Ilia's breath huffed as she moved through another kata. This room wasn't large enough for her to practice with Lightning Lash in its whip form, which meant her expertise with that form of her weapon was slowly but surely decaying. Couldn't be helped. She wasn't ready to let anyone else know that she was armed.
Other than Winter.
The thought made a growl rise in her throat. And didn't that colossal misjudgment just make the point for her!
Either way, she could still practice with the smallsword form of her weapon, and it was vital that she kept at it. She had to keep in fighting form somehow. Luckily, the smallsword was good in confined spaces. She could practice in just this room.
She had finished a fifth kata and was contemplating a sixth when there was a sharp rap on her door. It was odd, disorienting. No one had ever knocked on her door before.
As she went to answer, she hoped whomever had come to call didn't mind seeing (or smelling) her all sweaty. Ugh, way to play into all the Faunus stereotypes of them being smelly and disheveled and—
Winter Schnee.
Her brain was so unprepared for the sight she shut the door again out of mental self-defense.
And was left there staring vacantly at a shut door, feeling stupid.
She had enough time to dig into herself for being dumb (but not enough to rationalize it) before there was another knock. Winter again.
Right! She was angry at Winter. She knew how to be angry.
She grabbed the door and flung it open. There was Winter, as expected—but because she was expected, Ilia's brain could take in more details this time, and she realized that Winter was holding a mug and a bouquet of flowers.
She slammed the door again.
Or tried to, at least. Winter moved a booted foot up enough that the slamming door hit her foot and bounced off. Winter stifled a grunt of pain but held her ground. "May I come in?"
Ilia felt like she had a dozen reasons to say no, and in the moment, she couldn't think of any of them, which was frustrating as hell. She backed into her room, feeling all scrambled inside. Winter followed.
Ilia backpedaled until she felt a wall behind her. Winter filled the empty space until she was in arm's reach of the bed. The mug smelled of hot chocolate, but much sweeter than anything Winter drank. The bouquet was all white flowers, because of course it was.
"What's with the flowers?" Ilia said, trying to find some ground to engage on without feeling like she was drifting through space.
Winter placed the mug on Ilia's nightstand and gestured to the different blooms Ilia hadn't been able to tell apart. "White lilies, for rebirth. White orchids, for sincerity."
Ilia huffed. "What is that, some kind of hoity toity Atlas stuff?"
"The language of flowers, yes," said Winter, not quite meeting Ilia's eyes.
"I don't know that language."
"That doesn't make it less heart-felt."
"Heart-felt?" said Ilia skeptically. "I bet you had to look that stuff up."
"I remembered. I was trained, once upon a time. I have a good memory. No," Winter said, setting the flowers on the bed, "I had to look up something different."
"Am I supposed to ask what?" said Ilia when Winter hesitated.
"I think you'll recognize it," said Winter vaguely. She swallowed. "I wouldn't have had the courage to do this until… until Weiss did her version.
"But she did… so I can, too. Because this matters that much to me."
Bracing herself, looking stiffer than ever, Winter knelt down.
Spread her palms wide.
Looked to the ceiling.
Bared her throat.
Ilia stared, dumbfounded. There was no native or instinctive gesture like that for either humans or Faunus. It was a learned gesture, modeled on animal equivalents, and one that was only ever seen amongst Faunus—particularly the White Fang.
The ultimate lowering of defenses, exposing of vulnerabilities.
Submitting yourself completely to the will of another.
"I'm sorry," said Winter, and though her throat constricted as if choking on the words, she still got them out.
Ilia barely heard her. Most of Ilia's capacity was dominated by the sight in from of her, a sight she didn't know how to interpret or understand.
The White Fang wanted to reclaim the Faunus' animal natures, reframe them as a positive. Part of that effort was conscious adaptation of animalistic gestures, like the one Ilia had done on the train—the same one Winter was doing now. But that was what made it impossible: how could Winter Schnee be doing a White Fang gesture?
The world was inside out.
And Winter just stayed there, using all the discipline she'd learned from the damn Atlesian Military to keep that posture indefinitely, no matter how it must have made her neck twinge. Ilia knew Winter well enough to understand that she would stay there for as long as it took.
As long as it took to… what?
