A/N:I apologize for both the brevity of this chapter and my inability to forward the plot as much as I would have liked, but life and unemployment and writer's block have been getting in my way and I wanted to be able to just post something so I feel like I've accomplished something. Hopefully you guys still like this one. I promise there will be more substance next /
The usual thanks to those of you following this story and telling me what you think. It not only helps keep me motivated, but also helps me with figuring out what I want to do in the future.
Weiss and Red spent the next week in Sao Paulo meeting with an assortment of different contacts, and while the duo parted with many of them on mostly amicable terms, that only increased the contrast with those that didn't. She spent the week listening to the one closest to her sit on the receiving end of a plethora of colourful insults and threats in a swath of different languages. Weiss couldn't decide if she was angry at the people insulting the brunette, or the fact that Red did nothing to defend herself or prove their wild accusations wrong. She had even confronted the con woman about it, but Red had simply shrugged it off, as if to say, it is what it is, before exiting the car to meet with a homeless man and ask him about his sick uncle.
"I don't see what you're getting so worked up about." Yang had commented once they met back up in Rio. "If you know those assholes are wrong and Red doesn't seem to care, what's the problem?"
"How can she just sit there and listen to them say such awful things to her face and not bat an eye, though? Doesn't it annoy her that these people think so lowly of her?"
"She's probably used to it." Blake offered, her head buried in some Portuguese book with a picture of a stylized lock and key on the front.
"Yeah, I mean she has been doing this stuff pretty much her whole life." Yang pointed out. "Odds are she's got some pretty thick skin by now."
But she shouldn't have to. Weiss thought to herself as she looked back on the conversation later that night. She walked out of her room and couldn't help smiling warmly as she stumbled upon the subject of her contemplations sound asleep, draped across one of the cushy loveseats, her feet dangling over the armrest while her torso lay cuddled in the arms of her big sister.
You are poison. You corrupt everyone you come in contact with…
How anyone could this kind, simple soul lying before her was anything but tragically beautiful was beyond her.
Weiss pushed her musings aside when she heard the loud of the safe house's rickety side-door slam shut and chuckled as the sound made both sisters bolt upright simultaneously and look around the room baring similar looks of confusion while Blake and Pyrrha strolled in followed by Ren and Nora.
"What time is it?" Yang groaned as her younger sister yawned loudly.
"Twelve-thirty." Pyrrha replied.
"According to which time zone?" Red grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
"You're the one who told us to meet here at this time." Pyrrha fired back.
"Oh, right. Progress reports." Weiss watched as all traces of the tired young woman she had just seen a moment ago vanished and were replaced with their genius team leader.
"There's going to be a black market auction taking place somewhere in Brazil in two weeks." Pyrrha informed them. "The only problem is it's very exclusive. Even those who have been invited aren't being given the location until midnight the day of the event."
"So now we know where Adam plans on selling whatever he wants us to steal."
"How did a man as foul as Adam manage to get invited to something like that in the first place?" Weiss asked disbelievingly.
"I think I can answer that." Yang offered. "I talked to my friends and they're all saying they've seen Adam at one point or another in meetings with their bosses. Apparently, our friendly neighbourhood scumbag has been doing some serious networking."
"Alright," Red nodded as she considered what they had been told, "Blake, has Adam said anything that might tell us what we're stealing, or why?"
Blake frowned and shook her head. "No. All he talks about is how he's so much smarter than you, and how with this, he's finally going to play his part in helping change the world."
"That sounds ominous." Nora observed.
"Maybe," Red said thoughtfully, "but what matters is he's our only lead on Torchwick and our missing money."
"Speaking of which, have you heard anything from the Wiz?" Yang asked. "Even he has to be pretty annoyed that someone stole twenty million out from under him."
Red shook her head, dark hair flying from side to side. "Nope, I messaged him saying the job was a bust, but he never got back to me."
"Can't say I'm too surprised. The guy's like an even more paranoid version of you."
"Ha ha, very funny. Now, onto the job at hand," she pulled a small box out of the bag hanging from the arm of the seat and tossed it to Weiss, "here's how it's going to go down."
Weiss yelped and fumbled the small cardboard container before steadying herself. She quickly read the label and raised her eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
Scrawled across the bottom of the box, below the image of some gorgeous model's face were the words:
Garnier Nutrisse.
*(OoO)*
True freedom isn't something that's easily come by. Many people strive for it in different ways, but few even know where to start looking.
Some seek it in the trivialities of wealth and financial success, believing the power they are granted, especially over those less fortunate than they, allows them to do as they please without fear of repercussion or consequence. Others seek their freedom through activities they have a passion for; be it expressing their feelings through art and music, or hopping on a plane and leaving their problems behind as they soar above the clouds. Everyone seeks their own form of freedom.
Freedom from problems. Freedom from commitments. Freedom from concerns.
Unfortunately, what most people don't realize is that these pursuits of happiness, these attempts at breaking the chains of monotony and escaping the cage everyday life and all its expectations have formed around their souls comes with a cost.
