Whitley woke up the same way he always did. In a bed two sizes too large for his body, stuffed beneath a particularly heavy and soft blanket and a few bedsheets. His eyes slowly tore themselves open, like forcing a ten pound weight off of each of his eyelids. He brought a hand to wipe his eyes free of crust, not unlike how ice could jam doors stuck.
His eyes scanned his room, as dark and spacious as he remembered it being. A pair of end tables at either side of his bed, a study desk crammed neatly into the corner of his room, and his wardrobe across from his bed, just next to the door. There were all sorts of little things outside of those, yes - an ornate lamp on his desk, the trunk at the foot of his bed, icy blue drapes covering his window - but they were just that. Things.
Whitley pushed himself up, running a hand down his face. "Alright," his voice hoarse and shoulders heavy. "Let's see if it's daylight out."
Crawling out of bed, Whitley's feet hit the floor- a shiver shot up his spine as he jumped back into his bed. Marble floors seemed great until someone remembered that they lived in the place of perpetual winter. Then they just seemed extravagantly foolish.
He pulled a pair of socks from the end table on his left, slipping them on before stepping back down onto the floor. It was still cold, but less so now. Stepping around his overly sized bed, Whitley made his way to the window, hands softly resting on the icy blue drapes. Mother had picked these drapes for his room when he was a boy. It explained why everything felt so cold.
A sharp pull to either side of him, and the sky was still dark. Not like midnight, no, but the sky was not a shade of light blue either. More of a gray between the two. The stars were gone, but the sun had not risen over Atlas either.
It rarely did.
"Early morning, then." Very early morning. An unfortunately consistent sight as of late. "...Might as well get started with the day. The sooner I finish my studies, the sooner I can head to work."
An image flashed of a girl with fiery orange hair. A confusing thing, that girl. Thing was the right word to use too, given her machine origin. Even so, she felt so lifelike. So human. So real. And yet she wasn't.
What did it take to be like that? He wondered.
Whitley quickly got dressed, undressing from his silken button-up and pajama pants before pulling up a pair of blue trousers. Next was his dress shirt, leaving it untucked as he fastened on his black tie - it was certainly more formal to tuck his shirt in, but… why bother? It wasn't as if anyone was going to see him.
Slipping on his shoes, Whitley was ready.
To take a few steps to the right, that was.
Sitting at his desk, he rummaged through a pair of drawers, pulling out thick and heavy textbooks before laying them out on the desk. More Economics work from Mr. Bron. What a joy.
Pulling out a pen, he got to work.
His pen glided across paper, reading as he jotted down little notes to himself. Every once and a while, he'd pause, ponder the meaning of something, and write down his own little hypothesis. A habit he'd picked up working at the pharmacy. Then he'd continue reading, find that he was only partly correct, and have to throw out half of his hypothesis. But the other half? It worked out well enough.
One page turned to two, then four. Eight. Twelve. Twenty Four. Eventually, Whitley stopped counting, simply going through the motions of reading and taking notes as he understood it. His handwriting was messy, like chicken scratch. But no one else would read it, so it was for him alone to know.
He turned another page-
"Oh," Whitley mumbled, letting his pen fall from his hand. "I suppose that's the topic finished, then." The joints in his fingers locked in place as a pulsing feeling shot through his hand. A clench- pop. Whitley sighed as his fingers snapped back into place. "And not a moment too soon."
What time was it?
He turned to the window, staring out to see that the once dim light of the morning had brightened, almost blindingly so. Reaching for his scroll, he flicked it open. It was three o'clock on a Friday afternoon. A slow day, if Whitley's memory served him right, which it usually did.
Whitley pushed his seat back to stand from his desk, hearing the legs of the chair scuff against the marble floor. His arms rose high above his head, another snap occurring right behind his shoulder blade. Ah, sweet release.
"...I wonder if the Doctor has any more work for me at the pharmacy?"
That was a line of thinking he'd gotten used to as of late. Whenever he was done with studying, there was nothing left to do with his day. At least at the pharmacy, he could distract himself with the interesting study of prosthetics and such.
A flash of orange hair and green eyes shot across his mind.
That too, I suppose. Whitley thought, frowning as he stepped towards his door. If nothing else, Penny is an excellent distraction. Her constant pleading to go on walks was fine enough - he dared think that it was almost charming. But what he couldn't stand was how friendly the machine was. Humanlike enough to be friendly, but not so human to be rude or self-serving. How revolting.
Whitley shook his head, making his way to the door to his room. He needed to leave, that much he knew. He held his scroll in his hand as he pulled his door open, typing Father a quick message. Just something so that he knew his work was done and that he'd be leaving the manor for a few hours.
Not that he cared, no. But at the very least, Whitley thought he should know.
His loafers clacked against the marble floor of the Schnee Manor, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. The Manor was the same as it had always been - cold walls, clean floors, and the odd carpet or two. So why was it that walking through the halls now took so much more work?
Every step was like another weight was added to his feet. Every breath another icicle frozen to his lungs. Every blink longer and slower than the last. Ah, he knew why…
Whitley was tired. So, so very tired.
