"You first," said Winter.
Weiss pulled up her survey results on her scroll. "The first survey of Skjulte Perle found some deposits of Wind and Water Dust, plus a small amount of Stone. The survey projected that a mine there would barely turn a profit, which made it a low priority compared to other sites.
"What the survey didn't detect were several large, recoverable nodes of Plant Dust. Maybe they didn't know to look, or didn't have the right equipment, or maybe they just performed their survey out of sequence." She did not shoot a pointed look in Winter's direction. "But I found them, and by my math, they more than justify setting up shop here. When you compare this Dust mix to our worst-case planning numbers… well, it looks much, much better. The other types of Dust will cover our operating expenses, and the Plant Dust is our money-maker. What about you?"
"Setting up near Skjulte Perle eases or obviates many of the difficulties we had with the other sites," Winter said. "The existing roads, railroad, pier, and facilities can all be repurposed, which is much cheaper than building them from scratch."
"I thought you told me the warehouse needed every exposed surface sandblasted before you'd step in there again," Weiss said.
"That's still cheaper than hauling materials cross-country to build a new one."
"Fair."
"Especially since there's another resource here we can tap: a sizeable, available workforce," Winter continued.
Weiss frowned. "You mean the poor and underemployed villagers?"
Winter looked discerningly at Weiss, before saying slowly, "That's another way to put it, I suppose. They won't have the skills they'd need to work the mine, but there are other useful tasks we can have them do, and probably at rates lower than your estimates."
Weiss' frown deepened.
Winter noticed. "I think I see where you're going with this, so I'm obliged to remind you: we're trying to establish a Dust company, not a charity."
"You don't think we can use the company to do some good while we're at it?" Weiss challenged.
Instead of answering directly, Winter sighed. "You really should have gone to an Academy. You have the attitude of a Huntress."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Weiss said cautiously.
"Huntresses don't typically become business magnates."
"Maybe they should."
"Priorities, sister," Winter said sternly, but Weiss shook her head.
"I also noticed you said 'Huntress', not 'soldier'."
"I thought we already established you'd make a very poor soldier," Winter said in a voice as dry as sandpaper.
"But you were an excellent soldier," Weiss said, in a way that made a compliment sound like an attack. "Isn't their job to serve the people?"
"Indirectly. We obey the orders of the Council, which represents all the people. We serve the aggregate, not the individual, or even individual communities."
"You're using the present tense again," Weiss pointed out.
Winter made an impatient noise. "The point is, the military's primary role is to fulfill the missions the Council sets it. Other concerns are secondary."
"Except when those 'secondary concerns' are the primary ones," Weiss said. "Did you hear about when the military was planning to close its outpost at Point West? Councilwoman Camilla publicly came out against the closure, saying the outpost was too important to the local economy to close."
Winter's voice was strained. "Yes, well, the Council has to weigh all its different obligations."
"There were also reports that the businesses and citizens of Point West made very generous contributions to Camilla's reelection fund."
"Enough. What's your point?" snapped Winter.
"My point is," said Weiss, and her eyes had drifted to the Dust analysis again, "maybe we should stop thinking of the townsfolk as 'assets' or 'resources', and think of them as people. Just like we did with…"
"…with the Faunus in the Crater," Winter finished irritably. "I knew you were going there eventually."
"And?"
Winter scowled before biting out, "If there's a business case for doing so, fine."
"I'll take it," Weiss said, snapping her scroll shut. "Is there more to say on the logistics side?"
Feeling like she'd given away more than she knew, and unhappy about it, Winter looked to her notes to continue the discussion. "Yes. The village is unprepared to house the number of people we're bringing in, which will more than double its current population—maybe even triple it, assuming families are coming along. The town doesn't meet our power needs yet either, although that's an easier fix…"
The final two surveys did nothing to change the sisters' choice of mining site. Skjulte Perle, they agreed, remained their best option. That meant the unpleasant, but inevitable, had arrived.
"It's time to get a loan," Weiss said.
Which was how, very much against her will, Winter found herself back in Atlas for the first time since resigning her commission.