A painter requires paints. A musician needs instruments. A pilot, a plane. A businessman, a market.
When your freedom relies upon outside contributions, no matter how small, then it is not truly yours to begin with. That's not to say true freedom is unobtainable, in fact it is quite easily found if one knows where to look.
The hours between two and five in the morning are when a person is truly free.
At least, that's what Weiss thought as she sat in the bathroom waiting for the hair dye to dry.
Those three hours of the day were her absolute favourite. Even when she was living with her father, she had vague recollections of staying up just so she could enjoy those few hours where everything stood still and she could literally anything. With the rest of the world sleeping, she could spend her time doing anything from reading a book, to sneaking out for a walk, to just sitting in bed and staring at her wall without fear of judgement or ridicule. It was even better now, because if she wanted company, she could usually find Red working on something or other and go talk to her, or kiss her until they were both out of breath, or, if she wanted, she could just sit silently, basking in the brunette's soothing presence as she watched her work. Sometimes, when the mood struck her, she would go for walks, with Red as often as without.
Outside, there would be a predawn sort of clarity, where the momentum of life had not quite captured the day. The air was not filled with conversation or thought bubbles or laughter or sidelong glances. Everyone was sleeping, all their ideas and hopes and hidden agendas entangled in a world of dreams, leaving this world clear and crisp and cold as a glass full of water in the fridge.
Weiss loved those three hours she had every day because they made her feel free.
Free from her fears. Free from her pain. Free from her expectations.
Free from herself.
The ringing of the timer jostled Weiss from her thoughts. She shut it off and stepped into the shower, grabbing the shampoo and conditioner on the way. Twenty minutes later, she was blow drying her hair when she heard a knock on the door.
"Come in!" She shouted. A smile formed on her lips as she felt Red slip in behind her and wrap her arms around the shorter woman.
"You know, you're pretty hot as a redhead." The brunette noted as she admired her partner's new hair. Weiss blushed at the feeling of Red's hot breath running over her ear as she tilted her head and conceded that she did, in fact, look better than she expected. Her long, platinum hair had been dyed a dark coppery red, as opposed to Pyrrha's natural deep crimson, and trimmed so, instead of reaching down to the small of her back, it now only went just past her shoulder blades.
"Remind me again why we're doing this if you already have the blueprints to this place?"
"Remember the bank in Ottawa?" Red askled as she turned Weiss around to start working on her eyebrows. "Same reason we visited there despite having the floor plans."
"To case it?"
Red nodded. "Only this time, we can't just walk in the place off the street; so you're going in as a nosy congresswoman who has been sent to get an update on the work they're doing there while Blake, Ren, and I get the feel for the place."
"Are you sure I should be the one doing this?" Weiss inquired nervously. "You're the con woman, shouldn't you be the one doing the, you know, conning?"
"I'm also the thief, and the one with the most technological experience." Red countered. "Don't worry, Blake will be there to help, and once I'm done here, you'll hardly even be able to recognise yourself, so no one's gonna ID you."
True to her word, forty-five minutes later, the brunette spun her back around and Weiss found herself face to face with a complete stranger. Her makeup was done in a way that made the angles of her face a little sharper, making her seem older than she was by at least a decade. Coupled with her new hair, she looked like a completely different woman. Most notably, though, was the conspicuous lack of scar over her left eye. She raised a hand to gingerly poke at the area where the most recent of her father's inexplicable cruelty lay hidden beneath layers of concealer, and frowned.
"You okay?" Red asked with a concerned hand on her shoulder.
"I'm not sure. It's almost like… now that I can't see it, I'm more aware of it than ever."
More aware of them all.
She was perfectly content hiding her other scars from the world, so why did this one feel so different?
"I think you look better with it." Red whispered.
"Why? All it does is remind me that he should be feared. Even with all his toying with my memory, he made sure I had plenty of mementos to remind me that I was a disappointment. The only difference is I normally can't hide this one."
"That's not what I see." Red explained. "The scars on your body are placed so they can easily be hidden, even in formal attire, because he wanted you to be ashamed. He wanted you to hide them so you would feel like you were hiding the fact that you were a disappointment. That way the idea would always be in the back of your head, never forgotten. But this one," she reached up, cupping the older woman's cheek, and ran her thumb over the concealed cicatrix, "you told me you got this one because you fought back. You fought back and he lost control, resorting to the only way he thought he could control you. As a result, you wear a mark that is proof that Augustus Schnee is not infallible, that he can be shaken. The rest of them might be the evidence of torture and abuse, but this one… it's a battle scar. You might not be ready for anyone to see the extent of what you survived, but the fact that you can still walk with this and keep your head held high shows me that you are a fighter. Not a victim, and certainly not a disappointment."
Weiss choked out a sob and pulled her partner in for a passion-filled kiss as she fought to keep her tears at bay so as not to ruin her expertly done makeup. When they finally separated, they were both panting as they rested their foreheads against each other. They stayed there, looking into each other's eyes for who-knows-how-long and sharing soft smiles that spoke more than either were able to at the moment, until Pyrrha knocked on the door, informing them it was time to go.