"Are you still there, Winter?"
Winter took a moment to massage her temples. "Yes. Yes, I'm here, and I'm fine." She felt like half her reassurances were aimed at herself.
"If you say so," said Weiss over the scroll call. She sounded little better than Winter. The sisters were driving themselves, and each other, hard. "I was just saying that SDR's been in the black for almost a month now. Even so, I wasn't planning to give more dividends for a while. I'd rather we build up an emergency fund and accelerate paying off the Huber loans. So far, so good."
"Right." They'd gotten stockholder approval for that plan. It was a relief that they'd be able to report progress there. Weiss had put off calling Huber to report their profits, which couldn't continue for much longer—the man would notice the loan balance going down sooner or later—but Winter wasn't about to force her sister in that direction. Better she face that nastiness when she was ready for it.
Winter sucked in a breath and looked at her data again. "Productivity is up, too. I think that first dividend really energized people."
"To a fault," said Weiss wryly. "According to Cam, some of the miners have gotten so excited they're thinking more is better. They're not being as careful about digging close to the Dust. They're sending back huge chunks of ore, messily trimmed. Grosses are up, but efficiency's down."
"I'll talk to the supervisors," said Winter, making a note. "We can rein that in, I think."
"Good. Enthusiasm is a good thing, but enthusiasm under control is better." There was some idle tapping. "KAS Prudence is due back the day after tomorrow."
"Right. I'll set up their next shipment. With… looks like twenty percent more Plant Dust."
"More?"
"The other villages on the coast are proving to be really good customers for it," Winter said. "They're trying to emulate Skjulte Perle's grow-local campaign. We make more lien selling direct to them than sending it to the wholesale markets, so let's not discourage them."
"We're certainly keeping the Prudence hopping."
"That's what their skipper likes, anyway," Winter said. "More sea time with less grimm is his happy place."
"Speaking of less grimm," said Weiss, "I haven't encountered any so far this week."
Neither of the sisters were superstitious enough to think that speaking such a thing threatened it. Jinxes were for children. So they said, at least. Winter's knuckles found the leg of her chair all the same.
"That checks with my experience," said Winter. "Grimm attacks are down." Knock, knock again.
"Makes sense to me. We have too many good feelings, not enough bad. There's nothing for them to home on."
"I still say we need to do another wide-area sweep," said Winter.
"I never disagreed with you. I only said you need to be the one to arrange our schedules so that we're both available."
Winter sighed. Weiss knew as well as she did that making such an arrangement was borderline impossible. "I suppose we'll have to keep relying on good moods."
"It's working so far."
"But it's unreliable. A more adventuresome pack of grimm might happen upon us regardless."
"I'll be sure to stay on my toes," Weiss said, doing her best imitation of Winter's dry tones.
It made confusing feelings rise up within Winter. Winter liked when Weiss imitated her about some things. Weiss would do well to learn Winter's precision, discipline, and professionalism. But there were other things, special things, sparks of personality, that were unique to Weiss. Winter didn't want her sister to lose those.
If only there was a way to communicate that.
Feeling lame about it, Winter moved away from that topic. "Anything else?"
"I don't think so. I'll add those discussions with the supervisors to my agenda for tomorrow, and you'll add preparing for Prudence's next run."
"Only work on it for another hour," said Winter sternly with a look at the time. "You need your lights out in time to get enough sleep."
"We're klicks away from each other and you're still doing bed checks on me?" said Weiss, equal parts irritated and skeptical.
"I can't enforce it, other than like this. You promised you'd keep yourself fresh in case more grimm came. If you don't get enough sleep, you're going back on your word."
"Attacking my integrity. That's a low blow."
"Hardly. I am demonstrating my faith that you'll do as you said."
"Your confidence is overwhelming, Miss Schnee."
"I hope it's deserved, Miss Schnee."
Weiss ended the call, leaving Winter alone in her hostel-office. Winter set her scroll down on her desk, and then followed the scroll with her face.