It was strange, for somewhere she'd lived most of her life to seem so alien. Her time away from Atlas was beginning to add up, she realized. It'd really begun after she'd joined the military; she may have reported to Atlas, but her missions were mostly abroad, and her home (such as it was) was in Mantle. She'd spent relatively little time in the City of Progress, and none since the bankruptcy. She'd had no reason to, while her obligations dragged her to Mantle or the field. Places that weren't like Atlas, in other words.
It didn't take long for Atlas to look familiar again. The meticulously maintained streets, strictly zoned buildings, and straight-laced forward-staring humans all looked normal after the first half an hour. The memory, the idea that it was abnormal, was harder to shake.
She liked Atlas, she told herself. It was nice to be in a place so orderly, where traffic did what it was supposed to do, where trash stayed in the dumpsters where it belonged, where grotesque music didn't blare from every street corner. It was good for the soul for there to be a place that worked as designed.
But… no, she could no longer say that it was normal.
Normal or not, once she and Weiss emerged from the subway system, she found herself more and more at ease as the glittering spires of the city surrounded them and the Song called to her through the soles of her shoes. Shoes, not boots, she thought crossly. Weiss had insisted Winter wear her most formal attire, which involved (among other things) adding a light blue jacket over her blouse and swapping her leggings for suit pants.
Weiss, on the other hand, had sworn that most of her wardrobe had gone with the estate, and so worn a variant of her usual outfit, down to and including the bright white combat skirt. Combat skirt! None of the formal clothes Winter was wearing were combat-rated, but Weiss could get away with it.
Not that Winter would change her mind on the subject. Pockets alone would keep her on Team Pants for the rest of her life.
Still. Annoying.
Weiss had gone so far as to spruce up her appearance with earrings and a white, fuzzy muffler, so Winter couldn't outright accuse her sister of not doing her share. Instead, Winter focused on making sure they got to their destination accurately and early. If the bankers were anything like Atlas Academy, they cleaved to the old "if you're on time, you're late; if you're early, you're on time" trope.
They'd likely only get one chance at this. They had to hit.
The name of the banker they were meeting functioned like a key. It got them through the front door, into the elevator, and into the offices of the 1st Atlesian Municipal Bank. (Not to be confused with the First Bank of Atlas or the First Kingdom Bank and Trust. Weiss probably knew which of them actually came first, but Winter couldn't bring herself to care.)
"Mr. Huber is ready for you now," said the soap bubble of a secretary.
Winter gave the secretary the curtest nod in her arsenal and, Weiss beside her, stepped into the spacious office beyond.
Friedrich Huber caught her eyes immediately. He was not so much obese as large; every dimension seemed half again that of a normal man. His bald pate and chubby face glistened with moisture, though Winter couldn't tell if it was sweat or if the man was just that oily; all she knew was she saw similar damp spots at different places in his expensively-tailored suit. It made her wonder what volume she'd fill if she wrung him out. A cup? A bucket? A bathtub?
Not that she'd dare try such a thing. The Hubers were a powerful family that traced its origins (and its fortune) all the way back to the very beginnings of Mantle and the Great Solitas Dust Rush. They carried so much clout that, even after the Great War, they conspicuously disregarded color names. Even the Marigolds and other old moneyed families had fallen in line with that fashion. The Hubers could afford not to and embraced the resulting notoriety.
Out of the corner of her eye, Winter noted that a whole wall was covered in magazine clippings, awards, formal photos, and similar celebrations of the self. In contrast, the wall behind Huber was a floor-to-ceiling window showing a vista of Atlas.
It was lower and less grand than the one out of the General's office. Winter could see the conscious imitation, though.
"Well, well!" said Huber, rising from his seat. "It's been a bit since I had a meeting with a Schnee. Welcome, welcome!"
He offered his hand. Winter took it and shook. The man's hand was sweaty and flabby, like a wet oven mitt. There was no strength to his grip.
"We're pleased you took the time to meet with us," said Weiss, who similarly shook Huber's hand, though she didn't quite conceal how her eye twitched in discomfort.
