Chapter 15

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!

There was a language to knocks.

And it wasn't a crude, utilitarian dialect of patterned noise and logical sequence like JavaScript or German, either, but instead a full and complete language of great artistry and boundless potential, with as much rhythm and cadence as could be found in any poem or asteroid impact.

After having bought his house, Mr. S learned quickly how to decipher these messages hidden in the knocks, over the years developing a sensitive ear to their subtleties. Eventually, he found he could sift the intended meaning from almost any knock, ranging from "Trick or Treat," to "Girl Scouts!" to even "Have you accepted Jesus as your lord and savior?"

It was through this common exchange that Mr. S realized: weather it was your candy, or your money, or your soul, nobody ever knocked at your door unless they wanted something from you.

And, despite currently being on a completely different world, outfitted with an entirely alien vernacular of knocks, he could still recognize the current intent of the impacts coming from the metal doors, ones which, on earth, would roughly have translated to:Police! Open Up!

Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!

Gripping one of the over sized handles, Mr. S wrenched his arm backwards, pulling violently at the structure.

The door, a thick, metal affair powered by reactive motors, swung smoothly open to the guiding motions of his hand.

Weaving nimbly past the hulking iron slab, Mr. S - still tired as all hell - streamed out into the entrance way with a tortured exppression.

"What!?" he all but snarled, and the great, booming voice of Mr. Schnee crashed through the serene surroundings.

Weiss, Mr. S observed, attempted to brace herself against her father's words and, to his perfect surprise, failed completely in the attempt.

The now clear bluff of confidence crumbled hastily, displaced instead by a jittering uncertainty and vulnerable presence which seemed to bely her every action.

With an inflecting rebound, Mr. S found his defensive anger smothered underneath the obstructive reality of another emotion entirely, he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was...

Mr. S cleared his throat, fixing his tie in a self soothing action as he did so. "What do you want?" he asked, not bothering to filter the annoyance from his voice and interrupting Weiss's rapidly failing attempts to reconstruct her shield.

Weiss looked up as if just noticing him. She fumbled, straightening herself out into a stiff rendition of a formal stance.

"You forgot to give us our room passes."

This, she said with such natural expectation and cool confidence, that even Mr. S could tell she was negotiating.

"Really?" his voice pitched with insincere shock, "I don't remember being responsible for your passes," he put a hand up to his chest.

Weiss scowled, releasing a short, frustrated breath through her nostrils. Speaking once again in a slow, deliberate tone: "We just need-"

"I'm not seeing how what you need is an argument for why I should help you at all," Mr. S replied, incorrigible rage still fuming at that latest, stinging interruption, as well as the mounting train wreck of a day for which he felt he was only partly responsible. "Good bye, Weiss." Biting cold etched into his words, "take it as a lesson to plan ahead next time." Waving with a dismissive finality, he turned away, moving the door to close behind him.

Crashh!

The door metal rung out like a discordant instrument, ringing painfully through his bones as it crashed to a hard stop. Spinning about, Mr. S found Weiss straddled across the entrance, one foot stepping lightly on the carpet while a hand braced heavily against the stainless door. She looked pleadingly up at him, a dejected weight seeming to drag on every aspect of her character.

"Look," she ground, shutting her eye, "I...realize I've made mistakes, and that I've hurt you; but, don't pretend that you haven't hurt me, either!"

She stopped now, gathering the moment to recapture her disjointed thoughts. "I just...I'm begging you, ok. Is that what you wanted to hear? It...wouldn't be good for us to stay out there," she gestured weakly with her free hand at some undefined location.

"If you were ever serious, when you told me you only held my best interests at heart," she looked up at him, an immense depth expressing itself in her wavering eyes, "then listen to this one request. You know I've never asked anything of you before," she trailed to a soft finish, speaking with a purpose that was half questioning in its demands.

It was to Weiss's credit that she managed such an effort despite her certainty that it was doomed to failure. Even as she spoke, she made desperate contingencies, wondering if, perhaps, Blake might be shielded from the worst of the fallout if they stayed in separate locations. They might be able to-

"Ok," Mr. S replied, voice quiet, and with an unreadable quality tinging it.

Weiss straightened, blinking away her surprise. She felt...thankful, she realized, diagnosing herself with all the dispassionate analysis of a stranger. It was a strange sort of thankfulness, however, one which wouldn't allow itself to be associated with the man before her. She stood unmoving, not knowing quite what to say or do under the circumstance except to face her father, lower her fist and give a wholly inauthentic, "thank you," with a clipped and robotic voice.

"Don't," Mr. S spread his hand towards her as if making a shield; closing his eyes and turning his head to the side, he released a long breath before facing her once more, "...nevermind," he said, painedly, "just go ask Schwarz to get you a pass, tell her I said to do so… ." For the first time exhaustion was apparent in his posture.

Mr. S turned softly to leave when he was interrupted once more. Thankfully, this time the interruption consisted of quite a simple question, one which under no circumstances need have taken more than a moment of his time.

"Where is Schwarz's room?" Weiss asked, and Mr. S felt his eyes twitch.

And that was just the thing about simple questions: it doesn't matter how simple they are if you don't know the answer.

"You know what -" Mr. S said, turning around with beleaguered enthusias "- we shouldn't bother Schwarz with this, she's had a long day. I'll get those passes for you myself."

Weiss, really didn't want to have her father personally come out to hand out room passes to her friends. In fact, she really didn't want, or plan, for that matter, to stay on the same continent as her father for the foreseeable century.

So, it came naturally when she said, "of course," with a stock smile and mountains of self loathing.

Rapidly, she was coming to the realization of how little bargaining power she'd come out with under the situation.

"Excellent!" Mr. S said, shooting her a friendly smile.

"Great!" Weiss replied, giving him a "go fuck yourself," smile.