"Physician, heal thyself," she intoned. All well and good for her to scold Weiss for not getting enough sleep, but if she was having trouble maintaining that discipline herself, what leg did she have to stand on?
It was going to be difficult to try and cram the next hour full of tasks, tired as she was, but if she started now…
There was a tentative knock on the door. Winter raised her head and composed herself before calling, "Enter."
The door opened the bare minimum amount for a head to poke through. Ilia's head, specifically, to Winter's enormous surprise. She hadn't called for her assistant—it was well past working hours.
Everyone else's working hours, at least.
"You're still at it?" Ilia said in almost a whisper.
"For now," Winter said, reaching for her scroll again.
"Do you…"
Winter looked up, ready to be annoyed, but that mood vanished upon seeing Ilia. Her assistant looked like she wanted to disappear, like it was taking everything she had to speak up.
"Do you need some help, still?" Ilia said, the words nearly sticking in her throat.
Yes, yes, Winter wanted to say. Alas. "It's past your working hours."
"I don't mind working overtime," Ilia said.
Winter frowned. "There's no overtime provision in your contract."
"So?"
Winter allowed her eyes to close. She wanted to accept Ilia's offer. She could use some assistance. She could use frankly a lot of assistance.
And yet… "So, I can't let you work more hours than your contract says."
Ilia looked at Winter like she hadn't seen her before. "You're falling asleep in your chair, and you're being legalistic about getting help?"
It was more fight than Winter had ever seen Ilia pose. "Mr. Cristata would file a grievance."
"I'm not scared of him."
Winter blinked. At some point, without Winter noticing, Ilia had slunk into the room. She was standing before Winter with her shoulders squared. It seemed like there was more of her, somehow, than there'd been before.
"That may be so," said Winter, wary now, "but I'm not allowed to let you work for free."
"But you're working for free," Ilia said.
Winter shrugged. "I'm not paid by the hour. I'm a sunk cost."
Ilia seemed to wilt some. "Even when it's making you look… like this?"
Winter felt her hackles rising. "And how, exactly, do I look?"
"Tired."
There was no defense against that. "Then the outside matches the inside, I suppose," said Winter, rubbing her eyes again. "But the solution is not breaking labor law."
"Oh."
When Winter looked again, whatever fire Ilia'd had was gone. She was holding one hand across herself, eyes at the ground, like she was...
Lost.
It was a strange way to think about a person who'd claimed she was "exactly where I want to be". Had that been a lie? Ilia had seemed strangely vacant and unfocused lately, like she wasn't sure if she wanted this job anymore.
Winter dreaded the thought of having to find and train another assistant. She hoped Ilia stayed on.
(It didn't occur to her to say these things aloud.)
Ilia's eyes refocused and she nodded to herself. "Be right back," she said.
"You'd better not be working," Winter called after her. The words made no discernible impact. Soon enough, Ilia returned, a steaming mug in her hand.
"Coffee, black as grimm-skin," Ilia said with a note of pride. "This isn't me working, I'm just happening to bring you a gift."
She stepped forward and placed it on the desk in front of Winter, then stood there, half expectant, half petrified, all awkward.
Winter didn't dare touch that coffee. It was too late in the evening—if she had it now it'd take hours for her to get to sleep, and her carefully constructed schedule would be shot.
But there was no way to say that to an Ilia who looked so very… fragile.
"Thank you," Winter managed.
Ilia smiled. It wasn't like the first smile Ilia had given Winter, which had filled her with unease. This one was smaller, more nervous, and, in its uncertainty, more honest.
Winter blinked. For a split second, she thought she saw Klein. She blinked again—no, it was Ilia still, who was looking pleased with herself.
"Don't stay up too late, ma'am," said Ilia, timidity back in place. She shrank back through the doorway and shut it behind her. Winter couldn't even make out her footsteps on her way down the hall.
