Juniper had flown and fought alongside Ruby Flight from the beginning, and all eight were now good friends. Once more, Ruby felt a pang of sorrow: in another two months, the exercise would be over, and everyone would go their separate ways.
Juniper ordered bowls as Ruby dug in. While Weiss daintly broke her chopsticks in half and ate slowly and sparingly, Yang and Ruby eschewed the chopsticks for forks. Blake used chopsticks, but ate as if she had not eaten in weeks. If there was any doubt that she was a cat Faunus, Weiss thought to herself, watching Blake obliterate the bowl of tuna noodles would remove it.
"Who are you up against next?" Weiss asked as Juniper was served.
"Tomorrow. Bronze Flight," Jaune answered. "The all F-16 flight. Chinese, Korean, American and Italian."
"You ready for 'em?" Yang muttered around a mouthful of noodles.
"Hell to the yes!" Nora crowed. "We've got the famous Invincible Girl of Greece—" Pyrrha blushed; she did not particularly like that title "—Ren the ninja—"
"Ninjas are Japanese," Ren corrected her, "I would technically be a lin kuei."
Nora ignored him. "Me, whose A-10 felled a mighty Nevermore—"
"Technically, Ruth Lionheart felled the mighty Nevermore," Weiss said, smiling.
Nora ignored her. "—and Jaune Arc!"
Ren pointed at Jaune with his chopsticks. "Are you going to take that, flight commander?"
Jaune shrugged. His getting command of Juniper Flight had been only because Pyrrha and Ren had refused it. They saw him as leadership material, and despite having already led them in several actual battles, Jaune did not quite believe it himself. "She's not wrong."
"Ah, excuse me?" Ruby said, tossing her fork into her empty bowl. She had finished before all of them; her metabolism was a neverending source of wonder at Beacon. "Jaune is an ace, you know!"
"I'm kidding!" Nora laughed. She gave Jaune a slap on the back, which might have collapsed a lung. "There's no reason to be nervous, Jaune! I mean, it's not like we're on international TV with most of the known world watching us either live or simulcast and if we lose, we'll be shunned and despised by our peers, no one will sit with us at the bar, and Ren and I have no parents and don't have a home we can go to, unlike Ruby and Yang who can become potato farmers down there in Hickville, South Carolina—"
"Patch," Yang said. "And it's in North Carolina."
"Whatever Confederate state! I'm not nervous! Not nervous at all! Ha ha ha!" Nora snapped her chopsticks in half.
Everyone stared at her for a moment, then Ren patted her on the back. "We're ready. After all, at least Bronze Flight won't be trying to actually kill us."
There was a buzzing noise, and Weiss reached into her pocket to withdraw her phone. "You carry your phone with you on a flight?" Jaune asked.
"You never know when you might need it," Weiss replied. She flipped it open and hung up on the caller, then put it on the counter. "There was a time in Serbia three years ago that an American pilot got shot down by GRIMM and was surrounded. He lost his survival radio, so he used his cell to coordinate airstrikes."
"That's a new one," Blake said. She dabbed at her mouth, and sat back, supremely satisfied. Then a stentorian belch worked its way out of her mouth, enough to rattle the dishes and turn heads. "Pardon," she whispered.
"From the belly of the beast," Yang remarked. Blake gave her the finger. Yang's response was interrupted by Weiss' phone buzzing again. This time Ruby saw on the phone's face who was calling. It was an international number, and above it was the word Vater. Weiss snapped it open again and hung up again, then shut off the phone entirely.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" Ruby asked. "That was your dad."
"I've nothing to say to him," Weiss hissed. "Besides, if he wants to talk to one of his daughters, Winter should be there by now."
Schnee Manor (Herrenchiemsee)
Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany
8 May 2001
Oberst Winter Schnee stepped out of the Luftwaffe UH-1D and ducked her head, holding her cap on under the rotors as her boots crunched across the gravel. Once she was clear, she straightened up and returned the salutes of the guards crisply as she made her way past the statue of Parsifal. In one gloved hand she bore a locked folder. She did not walk so much as she strode to the doors of Schnee Manor.