"'Us'?" Huber repeated, looking to Winter. "I'm surprised you let your kid sister tag along with you."
Righteous indignation surged across Weiss' face, but Winter spoke first—she knew she had to head Weiss off before she justified Huber's jibe for him. "With respect, sir, Weiss and I are full partners in this venture."
"Huh." He looked at them appraisingly, eyes sweeping from one to the other. Winter saw Weiss struggling to contain herself, to stuff her Schnee temper back into its cage. Before Huber had finished his assessment, she'd managed it. Hopefully it would stay there.
"Well, I guess we'll see how you measure up to your relatives," said Huber, returning to sit behind his desk. "I've worked with your family for a long time. Did you know, my father gave your grandfather his first startup loan? Best investment he ever made, he used to tell me. His only regret was that he hadn't made a bigger one."
Winter saw how that reference threw Weiss off, and she intervened before they could lose momentum. "Well, we're here partly because of that history. We'd like to give you another opportunity to work with our family."
"Really!" said Huber, affecting surprise even though he must have known their purpose.
"We have a business plan for a new company. Schnee Dust Reborn."
"Getting back into the Dust business!" His jovial expression turned mournful. "That's both surprising and disappointing."
"Disappointing how?" said Winter.
"I had quite a few loans go bad, lending to the SDC in its final days," Huber said. "I thought to myself, surely the Schnees, of all people, can't possibly fail at mining Dust! It seemed like such a safe investment. Alas, I didn't have my father's luck, and your mother didn't have your grandfather's skill."
He was toying with them. Winter could see the smile hidden just beneath that faux-sad expression. Weiss must have as well, because her voice was sharp. "You made out very well in the bankruptcy, if memory serves. Most SDC assets fetched anywhere from one-and-a-half to three times their pre-auction valuations."
"The market was a bit frothy," Huber admitted, and now the smile broke through, even less pleasant than Winter had expected. Ugh, this man was gross.
"You were more than made whole, is the point," Weiss said, pressing her point home better than she usually did with Myrtenaster. "Even when the SDC couldn't repay you, you still came out ahead."
"Rule 162," he cited at them without losing that slimy grin. "'Even in the worst of times, someone turns a profit.' The Hubers are the Hubers because we make sure "someone" is always us."
Winter liked the man less every time he opened his mouth. Somehow, Weiss was able to stay focused. "Here's a chance for you to do that again."
"Ah, but you don't have the SDC's assets," said Huber, looking suddenly shrewd. "I know for a fact that you came out of the bankruptcy with nothing but your trust fund and your weapons." His eyes flicked down to their respective waists, where both sisters were wearing their swords, and lingered there uncomfortably long. "A loan to you isn't a loan to the SDC. It's not a sure thing. It's a gamble."
"We just established that you made a lot of money loaning to the Schnee family in the past," Weiss objected.
"And we also established you don't have the collateral your family once had," he said, his voice turning hard. "I'm not lending against the SDC and the Schnee estate. I'd be lending against a single mine you hope to build, a trust fund you'll burn up trying to make this work, and… what, a Mantle apartment?"
Weiss answered his sneer with a bold raise of her face. "And the Schnee name."
"What is that worth on the open market?" Huber said, wielding the words like a cudgel.
"I don't care what it's worth on the open market," she shot back. "I care about what it's worth to me, and to you. To me, it's worth a great deal, regardless of what my parents did to it. That's why I'm here, and it's why I—we—named our new company what we did. As for you…"
She made a point of looking to the wall. Now that Winter looked closer, she could see that several of the pictures featured Huber along with Jacques and/or Willow.
"You said yourself, your father lent to the Schnees and made a mint. Well, here's your chance to do as well as your father."
Huber scoffed. "Nicholas reinvented what a Dust company could be and set the SDC up as a juggernaut in the market. You really think you can match that? Starting from scratch?"
"No," said Weiss bluntly. "But I believe we can do better than anyone else expects. I believe there's an opening in the market right now for people who can exploit it. I believe we can become the kind of investment you brag about to the rest of your family."