Slowly, Winter sagged back in her chair. Where had that come from? Why had she seen Klein? It wasn't like Ilia resembled Klein in temperament, stature, manner, or role. None of Klein's selves came close to Ilia's personality.
Wait… back up. Role. Was it because Ilia, as Winter's assistant, was in a similar place to Klein as Winter's butler? No, that couldn't be it or this comparison would have come up earlier, and not just when Ilia had brought her—
Winter shook for a moment.
How many times had Klein brought her hot drinks? Many, many, many times. Some of those times Winter had asked for them, but plenty of those times had been on Klein's own initiative. His own assessment of what would make his charges happy.
Which meant he was doing it out of true affection.
Winter looked at the mug again. She'd left it long enough that it wasn't steaming anymore. She could see clearly that it was, as Ilia had promised, black as grimm-skin.
She took a sip. It tasted like charcoal diluted in sin. It was perfect.
Winter couldn't drink it. Nor could she leave it.
She stared at it for an unconscionably long time.
True affection. A harmless, comfortable thing coming from Klein. Something loaded and fraught coming from Ilia.
Deciding she wasn't getting any more work done at this point, Winter called it a night.
"Cocoa."
Ilia started and looked up. Winter had approached—how hadn't she noticed—
A coffee cup was in her hand. Was that the same coffee cup Ilia had given her last night?
"S-sorry, ma'am?" said Ilia.
"I don't drink coffee in the evenings, it interferes with my sleep," Winter said, brusque as ever—but then her head tilted and her stern façade faltered a touch. "That said… If you were to make me a drink in the evening in the future—not that this is a request, and definitely not an order…"
"Definitely," Ilia agreed.
"…then I take hot cocoa in the evenings. Semi-sweet or unsweetened, for preference."
Ilia nodded. "I'll remember that."
"Yes. Well." Unable to say anything else, Winter hid behind her coffee cup. She took a noisy slurp, smacked her lips afterwards. Was that color in her cheeks? "This is good coffee."
She walked off in a way that reminded Ilia of troops fleeing from battle.
And Ilia knew she was well and truly in deep shit.
A Schnee didn't run. A Schnee didn't hide.
Oh, sure, a Schnee might make a tactical withdrawal, and a Schnee might prioritize other things, from time to time. Those were different, though. The principle held true.
Which was why Weiss was making this call.
And if she was making the call weeks after she ought to have made it, well, there were many other things that had gotten in the way. She was certainly not avoiding it.
The call connected. "Friedrich," the voice identified itself.
Though admittedly Weiss would have rather avoided it.
"Mr. Huber," she said, voice and mannerisms shifting into her best Atlesian modes, "I have good news for you."
"Really!"
"Schnee Dust Reborn has turned a profit," Weiss said. "We're using those profits to accelerate paying off your loan."
"I'm happy to hear that! I'm sure you've heard, but a lot of Dust companies were founded around the same time as yours, and most of them went under. Your company is a rare survivor!"
"I'm not surprised," said Weiss insincerely. "Schnee work ethic and innovations were backed by Huber capital. That's a winning combination."
"Ha, isn't that the truth! It is amazing what we can do together, isn't it? I have to ask, will you be coming to me for more loans to help expand your business?"
"Not in the short term," Weiss said. Expanding the business would be a tough sell, anyway—as proud as she was of SDR's business model, she wasn't sure it could scale up much. Even the idea of coordinating stockholder meetings across multiple sites gave her a headache.
"Pity. Well, you know how to contact me if you ever get that appetite. In the meantime…"
Dread rose within Weiss, even though she knew this was the reason she'd called in the first place. "Yes?"
"You did agree to come to a social event of my choosing, did you not?"
"I did," said Weiss, suppressing a cringe.
"Well, I've picked just the one! The Atlas Council is hosting a gala for General Ironwood to celebrate his students' performance at the Vytal Tournament."