Before the Third World War and the GRIMM Invasion of the 1960s, Schnee Manor had been known as Herrenchiemsee, originally built in the late 19th Century for Ludwig II, the famous "Mad King" of Bavaria, and Bavaria's last monarch. It had been a tourist attraction since Ludwig's death in 1886, but in the chaos that followed the nuclear exchange, it had been abandoned. Nicholas Schnee had bought the place for far less than it was worth, refurbished it once the emergency was past, and turned it into his private residence. He had kept the name Herrenchiemsee, but Jacques—once he had married Willow Schnee and become the head of the Schnee GmbH—insisted on calling it Schnee Herrenhaus, or Schnee Manor. The locals insisted on keeping the old name, but aside from the hired help, they were no longer allowed to visit.
Winter hated Schnee Manor, no matter the name. Ludwig II had the excuse of being insane: his fanatical admiration of King Louis XIV of France had led him to build Herrenchiemsee as a near duplicate of Versailles. It was too large for Ludwig, and it was too large for the Schnees. Winter maintained a small apartment in Bonn, along the Rhine, and was happy for it; she only visited home when she had to.
And she had to.
She walked up the stairs, and was met at the top by Klein Sieben. "Guten abend," he greeted her.
"Hello, Klein." She meant to shake hands with her parents' portly head butler, but instead ended up enfolded in a hug. Winter hesitated, then returned the hug. Klein, after all, had been her rock of strength, growing up in a broken home. He stepped back, holding her hands. "Look at you," he said, smiling. "A full Colonel, now. All this braid and gold! On you it sits well, my lady."
Winter could not resist a smile. "Thank you, Klein."
"Will you be staying for dinner?"
"Only if forced."
Klein's smile became sad. "I understand. I am sorry to hear that. You are here to see Lady Schnee?" The Schnees were no longer ennobled-Germany had done away with nobility after the First World War—but Klein always acted as if they were still the von Schnees that had served the Bavarian royal house for centuries.
"I am," Winter answered simply. Klein ushered her into the house; Winter pulled off her hat and tucked it under her left arm. She felt even more oppressed in here. If the exterior was overstated, the interior was lavish to the point of embarrassing, with soaring columns, gold filigree, and all the trappings of a monarchy long dead. Her boots clacked on the immaculate floor. As they walked, they passed the various butlers, maids, and other servants that served the Schnees, each bowing and curtseying as Winter and Klein walked past. Winter bowed her head slightly as she went past, and found she hated this as well. She had been getting her own coffee and cake; it seemed demeaning to force someone else to do it.
"How is Weiss?" Klein asked. Winter's smile returned. Klein had always doted on the Schnee children, but Weiss was his favorite and always would be. Whereas Winter was rebellious and Whitley indifferent, Weiss was always eager to please and learn.
"She's fine," Winter replied. "I imagine she will be promoted soon, or at the very least decorated. She has done quite well at Vytal Flag. In fact, she has made ace."
"Has she made friends?" Winter's smile broadened. Klein didn't care if Weiss was decorated or promoted; he wanted to make sure she wasn't alone.
"She has. Two Americans and a Faunus girl from Menagerie."
Klein's bushy eyebrows went up. "Your father won't be too happy to hear that."
"I'm sure Weiss could not care less." Wait until he finds out it's Ghira Belladonna's daughter, Winter thought to herself. She did not tell Klein; she was saving that one.
The butler sighed. "I wish this family was not like this."
"But it is, Klein." Winter had long since given up hope of any reconciliation. It was what it was. "Is Mother in her room?"
"She's in your father's study. Lord Schnee is away on business; he should be returning later tonight. Lord Whitley is still at Eton; summer break will not begin for a few weeks." Klein hesitated, then continued. "You should be gone before Lord Schnee gets here."