"I hurt you," said Winter bluntly when the silence made by Ilia's muteness became unbearable. "I didn't mean to, but I did. Whatever judgment you think I deserve, I accept."
Now, now Ilia understood. Winter was exposing herself fully, leaving herself defenseless against any punishment Ilia could dish out at her.
And Ilia didn't want to.
How could she?
"Get up, get up," said Ilia, drowning in embarrassment. She went so far as to grab one of Winter's hands and use it to haul her back to a standing position. This had the unintended side effect of pulling Winter right into Ilia's personal space. Ilia felt the urge to flee, but found she couldn't move.
Her mouth suddenly dry, unable to look away from Winter's face, she asked, "Where did you learn that?"
"I researched White Fang culture," said Winter. "You said I never understood who I was screwing with. I had to remedy that."
There was that strange formality, that stilted language Winter always used when she was uncomfortable. It spoke to her sincerity, even more than her reciting Ilia's words back to her. "I think you did," said Ilia. "At least a little."
"I hope so," said Winter, a frail courage in her voice. "Because I'm not stopping there. That's not all."
"It's not?" said Ilia faintly.
Winter stepped back to reach for the flowers. Ilia hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until the pressure of Winter's presence was released. She sucked in air like she was drowning.
"One of the reasons I can never forgive my father," said Winter, her voice gaining the edge it always did when she brought up Jacques, "is that he didn't love my mother. They might have loved each other once, before I was born. But I never remember him giving her the time of day, never mind love her. That's part of what broke her. She still had feelings for him, and he didn't love her.
"Because love, as I understand it, isn't just fancy, and it isn't just an emotion. Emotions come and go like the weather. Love isn't something that happens, it's something you build. Love is a commitment. Love means putting in effort, sticking to it, finding common ground, reaching for the other person even when it hurts, bending... understanding... accepting."
Winter turned back to Ilia with those flowers that meant 'sincerity' and 'rebirth', even as the room filled with the smell of a warm drink when Winter had described warm drinks as true affection. Ilia trembled as Winter's intent became clear.
Winter looked at her with eyes that showed both vulnerability and purpose. "I love you. I realize I didn't actually say those words before, but I'll fix that. I love you. And that also means I will love you.
"I promise you, you will never meet someone who will try harder than I will to make this work. When I commit, I commit all the way. I will give you the very best of me, whatever that demands of me.
"…If you'll have me," she added at the end, and it was her vulnerability that surged up in her face and overtook the rest.
How could someone look so vulnerable after such an overwhelming display? That wasn't fair at all.
Because Ilia believed Winter. She'd never seen a harder or more earnest worker than Winter Schnee. The idea of having that much devotion and care pointed in her direction swept Ilia away.
Because she was Ilia Amitola, the one always overlooked, the one who blended in or disappeared, the one who wore a mask for her enemies and went unnoticed by her friends. She was never seen how she wanted to be seen.
Now, here, she was seen for who she was.
"It..." Ilia could barely speak with her voice shaking like a maraca. "It might be easier… if I'm not your subordinate."
"That problem might solve itself," Winter said with gallows humor. "But I'll work with you no matter what happens with SDR. We can move you elsewhere in the company, or cash you out, or whatever you think is best. And if SDR fails… we'll talk about the next step afterwards."
"And you're okay with me being… you know… an actual terrorist?" she said. "Someone wanted by the Kingdom you used to serve?"
"You're that and more," said Winter. "I have to reckon with the criminal part, but I won't ignore the rest, either. We'll talk about it. I promise to listen."
Ilia knew it was true. She knew. She understood.
She accepted.
She reached out and took the flowers from Winter. She smelled them. They were nice. She wasn't sure they smelled like sincerity, but she'd take Winter's word for it.
"Where did you even get these?" she asked.
"I had them delivered," said Winter.
Ilia thought of how remote Skjulte Perle was. "That must have been expensive."
"I spend almost no money on my own vanity," said Winter dryly. That voice melted when she gave Ilia her most heart-breakingly fond look. "I save my money for the things that matter."
Ilia's heart trembled in her chest like a bird rattling in a cage. She delicately put the flowers aside and, in the motion of turning back to Winter, launched herself at her once and future lover.
