A pleasure to see you out of your room for a change.
If there was one thing Winter truly hated about his home, that couldn't be the annoying powerplays he'd get from either his younger siblings or his older sister, it would be the floors. Oddly enough, it always came back to the floors. If that one thing could truly be in the top ten things that he found the least tolerable about any visit back home, before his painful talks with his father or his forced 'playtime' with his younger brother or sister, it was always going to be the floors. And that blinding shine that bounced off of not only the walls but the floors and ceilings. Making the whole walk to the office seem more of a eyesore than it already was.
It was like being in a house of mirrors, except the mirrors blinded you with every step and you hated every moment you were in that stupid carnival ride. Worst waste of five carnival tickets, or a childhood now that Winter really thought about it.
He couldn't recall half as many happy moments in the home as he did outside of it. Being out among the trees and rocks. The grass and open blue sky. At the festival, or at school. That's when Winter felt more at peace with himself. Not cooped up in a palace for months at a time, looking at the the outside world through windows or sitting in the gardens.
The eyes soon drifted from the pristine cathedral like floors to one of the many little studies that were located throughout the mansion. Like breadcrumbs on the way to the Witch's house. This little nook, unlike the floors or the ceilings, made Winter's gaze linger on it. Eyes glistening and his jaw dropping for a moment. He wanted to run, but his feet were too heavy to pick up. He wanted to cry, but his eyes too dry to dribble out a few little tears. He wanted to scream, but his lips were pursed into a scowl.
It was a simple little room in all actuality, with the bookcases lined with books of various cultures and creeds. One of them a famous story book of hunters that Winter must've read front to back at least a couple dozen times.
The crimson red carpet a strong contrast compared to the white floor. Atop of that blood colored rug was his piano. The very piano he was first taught scales on. The very piano he learned to orchestrate his own music to. It was the piano that he would wake up, skip breakfast, and play until his classes started. It was the piano his uncle would have him play when he needed a moment to escape the world.
He'd rest in his favorite chair, kick his feet up on the comforter and relax. Listening to Winter as he played his diddy and songs. Blocking out the noise of the world and hearing his nephew play.
It was the very same piano that he played at his dearest Uncle's funeral. It was the piano he couldn't muster up the strength to play after he was dragged back from Beacon. Winter's hands coiled into loose fists as he approached the piano. His eyes bouncing off of the shining white keys.
Klein must've polished it every day to keep it looking like this. Much like the rest of the house.
Winter's fingers hovered over a key, his breath a soft and mellow sigh. Wondering when the last time he played this piano. It had to be during the break between the destruction of the town of Beacon and the destruction of the school.
His fingers glided over the keys, before his hands coiled into tight fists and pulled away. His thoughts drifting to the idea that maybe Pyrrha might've one day wanted to listen the Heir. And his musically inclined craft. His digits gliding from piano key to piano key with precision that couldn't' be matched, and with skill that couldn't be replicated.
Winter would pray that whatever song he decided to play for her would have been spectacular. Would have blown her away.
Sadly, Winter's fingers pulled away from the instrument in question, retracting to his pockets as he exited the study. His mind too focused in on whatever his father would have asked of him to do. Instead of playing his favorite pass time, and the only thing that made coming home worth while.
The crystalline walls that lined the corridors of the Frost fortress were an eye sore to the young Heir. Who's eyes were just focused on the one of the oh so many snow adorned rugs. Each of the snowflakes connected by the very edges of the next one. On and on for what seemed to be forever. Winter's eyes shifting up when he heard the sound of heels clicking against the pristine floors. That glistened like still lake water.
"A pleasure to see you are...dressed for the occasion! Saturday Morning Lazy looks swell on someone like you!" Whitley's voice popped and sung like any sort of bird chirp. The kind that wanted to be adored by those who had the good fortune of listening to. Winter's eyes rolled to the back of his head, letting out a groan as he stomped his heels into the floor and pulled back a wicked smile. Winter didn't need to turn around to see Whitley standing in proper stature. With his heels side by side, linen freshly pressed with the creases to show it, vest buttoned and his hair curled precisely the way he liked it. Fluffy, yet sort of childish. Even that stupid wave of the hand and bend at the knees that he is so famous for made an appearance. As if he was presenting himself to the audience, that was his brother. "Very fitting."
Winter's attire wasn't what one would call 'proper' or 'presentable'. As he was clothed in his favorite pair of icy blue kick back pants, with a white undershirt loose on his torso. Around his shoulders his very puffy and very soft winter snow white robe. His feet padded with simple blue slippers. His hair a shriveled mess, with his goatee fuzzy to the touch and his cheeks covered in patches of sideburns. Winter's eyes narrowed, his hands retracting to his robe's pockets and his nose bellowing out a bout of steam.