For a moment, Weiss wanted to bail and dump this task on Winter. She was the one who knew General Ironwood, who'd served under him, who still carried echoes of those military days, who was prone to slipping into thinking of him as her commanding officer…
On second thought, maybe Weiss should do this herself. You didn't expose an addict to their drug.
"The guest list is limited to only the biggest supporters of the Atlas Council," Huber continued. "Old blood like the Marigolds, new money like Ms. Fall, and a few, like myself, who have both. And other people of our same strata, like the leaders of select political parties supporting individual Councilors, that sort of thing. We are permitted to bring one guest each. I'd be delighted if you'd accompany me."
"I am flattered by your gracious invitation," Weiss said, trying oh-so-very-hard to keep her tone from turning sarcastic. "It is my pleasure to accept."
"Wonderful!" said the man. Even his enthusiasm sounded greasy. "I will send you the details presently. One personal request, though."
A request from Friedrich Huber was not a request. "Yes?"
"I'm sure you'll be wearing your very finest attire," said Huber. It was almost a warning, and it put Weiss on the spot. Once, she'd had closets full of clothes worth more than an SDC miner made in a year; now, her fanciest clothes were merely upscale Huntress gear. She knew full well that the crowd at the gala would be closer to the former than the latter… and she'd stand out, unfavorably, in comparison.
"That said," Huber went on, "I'd like it if you accessorized. Bring your sword as part of your getup."
"Why?" asked Weiss—less than tactfully, but sincerely.
"It fits your aesthetic, I'd say," said Huber. "You're a warrior-miner in the mold of Nicholas. Anything you can do to emphasize the similarities will go a long way."
Will go a long way to showing how well you're imitating your father, you mean, Weiss thought sourly. Making a vanity bet on the Schnees. There was a kernel of wisdom there, though. If Weiss was going for that aesthetic, then her rougher dress wouldn't be "all she can afford", it would be a deliberate style choice.
"Your advice is sound," she said. "I'll take it."
"Excellent. We'll be in touch. And do call when you're ready for another loan, won't you?"
He hung up before Weiss could answer—which was just as well, for she had nothing to say to him anyway. She had a new agenda item to deal with: preparing, as best she could, for a social event that once would have been beneath her and was now so far over her head she couldn't even glimpse the surface.
More importantly, as a prelude to that, she needed to catch up on the Vytal Tournament.
"You know I competed in the Vytal Tournament, right?" said Winter, in tones that demanded Weiss produce the right answer.
"I remember that now," said Weiss, flushing crimson. "You mentioned competing in passing in a letter."
Winter sighed. "I am undone by my own modesty, it seems. I did more than simply compete."
"Well, you can explain all that when we have the time. For now, we need to look at how it's going this year. I need to understand this year's tournament so I can be ready for this party."
"Better you than me," said Winter.
"You have no idea how close I was to making this your problem, Miss Schnee."
"Your restraint is admirable, Miss Schnee."
That was how Weiss found herself falling down the proverbial rabbit hole.
It was justifiable, sure. If the party was about Atlas' performance at Vytal, she needed to able to competently discuss Atlas Academy's performance. For that matter, it stood to reason that Atlas' Vytal teams would be at the party. It'd be impossible to bluff her way through a conversation about the teams with the teams there, but their presence would also give opportunities for Weiss to show off the breadth and depth of her appreciation. Plenty of the guests would be strangers to tournament fighting—Weiss doubted if Huber had ever picked up a weapon, let alone tried to wield one—which gave an opportunity for Weiss to bend the conversations to her will.
Those were all excellent, defensible, logical reasons.
"Come on, how didn't you see that coming?!"
They were also half-true at best.
"She has a minigun, it is literally the least flexible, least maneuverable, most predictable weapon in the field!"