Winter had a huntress' reflexes. She caught Ilia with no problem at all, and lifted her from her feet with leverage and strength enough to make Ilia swoon.
Puzzle pieces snapped back together once more.
"…as you can see, SDR's financial situation is dire," Weiss said. Before her, SDR's employees took the words and accompanying graphics somberly. Those graphics displayed what SDR's funds looked like for several different scenarios, depending upon Dust prices, insurance payouts, and timing.
In all scenarios, SDR's funds reached the zero line inside of a year.
"The insurance adjuster sent in a preliminary claim. We convinced her to keep our claim status open, in case our forensics team turns up anything else. As things stand, though… insurance will only cover seventy percent of the replacement costs for our gear.
"We have an option to take on a new loan, but its repayment terms are so harsh we'll face our day of reckoning before its term is up. Even with the employee furlough, our funds are draining fast, and that's before we make our lease payment to Skjulte Perle…"
"Which we're waiving," said Mayor Lief, to collective surprise. Weiss hadn't even seen him come inside, but there he was, along the side of the warehouse, and looking like he might wilt under the hundreds of eyes now focused on him. He trembled and took a step like he might bolt, but he gathered himself up to say more in a halting voice.
"We know you're in a fix right now, but we also know how much you mean to this town," Lief said. "Without SDR, I'd probably be trying to resettle my people elsewhere by now. You paid us more up-front than you needed to. You helped bail out this town's finances when we needed it. Well, we'll help bail you out when you need it.
"We met and talked about it. By… majority vote…" his face flashed with anger for a moment, as if thinking about the people who had made the vote majority instead of unanimous, "…the town is waiving your next lease payment. A-and I'm authorized to waive the one after without a re-vote, if I need to."
Murmurs spread through the crowd, along with scattered clapping that grew until about half the workers had joined in. Weiss did not; she had work to do. Fingers racing, she updated her payment spreadsheets, regenerated the budget graphics, and tossed them up once more.
It made a difference to the timing, but not the end-state. For almost every scenario, SDR ran out of funds before Huber's third loan went to term.
"Thank you, Mayor Lief," said Weiss. "Those are two pieces of good news. But, as you can see…"
The words weren't easy to say. A death sentence never is.
"…our odds of survival are still very bad, unless some important things break hard our way."
Her pronouncement murdered the good vibes Lief had brought. He shook like his namesake.
"That's why," Weiss said as she cleared the graphics, "we feel obliged to give you a chance to cash out. Fall Dust's representatives are here, and they'll buy your stock, if you want to sell. We'll give you five more minutes to talk things out, then we'll let them inside. Everyone who wants to sell… this is your chance.
"I…" she started, going off-script as emotion surged within her. Uncertainty, and the eyes of the company, stalled her, but this was too important for bashfulness. "I want you all to know… I'm proud of everything we accomplished here. We've done things no one else dared. When the world didn't believe in you, in us, we still made it all work. I…"
The words were gone, turned to vapor in her brain.
"…thank you," she whispered, barely loud enough for her microphone to catch. She walked off the stage, turned away so that she couldn't see the employees—and they couldn't see her face.
It wouldn't do for them to see her Schnee composure break.
Winter and Ilia were standing to the side of the stage, and they seemed much less worried about their composure. They were clinging tightly to each other, as if scared their partner would be flung into space if they let go.
It struck Weiss how she had two distinct reactions: relief that they were doing better, and a desire to shout "get a room". Despite her dread, she felt a smile.
For a moment. The weight of uncertainty, of despair, was enough to smother any other emotions she might have felt. Except, possibly, jealousy. Winter had Ilia. Who did Weiss have?
"Hey, Weiss."
She turned and, to her surprise, found that Team RVBY had approached. When had they entered? How had Weiss missed that? Honestly, if Winter wasn't too busy squeezing the life out of her 'assistant', she'd slam Weiss for her shoddy situational awareness.
At least Team RVBY seemed to have a feel for the moment. "This is it, huh?" said Ruby soberly.
"Yes, this is, in fact, 'it'," said Weiss, and even she didn't know if she was being sarcastic or not.
"We'd like you to know," said Blake, "that, whatever happens, we think you've done a great job."
Hearing those words from Blake particularly made Weiss' heart lift. "You think so?"