Winter tried to keep the marvel from her face. There were times when Weiss was a child. Then there were times like this. A scion of one of Atlas' oldest, wealthiest clans was scrutinizing her with critical eyes, and she met him with defiance, as if daring him to doubt her.
She could tell that Weiss had found a soft spot, because Huber's mask was slipping. He retaliated in kind. "You can't have it both ways. You can't expect me to value your name and ignore how your parents ran it into the ground. Am I supposed to think you have more of your grandfather in you than you have your parents?"
"We are not our parents," Winter said, the words bursting from her without touching her head. Huber turned his gaze to her. It felt like a spotlight was settling on her, bright and hot, but she held her ground. She raised a hand and conjured a glyph to spin in her hand, quietly humming. "Schnee blood runs in our veins, and that's where we get our potential. But our choices and behaviors? Those are ours alone."
Huber was staring at the glyph as if transfixed. Winter let it spin for a moment longer, then clenched her fist; the glyph winked out of existence. Huber blinked stupidly. Winter waited for him to collect himself before going for the kill. "If you somehow doubt that, take a look at our business plan. You tell us whether it resembles more the work of our grandfather, the work of our parents, or something new and unique to us."
He opened his mouth, shut it, and frowned as his face set into an expression of deep and troubled contemplation. Weiss almost squirmed in her seat as if anxious to fill the gap. Winter subtly waved her down. There were times when patience was necessary. There were times you had to let your target compromise itself.
At last his gaze slipped towards the briefcase Weiss held restlessly in her lap. "Show me," he said slowly.
Winter could have smiled.
"I thought Atlas had usuary laws," Winter said, her smile long forgotten.
"Yes, well, how much interest is 'excessive' interest is subjective," Weiss replied. "But we got the amount we wanted, and that'll have to do."
"Let's never do that again."
"We'll be lucky if we don't. We'll probably need another loan at some point."
"Whenever that is will be too soon." Winter shuddered. "I couldn't get a read on him at all."
"That's part of his negotiating strategy," Weiss said. "By keeping people off-balance, he makes it hard for them to know what he truly wants and what terms he'll accept. Our only advantage was that we knew one thing he valued: his family's association with the Schnees. It's probably the only reason he took our meeting in the first place."
Winter gave a non-committal noise but said no more. Weiss took the opportunity to review the plan, putting a big red check mark next to "Capital". "However unpleasant it might have been… that was a huge win! All those things that depended on capital? Well, we have capital now. It's… it's like it's real now. We're so much closer."
"You're right," Winter said. It was like missions in the field: she usually felt the worst right before extraction and victory, but the promise of those things was a light in the darkness.
"So," Weiss continued, "we have that, we have our location picked, we have a plan for infrastructure and logistics, we've priced and planned for equipment. All that's left is employees."
"Another deeply unpleasant affair," Winter said. "I already feel slimy. Before we get to that, I'm taking two long showers. Possibly three."
"You'd better not use all the hot water. I will hurt you if I have to shower in the cold."
That drew an amused expression to Winter's face. "If you landed a hit on me, it would be your first."
"I'll wait until you're asleep."
"In that case, you don't get to be in the apartment while I sleep."
"Wha—you mean you'd turn out your own sister? Traitor."
A touch of Schnee arrogance was on Winter's face as she looked down on her little sister. "Don't pick fights you can't win."
"Just you wait."
"Hopefully I don't die of old age while I'm waiting."
Weiss crossed her arms. "You're trying to bait me into doing Huntress training. You want to blow off steam with violence at my expense."
"And you aren't bold enough to accept that invitation," Winter replied with maximum haughtiness.
Weiss growled. "One hour of Huntress training, three hours working the employees problem."
"Two hours Huntress training, half an hour personal hygiene, half an hour dinner, one hour working the employees."
"One and a half hours Huntress training, and you make the call to Aster Cristata."
"I think I'd rather negotiate with Mr. Huber than you, Miss Schnee."