She was sitting in the meeting/dining area of the hostel. The proprietors had set up a projection of the Vytal Tournament feed. The room was packed to the gills with townsfolk and Faunus alike come to watch the matches. Weiss Schnee was front and center in the group, sitting closest to the projection, and her running commentary of the match—loudly talking over the mismatched official announcers furnished by Beacon—was earning her cheers and groans from her fellow spectators.
For the first day of the tournament, Weiss had been forced to avoid or work around the tournament-watching crowd—which wasn't hard for someone with glyphs, but still obnoxious. Then, Huber's assignment had come in. Now Weiss wasn't upset with all the people packed in to watch the tournament. She'd gone completely the other way: she was more invested than any of them, living and dying with every swing and shot and tumble.
As the resident expert in Huntsman-style combat, she was holding court.
"And he has no mobility, he's just big and strong—this is the least mobile team we've seen yet, how are you losing to… oh, no…"
She winced as a competitor was cornered, caught, and flattened.
The horn sounded. "Team CFVY of Beacon wins!" came the official announcement.
"Smells like home cooking!" shouted one of the spectators, to general approval.
"Much as I'd like to agree with you," said Weiss as the broadcast showed the overall standings, "it's more likely that Beacon just has a lot of young talent. Look at the bottom of the bracket- they entered three first-year teams. That's highly unusual.
"That said," Weiss went on, smiling, "it's not saying much about the Kingdom of Vale, now is it? One of their teams is entirely Mistrali, and CFVY is a mix. Most of Atlas' competitors are home-grown."
There was some cheering at that. "Like you woulda been!" shouted someone.
"Yeah, you'd be busting heads if you were out there, right?"
Weiss affected modesty—but not that much modesty. "I'd like my chances," she said, to general acclamation… which felt so good she had to play it up. "I think I'd more than hold my own," she said with a showy smile, drawing even more approval.
It was true-ish. Weiss still couldn't touch Winter, but Winter was head-and-shoulders above anyone competing in the tournament, Weiss could see that. Weiss could at least make Winter work. That was more than she'd expect from most of these clowns.
"What're our odds?" said another voice.
"We have three teams left," Weiss said—not needing to specify that 'we' meant 'the Kingdom of Atlas'. For a tournament designed to showcase international amity, Vytal certainly seemed to make patriots out of people, at least for a few weeks. "I don't like FNKI to advance further, I see them having a lot of bad matchups. I think our best chance is Team PeCe."
"Team what?"
"It sounds like "Peace". It's only two people," said Weiss, isolating them in the bracket for the crowd's benefit. "That's almost unheard-of. But if General Ironwood was confident sending them like that, they must be something special."
The discussion of the tournament, future matchups, and post-fight recap continued in that vein for half an hour until the announcers broke in again. "Next up, we have Team RVBY of Beacon going up against Team ABRN of Haven!"
"Good, we get to see one of these young Beacon teams," said Weiss, bringing a hush to those around her. "We'll see if they're all Beacon thinks they are."
The cameras went live to the stadium, showing the eight teens of the two teams, starting with the Beacon team. Out of nowhere, Weiss shuddered.
"What is it?" someone asked her.
"I don't know," said Weiss, rubbing her arms self-consciously. "I just… got this weird feeling. Like I'm supposed to be out there, or something."
"Well, yeah, 'cause you'd be kicking butt!"
She smiled. "That must be it."
Time zones being what they were, with Vale being so far to the west of the eastern Solitas coast, Weiss didn't get to bed until late late.
She regretted nothing. A few cups of coffee in the morning fixed everything.
(She was getting in the habit of lying to herself.)
"See? I told you! I told you!" hollered Weiss over the groaning and despair of the group. On the screen, the Aura-depleted Flynt Coal and Neon Katt were being helped off the turf by a couple of Beacon brats. "I told you FNKI wouldn't be moving on!"
Unnoticed by Weiss, a frisson of tension shivered its way through the crowd.
"Neon's got a third less Aura than almost anyone in the field, and she blew half of that showing off with her semblance!" Weiss went on.
Some of the tension escaped.
