Weiss lightly pushed food across her plate, finding her appetite to be extremely lacking, especially after that last fight. Rupert's duel with Dove set the entire mood for the rest of the fights, and that mood was brutal. Several young men, some of whom Weiss had found to be respectable fencers, died in the field. Something about the first round had the fighters electrified.
She supposed she could understand— it had been an incredible fight, especially with Dove's magic on display against Rupert's sheer, desperate ingenuity— but the unprecedented level of violence that followed was just sickening. If she wouldn't be reprimanded for it, she would've stomped down there and given those brutes a lesson on decorum, especially when competing in front of highborn ladies such as herself.
Her father seemed pleased with the endless bloodlust, though, much to her chagrin as he loudly recounted every fight at their dinner, as if she hadn't been there. He relished retelling every gory stroke of a sword, every dying wail and bloody wound. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to be in another world— one with seas of red wine, judging by how she numbly guzzled the stuff. Weiss watched with disappointment as she downed a large glass in two heaving gulps, then waved a servant over for more.
Weiss shrank into herself, suddenly wishing for Winter's presence. She desperately yearned for the days of their youth— the days playing in the garden, dueling with sticks and pretending to be adventurous heroes. Great snowball battles against their old servant, Klein. Her mother's laughter. The days before James and his Vicenzi money, before Winter left, before mother took to the bottle, before she was laden with suitors.
"Daughter? Look at me when I'm speaking, girl," Jacques demanded with quiet venom. "Don't go floating away like your mother."
Weiss felt a violent spike of anger stab into her chest. He was the reason her precious mother had fallen so far, and now he had infected her with his pestilent seed. Another Jacques would soon extricate itself from Willow Schnee. In the most grim recesses of her mind, Weiss had accepted that this would be her last sibling; having two children takes a great toll on a woman, and Willow was well beyond the prime birthing age. Coupled with her excessive indulgence of wine, she doubted her mother would survive labor. She felt that she should feel worse about that. Her mother was surely bound to join the Shepherd's flock, but Weiss could only feel relief. She wouldn't have to watch her drown herself in wine from sunrise to sunset, she wouldn't be subjected to raising another Jacques, and she wouldn't have to bear the abuses of the first one any longer. She would be free to join her first husband, her true love, in the Shepard's great flock of souls, forever protected under the Watcher's loving gaze.
"Damn it, Weiss!" Jacques pounded the table, making her utensils clang. She shook herself out of her stupor— she didn't even realize she'd been staring at Willow, who returned more than an empty stare. "Stop staring at your damn mother— she's got ballast for brains!"
Weiss sneered at the nautical expression— yet more proof that Jacques Schnee was nothing more than James Vicenzi, a mercantile man who used her name as nothing more than a boon to the Imperials— without that, his product would never be accepted in Greater Atlas. Regardless, Weiss pushed her anger to the bottom of her being. She pictured stuffing all into a bottle, one that would eventually burst and find its sharpest end lodged in James Vicenzi's neck. "My apologies, father, I was thinking about the tourney," she lied with ease.
Jacques hummed and dropped back into his seat. His anger simmered into a self-satisfied grin. "I suppose it was quite a brilliant idea," he remarked with a flamboyant swish of his cup. "I only wish I had come up with it sooner!"
Weiss hid her frown. She didn't expect to be credited, nor did she care to receive credit from a snake like her father. "Yes, father, you are brilliant."
Jacques gave her a brief glare before turning to his drink. He took a sizable swig, releasing a great sigh before turning to Weiss once more. "What do you think of the stock?"
"They are respectable enough," Weiss lied, hoping it would be enough to placate his desire to speak of suitors.
Jacques spoke up before she even finished her sentence. "How about the elder Winchester? William, I believe. Quite the lad, if you ask me. The Winchesters themselves are quite rich, as well, it would be a highly profitable arrangement."
Weiss cringed at the thought of that monster. "Perhaps a little too bloodthirsty. He did kill several young nobles in the first round, and nearly killed his opponent today."
"So he is a skilled fighter, what of it?" Jacques replied with a gulp of his drink, more conservatively this time.
"He does not know restraint, and could taint our name by dragging us into a blood feud." Weiss stated, her placating tone shifting into one that was more analytical. As much as she wished she could simply ignore her father, Weiss knew Jacques would make important decisions about her life whether she wished it or not, and while she couldn't make her own choices, she could influence how others made them.
