Chapter 57: Nothing Will Change.
Thanks again toBoothnatandeuphoric, without whom you'd probably be reading about team RWBY in highschool at this point.
Things were… awkward the next morning.
More so than Winter had hoped their first training session would be, but she was here to do a job and she wasn't about to let some errant stares get in her way.
Speaking of which, when she felt said stares had approached to an appropriate distance, Winter turned, at last, to acknowledge them.
"Pyrrha," she greeted the group, taking the opportunity to gauge them.
Unsurprisingly, Weiss was absent. Blake, however, nodded back with an unreadable expression - one which she shared with every other of her classmates except Yang - who hardly bothered to mask her scowl.
Such an unfitting expression to populate a serene garden environment, Winter thought. Still, she was willing to forgive the discrepancy; she turned back around to face the pristinely maintained grounds that enclosed them.
This particular plain wasn't any different from the other biomes the Schnee grounds were composed of- well, other than the presence of a lake.
Patches of reflected sunlight glittered harshly against the surface of the body, where the light didn't reflect, the silky lake-bottom was clearly visible through the flat pane of it's surface.
It allowed them some privacy, at least, Winter appreciated as she surveyed their reserved district.
"This is where we will conduct our training," Winter announced, touring a hand over the landscape..
She received little response from the group, who stood uncomfortably in her presence.
Winter sighed.
"I know you have no reason to like me; we hardly know one another and I'm not blind to how my beliefs may seem… unrefined to you."
'That's an understatement,' the cringing, uncomfortable look that passed through the group seemed to say.
And Yang, disbelief flickering in her eyes, seemed ready to give voice to this objection when she was swiftly interrupted by Winter - who stopped her with a raised hand.
"Rest assured," Winter said tiredly, "I have no qualms with Ms. Belladonna, or with Faunus in general. My opinions only stretch as far as Weiss's personal relationships, and I've withheld any excessive intrusion even into that."
Her voice was sincere, and revealed a lot more emotion than any gathered expected her to be capable of. They seemed to break ranks to look at one another in the face of such confusion. And Winter took the opportunity.
"Despise me as you like, but Pyrrha's training, I'm certain you will agree -" here she turned to acknowledge Blake's presence " - is far too important to let this get in the way of it. So, believe what you like, but, as far as our professional relationship is concerned, let's focus on the material, shall we?"
She offered her final sentence on a friendly note, ending her speech neatly with a practiced, rock-steady, assurance that seemed to hypnotize the gathered group..
An uncomfortable look passed through the group.
And in one fell swoop, she seemed to disarm them. Atleast, she seemed to have reached a stable compromise - Winter thought, noting that not a single one of their faces seemed to be free from conflict.
She accepted at last and Invited Pyrrha to join her.
And, it was at this point that all residues of conflict seemed to bury themselves. As Pyrrha moved forward, and the rest of the team committed themselves, it was almost comforting the ease with which they fell into the new pattern.
Training Pyrrha was important, probably the only important task in the castle at the moment. Yes, things were hardly idea but, troubles aside, they couldn't just curl up in a corner and cry about it all day.
Weiss was curled up in her bed, crying.
How could Blake just leave for Pyrrha's training like that!?
She sniffled a bit.
She didn't even feel sad, really. Numb was perhaps a better word for it. It had been several hours since she'd last felt any discernible emotion.
Because, well, Winter had said it, and Weiss wasn't going to talk to her anymore. And Weiss was going to stick to that decision… and now she couldn't talk to Winter anymore.
Her stony heart was little reprieve from the very real pain that sprang up yet again, flooding her with comforting childhood memories of her sister that she couldn't bear to remember.
Weiss stood up, slowly and groggily rising to her feet, dragging her blanket along with her as if it were a cloak. She needed to get her mind off of this.
Mr. S needed to get his mind on something.
For the past several weeks, every hour of his day had been consumed by work; a calendar of tightly engineered activities rushing to fill the space as the world seemed to turn for the convenience of his work schedule.
His free time had been no less exhilarating, consisting mainly of Mr. S on his desk, staring at tomes of leaf paper three inches thick and with such titles as:
On The Dry Literature of Business Logistical Infrastructure Management:
How to Facilitate the Ground Up Incentivisation of Pre-Consumer Market-Share Growth
The Basics
Volume 1.
He'd actually read it, too, and for the most part understood it. And what he didn't immediately grasp, he'd remedied by reading even thicker books with titles such as:
The Dry Literature of Business Logistical Infrastructure Management:
A reference Guide
...
Volume 1
And man did Remnant seem to love serialization, because he'd gotten up to volume three before he wassuddenlyallowed to stop.
And "suddenly" is the key word in that sentence, because his new regime of no work - one allowed by Schwarz generously tapping in to put her competent hand on the ship wheel - was introduced into his life over the course of a day.