"Absolutely," said Neptune. "In fact, we've got an offer for you."
"See, our mission was to help out SDR and learn about the Dust industry," said Yang, a twinkle in her eye. "If there's no more SDR, then that leaves the 'learning' piece. Well, we've 'learned' a lot about Fall Dust, enough that we think some pretty crazy stuff'll happen if we 'learn' a little more."
Weiss shook her head with a smile. "You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?"
"Nope," popped Ruby. "Wanna come with?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Yang grinned. "She's asking if you want to come along on a string of dubiously-legal…"
"For the record, I prefer 'legal adjacent'," said Neptune.
"…raids and busts of Fall Dust's scummy underbelly."
"If we catch them in enough criminal activity," said Blake more informatively, "even Atlas will have to notice."
"Or they'll pack us up and send us back to Beacon, which, oh no, not that, anything but that," said Ruby.
Weiss couldn't help but giggle.
"Anyway, it's been nice working with you," said Neptune, "and if you've got nothing else going on, we'll take you along for the ride."
Weiss smiled—genuinely, enough to unclench the fist around her heart just a little. "I appreciate the offer. I'll keep it in mind."
Her scroll buzzed. Five minutes were up.
"I'll keep it in mind for another few minutes," she said. She waved down to the end of the warehouse, where a waiting worker opened the door. "Because the decision might be made for me. This could turn very ugly very quickly."
"We've got you," said Yang quietly. "No matter how it goes."
"I know," Weiss breathed.
Three men entered the warehouse. The jackets they wore looked like slightly bulkier, but still quite fancy, suits, like this was just a normal business meeting. Weiss supposed it was a business meeting, even it felt like part wake, part murder.
The leader was small and pale and had an oversized scroll in-hand, while the followers were stereotypically tall, broad, and sunglassed. Each escort carried a sack over their shoulder, and they combined to carry a folding table alongside.
As undertakers went, Weiss supposed they looked formal enough, if a bit generic.
The tall men set up the table as a hush fell over crowd. People crowded in to see, enough so that Weiss couldn't peer through them—her height once again her nemesis. The only way for her to see was to go on-stage again, which made her hesitate until she realized no one had any attention to spare for her. She clambered back up. By unspoken consensus, RVBY, Winter, and Ilia followed.
It was much less lonely that way. It was a good way to spend SDR's final moments—surrounded by friends and family.
"Good morning," said the small man, speaking into his scroll, which must have had some kind of amplifier function. "I'm Frank Pallid, and I represent Fall Dust's customer relations department. Fall Dust sends its very best wishes to Schnee Dust Reborn and its employees."
Yang made a gagging sound.
"We understand that tragedy has befallen your company," said Pallid in over-the-top sentimental tones. "You have our sympathies. The Dust industry is like a family. What hurts one of us hurts us all."
"Not even your family is that dysfunctional," said Ilia, and Winter grunted agreement.
"That is why we come to you in the spirit of generosity. We are willing to buy the stock of anyone who needs money. Your employment status won't change, and Fall Dust will work with the remaining stockholders to ensure the company finds its footing."
"In hell," muttered Blake.
"Regrettably, this is a one-time offer only. If SDR fails, your stock will become worthless. It only has value now, at this moment. But Fall Dust sees its value right now, its potential, even more than your leaders do.
"They told you that Fall Dust would pay five times SDR's valuation for each share. Well, that's not quite true. Mistress Fall, in her graciousness, has seen fit to offer you ten times valuation per share."
Weiss thought she might be dizzy. Or sick. Or both.
"With that in mind…" Pallid partially tipped over one of the sacks. Lien chips fell out, causing exclamations throughout the crowd. It was more money than any of these workers had ever seen in one place, probably more than any of them had earned in their lives, and it was all right there in cold hard cash.
"Payouts will be immediate," Pallid said smugly. "Look at this—this money could be yours. You could use it however you want. Do you have bills to pay? Other debts to service? Want to make some new investment? Or maybe you just want to buy yourself something nice for a change. Do whatever you like with it. It's your money, and you can get it right now. All I ask for is one piece of paper and one signature."
He held up a digital signing pad. "So," he said with a shark's grin, "who will go first?"