"You're happy." Winter's eyes narrowed, tongue cheek. "Why are you happy? You strangle a cat this morning or something?" Winter countered, grinding his teeth together as he dug his heels into the floor. He wasn't exactly the biggest fan of his dear little brother, as he could see through whatever wounded gazelle or spider hole traps the child could muster. While everyone in the house seemed to fall for it, hook, line and sinker.
His brother Whitley was a lot of things. A great many of things that Winter would be damned for saying aloud, but 'inconspicuous' wasn't one of them. As in those doll of his eyes were a darkness the like of which Winter has yet to meet. Something that would make Ruben even feel uneasy about. And that's saying alot.
"Klein made crepes for breakfast." Whitley mumbled, rolling onto the heels of his shoes, lips curling to that deceptive smile that seemed hereditary for the Frost Clan. Winter's eyes squinted and his patience running thin. He could see Whitley's faux coy smile lingering as he rolled his wrists and peered down the hall.
"So even worse?" Winter snickered, glancing over his shoulder to see his younger brother marching over towards him. Arms folded behind his back and shoulders, though narrow, fixed and seemingly strong. Right foot out, then swiftly followed by the left. Almost military like precision from someone who's never so much as held the handle of a gun before. Something Father surely made sure to keep out of his hands. "Where's Kalteis? Shouldn't you be bothering her? Or speaking in tongues, or whatever it is demons do?"
"I'm sure she's either singing or dancing or doing whatever it is that our lovely little sister does." Whitley waved off as an inconvenience, eyes rolling to the back of his own head as he chuckled. A chuckle that made Winter's own skin crawl. At the very least, made him grind his teeth and let out a harsh breath. "The child is a sweet thing, isn't she?"
"One. She's older than you, fact." Winter stated, pulling his shoulders back and letting out a hard groan that was stirring in his chest. Shutting his eyes for a brief moment. Hoping to not catch Whitley with an unsuspecting left hand and leave him coiled on the ground like a wounded bird. "Two. You can quit the act. I see no cameras and I hate bad acting. Three. I'm already over this boring talk. Leave me to dread my talk with father in peace."
The air in the room grew thick, Whitley's eyes twitching ever so slightly before his lips retracted back and stayed ever so strong with that soft smile. The kind that would be calming to a few, but seemed so unnerving to Winter. That tasteless, almost plastic smile that made even the most porcelain grins seem real. With eyes that grew more strained the longer Whitley kept his eyes rested on his older brother. After a few sharp breaths, the younger brother let out a soft snicker.
"You're in chipper form this morning, Winter." Whitley chuckled, his chin rising and his lips still in that Cheshire grin. That fake smile of his not breaking, not even for a moment. "I'm sure Father would be grateful to meet such a healthier side of you today."
"You keep your ear to the floor, most of the time. When you're not listening for the bodies you buried under the floorboards. What does Father want today?" Winter shut his eyes, feeling his body dip and droop. Feeling the lack of sleep starting to weigh on him. His shoulders slouching and his
"Ask him yourself, dear brother. I'm sure he's dying to see you." Whitley simply bowed to his older brother and heir to the Frost dynasty, no lower than Klein or Courtney would. With a rabbit like hop onto his feet, he spun on his heels and marched away. Off to do whatever it was that Whitley does. "Fact."
Winter's feet left him literally dragging his dead weight to the door leading to his father's personal study. Where many a business meeting were held and where much wine was drank. Where many books were read and many statements decreed. Where many punishments and demands were settled. Where Winter wanted to see burn before the rest of the house caught flame.
Winter dug his heels into the floorboards, his hands staying in right fists at his sides as he leaned his head back. With several hard headbutts, and the echoing thuds that followed, the marching of feet were swift and to the point. He could have sworn he heard his father's famous mumbled curses as he approached the door. The smirk on Winter's face reminded him he could smile.
"You are late." Were the first three words that Winter had heard come out of his father for the first time in what must've been weeks. In between the trudges from the kitchen to resupply on his snacks and sodas and the bathrooom breaks, there wasn't much 'bonding' time between two of the Frost men. Especially between these two Frost men. Who had just as much in common as fish and hawks. And worked as well together as toothpaste and orange juice.
His father was a much older looking man, with a broom brush mustache that was as white as the snow was. With his combed back pristine hair, his white button coat that was all buttoned up, and blue button up underneath. Winter dreaded the very day he would awake and look in the mirror, and see his father looking back at him. Winter dreaded that he and him had the same kind of hair, and the same sharp chin and steel gaze.