"Good. I know the way, Klein. I…" Winter took a breath. "I would prefer we not be disturbed. Or for you to hear what I have to say to Mother."
Klein nodded sadly. "It will be as you say." They hugged each other again. Winter once more paused before moving away. "Has she been drinking, Klein?"
"Yes. But she is not drunk. Not yet."
Winter gave him a short nod, then walked towards her father's study. Along the way, she walked through the Hall of Mirrors. This was one of the few places in the palace that held good memories; the long hallway had been where she, Weiss and Whitley had raced their little cars as children. When it was freshly polished, it was slick, and they had all "skated" down the hall in their socks many times, much to their father's chagrin and their mother's amusement. That was when they were still maintaining at least a façade of being a happy family. Winter caught her reflection in the mirrors as she strode down the hall. She was not afraid to admit to herself that she was a rather attractive woman, still on the wild side of thirty, her white hair piled up in a bun and combed out over her right eye, her one concession to individuality. The Luftwaffe dress uniform looked quite fetching as well.
Then she was out of the hall, and her smile faded as she took the stairs to her father's study.
Jacques Schnee's study was large, like every other room in the house, and richly paneled in wood, softly lit, one of the few rooms in the house to not retain its original look. Its walls were lined with shelves of books; Jacques was a voracious reader if nothing else. Behind the large mahogany desk were paintings of the Alps, and in the center, one of a young Jacques Schnee, a classically rendered painting of a handsome, rakish young man in a white business suit and scarf. Winter often wondered what her father had been like in his youth—if he had always been ambitious and power-hungry, or something had turned him into that.
The room had the faint, pleasant scent of peppermint, but Winter soured when she saw what was causing the smell: on the desk was an opened bottle of peppermint schnapps. She heard the toilet to the adjoining bathroom flush, the sound of running water, and then Willow Schnee walked into the study. She started in surprise on seeing Winter. "Oh! You're here early."
Winter said nothing for a moment. Willow Schnee looked remarkably well for a woman turning fifty; Winter thought that her mother probably still wore the same size she had at thirty. Her face was still attractive, still showed the faint hints of the fashion model she had once been, her white hair tied into a short ponytail draped over her left shoulder, but Winter noticed the strands of gray beginning to creep into the hair, and the worn look on the face. And the bloodshot blue eyes that betrayed too much drink. Finally she answered. "I am right on time, Mother."
Willow checked the ornate clock. "So you are. I apologize. Would you like a seat?" Winter remained standing, and Willow sighed. "No, I suppose not." She leaned against her husband's desk. "I know better than to ask how you are doing, and other pleasantries. You've never been much for that."
"No." Willow set her hat on the small table below the desk, walked forward, unclasped the folder, and put several documents on the desk—the information Weiss had obtained, that showed Schnee GmbH had been funneling money to the White Fang for years, through dummy companies around the world. The revelation had rocked both sisters to their core: their father was paying off a terrorist organization, one that wanted the Schnees very dead. "Read this. The summary is at the top."
Willow poured a small amount of schnapps into a glass, then picked up the summary. Winter waited in silence as her mother read the document. Halfway through, she reached out, grabbed the bottle, and drank straight from it. Then she set down both the bottle and the document, staggered over to the chair behind the desk, and collapsed into it.
"Aren't you going to look at the other documents? The proof?" Winter asked.
"No."
"No," Winter repeated. "Because you already knew, didn't you?" After some moments of silence, Willow nodded. "You knew Father was paying off the White Fang." Winter fought for control of herself. She wanted to reach across the desk, grab her mother by the ruffled collar, and haul her to her feet. "The very people who have been trying to kill us for the past eight or so years, the ones who made it so Weiss and Whitley had to have armed security just to go to school, the ones who kept me restricted to base for over a year for fear of my safety." Winter's fists clenched, the leather gloves audibly cracking. "And it didn't even work! The White Fang are still after us!"
"Your father didn't do it," Willow said softly.