For a few seconds, there wasn't much motion other than some side-to-side shuffling, as if no one had the courage to step up first no matter how much they wanted to. But there was one man who'd never been bound by shame, and he was elbowing his way to the front of the crowd.
"No," moaned Weiss in despair. Not Cristata. Anyone but Cristata. If he gave up, everyone else would give up too. He would be the first stone in the avalanche, and Fall Dust would get enough stock to bury SDR for good.
They were finished.
Weiss could see it happening. Already, other workers were falling into line behind Cristata, pulling their shares out of pockets or backpacks or folders. This was it. The end would come with neither a bang nor a whimper, but with the quiet scratching of a finger on plastic.
"Sign here," said Pallid, barely holding in his enthusiasm.
"Sure thing," said Cristata in an oddly carrying voice. "Oh, wait, just thought of something. Instead of cash, could I maybe trade this in for some Fall Dust stock?"
"The offer is for cash, and cash only," said Pallid smoothly, as if he'd expected some variation of that question.
"Of course it is," said Cristata. "Because cash is a lot easier to give away than control, isn't it?"
The room seemed to freeze solid as every person stilled and every other conversation died.
"This isn't about control," said Pallid. Even at this range Weiss could tell that Pallid was staring at Cristata's nose. She felt defensive on his behalf. "This is about an offer of money for something that only has value for a minute."
"Well, that doesn't make a lick of sense," said Cristata, showily scratching his head. "Because businesses are supposed to buy low and sell high, right? I haven't been a business owner for all that long, but I'm pretty sure I remember that."
Pallid cocked his head curiously, like this was not the sort of conversation he'd expected to have.
Cristata filled the void. "If our stock is gonna be worthless in a year, why don't you just come back in a year and get it for cheap? Couldn't you just wait for us to fail? Seems like you're stupidly overpaying."
"Mistress Fall is gracious and generous," said Pallid.
"Nah, don't gimme that crap. I know too many people who've been screwed by Fall Dust to think the word 'generous' goes anywhere near it. I think Cindy over there is scared of us."
"Scared of you?" said Pallid, tutting in amused disbelief.
"Scared of what this company represents," said Cristata. Pallid's disbelief seemed to have inflamed him. "Scared of what it's done for us, what even the idea of it could do to others."
"I hardly think a Dust company with one mine it can't operate and bankruptcy looming over it is any sort of threat to anyone, except perhaps its employees," said Pallid, becoming less amused with the conversation the more Cristata stuck to his guns.
"Yeah, and you see, that's the part you don't get," said Cristata, his voice building to a roar. "Because when I'm here, I decide what the danger is. I decide how much to pay myself, and I decide what my labor is worth. That's not a danger to me. That's a danger to Fall Dust, and every other Dust company that makes its money by wringing its workers dry."
Pallid's face had gone grave and dangerous. "I see you will not be selling your stock. In that case, please move aside so that those who do wish to sell can have their turns."
"Yeah, because that's how you Fall Dust types operate. Oh, this one's broken? Just get a new one. No people work for Fall Dust, just employees. Machinery. Numbers. That's why you wouldn't sell me stock in a million years. Because then I wouldn't be in my place. You're willing to give me money, but never control.
"If I give this up," he said as he waved his stock in Pallid's face, "then I go back to being nobody. I'll get money for a minute, but when it's gone, then what? I'm a nobody all over again. And that's not how it is in SDR. As long as I hold on to this, I'm someone. I'm a person, a person, damn you! And I won't let you take that away from me!"
"Gentlemen," said Pallid stiffly, quite done with this demonstration. He raised a hand and crooked a finger. His two tall bodyguards took a step forward around the table in Cristata's direction.
And ran face first into identical snowflake-shaped glyphs.
Weiss hadn't even had to think about it. It had come from a level below thought, both drawing the glyph and instinctively going to the left while her sister took the right. Then, as if the point hadn't been made clearly enough, there were sounds behind Weiss of mecha-shift weapons changing into their fighting forms.
The tall men backed away.
The sight seemed to energize Cristata. "That's right," he shouted. "That's how we do it around here. We don't worship money like you sickos do. We look after our own. That's why a maimed worker who lost a hand in our mine isn't getting fired, he's up in Mantle getting a new hand. That's why I can tell the Schnees back there to get bent, and they can tell me to piss off right back, and then we both go back to work. And that's why I'm not selling you jack shit.