Even his clothes didn't fit him anymore. They felt both too loose, yet all too tight at the same time. Like someone was wrapping a noose around his neck as they stuffed him into a potato sack, all in the vain hope of humiliating him. As if anything was more humiliating than knowing him as he was.
A distant sound reached his ears. Heels clacking against the marble tile ahead, looking up to see…
"Sister dearest," Whitley mumbled, blankly staring for just a moment before plastering a smile on his face. Best to make a show of it, right? He was already in a foul mood as it were, might as well go the full length.
As he grew closer, he noticed that Weiss was all too distracted staring at the floor beneath her, a somber expression on her face as if she'd just come back from a funeral. Her dark blue dress fit her well - better than that 'combat' skirt of hers, anyhow. How Huntsmen and Huntresses managed their fashion sense, Whitley would never know.
Then she looked up, her somber expression dying to a frown.
"Hello, sister." Whitley greeted, stopping in his tracks to give her a brief bow. There were a set of windows off to his right, and a lovely little display pillar holding up some trinket or other, if only to show the affluence of the house. But to his left was a painting. A painting he didn't care to look at. "To what do I have the pleasure of finding you outside of your room this afternoon?"
Sister dearest, for her part, only kept walking, though her steps were shorter, more lethargic than before. As if she had something to be tired about. "What do you want, Whitley?"
"From you?" Whitley pushed down a scoff. He forced the corners of his lips higher. "Nothing in particular. Only to wish you a good day." Like they used to.
Weiss had no trouble scoffing at him, rolling her eyes. It shouldn't have hurt him, yet there was a sharp pang in his chest - keep it together. "If I'm being wished a good day from you of all people, I'm sure there's a special kind of surprise waiting for me." Just what was it that she thought of him? That he'd scheme and plan his days around her? How self-centered. "So, what is it this time? Is Father in another one of his moods?"
Whitley huffed, watching as his sister came to a stop in front of him. "When is he not?" A simple question. He knew when Father wasn't in a mood. When Whitley was playing the role of perfect mirror, and never otherwise. "Regardless, I only stopped by to wish you a good day. But unfortunately for you, I have somewhere else to be."
"Oh, do you?" His sister crossed her arms, an unimpressed expression on her face. "Hoping to lick Father's heels so that he'll take you to another board meeting?"
Whitley's lips fell, a lack of tension in his face. Is that what she thought? "Believe it or not, sister, I have work that needs doing."
He put one foot in front of the other, stepping past her, but he didn't fail to hear her hum. "Has Father finally got you organizing his books?"
Whitley felt his lips curl back up, pushing a bit of air from his nose. "...I suppose you haven't been paying attention, have you?" His words were barely louder than the sound of his loafers against the marble tile. More than two months of constantly leaving the manor and she hadn't even noticed. For the best, honestly. If she wasn't paying attention, then it played to his benefit.
In spite of how much it hurt.
And from the corner of his eye, as he walked past dearest sister, he felt a pair of eyes following him. A painting hung from the wall to his left, a man dressed in silvered armor, a bright red cape hanging from his shoulders, and a scepter in his left hand. White hair, icy and faded blue eyes - it was almost enough for Whitley to think he was related to him.
But there was simply no way. After all, how could he ever be related to Nicholas Schnee? He'd never even met the man.
Yet there he hung from the wall, watching. Waiting. Judging.
Whitley huffed, standing straighter as he adjusted his vest.
Keep your judgments, old man. He thought, frowning as he picked up his pace down the hall. The living don't care about the opinions of the dead. Stay in the past, for all our sakes.
The walk to the door was a silent affair after that.
Whitley sat behind the front desk at the pharmacy, waving off another poor soul as they walked out with a brown paper bag. He did everything he could, all things considered, and that should have made him feel something about it. But all Whitley could think about was the fact that they'd only be back in a month, hoping to get their next prescription.
He rested his head against the cold surface of his wooden desk, blankly staring at the clock on the wall. "Eight o'clock, hmm?" His shift was over. Funny, that should have made him feel relieved. He was free to go off and be wherever it was he wanted to be.
Wherever he wanted to be…
Just what did that mean, anyhow? He understood the concept, yes, but he couldn't place such an idea in his mind. He wasn't sure if there was anywhere he wanted to be in the first place. A better question would be if there was somewhere he didn't want to be. A surprisingly easy question.
Anywhere but the Manor.
But at the same, Whitley felt his eyes weigh heavily on his face, the circular clock on the wall blurring and distorting, not unlike a post-war impressionist painting. There was light and color, but very little shape and structure. He blinked, though it lasted an eternity.
"Sleep, my fickle friend, how you elude me." Sitting up as he dragged a hand down his face. He wasn't sure why his mind refused him his well-earned rest. He'd done everything right, worked as hard as he could, and explored things he once thought impossible - or at the very least, implausible. "And here I am, slumping in my seat like some kind of vagrant."
No, it was worse than just sleep eluding him. Whitley could force himself to sleep with medication if he felt so inclined - not a first for him, truth be told. No, he was avoiding sleep just as much as it avoided him. Because in spite of his need for rest, he was more worried about what his sleep had waiting for him.
