Note: I promised you White Tiger. Here is the first of many.
Winter was no longer an active Huntress, but that did not mean she didn't stay in shape. Her body was a temple—one in the midst of a much-needed renovation. Squeezing exercise in between company meetings and portfolio reviews was a difficult task, multiplied by the frustrations of monitoring her baby sister and her ragtag group of misfits. Yet, she was able to find time most mornings after breakfast, a single hour in which she could keep up her conditioning and feel some small sense of control over her spiraling, aggravating life.
Winter shoved aside all the meaningless trash in her hotel room. The table, the chair, the couch that still somehow retained the smell of Sienna's fur despite a thorough dose of freshener. Was it just in her head? No, couldn't be. It was there, deep in the fabric. She had to push it away, clear the meager six-by-six-foot space in the living room, transform the carpet into something purer, a battlefield, a training ground. She would let the thoughts of the political world flee from her thoughts like rabbits from a burning forest. She had the fire. She was the fire.
So, Winter exercised. Fifty squats. Fifty push-ups. One hundred jumping jacks. Repeat five times. Her bare toes dug into the carpet. Her grey yoga pants and sports bra clung to her sweat-laced skin. Tiny wisps of hair flew out of her bun and kissed her cheek, and she swatted them away while she did her pushups. Her eyes locked onto her hands; one slowly turning red and tender, the other infinitely cool and metallic. The servos in her elbow whirred silently as she pressed herself up, chafing against her flesh where it met the artificial limb. The room was filled with the sounds of her heavy breathing, the roar of the air conditioning unit, and the beautiful silence of a mind cleared of tension.
It wouldn't last. It never did.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Winter's Scroll vibrated loudly on the table. With a frustrated grunt, she rose up to her knees and walked over to see who was interrupting her warrior vibe. She took one look at the name on her Scroll, and her nostrils flared.
Sienna.
Winter stared at her Scroll in silence as it buzzed.
And buzzed.
And buzzed.
…
Nope. Not answering.
Winter turned on her heel, returning to her training ground. She waited for the Scroll to stop vibrating. It took forever, but eventually, Sienna got the memo. The silence returned. Winter lowered herself to her knees and then held herself up on her palms. Back to the pushups. Back to the grind.
One. Two. Thre—
Buzz. Buzz.
Oh, goddammit.
Winter groaned, pushing herself up to her feet and marching back to the table. Somehow, the Scroll was buzzing even louder. Sienna's name screamed at her from the screen, capital letters bulging at her face. Could this bitch not get a clue that she was busy? Leave a voicemail. Winter had a very succinct and clear voicemail. "This is Winter Schnee, leave a message." It was great. Everyone got the hint. Not Sienna, apparently. She had only called twice—once and a half really, yet Winter felt like she had been prodding her brain all morning. She should have just turned the Scroll off. Leave the Faunus in the dark; she could see well enough in it. Winter picked up her Scroll, eager to do just that. Her finger hovered over the large, red Ignore button, and all she had to do was press it. She didn't have time for these little distractions. Just ignore her. Move on. Shut her up.
But somehow, Winter's finger slipped. Somehow, she lifted the Scroll up to her ear, and a guttural growl emerged from her dry lips.
"What do you want?"
"Hey, partner. How are you?" Sienna's voice teased her from the other end.
"What. Do. You. Want?" Winter asked again.
"Just calling to see how you are. I figured I might as well check up on you since we're allies now."
"I'm fine. And I'm busy. Please do not call me again."
"Hang on a second. Busy with what?"
Oh, by the sweet Mother's name…
"I'm working out," Winter stated dully. "That sufficient enough for you?"
"That sounds fun," Sienna said casually. "I didn't know you stayed in shape beneath those shoulder pads."
"Well, I do," Winter sighed. "I would like to get back to it now."
"Wait, wait. I wanted to talk to you," Sienna said eagerly.
No.
"About what?"
"About our plans," Sienna explained. "I want to make sure we are on the same page for tomorrow. It's a very big day for your sister and her team. I thought maybe we could go over our sponsorships together, make sure that our communications are aligned."
"That is entirely unnecessary," Winter argued. "You give them money. I give them money. We both shut up. What else is there to talk about?"
