Disclaimer: I don't own any of the intellectual copyright properties shown in this fic. I am merely writing this for fun! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
For What It's Worth
1.5
Whitley Schnee paced nervously in front of the grand, imposing door of his father's office. No amount of Klein's coffee had made his heart race this badly. Like a captive bird flapping against the bars of its cage, Whitley wanted to abandon this interaction altogether but he knew his continued freedom hinged on this. The luxury of the Schnee Manor surrounded him, its crystal chandeliers reflecting the brilliance of the day outside, but Whitley felt none of that splendor as he prepared for what could be the most difficult conversation of his life.
He took a deep breath and adjusted the collar of the new clean suit Klein had provided the previous day. This wasn't just about drifting away from the manor, from…home. This was something else, something that gave him a new sense of purpose outside of the SDC, outside of the Schnee name. Tinker or not this was about claiming a piece of his identity that his father seemed intent on denying from the beginning.
The past three days had been a nightmare in his head, thinking of an excuse to leave was bad enough but the growing pains of a new tinker fugue made it worse. Today, he would propose his move to Mantle—a place so different from the polished heights of Atlas, a city that Whitley knew absolutely nothing about except that it was rather worse than the cold, corporate ambition of the flying kingdom.
After three days of migraine-induced brainstorming, Whitley believed he finally had a concrete argument to convince Jacques to release him. Still, cautious as ever, the heir made sure to bring along a few pieces of his gear he made in between breaks to satisfy his tinker urge. Whitley hoped his communication skills would be enough for this, because if it wasn't then he was afraid he might need to make a deal with the devil if he got desperate.
Gathering his courage, Whitley knocked, a sound echoing ominously through the hollow space. "Father, may I come in?"
"Enter," Jacques Schnee's voice boomed from within, laced with authority and a hint of impatience.
Whitley turned the handle, stepping inside the lavishly decorated office, filled with awards and accolades that hung on the walls like trophies. As if these trinkets meant anything to the man, probably just there to impress those trying to suck up to Jacques. His father was perched behind an enormous desk, reviewing papers with the finesse of a conductor leading an orchestra. None could deny the near-perfect abilities of Jacques Schnee when it came to these sorts of things. Jacques looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. The moment his gaze met Whitley's, Whitley felt the weight of expectation and disappointment settle in the air between them and it threatened to undo the heir's nerves.
"Whitley," started Jacques, his tone already stern, devoid of the warmth a father might offer. "You've been gone. Care to explain?" Although it was phrased as a question it was anything but that. It was a demand and Whitley knew what happens when he fails to supply them.
"I—I want to talk to you about recent developments this past month." Whitley stammered, crossing his arms defensively. Even back then as a child he never apologized to Jacques in answering him as a form of defiance, but just now he had the urge to blurt out one. "This past month I've been nurturing a newfound talent of mine. "
"And care to tell what this…talent of yours is?"
"Engineering."
"Engineering?" Jacques said without humor. As if Whitley's reply was a joke that fell flat.
"Well, the very field of engineering! Such as robotics, computer, mechanical, and chemical just to name a few." Whitley said, still finding enough wit to say those words with a vague tone of pride.
His father stared at him with a critical expression that suggested the man was trying to comprehend the words that had come out of his son. For every second of Jacques' silence, the air within the room felt heavy and despite the air-conditioned room, Whitley felt his back begin to dampen.
The silence finally ended when Jacques closed his eyes and chuckled to himself. The sound of his laughter felt wrong to Whitley's ears. This wasn't the sound of the fake laugh the man gave in his public appearances to show a false image. This was his father's genuine laugh that he rarely heard, and oftentimes it was only shown at seeing the failures of those who tried to outmaneuver him in the stage of cold corporate ambition.
Whitley's heart hardened, the first cracks of his demeanor had begun and they hadn't even begun to argue.
As the mirthless sound finally died down, Jacques's expression hardened instantly and the air grew thick with suppressed anger. "Did you honestly expect me to just forgive your month-long absence by saying something so unexpected that it bordered on being idiotic? "
"Idiotic?" Whitley cut in, his voice rising, surprising even himself. "How was telling the true reason for my absence idiotic!?" The heir barely reined in his shout.