If he closed his eyes long enough, he was there again. Out in the cold, surrounded by the long spires of wood, branches of thick and dark greenery shooting out from the evergreens, and all there was to guide him was the moon. A bright, shattered moon that shined down on him not like a celestial parent, but like a spotlight.
It waited for him, as though it expected him to do something extraordinary. It waited for him to go and be an excellent soldier with an unmatched record, or perhaps a Huntsman with the hope of helping others. But instead, all Whitley could offer was himself.
And the moon dimmed and pulled away. Then the monsters came.
Whitley shook his head, forcing his eyes open as he slowly pushed himself out of his seat. "...Perhaps the Doctor has something waiting for me?" Yes, that felt right. Doctor Polendina always had something waiting for him, always something to work on. And if there was something to work on, then-
He huffed, shaking the thought away as he made his way through the patient room, the sheets recently changed and curtains missing, still going through the wash if Whitley remembered correctly. Even so, he didn't stop to linger for very long, making his way to the operating room.
His hand knocked at the plain wooden door, waiting for some kind of response before stepping in. Whitley gave the door a gentle push, the creak of its hinges resonating with his bones. But before the door had even fully opened, Whitley's heavy eyes pulled open that little bit more.
The doctor and Penny stood near the chair at the center of the room, watching as Penny took a step. Whitley nearly rushed forward as he watched her front leg shake. But instead of falling under the pressure, Penny stayed upright, taking another step forward. Then another. Then a fourth.
They were all still shaky, and there were long pauses between them, but it was progress.
A hollow pang shot through his chest, but it passed as soon as it came.
Penny's smile was already wide enough for his taste, but the moment she locked eyes with him, it seemed to widen all the more. "Whitley!" She yelled, taking a step towards him as she held her hands in front of her. Probably on the off chance that she did fall, he presumed. "Look! I can walk on my own!"
Whitley let out a breath, rolling his eyes as he stepped through the door, grabbing hold of Penny's forearm. "Yes, yes, we're all very proud of you, now do be careful as to not fall. I'm not in the mood to buff out any dents today." In spite of his fatigue, Whitley felt a strange tension in the corners of his lips. Not much, no, but it was… uncontrollable. Whitley turned to the doctor. "Oh, and good evening, Doctor Polendina."
Doctor Polendina only laughed, his cane clacking against the floor as he stepped closer. "And hello to you too, Whitley." His bearded face pulled upward, and Whitley was sure a smile was hiding beneath the mass of curly white facial hair. "Did you think to stop by before you went back home, or was there something else you had in mind?"
Whitley curled a brow at the question. He watched as the Doctor's eyes flicked to his side, following them towards Penny-
He cleared his throat. "I was… actually hoping you might still have work for me." Whitley tore his eyes away from Penny, squaring his shoulders back as he stared at the old man. "Perhaps you need help cleaning up around the pharmacy before we close tonight?"
Whitley felt his hand slacken around Penny's arm, trying to take a step forward- his leg buckled beneath him, and suddenly the world spun. His vision blurred, a series of browns, whites, and a hint of green and orange filled his eyes. And with a blink, it was gone. Then he felt an arm press against his chest, soft and warm, yet still firm.
"Are you alright?" Penny's voice trailed in his ear. "Do you need to go to the hospital? I can get you there if you-"
"I'm fine," Whitley cut her off, bringing a hand to the side of his head. "I just… I need a moment, that's all." One day with only four hours of sleep, he could make due. Two days? Less so, but he'd be fine. Four days? Troublesome, but he was a Schnee. He would endure.
Two weeks was too much.
He watched Penny's smile dip from the corner of his eye, feeling her arm slowly pull away. "If you're sure…"
Whitley shook his head, sighing as he plastered on a plastic grin, turning back to the doctor. "As I was saying, do you have any work for me?"
Doctor Polendina's brows furrowed as he let out a deep hum, rubbing the beard on his face. "I'm not entirely sure. I'm sure I could think of something, but I'm not sure if-" The doctor's words trailed off, his hand pulling away to show off a grin. "Actually, would you mind taking Penny for one last walk? As you've seen, she can walk on her own - mostly, anyhow. But I'd like it if you helped her down that last stretch."
Whitley paused, turning his head to look at Penny- look up at Penny. She'd gotten taller. Not by much, no, but to be two inches taller than him? Did she ask to be taller than him? He wasn't sure, but if a machine could be programmed to be friendly, he didn't see why it wouldn't be programmed to have that much cheek.
Honestly, the nerve! After everything he'd done to help around the pharmacy, playing along with her little games, fixing her arm, the list went on! That's it, this was the last time he'd go anywhere with her, of that he was-
"Whitley?" Penny spoke, tilting her head to the side as her brows knit together. "You're staring at me. Have I done something wrong?"
He sighed, reaching down for her wrist as he frowned. "Come along, Penny. Let's go and take you for this last walk." Oh well, she was only an inch or two taller than him.
…Not that it mattered. Whitley was more than secure in his height. Besides, he was a growing boy anyhow. He'd hit a growth spurt any day now. Winter had, after all. Granted, she still wore heels, but- ah, as if it mattered.