"I think there's a lot more than that," Sienna said. Winter could feel her smirking from over the phone. "Why don't we meet up for lunch and talk about it?"
Winter's lips curled into a sneer. Lunch? What was this insane woman talking about? Why would they do lunch together? Like, going out in public to eat somewhere? With the peasantry? Where people would see them talking and interacting—where she would have to have prolonged conversation with Sienna Khan, staring directly at her face, unable to leave? She'd rather be chained to a wall and immured beneath a mountain of concrete.
"No. Thank you. Goodbye now."
Winter pulled the Scroll away from her face, and while she heard Sienna chirping at her from the other end of the line, she willed herself to hang up the call. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her face felt hot, and her heart was beating fast. Gods, she must have been more out of shape than she thought. She needed to kick it into another—
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
For fuck's sake.
Winter put the Scroll to her ear. "What?"
"Hey, don't hang up on me. That's rude," Sienna said, the playfulness not yet leaving her tone.
"We had our conversation. It was over. I left it," Winter said bluntly.
"It's not over until I say it is. We are partners now, aren't we?"
"Stop saying that."
"Why do you not want to have lunch with me?"
"I'm busy."
"No, you're busy now," Sienna pointed out. "You won't be busy then."
"How do you know? I'm busy all the time," Winter said, annoyed.
"Oh?" Sienna said, curious as a cat could be. "So, what lunch plans do you have instead?"
Winter was not a good liar. Hell, depending on the circumstances, she wasn't great at telling the truth either. She tried to quickly think of some bullshit excuse, but nothing came to mind. Not even the obvious one of a fake lunch with her sister. Sienna would have bought that in a heartbeat. Yet, the only thing to come out of her was stifled, hot air, and Sienna didn't wait long before rubbing it in.
"No plans, huh?"
Winter, flustered, screamed into her Scroll. "I… I said I'm busy!"
She hung up the Scroll again, gripping it so tightly in her metal fist that she nearly crushed it. At least that would have given her some reprieve. Why could this woman not take no for an answer? Was this all some kind of game to her? A horrible torment she could not comprehend? She didn't even have time to put the Scroll down again before that wench began to buzz buzz buzz her again. Winter held back a scream as she answered the call and shoved the Scroll against her face so fast she nearly bruised herself.
"What?" Winter shouted.
"Okay, I am having fun and all, but you should seriously stop hanging up on me like that."
"I don't want to have lunch with you," Winter said angrily. "Why can you not understand that?"
"I don't understand why it's a big problem," Sienna admitted. "All I want to do is get to know you better. I do this for everyone I align myself with, from local chapter leaders to governors. I'm an activist, remember? I talk to people. I learn about them."
"I don't want to be learned about," Winter stated. "I didn't want to be your partner. I did not ask for any of this. I don't like talking to people. I want to be left alone. Is that clear enough of an answer?"
Sienna, for the first time that morning, didn't have a response ready to go. Perhaps she realized she pushed one too many of the CEO's buttons, or maybe she was really stunned by just how upfront Winter was with her phobias. Winter breathed heavily into the other end of the line, unable—fuck that, unwilling to work out Sienna's thought process. She thought that maybe, finally, the tiger would take the hint and get out of her life for the rest of this stupid tournament. However, reality always had a way of disappointing her.
"I'm sorry if I said anything to offend you," Sienna said truthfully. "I understand this… arrangement between us isn't something you wanted. And I'll admit, it's not necessarily what I envisioned myself doing either. But I want to make this work. I think everyone benefits if we give this a try. So… I would like to ask you to lunch one more time. And if that doesn't work out, I will leave you alone as much as I can for the rest of the tournament. Is that all right?"
Winter closed her eyes. She had an out. Finally. She just had to take her shot. Turn the Faunus down. Break her heart. Feel the disappointment on her face. Say no.
It wouldn't hurt. This was what she wanted.
Just break it off—
"Fine."
What? No!
"One lunch."
Stop talking, mouth!
"Hooray! Thank you for being so considerate."
Bullshit! She wasn't considerate at all. She was a warrior! Her body was a temple!
"Don't make me regret this."
Fuck!