"Oh please don't even begin with me. You've always had a habit of showing off your barely above-average intellect to anyone as compensation against your sisters." Jacques began, his words instantly hitting deeply at the heir.
"Barely above!?" Whitley shouted this time. The heir's arms fell to his sides at the outburst, his temper rising as well but knew continuing to shout wouldn't get him anywhere. Although not calm, Whitley was able to continue speaking without shouting his word. They were, however, loud. "How can you say such statements? You've seen the grades my instructors have sent you, you've seen the individual assessments they wrote about me and my sisters. You know da-, well that I have better intellect than either Winter or Weiss!" Whitley loudly claimed, barely catching himself cursing.
He knew Jacques caught his slip up but the man seemed to not have cared about it.
"Oh don't get me wrong Whitley, You are quite intelligent in the fields of science and mathematics compared to your sisters but that is all there is to it." Jacques explained without expression
"But…what…huh…" Whitley sputtered, not understanding what his father was getting at.
Jacques witnessing the sorry state Whitley was in let out an exasperated sigh. "Do you think that just because you study inside the same halls you live in, or that you have your own teaching staff, that somehow you're learning a new and advanced form of academics?" The man started saying, the papers he was simultaneously organizing while conversing with his son were done by then and now his sole focus was on Whitley.
"The same subjects that you love to brag about are the very same subjects that they teach in the lowest public schools in Mantle." Jacques' words made Whitley's stomach drop. "Every time you reference your so-called intellect, what you're doing is that you're merely insisting that you belong in some rudimentary school's honor roll. These achievements you so desperately cling to just so you can feel different have no value and to me and the SDC. And it is this very reason why Weiss is the current successor, because for all her annoying defiance, she knows what truly matters for the SDC."
Whitley was at a loss for words, too stunned to feel either anger or sadness at how blunt Jacques was with his words. He no longer wanted to argue anymore, he just wanted out of the room his father was in. The argument he had prepared was gone, forgotten by the hurt he felt at the insinuation that he never had a chance against the women who wronged him. By this point he would say anything to get as far away as possible.
"Mantle," Whitley blurted out of nowhere. "I came here to request to move to Mantle." His words were now a far cry from the loud statements from seconds ago. The man opposite of him on the other hand was nearing the limits of his patience.
"And WHY do you suddenly have this urge to move to Mantle?" Jacques demanded.
"I believe I can better enhance the nature of my newfound talents." Whitley answered, his tone lifeless.
"Oh for the love of Oum are you still going on about that!? Are you genuinely convinced of this sudden intelligence of yours that you now dare to make demands?" The man's words got louder and louder at each new statement. Whitley on the other hand had begun to show less emotion on both his face and tone.
"Yes father," Whitley replied. "The materials inside the manor are insufficient for my inventions."
"Inventions!?" The shout no longer hid his anger. "Whitley! For the past 15 years of your short life not once have you INVENTED anything of your own. Winter's smart enough to acknowledge her intelligence or lack thereof and Weiss is courteous enough to credit those who actually made her equipment." Jacques said as he stood from his desk.
Even with the body modifications of his tinker gruel adding to his height, Jacques was still a giant compared to him and his father still looked down at him literally and metaphorically.
"Just because you decide to assemble what you use does not equate you to inventing it!"
"You're right father, inventing something is different from assembling it." Whitley answered emotionlessly. "But I insist that I am an inventor who builds his own equipment. Which is why I believe in moving to one of your many latent factories in Mantle to invent better creations."
"Latent!?" Jacques exclaimed, confused, and then a moment of clarity came to him. "Klein you bastard, I should've known. It was him, wasn't it? The one responsible for your sudden zeal in….whatever it is you believe you're capable of. Once I'm done with you I'm going to that PARASITE and-."
Whitley didn't bother waiting for Jacques to finish his threat against the family butler. Instead, he pulled out a sleek, cylindrical hilt that was approximately 8-9 inches in length with a trigger-like mechanism at the top corner of the hilt.
Before Jacques registered Whitley's actions before the heir activated the trigger mechanism.
