Cinnamon pulled her fluffy jacket tighter around herself as she picked up her pace, hurrying along through the snow just outside the wall surrounding Mantle. As she left the shadow of the city behind and emerged into the sun, she let out a heavy breath. A trail of chilled mist escaped her mouth as she pulled her fur-lined hood down, allowing the blinding sun to reach her face. Her hair was shorn down to an almost buzz cut style, and her face was free of the white striped tattoos she would acquire later in life. Cinnamon's lips were dry and chapped, a result of the bitter cold of Solitas. A cold that spurred her to break out into a run toward her destination.

A quarter mile outside of Mantle, several scattered, haphazardly organized little shanty towns of weathered shacks and run-down buildings stood along the edge of a gigantic crater. The buildings were home to faunus almost exclusively, and of a certain type- those too poor to afford a proper home within the city of Mantle. The buildings were all constructed of scrap metal and wood, with some of the older ones featuring holes in the walls. Each cluster was gathered closely around a central heating bar that glowed an ominous red, providing just enough warmth to render the pitiful collections of homes habitable.

It was within one of those buildings that Cinnamon had lived for her entire life of 16 years, and where she very well thought she would one day finally die, beneath the shadow of the floating city of Atlas. The thought of the tundra being inescapable was always at the back of her mind, and the giant, menacing rock in the sky with all its glittering lights made her feel sick to her stomach every time she saw it.

In truth, there were very few times when she couldn't see it.

With another shiver, Cinnamon pushed open the door to her shack. A jingle rang out from the string of cans next to the rickety door, announcing her arrival to the rest of the household.

"Dad?"

A series of hacking coughs was her reply, and the sound made her heart sink. Cinnamon shook her head as she walked deeper into the small home and withdrew a white paper bag with red labeling that read S.P. within a circle upon the side. The contents of the parcel rattled as they hit the table, though she paid the noise no mind.

"Dad!" Cinnamon repeated as she headed toward the wooden staircase leading upward. "I'm home!"

Another series of ragged, painful sounding coughs came from somewhere on the second floor. As Cinnamon emerged into the central room, she found her father sitting at the worn wooden table with several documents spread out before him. Cinnamon's father was an elderly man, with dark skin quite like her own that was mostly hidden by a large jacket and baggy pants. His hands were worn and knobby with age, and he had a messy beard of snow-white hair that partially obscured the set of gills upon his neck. Each time he coughed, the flaps opened slightly, revealing the unnaturally blackened membranes inside of them for a brief moment.

"Cinny," the man said in a deep, rich voice so unlike his struggling breaths. "How was work?"

Though it was an innocent question, it made Cinnamon's skin crawl and the spines upon her triceps twitch in nervousness.

"…boring," she lied as she moved in to give her father a quick peck on the cheek, which the man happily accepted. "The usual."

She could still feel the bruises on her arm, hidden beneath the sleeves of her jacket. The taste of filth within her mouth, the sensation of feeling trapped. A moist, unwelcome heat against her neck and threatening words. It all played out in her mind like a film she never wanted to watch again, though she managed to maintain her neutral expression throughout.

"Good, good," her father praised as he began to shuffle the papers together into a stack. "Boring's good, sometimes. Too much excitement can be a bad thing."

"It can," Cinnamon agreed as she moved to lean upon the wall. "I got your medication."

"I can split the last few pills, you didn't h-"

"No," Cinnamon said emphatically as she gave her father a dirty look. "Your cough is getting worse, and you've been picking up more work. If you're going back into the mines, you need your medication, and not just half the dose."

Cinnamon's father removed his woolen hat and rubbed at his bald head, looking rather guilty.

"…don't suppose today's the day you're finally going to tell me what you're doing to get the money for this, is it?" the man tried with a desperate look. "We can't afford to keep me going with these pills, Cinny."

"No, it isn't," Cinnamon denied as she inspected her nails. "And yes, we can. I'm bringing in enough along with your work to keep the house and your medication. Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, and just… be grateful. I do what I do because you won't let me down into the mines, and because I love you. Leave it at that."

"And I won't let you down into the mines because I don't want you to end up with lungs like mine," the man explained before breaking into another coughing fit.

Cinnamon watched as her father coughed violently into his balled fist, doubling over the desk as his gills flared out to the sides. After only a few seconds, she couldn't stand the sight anymore, and headed back toward the staircase.

"…did you take a pill today?"

"…I did," the man said as he waved dismissively. "I'll be fine. I just want to know that whatever it is you're doing out there, you're fine, too. Are you happy?"

Cinnamon gave her father a pointed look and narrowed her eyes.

"We're doing the best we can, and I'm bringing in lien to keep us going. At this point? I'm just happy were alive."

The girl left without another word, leaving her father to watch as she disappeared down the stairs.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," Cinnamon insisted as she remained bent over the sink, washing the blood from her mouth.

"It is my fault! I'm supposed to be protecting you!"

Cinnamon looked sideways to see Daisuke standing near the rusty tub, his face full of anguish. The teen was clearly miserable as he looked Cinnamon over, and his hands were shaking.

"Cin, let me do it for you…"

"I can wash my own face, Dai," she insisted before spitting blood down into the sink.

She pressed her washcloth into her split lip and pulled it back, only to find the fabric stained with blood.

"…I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," Daisuke said, his voice very small. "I wish I could do more. I wish I could just bust in and stop them, but…"

"…you can't," Cinnamon finished for him. "It's too much money. Those criminal fucks like what they like, and they pay a ton. Give me a few more months, and I'll be done."