"It didn't help that Flynt spent the whole fight standing in one place. How can he support his teammate when she's hyper-mobile and he's a turret?"
The rest of the tension dissipated. Almost everyone except Weiss in that room had expected Weiss' criticism of a Faunus, or a team with a Faunus on it, to follow different paths than that.
For once, Weiss' isolated upbringing was doing her favors.
"Their only positive matchup was Team CVFY," Weiss continued. "Neon could have harassed the minigunner well, and whoever was left wouldn't be able to close on Flynt. Any other matchup, I was picking against FNKI."
"I bet you're itching for the chance to show 'em how it's done!"
"Let's just say, this may be the first time I regret not attending a Huntsman Academy," said Weiss coyly, to laughter.
There was a buzzing from Weiss' scroll. "I'll be back," she promised.
The contrast from inside to outside was so sudden and so shocking it felt like Weiss had been hit with a brick. Inside, the spectators were packed in tight, sharing warmth like a herd of sheep. Inside, there was cacophony. Inside, the lights were bright, and the projection showing the tournament was brightest of all.
Outside was dark and windy and cold. The streets were empty because reasonable people had long since retired.
A feeling of anxious self-consciousness roared up inside Weiss. Flaring her Aura protectively against the cold, she answered her scroll. "Yes?"
"So you haven't gone to bed yet," came Winter's voice, as cutting as her blade.
"Excuse me," said Weiss haughtily, "but it's not… time…"
Her argument fell apart as she finally looked at the hour.
"I see," she said.
"What are you even doing this late?"
"I'm researching the Vytal Tournament," said Weiss. "So I can talk my way through Huber's party better. I need to be able to speak topically. Um. You know?"
Even she could tell how feeble that sounded. Guilt came upon her. She was long past the point of doing research, and anyway, research could have been done after the fact, at decent hours, not staying up late into the night to watch it live. No, she'd been doing that for the fun of it.
She was wrong, she knew it, Winter knew it, and Weiss knew Winter knew it.
"You are not taking care of yourself, little sister," said Winter.
"Have you noticed," said Weiss in tones full of bile, "that you only call me 'little sister' when you're correcting me?"
"I call you 'little' when you're acting 'little'," Winter shot back. "It's late. Go to bed."
"I'll go to bed at an appropriate time that balances my needs and obligations," Weiss said with barely-concealed fury. "Which you won't be able to tell either way, because you're in the office at the mine."
"Do I need to come back and make sure?"
"If you did, you'd be violating our business agreements and our security commitments."
"Are you saying all this just to spite me?" said Winter.
"N-no," said Weiss, off-balance.
"You swore on your integrity that you'd get enough sleep to fight grimm at full strength," said Winter, and she sounded… almost wounded. It was odd to hear. "Did you mean it?"
"Yes," said Weiss.
"Well. You're right that I can't check you myself. I've done all I can, I think. I am going back to bed. Good night, Weiss."
She disconnected.
Weiss stared at her scroll. Her anger at her sister, fun and distracting as it'd been, was imploding, leaving nothing behind.
There was nothing for it. She went back inside. As she entered, many eyes snapped over to her. "Sorry," she announced at large, "but I do have work tomorrow, so I have to pack it in."
There was disappointment, but also understanding. She slipped her way through the crowd to the stairs, then up to her room. She got ready for bed, did her typical hygiene routine, and tucked herself in.
She heard distant roars and cheers from downstairs.
I shouldn't.
She bit her lip.
I really shouldn't.
She reached for her scroll.
She pulled up the Vytal Tournament feed just in time to catch Pyrrha Nikos taking the field. Well, no way was she missing that!
So she watched.
And then she watched a little more. And a little more after that. And she couldn't miss the recap show, she wanted to see the highlights again, plus footage from the fights she'd missed…
No regrets. Coffee fixes everything.
(The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves.)
Next time: A Necessary Sacrifice