"I accept your compliment, Miss Schnee."
It wasn't fair.
It never was, but it was particularly unfair that day. Typically Winter would make Weiss be the attacker, let her exhaust herself trying to crack her elder's perfect defenses, then crush her with a swift counterattack. Winter must have been in a mood, though, because today she was on the offensive right from the drop.
She would rush her sister, overpower her, break down her defense, and throw or knock her to the mat. Then she'd back off, reset, and let Weiss rise again before repeating it.
After the seventh fall, Weiss stayed down. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be learning from this," she said.
"You're learning how to fight someone stronger and faster than you."
"But I'm not learning anything. I don't even have time to think!"
"Think faster."
"That's not… ugh."
Winter's patience didn't last long. "Are you giving up already?"
Weiss reluctantly staggered to her feet. Winter gave her a few beats, counting off in her head, One Menagerie, two Menagerie, three Menagerie…
On "four", she renewed her attack.
And was cut short before she'd gotten far.
She felt the sinking feeling from below her, knew what she'd see if she looked down. Gravity Glyph. Weiss' expression and gestures were good clues, too.
She could see Weiss' relief, see her trying to move on to what she might try next. Too long. Once more, Winter's patience expired. She extended Eiszahn out in front of her, outside of Gravity's pull. A glyph sprang into being around the tip.
Ghostly, sparrow-sized Nevermores burst forth.
Weiss shrieked in surprise and panic as the summoned ephemera flew for her face. The Gravity Glyph held for only another second before Weiss' concentration failed and Winter was free.
To her credit, Weiss recognized the danger early. She summoned a platform glyph to flee to, leapt high and away targeting another one—
-but she was in the air so long Winter beat her to the spot. She arrived at the second glyph before Weiss did.
There was a second's flailing, and then a splat.
Winter took a satisfied breath as the eighth fall ended.
Well! Time to debrief, then. "Immobilizing an enemy is only useful if you can take advantage of it," she said, strolling around Weiss' sprawled and twitching form. "Without a follow-up, you're not stopping your enemy, you're just making them shift modes. Also, a summoner is at her most vulnerable while summoning and controlling her summons. Direct attacks against her have a better chance then."
"Of course," Weiss sighed heavily. She looked up in annoyance. "Have you had your fun now? I'd like to practice things that are actually helpful, and not just me getting thrown around like a rag doll."
Winter considered. She did feel better now, and if they kept going at this rate, she'd exhaust Weiss' Aura well before the ninety-minute mark. "Alright. A short break, then we'll move on to Semblance practice. We'll have you projecting more glyphs more quickly."
"Including summoning?" Weiss said hopefully.
"You are quite unprepared for that," was Winter's flat return. "You'll need to develop a firmer grasp of the basics, first."
Weiss scowled—at her own inadequacies, Winter was sure—but rose all the same. "Let's get to it, then."
"Schnee-ville Town Hall" wasn't anything so elaborate as a structure of its own. That would have required money the residents didn't have. Instead, a number of semi-sturdy houses that were clustered together naturally formed an enclosed space. A crude stage was built at one end. Rows of crates served as benches or chairs. On those crates—or, more typically, huddling in groups like sheep—were dozens of stocky figures. Many of those figures were visibly Faunus; all were thickly clothed. It was like an ocean of overcoats.
Weiss decided that made sense. Most of the people here lacked an Aura to defend themselves from the cold, and these houses didn't look particularly well insulated. People needed to stay warm somehow.
Her scroll beeped at her. It was time. She nodded at Winter and the two of them walked for the stage.
Aster Cristata was waiting for them. Weiss inclined her head at him while keeping her eyes focused on his forehead and not his multi-nose. "Thanks for setting this up for us."
"Don't thank me yet," Aster rasped. "Let's see what you have to say first. It'd better be good."
Winter's look sharpened, but Weiss was not as impressed by what could have sounded like a threat. "It is," she assured Aster. "Do you have anything like a microphone?"
Cristata handed her a bullhorn. Good enough. Weiss took it and climbed up on the stage. Winter followed.