Whitley made his way to the door, hearing Penny's footsteps follow behind him. He leads her through the door to the patient room, hearing it loudly click behind them. Only then did he give himself the luxury of looking back.
Penny smiled, like always, but this one felt… different. Her eyes narrowed in such a way that reminded him of the crinkle in a genuine smile. There was a certain vibrancy in her lips, as though light was shining off of them. Even the way she dressed was different.
Gone was her heavy coat and baggy pants, replaced by a gray blouse with green fabric along the seams, stretching down past her mid-thigh-adjacent. Her black pants - at least, he thought they were pants - mimicked the style, green along the seems, and boots with-
Heels. Whitley noticed, feeling a strange tension leave his shoulders. Yes, that's it. She's wearing heels. She's not naturally taller than me at all.
Not that she had a natural height in the first place.
"Whitley?"
"Yes, Penny?"
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Whitley felt his brows furrow as he looked back at her, seeing such a serene and patient expression of concern on her face. "Never you mind about me, Penny. I'd like it if we got started on our walk whilst the sun is still out." After all, it would only be an hour until sunset. It would be nice to have enough light to get to the airship docks, at any rate.
"Okay, but-"
"No, Penny." Whitley cut her off, shooting her a glare as she caught up to him. "I'm fine, so please leave the subject be."
"Whitley, the-" Before she could finish speaking, Whitley felt something heavy and solid slam against his front, rocking the side of his head into it before stumbling back. But he didn't go far, his back landing into something soft. "I was trying to warn you about the door."
Whitley blinked, turning away from Penny to stare at… a plain wooden door at the end of the patient room.
He must have been more tired than he thought.
Mantle, as it was right now, was a city that clung to the fading glow of the setting sun. An orange hue hugged every cracked brick of every wall, every fragment of broken glass, every smudged and dirty window, and every bumpy road. Funny, he could even feel a shred of warmth against his cheek.
But it was dashed by the chill wind that followed.
Whitley walked with his hands clasped behind his back, though his shoulders slumped forward. He tried to square them back time and time again, but they always fell back to where they were. An invisible weight held his body down, each step as though he was marching through thick and dense mud.
The only saving grace was the arm that was wrapped around his. He looked from the corner of his eye to find Penny staring ahead, a bright smile on her lips as she walked alongside him, her steps almost in perfect synchrony with his own.
"You know," Whitley started, turning back to stare at the sidewalk ahead. "You don't need to cling to me like this anymore. From what I saw, you can walk well enough on your own."
Penny hummed, like always. "I could, yes. But aren't you worried I'd fall?" Was he? He supposed so.
He huffed, shaking his head. "Ignore my wants and focus on your own. Or is that not something you're capable of?" He'd spoken without thinking, but the more that he thought of it, the more it made sense. Perhaps Penny thought that he was worried she'd fall, so she prioritized his concern.
Whitley watched as she shook her head from the corner of his eye. "No, I'm capable of wanting things."
"Then you want to cling to me like this?" There was a certain method in dialectics regarding understanding one's positions. It revolved around questions - more specifically, asking a question in such a way that will get someone to ponder their own answer. This was one such time that he made use of it.
He heard Penny hum again, her eyes flicking to the ground before they came back to meet his own. "I suppose I do." Her smile widened as she pulled on his arm, bringing him closer to her side. "Or does that bother you?"
Another gust of wind pressed against his back, a shiver shooting up his spine. Then there was the warmth of Penny's side pressing against him, even through his lab coat. It was just something he couldn't ignore, nor pull himself away from.
"...I suppose I don't mind." Purely because he was gaining from it, of course. If it wasn't cold - which it never was - he would have never bothered agreeing to such a proposal. "Given that it's our last walk together, I don't see why I can't spoil you with my presence."
Penny snorted, rolling her eyes - snorted. At him. "Is it?"
"Isn't it?"
It was supposed to be their last walk together, wasn't it? A month or so of helping Penny stretch her legs, walking around in the frigid cold, feeling the warmth against his side, and a pair of arms - mechanical as they were - wrapped around his own arm. It was… acceptable. Perhaps for the best that it was over soon. It meant the project would continue.
A hollow pang shot through his chest, feeling something acidic dance around his tongue, though whatever it was had an awful partner, stepping on their toes like that. His eyelids felt heavier, as though someone had just attached weights to the ends of them and kicked them off a cliff. Even his every step felt that little bit slower, as though he was slogging through the mud.
"Whitley," Penny's voice tore him from his thoughts, turning to see her smile widen. "Would you like to go to the park again?"
Whitley curled a single brow. "Is that what you want?"
Penny nodded. "I would like it very much. And I promise I won't take as long."
"Take all the time you need." Whitley's tongue was simply too loose today. He hadn't fully thought that sentence out either, and yet there it was, acting against his better judgment. Even so, he couldn't take it back now.
Then again, would he, even if he could?