Of course, the startling rapidity with which he'd vacated his post had been for good reason. For one, he really felt the need to flinch away from the dumpster fires that seemed to engulf whatever he touched. And, two… well, he'd been expecting to be a lot busier with the rocket company… and, after he'd "designed" the rocket, Mr. S found himself with nothing to do other than wait for the test facility to get built.
So, over the course of twenty four hours, Mr. S mind, honed to precision to catch and return the startling flood of problems that had assaulted him… suddenly found itself with nothing to do.
Mr. S believed he was experiencing withdrawal.
Because never in his life had he imagined he'd have the time, inclination, or lack of a life to watch daytime television.
Yet...
He fell onto the couch with a sigh, and gingerly reached out for the lonely remote.
Oh, how low life had brought him. Despite the fact that Weiss and her friends were being allowed more and more freedoms, he was still under complete quarantine in the Manor - and "not to be allowed outside the castle for non-critical business" according to Schwarz, whose word was apparently law around here.
And Schwarz herself was another issue. Just two days ago, they could actually talk face to face about The Dry Literature of Business Management, or have small talk about other houses. Now, she barely mustered a glance up from her executive tablet to let him know how busy she was.
She'd changed, man.
Of course, Schwarz hadn't changed one bit, and she'd gone to great lengths to let him know just how quickly she'd drop everything if he had an assignment for her.
Unfortunately for Mr. S, hedidn'thave any assignments beyond "hang out", he didn't have the qualifications to help her do his job, and he wasn't enough of a jerk to make her life any more busy than it actually was.
So, here he was, sitting in a waiting room, utterly alone. Ironwood was busy with something related to national security and Mr. S was rapidly becoming aware of how few friends he had, or even basic relationships that weren't mediated by a corporate hierarchy or bad blood, or even people he was able to talk to.
He couldn't exactly pop over to a staff room and ask the butlers for a round of checkers, after all.
Well, actually, he could, and they probably would oblige him; but that, Mr. S realized, would be even sadder than just watching tv. Besides, the head staff had been acting icy ever since he promoted Schwarz.
Best to leave it, he thought, sighing.
Eying his reflection in the black depths of the unpowered crystal display that hung on the wall above, Mr. S reaffirmed his grip on the remote, and wondered: what would show up on the screen as he pointed the remote at it?
This matter was more than a matter of idle curiosity to him, and in part it was a majority of the reasons he was sitting in the entertainment room to begin with.
He knew that, in a way, this viewing session would be a pertinent exploration of Remnant's culture, and of the psyche of its people.
The thought struck a note of intense interest in Mr. S, but before he could think more of it, he clicked, and the crystal screen came to life.
A crack of thunder came over the sound system, and a flash of light introduced the start of the commercial. A gruff narrator spoke out with a halting cadence to his speech.
"In a world…"
Waves crashed on jagged rocks. A panning camera slid the visage of a broken city into view.
"Deprived of hope…"
A woman stared sadly up into the stormy sky.
"Invaded by aliens…"
Floating ships shot lasers into the now even more broken city.
And the narrator's voice took on a decidedly final note.
"Abandoned… by love."
Two women looked sadly away from one another.
"...comes a hero…!"
A scientist in a black suit stared intensely over a computer screen, grabbing onto the shoulder of the technician in front of him and shouting for some reason.
"I know how we can make it to space… we just have to rarify the dust!"
"It'll never work!" the technician cried helplessly over the action music.
"I'll make it work!" the man in the black suit said with heroic determination.
Quickly, Mr. S changed the channel, and the same man from the commercial appeared... now in a three-wall set, accompanied by a colorful cast of other characters. In the foreground, a young couple stood, shocked, as the newly arrived woman admitted: "I… am actually your half sister!"
"Huh!" Everyone gasped, even the alien in the back corner.
The screen flickered black, and Mr. S stood up.
Ok… that was enough TV for one day.
Because, of course it was a soap opera.
He walked out of the room with a snort of light disgust. Sure, he was bored, butsheesh. What kind of rut would someone need to be to even consider watching that crap?
…
There were many entertainment rooms clustered throughout the Schnee manor. Crystal displays were cheap, and bored employees weren't worth it. Still, at this time of day, the more domestic sectors were rather sparsely populated; abandoned, in fact.
Or, at least, Mr. S had believed that to be the case when he walked into the neighboring TV room and found it opaque with darkness, the only light being the flickering, inconsistent brightness shining out from the crystal display, illuminating Weiss who, in her white outfit, seemed to be hovering as she sat, feet up on the dark-blue upholstery.
Mr. S couldn't see what was displayed on the screen, but he could see earnest enrapturement reflected in Weiss' eyes as she stared up at the light, hugging her knees closer to herself and shifting the blanket that was draped over her shoulders as the next, anticipated, line came:
"But… how can you be my half-sister? You're an alien! How can you say you love me!?"