"You know- you know what," he said, stepping forward and slapping the sack of lien until the chits fell out across the table, "go take this money and shove it so far up your ass it triggers your gag reflex. Because I'm a person here, you hear me? A person! And I'd rather work for free then get paid to put my chains back on."
He gave the table a gratuitous bump with his belly, then turned and walked for the door. Pallid looked like all the blood had gone out of his body, but he didn't make a move. Neither did his bodyguards. They all watched silently as Cristata walked out.
No other worker approached the table. Instead they filed into line in front of the door, and began to leave. None of them said a word. Cristata had spoken for all of them.
Weiss felt so weak in the knees she thought she'd collapse. A sense of unreality was sweeping over her. She'd been so certain of what was to be, and yet reality had turned out completely different, as if she'd gone outside to see the sun was green instead of orange.
Slowly, slowly, reality began to assert itself in her mind. Her understanding of what it meant that all these workers were leaving without a sound found her heart.
Their faith had been rewarded.
They'd survived.
She heard a sniff behind her. She turned around and saw that Winter was draped over the much smaller Ilia and silently, but openly, weeping. Beside her, Blake had buried her face in Yang's shoulder, and Neptune was sitting, like his legs had refused to hold him up for any longer.
In contrast, Ruby was bouncing on the soles of her feet, excited beyond words but knowing she had the wrong mood for the moment and trying to hold it in.
Weiss smiled and held up a finger in Ruby's direction. "In a minute," she promised.
Ruby, still bouncing, nodded excitedly.
Before long, all the employees were gone, leaving only the Schnees and their friends on the stage and the Fall Dust employees at the end of the warehouse. Pallid looked furious, but also quite lost.
Weiss lowered her finger. "Now," she said to Ruby.
"FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUU!" Ruby shouted at the Fall Dust employees while giving them twin middle fingers.
"Ruby!" yelled a scandalized Yang as people fell out laughing around her. "Language!"
"First," said Ruby, whirling on her sister, "they're the bad guys and they deserve it. B, that's, like, the most appropriate time to cuss I've ever seen? And three, you've said way, way worse than that."
Yang's mouth was open to argue further, but with all the laughing around her, she couldn't manage it. "You know what? I have no counterarguments. You win, sis."
"Ruby! I have news for… you?" So many people had gone out the door—including the Fall Dust employees, finally—that Weiss had almost forgotten people could come in, but there was Penny, walking towards their group. Penny scanned across them, taking in the scene with surprise. What a scene it was, Weiss knew: Penny had only ever seen them under immense stress, and probably took that for their norm.
Penny cocked her head in puzzlement. "I appear to have missed something," she said, innocent as a sunny day.
Ruby and Weiss looked at each other and started laughing all over again.
Weiss wasn't naïve; she knew this moment wasn't victory. It was just a stay of execution. The graphs were still the graphs; the debt was still the debt. And they'd gone and further humiliated and antagonized Cinder Fall.
At that moment, with her friends all around her, Weiss didn't care. Her joy was the joy of a prisoner reprieved as she climbed the gallows' stairs. She felt unburdened; she felt uplifted, like a balloon that just slipped its string.
She'd been right. SDR had been right. Doing business with basic humanity was right, and it was good. And if tomorrow brought ruin? Well, at least they'd have the chance to face tomorrow.
With this crowd around her, Weiss had to say she liked her chances.
"Tell me again," said Cinder, her voice a razor sliding across skin, "how many SDR employees sold your operative their stock."
"Z-zero," said the director of Customer Relations. "They closed ranks and, and one of them gave this big speech…"
Cinder's eyes flashed. Customer Relations wisely shut up.
"I do not suffer fools and failures," Cinder said. "You are to inform your underling that they're fired. Do it quickly and efficiently enough and I'll reconsider firing you."
Customer Relations bowed obsequiously and fled.
The urge to burn things or kill things was turning Cinder's vision red. No, she decided, reining herself in with difficulty. That would be a waste of perfectly good anger. She'd put that to use against the Schnees.
Because she was done with asking nicely.
Next time: Once Too Often