He didn't get much time to ponder the question, feeling Penny pull him along as her strides picked up their pace. Each step she took was less wobbly and unstable than the last, her smile growing all the more vibrant. It was something that he couldn't keep his eyes off. Just how could she - a machine - put that much warmth into a smile?
Just what was he missing? What was it that he couldn't understand? Or was it just something that he lacked? Something he, as a person, could never understand, regardless of how hard he tried?
A familiar metallic arch and short brick wall came into view once again. Penny pulled him through the gates of the park with the same gusto that she always did, dragging him along the concrete path between the fields that were blanketed by a thin layer of snow. There were bits of grass sticking out, like always, but every once and a while, Whitley could see the mud.
Slick, cold, heavy mud.
A wooden bench sat off of the path, the only barely, a thin layer of snow covering the aging wood and steel. Even so, like always, Penny dragged him closer to it until they stopped right in front of it. Whitley went to pull his hand up into his sleeve, but he felt a hand gently grab at his wrist.
"I've got it," Penny said, quickly sweeping off the bench until all that remained was the wet residue.
Whitley took his seat, feeling Penny's arm come loose from his own. The bench creaked loudly beneath him, sighing as he leaned back against the rest. He let his eyelids fall shut, though only for a moment. One second, the world was a lovely orange hue, and the next it was dark.
But strangely enough, it wasn't cold. No, there was still a shred of warmth - on the crook of his neck, against his shoulder, along his side, down his leg, the warmth went on.
"Whitley?"
He hummed, leaning back against the warmth. It was like someone had wrapped him in a weighted blanket.
"Is this really supposed to be our last walk?"
"Mhm."
Silence, if only for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"Perhaps." Was it indecisive? Very. Did he want to be decisive right now? Not particularly. "Why?"
"I quite like our walks. They're warm and quiet, and they make me feel good." An image flashed behind his eyes, of orange hair and a bright smile. Of emerald eyes that shined brighter than any jewel that he'd ever seen. "I suppose I just like being around you, though. So I'd like it very much if we didn't stop."
A part of Whitley wanted to snort. Liked being around him? There weren't very many people that would agree with the sentiment. He knew why, of course, but it was something out of his control. He could be more friendly and honest, certainly, but that meant giving up… leverage.
If no one knew who he actually was, who he was on the inside, then it meant that they could never really hurt him. That no amount of slander or libel could mean anything. Because at the end of the day, all they'd ever have to work with would be lies and half-truths. To give up that much security was unthinkable.
Yet there Penny sat, leaning against him, telling him that she liked being around him. Around the lies that he built around himself. It would have been endearing, had he not reminded himself that she was a machine. She was programmed to like him. Nothing more, nothing less. She - it - simply was.
"Whitley," Penny started, her voice trailing off as something strange laced her voice. Concern. "Are you well? Are you sure you don't need me to take you to a hospital?"
Whitley snorted, letting his eyes weigh that much more as he slumped further into the bench. "Whatever makes you think that, Penny?" He was as fit as a fifteen year old could be. Well, perhaps not entirely - there were still the genetic freaks to consider. But for a growing boy his age, he was rather in shape.
"You're not acting like yourself today."
He barely managed the energy to curl a brow. "How so?"
She paused, humming for a moment before continuing. "You… you act like someone trying to pretend to be you. Normally, you'd get fed up with me or be frustrated in such a way that you'd drag me into a different subject." Ah, she'd caught on to that, then. He'd have to find a new approach. "But today, you've just let me… carry you through topics, I suppose. I think I'm worried."
Whitley scoffed, crossing his arms. "You don't need to worry for my health, Penny."
"Of course I do!" Penny's sudden volume snapped his eyes open, turning his head to watch as her brows furrowed. Her hands reached out to pull up one of his own, holding it out between them. "Friends are supposed to worry about each others' health. I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't."
Whitley stared at her, taking in the sight. He could count the creases in her eyebrows as they furrowed, and the way her lips contorted into a deep frown wasn't any better. The warmth of her hands wrapping around his own, her fingers digging into his skin - not harshly, no. But it was firm, yet still soft.
Her eyes stared back into his own, watching as her pupils dilated. It was just her optical sensors refocusing, he'd seen it a million times. But for just a moment, he'd forgotten, and attributed something else to them.
For a moment, Penny almost seemed human.
Whitley looked down at his hand, feeling something squeeze against it as he sighed. "...I suppose I'm just tired."
"Oh," his eyes flicked up to see the tension evaporate from Penny's face. "We can go back to the pharmacy, if you like? So you can rest, I mean." Rest? She meant so he could go home.
Whitley shook his head, feeling her grip loosen just enough to free his hand. "It's not that kind of tired, Penny."
"I… don't understand."
"I know," of course she didn't. How could a machine understand the fatigue of the soul? "Even so, it's not the kind of fatigue that you can just sleep away. It gnaws at the soul until you crumble, or rise above." And right now, Whitley was stuck where he always was. Caught between the two extremes, and without a way out.
Too strong to crumble, but too weak to climb out.
He felt Penny scooch closer, pressing her whole body - chassis - against his side. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Was there? "Not likely, no." Yes, that felt like the right answer. Better to not get his hopes up. Or hers either, he supposed. "Even so, I'd… like it if we sat here a little while longer."