"I have evidence. Or rather, Weiss does. She was the one who gathered it, Mother. Don't sit there and tell me—"
Willow suddenly shot out of the chair so fast that Winter took an involuntary step backwards. "Your father didn't do it because I did it, Winter! It was me!"
"Why, in the name of God?" Winter exclaimed.
"Because I was trying to protect you!" Willow shouted, slamming a fist down on the desk so hard the schnapps jumped. "All I've ever done is try to protect you!" Tears ran down her face, spoiling the makeup. She could not look at Winter, and hung her head, hands spread on the desk. "That's all I've ever wanted for my children…"
Winter did not even attempt to hide her shock. "Mother, I don't…I don't understand."
Willow reached out, snatched up the bottle of schnapps, and turned it up until it was gone. She slammed the bottle down hard enough to crack it. "No, you don't. I thought that, if the White Fang were given enough money, they would leave us alone. I knew they might still attack the DUST shipments, but I didn't care about that. I knew they would attack the Americans, but I don't care about them, either. All I care about is you, and Weiss, and Whitley." She wiped at her tears, smearing her mascara. "And it's worked, Winter. They haven't attacked us. They haven't moved against Whitley at Eton. As long as the money keeps flowing, Sienna Khan will leave us alone."
"But she'll kill hundreds of others."
Willow gave a tired shrug. "I don't know them, Winter. I don't love them. I love you." She fell back into the chair. "You don't know how proud I am, seeing you in that uniform. Or how proud I am of Weiss. I can't show that, because your father disapproves. But I am." She smiled. "I heard Weiss is now an experten, like her great-uncle was." Experten was the term Germans used for aces.
"But how did you know that?" Winter asked. "It hasn't been confirmed or formally announced—" Her eyes widened. "Jung Freud. Weiss' crew chief. She works for you, Mother."
"Yes. It was my idea to sabotage Weiss' aircraft. Your father approved, because he wants her back here. But I just wanted to protect her. I was wrong. I see that now." Willow leaned against the desk, cradling her head in her hands. "You don't have children, Winter. You don't understand what it means to have a life inside you for nine months, to cradle an infant in your arms. I nursed you, Winter. Both you and Weiss, because I didn't want to hand you off to some stranger of a wet nurse. I wanted to nurse Whitley, but Jacques wouldn't have it; he said it was demeaning for a boy. You were…all so small…" Willow began to cry again. "If you were a mother, Winter, you would do anything for your children. Suffer any indignity, pay any price, bear any burden. For your children."
Winter was silent, unsure of what to say. After long minutes, during which the only sound was her mother sobbing, Winter finally spoke. "Will you stop the payments?"
Willow took a deep, shuddering breath. "No. I have to protect Whitley, Winter. You can't protect him. The British can't protect him, even under an assumed name. The White Fang will find him. They'll kill him."
"The White Fang are broken," Winter argued. "We've killed most of them."
Willow laughed harshly. "They are like a hydra, Winter. For every one you kill, three more will appear. The Faunus want us dead." She stared over Winter's shoulder, who knew what her mother was looking at: behind her was a portrait of Nicholas Schnee. "And maybe they have a right to."
"You and I didn't create the Faunus, Mother. We didn't enslave them."
"The sins of the fathers will always visit their children, Winter. We learned that after the war." For the Germans, the war would always be World War II. Even the nuclear horrors of World War III paled in comparison to the war that came before, and the twelve million murdered in the Holocaust, a shame that Germany would never live down. Willow finally faced her daughter. "I will not end the payments, Winter. I can't."
"Does Father know?"
"No. I've made certain of that."
"What if I went public? Released this—" Winter motioned to the documents "—to the press?"
"Then you will destroy all of us. Destroy your father—I know that you wouldn't mind doing that." Willow chuckled sadly. "Destroy me—perhaps you'd like to do that too, and you may be correct to do so. But you won't destroy Weiss or Whitley, Winter. I know you won't."
"And in the meantime, how many die to save us?"