—-
Jacques could barely comprehend what he was seeing, from the general figure it looked like a sword, but not made of metal that much was clear. Instead it was what Jacques could only describe what he was seeing as pure light. The final description the man could come up with was a beam, glowing and humming yet solid. The erratic cracks of the beam gave the impression that it was somehow alive.
The object Whitley wielded was bright but inside the confined space of Jacques' office, it was nearly blinding. Intense purple cut through the lighting of the room, engulfing everyone and everything under its shade. To Jacques the blade of Whitley's device just…appeared, ignited even with how it came out of the hilt. The sharp sudden hiss eventually settled down into a low steady hum, vibrating, buzzing with energy.
Whitley twisted the blade in a circular pattern once as if to mimic a flourish, it was much slower compared to his sisters but Jacques wasn't focusing on the execution of his son's maneuver. Instead focusing on how the blade moved, slicing through the air without resistance as it left a trail behind it.
'No,' Jacques realized. 'It wasn't cutting the air, but melting the space it occupied with such heat that it gave the illusion of cutting.'
The space the blade once occupied left an afterimage of faint light. Jacques was mesmerized, almost hypnotized by the spectacle as he continued to watch the blade flicker and glow. However, regardless of what Jacques was seeing it left no doubt to the man that what he was seeing was something incredibly dangerous. It was elegant, yet a small part of him felt terrified at the blade.
With no doubt in mind, the object in Whitley's hand was a weapon.
"What is that?" Asked Jacques.
"It's a beam saber." Whitley answered.
"So I was right, it is a beam," Jacques said in a quiet tone, as if he hadn't meant to say those words. "Your request for Mantle leads me to believe your supplier is from that city then? Perhaps Polendina?"
"No."
"No? So not Polendina, then who?"
"Me." "You?" "Yes father, me, because I built it."
Jacques was silent for a few moments as he contemplated what his son was saying. The firm belief that his son wasn't anything special was still there but doubt had begun to set in. For once, he humored his son, continuing with his inquiry.
"Purple, so gravity Dust. How does it affect the weight of your…invention?"
"It's not gravity Dust." Whitley answered.
"Then what kind of Dust are you using?"
"None, because the beam saber, and all I create don't run on Dust."
Jacques blinked a few times at Whitley's words. As much as he wanted to disregard what his son was saying there was something in his mind that wouldn't. In fact, there was something that bothered Jacques from the moment he saw Whitley enter his office. After eyeing Whitley from top to bottom he finally realized what had been bothering Jacques from the moment he saw Whitley.
"You're taller." Simple words that carried depth. "You're almost as tall as Winter. Dust can't do that. So chemical engineering you say…"
Jacques left his desk and walked towards Whitley, the heir had deactivated the beam saber by then and the mesmerizing purple light was gone just as fast. Face to face, Jacques gave his hand out to Whitley. Tentative at first Whitley eventually gave the beam saber to his father.
"Three days ago I dismissed a report from Captain Silverstein of the security service about you piloting some kind of equipment and crashing said equipment at your mother's garden. That wasn't false."
Empty eyes stared at Jacques, the mention of his mother elicited no reaction from him. "Yes, I had built a suit of power armor capable of flight."
Jacques continued to stare at his son, carefully mulling over the words he was hearing. After a while of staring at his son, Jacques walked towards the corner of his office, stopping in front of a human-sized silver statue of his grandfather, Nicholas Schnee.
—-
Whitley wasn't sure why his father had suddenly decided to acknowledge the statue Jacques had ignored for most of his life, but he had an idea why. The statue was taller than his father and it was one of the rare instances wherein Jacques had to look up.
With a sudden flash and a violent hiss, Jacques activated the beam saber and sliced the statue of Nicholas Schnee in half. There was no finesse on Jacques' technique, if Whitley could even call it that, but there was a feral aura that radiated from his father when he had done the action. The upper part fell to the side making a loud sound that reverberated across the room as well as breaking the part of the floor it landed on. Whitley had felt in his feet the vibration of the heavy metal as it hit the ground, now molten metal sizzled on top of the lower half of the statue.