He heard Penny hum, and that was that.
All that remained was silence. But this time, his eyes were wide open for it. He could do nothing but stare out at every clump of snow, patch of mud, and blade of wet grass that he could spot, all under the orange hue of the setting sun. Funny, everything that he'd done in his life had led him right to this moment. Every lesson, boardroom meeting, beating, scolding, and dismissive wave brought him here.
A park, sitting on a rickety old bench, with slick snow that was in a place between thawing and refreezing. He kicked the ground beneath him, feeling it slosh beneath his feet. Another thought that he never cared to linger on - he was wearing a lab coat. It still felt a size too large on his frame, and the sleeves went a little past his wrist.
He figured he would have gotten used to the feeling after two months now.
Whitley wasn't a scientist. Wasn't even an apprentice, really. He was… nothing. Less than nothing. He was only a something as long as someone was watching. Like… like snow in a box. Until someone opened the box, no one knew for sure if it had thawed or frozen over.
But if someone were to open the box, Whitley was sure that he would melt in the daylight. That someday, the sun would rise over Atlas and Mantle, and he would be forced to sit there and melt away. Not because he wanted to, but because the warmth would be too much. While others were merrymaking and enjoying the light, he would turn to nothing and fade into the dirt.
What a strange conundrum to be in. To be in the eyes of so many, yet to be truly seen by so few. It was almost enough to make him laugh. Almost.
Whitley felt a tug against his arm, turning to find Penny smiling. "Would you like to see something different?" She asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Something different," Penny repeated, nodding her head as she stared down at him. Not by much, though. "You said you came to the pharmacy to break your routine, right? Then, would you like to see something different?"
Whitley blinked, inching away from her. "Where did this question even-"
"Never you mind that." She interrupted him- interrupted him. He didn't get to linger on the thought, feeling her hands come to ensnare his own once again. "You just have to answer the question."
"...What would we even be seeing?"
"It doesn't matter." Penny's smile seemed only to widen, brightened by a fading orange light. "But you have to choose right now."
"I'm not exactly fond of being forced into choices without knowing all the variables, Penny."
Penny giggled, her green eyes shutting all the while. "But it's new. Isn't that what you want?"
Was it..? He supposed that wasn't untrue, yes, but…
"What if I'm not ready for something new?" Whitley's eyes fell to the slushy snow. "What if I fall to pieces?"
"What if you soar?" He felt her hands give him a squeeze, feeling a searing heat around his palm. "Besides, since when has being ready ever made someone more prepared?"
Whitley blinked, tilting his head. "I… don't understand."
"Regardless of how prepared you are, there will always be an unaccounted variable." Penny explained, her smile dipping down for a moment before coming right back up. "I've found that being ready doesn't matter. What matters is that you are there when you're needed."
Needed. Whitley let the word sit on his mind. Just when would someone ever need me?
He felt another squeeze against his hand. "So, do you want to see something new?"
Whitley stared down at her hands - at the hands of a machine. Soft, warm, gentle, kind. Machine. Fake skin. Steel bone. A very convincing machine.
Even so, Whitley was convinced. For now, at least.
"Very well," the words left him like a breath, feeling his shoulders slump forward. "Let's go see this new something of yours, shall we?"
He heard Penny laugh as she jumped from the bench, pulling him to his feet. "Sensational!" Whitley didn't even have the time to furrow his brows, feeling her pull him closer as she brought his arm over his shoulder. "Be sure to hold on tight, or else I might have to actually bring you to a hospital."
"What? Why would you-"
Whitley's mouth snapped shut as he felt an arm slink around his side, pulling him tightly against her. Strange enough on its own, but then came a flash of heat beneath his feet. He looked down to find green flames erupting from the bottoms of Penny's boots. Then the wind cut against his face, and the ground grew distant.
A foot at first, then two, then five, ten, twenty- too many to count after that. The ground, the slushy snow, the grass, the mud, it all faded away beneath the flames. His heart pounded as he pulled his feet up, if only so that his pant legs wouldn't catch fire.
Whitley's eyes shot around, watching as the once high-reaching skyscrapers of Mantle didn't stand nearly as tall as before. He could even spot the reflection of Penny's green flames beneath her feet in the reflective windows on a faded brick building across from the park. Worse, he caught a glimpse of white hanging on for dear life.
I'm going to die, he thought, clinging to Penny in a way that he knew wasn't respectable. HIs arms wrapped around her, and legs flailed beneath him. Funny, his throat hurt as a strange vibration came from within his neck. I'm… screaming. Oh God, I'm going to die without having made anything of myself.
The city faded in the blink of an eye, and all Whitley could see was a fluffy gray. A coldness hit his body with the force of a freight train, dousing him in wet droplets. His lab coat was drenched, and his dress shirt clung to his chest, even as he felt gravity try to drag him back down to Remnant, failing entirely.
Whitley squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the wet and cold drag down his face. I can already see the headlines now. Schnee next-in-line found a red puddle in the park. It will be all the rage for three days, and then nothing at all. As if I'd never existed.