"Trust me, you won't. Meet me at the Backwoods Café at… let's say, twelve thirty? That will give you plenty of time to shower off."
Oh, that little…
"And seriously. Do shower. Because my sense of smell is better than most, and I will know if you didn't."
Winter grumbled incoherently. Why? How? The questions wouldn't stop rattling around her brain. She felt like she had somehow been tricked into this, forced or threatened. But no. She did it of her own free will. Her own stupid brain decided to agree to this. She regretted ever healing it.
"I'll see you then," Winter murmured.
"Sounds great. See you then, partner!"
"I said don't—"
Sienna hung up the call, leaving Winter out to dry. Because of course she did. She was the worst.
Cinder Fall pinched the flesh of her index finger. She tugged at the inflexible tissue, nails digging into her skin enough to leave a notable dent. Over the past few months, she had developed a nasty tic: picking and pulling at random folds of tissue on her hands. She would grab it and shift it around, feeling it shift against her finger bones, scraping at its surface to see how much would peel off. It was a dull and awkward habit, seeping forth whenever she felt discomfort.
Standing outside Ozpin's hotel room door, she felt a lot of discomfort.
She tested a few facial expressions. Cautious optimism. Joy and gratitude. Serious and sorrowful. Each one felt wrong, like pulling a mask over her cheeks. She tried to remember what authenticity felt like. It seemed… hollow. Was that correct? Or was she grasping at a shadow?
Pull pull pull. Scrape the flesh. Pinch the dermis. Tease what was underneath.
When the door opened, it was sudden. Ozpin's face appeared, weathered but still sharp as a fox, and Cinder had only a moment to prepare herself. Something bubbled out and formed over her features without her consent. A smile, lips slightly parted. Eyes neutral.
"Miss Fall, right on time," he said kindly. "Come on in."
He seemed to buy it. Good.
Cinder did not distract herself with Ozpin's hotel room. It was very similar to her own. Grandiose, overly spacious for what was needed, teasing the edge of gaudy while leaving plausible deniability. She was more interested in her host—hosts, for that matter. Glynda Goodwitch stood by the kitchen table, wearing a novelty Vytal Festival t-shirt she got from the Fairgrounds, snake eyes following Cinder's every movement. Cinder smiled at her, breathing an internal sigh of relief. Her audience was here. She just had to withstand the pressure.
"Sit, please," Ozpin instructed. "Glynda, fetch us the tea, if you will."
"Yes, Professor," Goodwitch nodded, strutting to the kitchen. "Good to see you, Miss Fall."
"Likewise," Cinder said politely. The former Vytal winner took her place at the kitchen table, and Ozpin sat across from her, resting his cane against his chair. She placed her hands on her lap out of view. She would keep picking at her fingers and pray he did not notice.
"I am so glad that you wanted to talk, Cinder," Ozpin said kindly. It fascinated her how easily he shifted into his professorial persona, as if the last four years had never happened. "I think that this conversation is long overdue. I think we both benefit from a chance to clear the air."
"I couldn't agree more, Professor," Cinder said warmly.
"Please. Just Ozpin now," he asked with a smirk. "You don't have to be formal."
"Apologies. It's still a habit, I suppose," she confessed. "I… wanted to start this by thanking you for agreeing to meet with me. I understand that you are busy. If I can be honest, I was actually afraid you would resent me."
Ozpin seemed surprised. "Resent you? Me?"
"Yes," Cinder stated as Glynda returned to her with a cup of tea. Her hands did not move from beneath the table while Ozpin gently sipped from his own cup. "After how everything ended between us, I thought I had burned that bridge. Maybe you'd never want to see me again."
"Fascinating," Ozpin stated. "Usually, when you tell a person that they're dead to you, that's a sign that you're the resentful one."
Cinder looked away, bashful. "I guess that's true."
"But no, I don't resent you at all," Ozpin explained. "I've been doing this for a very long time, Cinder. So many people have said so many things to me that I've pretty much heard them all. I've long learned to stop taking things personally, to give them space when it matters, and most importantly, to know when to welcome them back into the fold. There's nothing that's been burned that cannot be repaired, in my opinion." He took another careful sip of his tea. "But what's your opinion? Do you have any resentment?"