"I'm only half alien, Velvet-"
"Monster!" a voice that sounded like the duchess accused.
"I may be half alien…!" repeated with a sudden intensity, "but… I still have the full heart of a human."
Weiss sniffed, hugging the blanket tighter and pulling a corner of it to dry her eyes.
Mr. S, frozen with his hand on the door, took two quiet steps back, shutting the entrance with a quiet click.
He faced the blue steel of the entertainment room door with wide eyes. Several moments passed briefly by, before Mr. S turned away and started walking.
But- he paused for a moment, hesitant, and hereallythought about it.
This was none of his business, he shook his head, and set about walking again.
The universal concept in any business endeavour, change, was also precisely the thing Schwarz was trying to avoid.
This task was made especially more difficult by the fact that her new position took the phrase "fake it till you make it" to a new extreme.
She'd never internalized it until she started working with borrowed credentials, but this business involved receiving a lot of phone calls. Phone calls which, by the way, were being made to Mr. Schnee's number, and whose senders still expected to be talking to - who else - but Mr. Schnee.
Phone calls Schwarz was employing all her charm and wit to avoid.
Another ring came up on her tablet.
Calling upon her wit and charm once again, Schwarz rolled her eyes and sent a text:
Ember Charra: Sending Call...
Jauques Gale: Sorry, can't spare a call today. I'm extremely busy.
Mr. S walked back around yet another hallway.
Yep, he nodded to himself in confirmation; this one had walls, too.
Schwarz, of course, knew that she would eventually have to ask Mr. Schnee for his voice, but that time was not now, she resolved. He had only just begun his new project, and he was undoubtedly extremely busy! That, at least, Schwarz hadn't lied about.
Mr. S panicked as he saw a group of staff approaching from the other end of the hall.
Calling upon all of Schwarz's wit and charm, he took a side alley to avoid interacting with them.
Beyond the calls, however, Schwarz wasn't worried at all about her new position.
The essence of the job was hardly beyond her.
Because, while she hardly compared to Mr. Schnee's experience and expertise…
Mr. S stared down at a stray file he'd found laying in the hallways. This was neither wall, nor floor, he instantly deduced.
"What…" he inquired of the paper, "whatisstock?" speaking with an ontological bent.
...Schwarz was sure she could figure it out, even despite his absence.
Because Schwarz, in every other respect, was acclimating rather quickly to her new position as de facto CEO.
Frankly, it wasn't that difficult a job. Given that her only guidance had been to keep things 'stable', it was very easy for her to always pick the safest, most boring, option in her various dilemmas: in this case:
"Yes, we would like the standard option," she told the representative on the other line, leaning back into her chair and rocking from side to side as she finally found herself in a position to upgrade the staff Coffee service.
What? She was allowed to enjoy herself.
Still…
Schwarz ended the call and put away the tablet with an acrid worry.
The memory of Weiss, again, intruded on her thoughts.
What had happened at the ball last night… was not healthy.
Schwarz shook her head free of worries, or tried to, anyway… it wasn't any of her business.
Perhaps it wasn't his business, Mr. S recognized, but one could only spend so many hours wandering the halls and chatting up lost leaflets before the grating guilt of leaving a girl to watch terrible soap operas caught up to them.
"What do you want?" Weiss sniffed, not looking at where he stood - frozen - with a foot in the entrance of the entertainment room.
"I don't want anything," Mr. S fully stepped in, defaulting to that natural surety which bolstered his voice whenever he allowed it to.
"Then why are you here?"
"Our cable subscription is bankrupting me," Mr. S attempted a joke.
"Why are you here?" Weiss turned her tired eyes away from the screen, directing them to an empty corner of the dark room.
She felt a slight depression on the cushions as Mr. S took a seat at the far opposite edge of the couch.
"I…" he began, "know I haven't been-"
"This isn't about you!" Weiss sniped. "Not everything's about you!"
And her voice overlapped with A's own in his mind.
"I hate you, dad!"
"I hate you, dad!"
He could feel himself collapsing senselessly inside at the sensitive recollection.
Still, despite the hollow feeling, it was trivial to keep a strong facade as he said:
"I know."
"Hahahahahahaha!"
Pyrrha couldn't help her laughter. It was difficult to suppress your joy when a river the size of a dragon followed your thoughts into the sky, like an excited animal that stroked and punched the air, performing in tandem with every excited turn of her instinct.
It did a final loopty loop - it was laughing with her! Before softly, it entered back into the lake with hardly a ripple.
Looking aside, one could see almost disbelieving expressions on the gathered teams' faces. Even Nora seemed too impressed to display her usual extravagance of enthusiasm.