Oh… how horrifying. He could die. He could die right here, right now, and no one would… no one would care.
He wiped his hand down his face, opening his eyes to find-
Whatever disgraceful sounds that were leaving his mouth died in that moment, feeling Penny's arm pull tighter around his side. The orange hue of that fading great ball of fire stared back at him, the distant horizon seeming like a painting. Dashes of orange contrasted against fading blues and purples, the clouds below making a gray foundation against the setting sun.
At that moment, the world was quiet. Less than quiet. It simply ceased to exist. The SDC, Atlas, Mantle, the project, his studies, all of it. It faded away into nothingness, melted by the warmth of the sun.
"It's… beautiful." There weren't any other words for it than that. Whitley had seen his fair share of sunsets, but never one like this.
A laugh drifted into his ear. Penny's laugh. "It was worth it, then?"
Whitley let out another breath, his mouth hanging open as he stared out at the sun. It slowly tucked itself beneath the horizon, those warm orange hues fading away to be taken over by darkening blues and purples.
"It was."
How strange. He didn't even pause to think about his answer. Not that it would have changed anything.
"That's good," Whitley felt her hand squeeze deeper against his side. "Then you should hold on a little tighter."
He blinked, turning his head to face her. Her bright orange hair rapidly blew against the cold wind, her face still wet from flying through the clouds. But even still, her smile had yet to leave her.
"Why?" He still obliged her request, but only because it suited him. He still didn't want to fall.
"What goes up," Whitley felt a sudden tension in his chest as the sound of Penny's jet boots abruptly cut. "Must come down."
The wind slashed at his face as he screwed his eyes shut, feeling another sudden splash of wetness across his entire body. He forced his eyes open, watching as the distant ground grew closer and closer. The tension in his chest changed as he heard the jets in Penny's boots roar back to life. Twenty feet. Ten feet. Five feet.
Then his feet gingerly hit the ground.
Whitley felt an oddly quick hammering in his chest as he looked around the park. The snow, the mud, the grass, it was all still there. The skyscrapers of Mantle were tall again, and the clouds felt out of reach. But even so, Whitley could still feel them - his lab coat and shirt were still drenched from flying through the clouds.
Whitley's hands were shaking, even as he kept them wrapped around Penny's figure - chassis. Whatever. And worse still, there was this unbearable tension in his face, as though it was pulling on his skin. He couldn't get the tension to leave, no matter how hard he tried.
He looked down at the ground, finding the once slushy snow that was beneath his feet reduced to a puddle.
"So, what did you think?" A voice drifted into his ear. "Something you've never seen before, right?"
Whitley stumbled back a step, falling back into the rickety old bench as he pressed a hand to his chest. The heavy drumming behind his chest carried around the rest of his best - down his arms and legs, hands shaking and fingers twitching. He could even feel his heart beating in his ears.
"What do I think..?" He repeated. A laugh forced its way out of his mouth, bringing his hands close to chest. "I think you've a crossed wire somewhere."
Whitley felt a weight press against his side, hearing the bench loudly creak. "But it made you smile."
"It scared the wits out of me is what it did."
"You're still smiling."
He blinked, bringing a hand to his face. He could feel his cheekbones were elevated, his mouth slightly ajar as another laugh let him. That's what that tension was. The corners of his lips had unconsciously drawn upwards.
"So I am." Whitley said, clearing his throat as he brought a hand to cover his mouth. Better to cover up a certainly foolish grin than to let it hang in the open.
Penny giggled, and he felt her hands wrap around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his mouth. "Don't cover your mouth, it's lovely." Her grin widened as her emerald eyes flitted shut, giving him ample time to stare. "Did you like it?"
Even as the sky turned dark, Whitley could still see it so clearly. To fly above the clouds, watching as the sun slowly dipped past the edge of the world. The memory of it alone was enough to force a breath out of him.
"I've never seen anything like it." And worse, he'd likely never see anything like it again. A knot pulled itself tightly in his chest, even as he pushed out another breath. "What a travesty."
"You liked it, then."
"Yes, Penny. I liked it."
He felt an arm wrap around his side, much like when Penny had first taken him to the sky. But unlike before, there was no pull to it, no force behind it. Simply warmth, and little else.
"Your eyes are a little more open than before."
…No, it was just the adrenaline. His heart was beating hard enough to send that magical chemical all throughout his body. But at the end of the day, like all things, this too would fade.
But for now…
"I suppose I'm more awake, yes." He could lie about it. Not for Penny's sake, no, but for his.
He heard Penny giggle again, turning to find her smile again, as if it was natural on her face. "So, you're not tired anymore?"
Whitley felt the tension in his face fall apart - his smile, as it were. But his eyelids weren't so heavy as they were, and he could actually feel his arms and legs again.
"Not as much as before, no."
Penny's smile shrunk into something softer. Funny, if it were from a person, Whitley would have thought it was real. "That's good. I'm… glad I could help. Even if it's just a little."
Whitley laughed, enjoying the warmth against his side as he leaned back against the bench. "Whimsical little machine, aren't you? Must you try and do the impossible all the time?"