Cinder was slow to answer. "I don't… really know. I… I did resent you. I think I had good reasons to. I've had years to think about what happened to Gretchen. Even now, it's hard not to feel guilty. Blaming you is an easy way to avoid that. Yet it's… well, it's complicated. I think that might be the best way to put it. It's very complicated."
Ozpin did not push the subject. No one wanted to think about that day four years ago, when Cinder struck down her own teammate in the finals of the Vytal Festival. When her world was shattered. When two glorious Huntresses were lost to him forever. It was best not to dwell on the misery. With Goodwitch perched behind him like a hawk, he decided to focus on the goal set out before him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Where have you been?" Ozpin nearly laughed at the absurdity of the question. "I have been looking everywhere for you. This whole time, I've wanted to track you down—not out of any malice, I assure you. Just to ensure you were doing well. Yet, you were essentially a ghost."
Cinder shrugged. "Well, I guess I didn't want to be found."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"I know," Cinder admitted. "And I'm not going to. I enjoy my privacy."
"So why did you come back?"
Ah, there it was. The real meat of the issue. It was all anyone could talk about: What dragged the phantom champion of Vytal out of retirement and back into the public spotlight that destroyed her? Cinder had kept her cards close to the vest, but if there would ever be peace between them, he would need a clear answer. Cinder seemed to anticipate this as well. She had no intention of leaving him clueless.
"A few reasons, honestly," Cinder confessed. "This tournament has dredged up so many strange feelings. Processing them has been a challenge. I think first and foremost, coming back will give me a chance to reflect. It might give me a sense of closure. Second, it's important that Vytal has its Host. I would be the first Host to miss her duties in a hundred years, and I think this Festival is more important than my personal feelings. The third reason, embarrassingly, is money. And lastly…"
Cinder paused awkwardly. She took a long sip of her tea, fingers raw from the constant agitation. She tried to look Ozpin in the eye.
"I wanted to help you."
Ozpin and Goodwitch exchanged suspicious glances.
"Help me?" he wondered aloud. "With what?"
"Well, that's the thing," Cinder claimed. "I'm not sure."
"How are you not sure?" asked Goodwitch.
"It's just… I've seen some of the news," Cinder tried explaining. "Beacon's destruction… Professor Goodwitch, your firing… the fallout with Ironwood. So much has been happening in such a short time, and… I don't know what's causing it all, but I can't help but have this horrible feeling that it's all connected somehow. I may not be a Huntress anymore, but I still remember what I promised you. I have a responsibility to our school, to Humanity itself, to help anyway I can. You said you were devoted to the greater good. I don't agree with all of your methods, but I think enough of me still believes that's true. If there's something I can do, anything I can do to help protect my people, I want to."
Ozpin saw Cinder's gaze waver. He took another very long sip of tea, mulling over his options. Cinder patiently waited for his response, hoping that he would trust in her. Yet, it wasn't Ozpin that spoke next, but his lapdog.
"Well, we appreciate the offer," Goodwitch said with a sarcastic smirk, "but the situation is a bit too fucked for you to do anything."
Cinder stifled a gasp. "P-Professor Goodwitch?"
"Sorry, language!" Goodwitch groaned. "I've been letting it get the better of me recently."
"Yes, you have," Ozpin noted. "You should really do something about that. However, Cinder, she is right. It's… well, it's not great."
"How so?"
"It's rather hard to explain," Ozpin admitted. "Think of everything that can go wrong, and then multiply that by four. That's where we are at right about now."
"We would take all the help we can get," Goodwitch clarified. "But there's literally nothing you can do to make this better."
"Nothing?" Cinder said with shock.
"Nothing."
"There has to be something."
"Are you cool with cold-blooded murder?"
"N-No?"
"Then there's nothing."
"That's not how I would put it," Ozpin grimaced, "but the sentiment is the same. The battle we are fighting right now is not something I would ask you to participate in. I don't even know how you would be able to help if I wanted it. We're dealing with factors outside of our control, but we are making due with what we have."
"I… I see," Cinder sighed, appearing genuinely heartbroken. "That is unfortunate."
"Indeed. Now then…" Ozpin's smile dropped, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Why don't you tell me why you're actually here?"