Willow said nothing.
Winter took a step forward, pushed the papers towards her mother. "I'll let you figure out what to do with those, Mother. Did you know that Weiss has befriended a Faunus?"
"Yes," Willow answered.
"Did you know that it's Ghira Belladonna's daughter?" The shock on her mother's face answered that question for Winter. "If my sister and your daughter can become friends with the founder of the White Fang, then perhaps the answer isn't paying off the White Fang. It's fighting those who try to kill us and make peace with those who don't." She picked up her hat and tucked it under her arm. "But you've never been much of a fighter." Winter held up the empty bottle of schnapps, and tossed it in the wastebasket. With one last, pitying look at her mother, she turned on one heel and strode towards the door.
"Winter!" She turned to look back at Willow. "I love you, Winter," her mother said tearfully.
Winter turned away. "I love you too, Mother," she whispered, and left the study before her tears could come.
Winter did not see Klein on the way out, and was glad of it. She was even happier to leave Schnee Manor, putting her hat on just right. Then she noticed another helicopter parked next to hers, decorated with the blue snowflake of Schnee GmbH, and her father walking towards her. Winter composed herself: there was no way to avoid her father, so they would meet.
Jacques Schnee was still trim and handsome, even if his mustache and hair was now completely gray. His suit was Italian, well-cut, and cost more than Winter made in a year, even on a Colonel's salary. He stopped as she walked up to him. "Winter," he said by way of greeting.
"Father." Winter was often tempted to call him by his first name, just to anger him, but a childhood of obedience was too hard to shake.
"What brings you here?"
"I needed to talk to Mother."
"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. "What about?"
"Ask her."
"You look well in that uniform," Jacques stated. There was no warmth in the voice, but the undercurret of disapproval. "I should think Ironwood would have made you a general by now."
"Thank you. You're looking well also, Father." Then Winter could no longer resist. She pointed at his tie. "I see you're still wearing clip-on ties, Father. Don't you trust Mother to tie them for you anymore?" Jacques flushed red. It was a sensitive issue between them: Jacques Schnee might be the richest man in Europe, perhaps the most powerful, but he could not tie a tie.
Winter decided to leave him there, spluttering, but Jacques was not quite done with his eldest. As she moved past him, he asked, "Will you be going back to Beacon?"
"Yes. I am General Ironwood's liaison, after all."
"Excellent! Then would you mind passing on a message to Weiss, since she's not answering my calls?" Before she could agree, he continued. "She's no longer heir to Schnee GmbH. I have decided to transfer it to Whitley. After he is done at Eton, he will return home to finish his education here."
And be trapped here, Winter thought. She faced her father. "So what does Weiss have to do to become heiress again? Where does she have to crawl?"
Jacques smirked, and would never know how close he came to being punched by his own daughter. "Quite simple, Winter. She needs to give up this ridiculous notion of following in your footsteps. Oh, she can remain in the Luftwaffe, but she's made her point. Now she needs to come home. Before she gets killed in Ironwood's or Ozpin's damned fool crusade."
"And stop palling around with Faunus?" Winter said.
"That would be a step in the right direction, yes."
Winter thought about mentioning Blake Belladonna, but decided against it. Jacques could make trouble for Blake's parents. "I'll pass on the message, Father, but I already know what her response will be." Without waiting for her father, she continued. "She would say, 'Fuck you.'" Winter said it in English. It sounded a bit harsher and more delicious in that language.
"I've already cut off her funds," Jacques responded. It sounded weak.
"I'm sure she'll learn to live on an Oberleutnant's salary," Winter remarked. "I did." She turned her back on her father and walked towards her helicopter.
"Winter!" her father shouted. "You are still my daughter! You will show me respect. I am your father!"
I am no longer your daughter, she thought. Winter turned, snapped to parade-ground attention, and saluted with the sharpness of a recruit. "Jawohl, Herr Schnee." She held the stance and salute until Jacques, shaking his head, turned away.