"Am I?" Penny asked, tilting her head to the side.
"I'd say so, yes." A machine that was programmed to seem human, trying to make friends, and worst of all, trying to solve his problems? "I can think of no better word."
She giggled again. "That's good… I think?"
Whitley only shook his head, slowly standing from the bench. "Well, I do think we've been here long enough." Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to look down at Penny. "Though it's been… pleasant, I suppose." A pleasant end to a small chapter in the Project's journey.
He felt Penny's arm slink around one of his as she stood, watching as she smiled down at him. "I'm glad I could help."
The rest of the walk back to the pharmacy was one done in silence, something that Whitley was thankful for. Too much of a sweet thing tended to make things sour. Better to appreciate the walk as it was.
It was a familiar thing, walking through the streets of Mantle under the light of streetlamps, listening to sounds of passing cars as his loafers and her boots crunched the snow underfoot. But strangely enough, there was no cold wind.
Their walk came to an end as they stood beneath the soft green light of the pharmacy's cross, hanging over the door.
Whitley cleared his throat, feeling Penny's arm unravel from his own. "Well, I suppose I'll be back tomorrow for work. Have a pleasant evening, Penny. Oh, and make sure to give the doctor my regards."
He watched as Penny made her way to the door. But before she pulled it open, she stopped turning around to give him a smile. "I already have."
With that, she stepped through the glass door, took a turn, and disappeared from his sight.
He stayed there for a moment, blankly staring at the door. He sighed, feeling a crease form between his brows. "That machine, I swear." There wasn't much else for him to say. Doctor Polendina did a good job at making that machine act so human, of that he had no doubt. Even so, he wished it wouldn't be so convincing.
All that remained of his evening was the blurry trip back to the manor. It was a long walk through the dark, making his way to the airship docks. If he weren't a Schnee, they'd have probably refused to service him. But with a simple name drop and some Lien on the table, it was enough to move mountains. Or at the very least, an airship.
When he got to the top, stepping off on Atlas' dockyard, a dark limousine waited for him, a bright white snowflake boldly displaying on the back door. He made his way to the vehicle, taking his seat as he silently waited for the trip to end.
A tinted glass slowly dropped across from him, watching as the driver - an old fellow with graying hairs and equally gray stubble - tipped his cap to him. "Would you like some music for the trip, Mr. Schnee?" His voice was hard and rough, not unlike sandpaper on the ears.
"Hector, was it?" Whitley curled a brow.
"Yes, sir."
Whitley hummed, turning to look out the window. "I think I will pass on the music for tonight. Thank you."
The window slowly pulled back up, and Whitley heard the wheels begin to spin. After that, everything was a blur, darkness having overtaken his vision. But only for a moment.
When he pulled back open, he was back at the Manor, with the old driver opening his door for him. Whitley gave him a nod as he walked towards the steps of the Manor's front door. His legs felt heavy, but not as heavy as before. It felt like walking around with fifty pounds of steels on each foot, and someone had pulled five pounds from each set of weights.
He silently stepped through the door, letting it click shut behind him. Whitley knew he didn't have to be quiet at this hour, given how few people would be awake. But the odds of bumping into Mother at this hour was more than enough to remind him, it was better to be silent. He'd rather not have to deal with her… tendencies.
His loafers clacked against the marble floor, something he could truly prevent. But even so, he made it to his room without bumping into anyone, and that was enough for him. He locked the door behind him, kicked off his shoes, and made his way to his bed.
Whitley didn't bother changing. Too tired. So there he lied, deep beneath the covers of his bed, not even having bothered to pull his lab coat off. His vest was still wet from the unspent snow. But he didn't care, his eyes too heavy for him to bother.
How strange, he thought, smiling to himself. Today wasn't horrible.
Alright, it's been about eight days since the last update. Not half bad as far as time is concerned. Unfortunately, I'd have gotten this one out sooner if I hadn't been in the ER since all of yesterday. Thankfully not due to my surgery, though they pushed it back to September. But that's the only good news of it. Either way, my health is fine, in case anyone was worried. I was there for someone else.
In any case, I'll be trying to get more of these chapters out at a bit better of a rate. Hopefully the chapters will be smaller too, if only because... well, it's just short of 10k words, this one. Any more and I'll be overdoing it, I feel. That, and there's the risk of burning out. Unfortunately for me, my style of writing rewards mindlessly typing, so I don't always get to choose how much I put on paper. Like right now, come to think of it. I'm just sitting here typing whatever comes to mind.
Anyway, thanks for reading today. I can't say I was expecting anyone to read this story, given its unorthodox premise and cast, but here we are. Fifty-some odd follows deep, and enough positive reviews for me to say, "Yeah, alright, I'll have a go at it." So yeah, thanks for helping keep me going. I remember reading a particular review from someone, along with getting a couple of comments from some friends, in regards to a future plot point. Don't worry about it, I've got it mostly sorted. It's still ideas that are just bulletins right now, but I've got it in the works. Just let me cook a little longer.
Well, I think that's enough yammering from me.
Ciao, y buenas noches.
discord: /7ksPCNs3ZM