Cinder stared at Ozpin blankly. Her words fell out of loose, blubbering lips. "Oz-Ozpin?"
"Oh, please, Cinder. You don't think I was born yesterday, do you?" Ozpin smirked. "I was your headmaster for four years. After all that time, I've come to learn you are a terrible liar. I mean, even if it wasn't obviously rehearsed, it's not remotely believable. All of this puffery about wanting to help and the greater good of the tournament? I know you don't care about the prestige of any of this. That's not you. And the money? Oh, that's pushing it a bit far. So, why don't you just come clean now? If you are interested in amending things—and I don't know if that's true either—it will help if you are honest with me."
Cinder sat awkwardly, Ozpin the confident king making a mockery out of her. Her carefully crafted words had been seen through. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, eyes glued to the table. She wanted this to be easy. She hoped that Ozpin would be proud enough to take the compliment, take the groveling, and welcome her back into the fold. But the years had made him bitter and skeptical; the last few months chipping away all the leeway he might have granted her. He didn't fall for a thing. He would not fall for her.
Of course… she didn't really think he would.
But you had to give the man enough rope to hang himself.
"I… you're right," Cinder sighed heavily. Her expression changed completely. Heavy. Defeated. The unnatural politeness was replaced with an earnest surrender. "I should have been more honest. I was just… well, I didn't know what you would think."
"There's no shame in being honest, Cinder," Ozpin said warmly. "Tell me the truth, and all is forgiven."
"Okay," Cinder sighed. She seemed truly nervous. Ozpin half expected her to confess to a murder. He couldn't have expected she would say something far worse. "The truth is that I came back… to help Team RWBY win the Vytal Festival."
Ozpin's warmness vanished. Goodwitch erupted into a hideous sneer. Cinder winced in pain.
"What?" Goodwitch hissed.
"Yes, double that," Ozpin said coldly. "What?"
"I'm… a huge fan of Team RWBY?" Cinder said with an awkward smile. "I… I didn't know how you would take that—"
"Why?"
"Huh?"
"Why?" Goodwitch asked bluntly. "How? What? When?"
"Well, it's—"
"Yes?"
"It's actually—"
"Why?"
"Let me explain."
Ozpin raised his hand and held Goodwitch back. For now. "Yes, Glynda, let her explain. I'm curious."
Cinder appeared to struggle to find the correct words, the words that would not result in her head getting severed from her shoulders and kicked against the wall like a football. "I have been… when I left Beacon, I lost all faith in Huntsmen. Everything that I believed in was just… gone. I wanted to just pretend they had nothing to do with my life. But then, I saw Team RWBY on the news. I heard that they had defeated that horrible monster in Vale. And they seemed, I don't know… different. They had an authenticity to them that I never thought I would see in Huntresses again. And the more I learned about them, the more I learned to admire them."
Goodwitch gritted her teeth. "No."
"They spoke out against injustices in the community—"
"No."
"They donate to charity."
"No."
"They just… they're the types of Huntresses I wish I could have had with me when I was in Beacon," Cinder explained. "And I want them to succeed. I want them to change the world for the better. If they win the Festival, maybe those reforms they want can—"
"I'm sorry, I think I've heard enough," Goodwitch said, leaning over the table. "Cinder, I am going to say this as politely as I possibly can. You have no fucking idea what you're talking about."
Cinder absorbed the comment without damage. "I understand that you both have a very complicated relationship with Team RWBY. That much is obvious from the news. But maybe you two could… set up a meeting between us?"
Goodwitch stood up straight, aghast. Ozpin tried to keep his frustrations hidden, though he was doing a remarkably poor job of it. Cinder assisting Team RWBY would be bad. Her insight into the other teams, the tournament's structure, combat in general… Though she was years past her prime, the advice of a well-respected Vytal Champion could push those reckless children over the finish line. And then what? The Grail slipped from his possession into the hands of that despot, that's what. And it wasn't like he could just say that, tell Cinder that helping Team RWBY would lead to the destruction of their entire world order. He had to do something to talk her out of that awful mistake, though. And hopefully soon, because there was a chance Goodwitch would do something they'd all regret in the next twenty seconds.