Jacques hummed. "Yes, the Winchesters do have that nasty habit. What of that, er…" He snapped his fingers, trying to bring a name to his mind. "Neptune! The Vasilias boy. He's quite skilled, he has good genes, and is well situated to inherit. House Vasilias itself is also quite respectable, though they don't have nearly as much sway as the Winchesters."
Weiss scowled. Neptune wasn't an ugly fellow, and he did show remarkable skill with that trident, but he wasn't without his unpleasant qualities, at least from what she had overheard at the many galas she had been forced to attend. "I've heard he's quite the philanderer," Weiss replied.
"So?" Jacques's eyes briefly darted to his wife, who seemed well and truly lost to the drink. "As long as you're pampered, what do you care?"
Weiss couldn't hide her scowl this time, so she tried to make a show of eating her food. The lamb had lost its heat long ago, but the seasoning was still good enough to appreciate, at least long enough to hide her disgust before swallowing. "He's quite the philanderer, father. The houses of ill repute hold him as an honored guest."
Jacques rolled his hand, nearly dropping the chunk from his fork. "And?"
"He's surely sired more than a few bastards, and that could make things needlessly difficult down the line. Worse, he may have contracted a… pox." Weiss made the last part up— she hadn't heard any such rumors, not yet at least— she didn't think the bastard point would stick too well with Jacques, whose flippancy on the topic was worrisome.
Jacques grunted, leveling his fork with her. "Crook and cane, child, you are particular. Who did take your eye?"
Weiss' mouth worked on its own, blurting a name before she could catch herself. "Rupert."
Jacques gave her a blank stare as he chewed another piece of food. "Who?"
At the boy's mention, Weiss felt… odd. Heat pooled in her face, but she wasn't angry— not any more than usual, at least. Why was she so warm? "W-well…" She stammered, when the hell did she have a stammer? "The first round? You… don't remember?"
Jacques waved his fork. "Obviously not. Who did he fight?"
Weiss gulped. "The Bronzewing."
Jacques tilted his head, but Weiss could see the realization suddenly surge into his eyes. "What!" He shouted. "The shim lover? What in the hell is wrong with you?"
"He was protecting his ally!" Weiss defended, indignance rising in her chest. "At least he has the honor to protect his partner, and he hasn't murdered anybody!"
Jacques loudly dropped his fork on his plate, using his now-free hand to point at Weiss. "You saw his Semblance!" He sneered at the word. "Fetid half-breed! He couldn't even learn real magic— he's got shim blood!"
Weiss dropped her utensils and risked affixing her father with a glare. "That's not his fault. There are even some among the nobility that have fay blood! Who knows what happened to his ancestors— they could've been among the stolen!"
"They should've just died if they didn't want to be taken!" Jacques leaned forward, fork returning to his hands so he could make grand gestures at and around Weiss. "That is what's wrong with this world, girl, those half-breeds have gone around spreading their filth across the world, and we've let them have free reign for far too long! Now you have to scour the bloody nation just to comb out those of pure blood! Before long, there'll be none of us left! Those weak, scampering rats— they'll undermine everything!"
His rant left him panting, with a mildly crazed look in his eyes. Weiss just stared, silent. She had plenty to say— if those of fay blood were so weak, how could one defeat somebody like Dove? If they were truly so widespread, how did he find her so many suitors? Or did he not actually care about the purity of his precious bloodline— one which he technically invaded, since she and Winter were from Willow's first husband. Furthermore, she found his Semblance to be quite interesting, and its utility clearly could hold a candle to 'real' magic.
As it was, though, she knew Jacques wouldn't absorb any of her points. For that reason, she set her utensils back on the table and sat up straight.
"I'd like to be excused, please," she asked, perfectly polite as if her father hadn't just spouted some of the most psychotic nonsense she'd ever heard.
Jacques gave her a look. "What, you can't listen when I'm telling the truth?"
Weiss shook her head, her face finding a practiced neutrality. "No, Hulda wants to look over my dress once more before tomorrow's tourney."
She lied like it was second nature, quickly drumming up an excuse that he had no way of refuting. With a huff and a wave, he dismissed her. Weiss fled as quickly as she could.
She had a rose to check on.
AN: sorry this one took a while, been working on my cdl so i have less time to write, plus i fully rewrote this chapter since i didnt like the first go