The Schnees' brilliant whites were glaring in a world of browns and grays. Every eye followed their ascent. Weiss felt the pressure of their presence.
No matter. Weiss had practiced this speech many times now. She just had to deliver what she'd practiced. Giving it to this crowd of hostile strangers wasn't really different from giving it to herself in the mirror. Not that different.
All she had to do was focus on the mechanics, focus on the basics, and let it flow. Just like singing.
No matter how much she reminded herself of that, she didn't quite believe it. She never had sung in front of a large audience. Winter looked uncomfortable standing next to her, and Winter wasn't even supposed to talk until later; for now she was supposed to be "a reassuring presence", a role at which she was failing spectacularly. Aster Cristata, standing in the front row by their shins, was unpleasantly leering around his quivering nose-tendrils.
She focused on him. Oh, he didn't believe in her? He thought this would be too much for her? Well, she'd show him.
There it was.
"Good morning," she said over the bullhorn. It screeched at first; she hastily adjusted it as the crowd moaned its disapproval. More sabotage from Cristata, she was sure. That made her frown in frustration before she flattened it. "Good morning," she said again in more comprehensible tones.
Scattered murmurs floated towards her.
"Thank you all for coming here. My sister and I are here to offer you a new opportunity, one unlike any you've had before."
There weren't even murmurs this time, just an unimpressed resignation. How many false promises had they been fed already?
"We're starting a new Dust company," Weiss said. The crowd descended into groans and scattered boos. She scrambled to regain control. "I know what you're thinking. I know you've been lied to and taken advantage of before. This is different."
"Cut to the chase!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Would we get paid any better?"
A chill ran through Weiss. She hadn't planned on this part of it until later… but she didn't dare lie. "No," she said. "Same pay."
The crowd turned mutinous. The boos and jeers rained down on the sisters. In her peripheral vision, Weiss could see Winter clenching her fists; one hand was rising towards her waist and holstered sword.
"But!" she shouted over the crowd. "I said this is different, and I meant it! In two ways!"
That gathered just enough curiosity to settle the crowd. They were still muttering and shifting restlessly, but not enough to drown her out and with no imminent threat of violence.
"This Dust company will be unlike any other in two ways," she repeated, trying to get back on-script. "First, my sister and I will provide security. We will clear the mines ourselves. We will guard you with our lives. Every risk you take, we'll be taking with you, or before you. Whatever happens, we're in this together."
There was more muttering at that. This time, it was less vicious. She could feel the difference. The workers were used to serving distant masters secluded up in Atlas. When had Willow Schnee last been to a Dust mine? Weiss couldn't remember it ever happening. Most Dust company executives didn't need to take risks, or, really, do anything to rake in grotesque profits. They just had to exist.
The Schnees would not be like that.
A curt nod from Weiss to Winter, and both Schnees drew their swords. They stuck the points of those swords into the stage before them while, with a flare of their Auras, they created glyphs behind them to frame them. The crowd backed up or murmured at the coordinated flex.
"If we succeed, it will be because we all did our parts," she went on. "If anything bad happens to you, it will have happened to us first and worse."
The glyphs blinked out in near-synchrony. She saw Winter's face twitch at the slight gap in timing. Strangely, Weiss found herself buoyed by that. Her sister would remain her sister, no matter what.
And she, Weiss, would be herself—the best version of herself.
"I'm here to offer you more," she said, confidence welling up within her. "I can't pay you more, but you can still earn more money. With us, you can get more and be more."
The crowd made intrigued noises.
"Your other employers didn't just underpay you," she said, letting her excitement grow, seeing it echo in the crowd. "They took control of your future. They kept you twisting to their whims. That's not how we will operate. We can give you something else. Something no other Dust company would ever offer you. Something no one else would dare."
The whispers were extinct. All eyes were on her. She drank in their excitement. A triumphant smile bloomed on her face.
"I come to offer you, and everyone who joins us, an ownership stake in Schnee Dust Reborn."
Next time: ...When a Plan Comes Together