"You think he's just going to let you leave?" Daisuke asked incredulously. "He won't even let me leave. I hate doing this, Cin. I hate watching you get abused like this, and I hate the fact that all I can do is comfort you afterwards. And… a few more months? You been doing this for three years! What's going to change? We both know that this isn't sustainable, Cin. I wish I had more lien to give you…"

"You've given me enough," Cinnamon snapped as she checked her face over in the mirror. A black ring had begun to form beneath her right eye, and a slow trail of blood oozed from her nose. Bruises upon her neck in the shape of fingers were barely visible upon her dark skin, and her chin-length hair had been matted and stained. "You don't have it easy, either."

"I have it easier than you and your dad," Daisuke insisted as he approached and gently put his hand over Cinnamon's. "And I'm enabling all of this by not forcing you to stop. Please, let me fix you up."

Cinnamon breathed out a sigh as she handed over the washcloth, only for Daisuke to gently pat at her face and dab away the blood beneath her nose.

"…none of this is your fault. I got myself into this career. I knew what I was doing. He's going to die if I stop, and you know it."

"I know," Daisuke acknowledged as he continued to gently run the cloth along Cinnamon's face. "And don't call this a career. It's… this is temporary, Cin. I won't let you do this forever."

"You're letting me do it now," Cinnamon pointed out, only for Daisuke to bite his lower lip. "I… sorry. That wasn't fair."

"No. It was," Daisuke protested as he stopped patting at Cinnamon's face. Slowly, he moved forward and wrapped her into a tight hug, which Cinnamon didn't return. "Please stop. I'll talk to the boss, I'll find some way… even if you stop getting manhandled like this, I can see what it's doing to you. It's damaging more than just your body. I know how much you hate this…"

"It's the only way," Cinnamon said flatly. "And you know it. It's this, or the mines. I'm not old enough to get a job in Mantle. Not anything that would make enough lien."

"At least stop going up to Atlas, then?" Daisuke requested as he pulled back and gave the girl a serious look. "They're just… sick."

"They pay more," Cinnamon said with a shrug. "And Dad's getting worse. Those rich bastards gave him this disease, and they're selling me the cure for it at prices I could never afford otherwise."

"And they're also doing damage to you beyond just cuts and bruises," Daisuke insisted. "This needs to end."

"It'll end when…" Cinnamon trailed off, suddenly unsure what to say. "…I need to do this, alright? If you want to help, then just let me stay the night and help me cover up these bruises in the morning, so he doesn't catch on."

"Of course," Daisuke said with a defeated sigh. "You can always stay with me. You know that."

"I do," Cinnamon confirmed. "I just wish you wouldn't try to stop me so often. Let me do my work. I know what I'm doing."

Daisuke watched Cinnamon turn and leave the bathroom before he ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"…gods, I hope so…"

Cinnamon continued to hold her breath and kept her eyes closed. She hated everything about the situation. The sounds, the smells, the sensation in her mouth making her want to gag, and the vile taste. She had long since discarded her sense of shame, replacing it instead with a white-hot anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Cinnamon bobbed her head, keeping her lips pursed as she focused upon her work. She could feel a telltale twitch only a moment before she began to swallow, and then pulled her face back from between the man's legs.

As she opened her eyes, she found a familiar sight before her- a fancy bedspread, and yet another pantsless, anonymous suit sitting upon it and breathing heavily. He looked over her stained face with a judgmental, almost feral sort of lust, and she glared right back with contempt. The man took a moment to catch his breath, before shuddering with pleasure as he began to come down from his state of euphoria.

"There we go," the man cooed as he cupped her chin. "I'll be giving a recommendation to a few business partners. You will make yourself available for us, won't you? Perhaps all three of us, together? After all, I hear you desperately need the lien."

Cinnamon fought back against the urge to pull away, the sickening taste of the man still lingering in the back of her throat. She drew in a breath through her nose as the man ran his thumb along her chin, before trailing his hand down her neck and beginning to fondle her bare breasts.

"…yes, Sir," Cinnamon answered as she tried to catch her breath.

"Good, good," the man said with a sneer as he retrieved his discarded pants from the floor. "Go and get yourself cleaned up, before you head back home. Going to rendezvous with your little lizard bodyguard, I'd imagine?"

"He's not my bodyguard," Cinnamon seethed as she stood from her kneeling position. Her legs and abdomen ached from nearly a full hour of abuse, and she found herself shaky upon her feet. "He's here to make sure my boss gets paid for offering me to you. So… pay up."

The man merely chuckled as he withdrew his wallet from his pants and tossed a set of paper bills upon the mattress.

"Yes, yes. Patience, little fish. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend. See yourself out. I'll let your boss know when we're ready for you. Best to get some rest. We won't be going easy on you."

The man exited through the door without another word, leaving Cinnamon very much alone and naked in the bedroom. She hurriedly collected the bills from the mattress and tucked them into the pocket of her pants, which were still on the floor. Immediately afterward, she walked toward the bathroom with haste and leaned over the sink before sticking her fingers into her throat. A second later, she vomited into the ceramic basin while gripping either side, her knuckles turning white as she heaved.

After several minutes of being sick, she grabbed a towel off the nearby rack and began to wipe herself free of sweat and other fluids. Her hands shook as she went about cleaning herself, and adrenaline remained pulsing through her veins. It took several calming breaths to get her hands back under control before she strode back into the bedroom and picked up her clothing from the floor. She dressed quickly and counted her lien once again before heading for the door. With one last look back at the ruined sheets, she strode out into the halls of the Schnee manor, doing her best to avoid the eyes of the attendants all around her.

Author's Note:

Part 2 next week, before heading back to Sun.

-RD