"I heard you needed me urgently, so I dragged my feet." Winter marched into the room, shoulder knocking against his father's as he quickly locked eyes with General Ironwood. The very same man who he could owe the success that was the Beacon defense to. The words that he wanted to say would have been too unpleasant and too graphic for most people to even dream of. At most, he wanted to shift the blame onto the General. But a General is what he was, and deserved a little respect. The man didn't seemed to be troubled, as he stood at attention besides Mr. Frost's work desk. Like the good General that he was. Winter threw two fingers to his temple, giving the military man a simple and quick salute. "Howdy, Sheriff."
"Young Mr. Frost." General Ironwood nodded, his arms folded behind his back. His calculated stare glancing over the young man. His once scowled look now a grimace. Noting hte slippers and the robes. "You look sick."
"He's been acting out-"
"I've been in mourning, thank you." Winter outright stated, cross his arms and letting out a hard sigh. His eyes following his father as he made his way back to the desk. Fingers tapping calculatingly against his arms as he imagined all the pins he wanted to press into the back of his father's skull. "Not all of us are robots. I had to deal with the loss of my school, and my closest friends and associates. And the death of a certain classmate. Things take time."
"I've been wondering about the other three trouble makers." Ironwood rose a brow, his lips curling to a devious smile. His chuckle echoing in the murky room. The only laughter this room has probably heard in years. "How has Rose and Xiao been? Resting up, I hope."
"I wouldn't know." Winter shook his head, eyes turning to the floor. Heel digging into the wood as he let out a groan. "Kind of lost contact when everything went down."
Winter snapped his fingers, letting out a soft chuckle. His eyes shooting to the ceiling, as though he just remembered something important.
"Oh, that's right. Techno blackout. Thanks to dear old Pops." Winter walked over towards the desk, his hands coiling into fists as he continued to laugh. His eyes straining and his hands beginning to shake. "Making me hold up in our beautiful ivory tower and wait until further instruction. Making me ignore and trying to make me forget about team RWBY."
"Beacon is dead, son-"
"They aren't!" Winter's hands slammed against the table top and raddled the books and pens that laid atop it. Winter's teeth were barred and his breathing became uneasy. "So to answer your question sir! no! I don't know how Ruben and Yang and Blair are! Hell! I don't even know if they are alive! For all I know! They could be buried under some rubble, or torn into pieces or taken by those beasts that tried to kill me!"
"Son, this is not about some hot tempered children and a dirty Faunus-"
Winter's hands glided across the table, knocking everything off and onto the floor into a pile. The papers scattering and the books toppling atop each other. Winter's eyes narrowed, his lips curling to a scowl and his knuckles pressed against the wooden table top. The General, who's eyes grew with extreme discomfort, began to shuffle his way back towards the door. Wanting to leave family quarrels to the family.
"You don't dare disrespect them. You don't even know them." Winter's voice rose to a furious shout, his teeth barring and his eyes locked to the chilling stare of his father. Who's hands remained intertwined and his eyes resting on the young Heir.
"That dirty Faunus would have died for me, and I would for him. He shouldn't have been so open to trust me and I shouldn't have been so quick to judge him. But regardless, he considered me an ally and a good friend. Don't you ever disrespect him in front of me again. As for the hot tempered children, Yin is bravest, kindest, and strongest person I will ever know. Ruben, would give anything to make sure people were safe. Even ungrateful smug asses like you."
The silence between them grew to a harsh stare. The kind of stare that began to make the room burst into flame. The older Frost man, with a very calculated grind of the teeth and squinted stare, simply nodded. His eyes averting for just a minute to glance at the door.
"Leave me to my work. Now." Winter obliged without another word to spare. Following General Ironwood out into the hall, fists at his sides and his eyes staring into the floor. Winter have his father one last glare before grabbing a hold of the door and slamming the door. Shutting the door with one of the hardest and most obnoxious slams Winter could muster. The kind that rattled door frames, and would have cracked the door if he were Ruben or Blair. Or ripped the door off of its hinges, if he were Yin.
The General's eyes rested on the door, barring his teeth as his lips curled to a sorrowful smile. Shifting his head about before turning to the young man besides him. His hands retracting to his pockets. "I've met men who've dealt with worse."
"Yeah, I'm sure you have." Winter grumbled, his hands retracting to his pockets. He glanced at the man, his eyes squinting and his lips curling to a scowl. He turned his eyes to the floor, the toe of his boot digging into the floor. "Have you seen or heard from either of them?"
"Just the Blonde one." The General said, his lip curling to a half smile as he shrugged. His hands rubbing over one another. "He is recovering."
"Recovering?"
"You really don't know, huh?" Ironwood let out a soft sigh, barring his teeth as he averted his gaze. "He lost his arm at the joint. He's grateful to still be alive."