Jacques raised the beam saber to his eye level in a salute-like manner and kept his hand there. Transfixed with the purple energy that was dangerously close to his face and after what felt like an eternity he had disengaged the trigger mechanism, shutting down the beam saber.
His father then dropped his gaze at the fallen half of the statue, staring at the eyes of his grandfather. A small smile adorning Jacques' face.
"Alright Whitley," His father said as he started to walk back towards him. "I'll bite." Jacques said as he gave back the beam saber to Whitley.
"If you're suggesting a move to Mantle then I assume you already have concrete plans and where to go?"
"I-Uh…No," Whitley stammered, finding his voice again after witnessing his father's display. "Not me per se but I have raised my situation to Klein and it is he who has planned everything ahead."
"Of course you have, it seems overreliance on that man is a shared failure of my children." Jacques said as he returned to his desk. "Very well Whitley, I shall trust in this endeavor of yours. I want a full report from you on what it is you're creating and how it can benefit the SDC through its monetary values. I need to review these inventions of yours first before we talk logistics and cutting corners. Is that clear?"
"Very clear father."
"Good, you have a month before you submit your report to me."
"A month?" Whitley croaked with a small hint of emotion in his voice. "Why only a month?"
"Your beam saber suggests you've already got a list. Your request to move paired with your claims suggests you've already built these and have an idea of what to do. I therefore conclude that you can make them better and faster…unless I'm mistaken that is."
"No, father." Whitley answered abruptly. "You are not mistaken, a month is all I need."
"Good, then you are dismissed."
"Thank you father, I shall take my leave."
With that Whitley turned from the spot he had been rooted for the entire conversation and left his father's office.
The sight of the main hallways was just as bland if not more so as Whitley tread towards his bedroom. He would have originally gone to his workshop to celebrate a verbal victory against his father by tinkering but he was well aware that wasn't what happened. What should have been a momentous occasion of finally freeing himself from the corporate clutches of his father had instead turned into a lengthening of his shackles. His one ability that should have freed him is now in servitude to his father's own selfish goals.
And he has no one to blame but himself.
For now, however, none of that mattered to Whitley. His lips quivered as he continued towards his bedroom, his vision blurring by the second. His thoughts linger on his father's words.
Whitley could feel it, the tightness in his chest, like something was squeezing tighter and tighter, like his lungs couldn't get enough air. His throat had begun to ache, burning, as if he'd swallowed poison. Whitley kept looking forward despite his urge to stare down at the floor, blinking fast, trying so hard to keep it together. But his eyes were now stinging, and he could feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill over.
He ignored everything he came across. Whitley pressed his lips together, biting down to stop them from trembling. His hands were clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms, just to distract himself from that hollow, aching feeling inside that threatened to consume him.
'It's stupid,' Whitley told himself. 'I shouldn't care this much. His words shouldn't have reached that deep.'
But no matter how many times he repeated it, the words didn't stop the hurt from spreading, deeper and deeper. Whitley takes a shaky breath, but it catches halfway, and he can't tell if it's because he's choking on his own emotions or if he's just so desperate not to fall apart. Falling apart wasn't good because no one would be there to catch him. He was used to this, but it didn't mean he liked it.
As he finally entered his bedroom the tears finally came free. Tinker or not, he was still the same boy from before the trigger event.
AN: Thank you to everyone who favorite, followed, reviewed or even just read this fic of mine. It means a lot to me that you've given your free time to read this.
On the previous chapter I forgot to mention how I disliked the strong Iron Man vibes since I had opted to call Whitley's first power armor as the Mark 1 and the general description of it closely resembling it from the MCU. Going forward with this fic as much as I want to create original inventions for Whitley I can only reinvent the wheel a few times if get what I'm saying. Still referencing pop culture is inevitable when it comes to Tinkers and the best I can do is just make it entertaining as possible.
Another thing I want to focus on are the relations Whitley has with the cast of RWBY. With the current pacing of this fic, chances are you won't see the og gang until the end of the 2nd arc if not farther. Which gives me lots of space to flesh out the cast in Atlas, or at least most of them. Then again the first arc is just base building before I delve into world building and character interaction.
With that said, I hope to see all of you soon in the next update!