"You're a natural!" Winter praised, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm amazed you learned the first form so quickly!"
Pyrrha smiled, abashed, "I try." Her smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, however.
Winter straightened, her hand all but leaping off Pyrrha's shoulder as she created some distance.
She seemed almost reserved now, her hand half clenched as she held it up to her chest despite maintaining, in every other aspect of her posture, her usual - statuesque - bearing.
She turned her hand, observing it as they started walking. They walked in silence until, at last, Winter felt she should say something.
"You know," she offered, "I-"
"You don't have to explain yourself," Pyrrha answered with a professional smile that, if anything, didn't seem actively deceptive. "You're my teacher, and you chose to help carry this grave responsibility. I wouldn't judge you for any views you might hold."
Pyrrha spoke honestly and confidently.
"You're wrong there, actually," Winter laughed sadly. "I'm the Winter Maiden. My teaching you was no choice." She gestured to herself.
"You're really only here because you have to teach me?" Pyrrha asked.
"I'm certainly not here for the happy memories," Winter answered, looking at the serene garden surrounding her with some distaste.
Pyrrha hesitated, ever weary of the black void their conversation had been orbiting around before abandoning all reservation and taking the plunge.
"You know," she offered with an odd sense of relief, "Weiss spoke quite appreciatively of your role in her life here."
"Yes, until she stopped speaking to me, that is."
Pyrrha remained silent.
"Do you think, perhaps, I'm being too hard on her?" Winter asked after a moment.
Pyrrha broke her gaze away from the grass to answer. "I know she still cares for you."
Now Winter was silent.
"Do you know: she was always father's favorite." Winter said. "Even when we were children, that much was obvious. He spoiled her."
Pyrrha blinked.
"If you think this is the start to some jealous tirade, you can stop your worrying. I'm saying it to her credit."
Pyrrha only tilted her head, waiting.
They were approaching the rest of the group, now.
"We were all so desperate for father's approval back then." Winter said.
"Did you receive it?"
"We did," Winter nodded, "... until we didn't. Even then, we still loved him. We loved him as children love. But, by the time I left, the best that could be said about our relationship was that we feared his disapproval enough to stay… until we didn't."
"You said this was to Weiss's credit?" Pyrrha asked, eager to return to happier topics.
"She had his approval most of all," Winter explained, "and she was the one to show us how little that mattered."
"Weiss put it quite differently. She said you were the one that helped her."
"Maybe we're both right," Winter conceded. "But… I've just been thinking about how much wisdom Weiss showed back then. Even after she left so blatantly, she was still heiress, she could have regained his favor at any time…"
"She still cherishes your relationship, I know it!" Pyrrha promised, feeling her heart rise at the sudden drift she sensed in the wind.
"I was thinking," Winter said, unheeding of Pyrrha's words, "that maybe she's still showing more wisdom than I can see."
Pyrrha looked carefully over at Winter. "Do… you want to speak with her?"
"Yes."
"Then what's stopping you?"
Before Winter could answer, a third voice made itself known.
"Winter."
All eyes turned to Schwarz, who stood suddenly in place ahead of them, as if she'd travelled through nowhere to arrive.
"What is it?" Winter asked.
Schwarz had already started. "This silence isn't healthy," she shook her head with a dead certainty. "I saw Weiss this morning, and, to be honest, you're not looking much better," she said, directing a piercing gaze in Winter's direction. "Why won't you-"
Winter held up a hand, looking to Pyrrha.
"Ok," Winter agreed.
It was amazing, Pyrrha wondered, how quickly Winter descended into inconsolable nervousness as they approached the media room.
She didn't show it, of course, but it was apparent in its own way.
To an untrained eye, therefore, Pyrrha and Schwarz may have appeared less than sane, considering the heartfelt, intense, effort they undertook trying to console a perfectly calm woman.
"She's dying to see you!" Schwarz assured, looking back to nod cheerily at Winter.
"Yes!" Pyrrha agreed. "She's really quite inconsolable."
"She still hasn't talked to me," Winter said, sounding not at all vulnerable.
"You know how she sticks to her principles!" Schwarz said, just in time for them to walk in on Weiss who - unlike when Schwarz last saw her - was not very sad. Also - unlike when Schwarz last saw her - she wasn't alone.
No, by all appearances, she seemed content - and she also seemed to be having a pleasant, heartfelt conversation with Mr. Schnee, who himself was showing genuine care in whatever they were saying.
Winter turned away.
Schwarz stood silent.
"Winter!" Pyrrha called, catching back up.
"What is it?"
"I'm worried-"
"About what?" Winter asked, perfectly calm. "That I'll push Weiss away? "
"No, tha-"
"Don't worry," Winter continued, walking away from Pyrrha and the room. "Nothing will change."