"Cinder, I would strongly suggest that you reconsider," Ozpin said as Cinder innocently finished her tea. "Team RWBY are not a party you should involve yourself with."
"I really think I should," Cinder stated. "They seem authentic to me, and I think they have a very good chance of winning as well. I want to help."
"They are not authentic," Goodwitch said bitterly. "They are actually the worst."
"I'm sure you're still hurt from what happened," Cinder said respectfully. "But you can't let your feelings blind you on this."
"My feelings?" Goodwitch roared. "It's not my feelings. Those girls cannot be trusted as far as I can throw them. They're so stupid they couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel!"
"I'm sure that's your opinion," Cinder nodded. "But I still want to support them."
"Cinder. Please," Ozpin stressed. "If you really do care about the world, do not help Team RWBY."
"Well, what about Pyrrha and her team?" Cinder asked.
Ozpin winced. "That's—"
"Isn't she your new biggest Huntress?"
"That's… extremely complicated right now."
"Well, then, I guess we're at an impasse," Cinder sighed. Ozpin was caught on the back foot. Cinder was stuck in her ways, blinded by her optimism, blinded by her betrayal. Team RWBY was amassing more and more allies as each day progressed, and he was left with nothing but a handful of jewels. The world was spiraling further and further away from him, and Cinder was making everything worse. He had to resolve this somehow. Make her see reason.
And then, Cinder gave him a lifeline.
"Unless…"
He perked up. Goodwitch leaned back over the table.
"Unless?" they said simultaneously. Cinder seemed embarrassed to even bring this up. Perhaps she believed it was wrong to give her former headmaster this benefit of the doubt. But something inside her seemed to stir. She had to give them a chance. Trust her instincts. Ozpin could see those wheels turning in her head.
"Look, I want what's best for all Huntsmen," Cinder explained cautiously. "If you really have reasons for why I should trust Team RWBY, I'd be interested in hearing them out. But I've mostly made up my mind. You'd have to have some very damaging reasons why I shouldn't help them for me to consider it."
Ozpin and Goodwitch exchanged knowing glances.
Very damaging reasons?
Maybe they couldn't tell Cinder about the Grail, or the Fables, or the stakes of the tournament. But why limit their imaginations? Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't say any of this. Risking Team RWBY's blackmail was still a lingering threat. But Cinder's offer was far too tempting, and without even realizing it, she had worn their defenses down to nothing.
"Glynda?" Ozpin said with a sly smile. "I think we should get Cinder some more tea."
"So, I want it to have this very natural feel."
"Mmhmm."
"And I don't really see the point in releasing multiple statements. The SDC would be sufficient, and it'd likely get more attention and more benefit of the doubt from the mainstream."
"Fine."
"That's probably the ideal way of going about this."
"Okay."
Sienna scrunched her nose. "Winter?"
Winter sighed. "Fine."
There was no one around them. Squeezed into the back corner of The Backwoods Café, watched only by the careful eyes of Sienna's security detail, the leader of the White Fang and the CEO of the Schnee Dust Company had been hard at work crafting a press release to certify their public support of Team RWBY. Well, that wasn't accurate. Sienna was writing a press release, and Winter was eating a chicken club. Half a chicken club. Eh, a portion of a chicken club. The sandwich had maybe five bite marks in it and otherwise sat unassumingly on its porcelain bed next to some turned-freshly-soggy fries. Sienna's tuna club went entirely untouched. Why did she bother inviting them to lunch again?
"Winter?" Sienna asked again. "Do you have any notes whatsoever?"
"Fine," Winter said. Not once did Winter look at her face, and the former Huntress was going to keep it that way.
"Fine in that you have notes, or fine in that it's fine and you have none?"
"Fine."
Sienna rolled her eyes. "So, after the bit where you devote yourself to the White Fang, then you are supposed to take your shirt off—"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Winter groaned, looking at Sienna with disgust. Well, that willpower vanished quickly.
"Oh, so you are listening," Sienna smirked. "Just had to check."
"Of course, I'm listening. I can't stop listening," Winter stated. "Your lisp is too hard to ignore."
The corners of Sienna's mouth tightened slightly, but she recovered and flashed her fangs in a smile. "You know… this is your press release. I'm putting words directly into your mouth. Maybe you would like to show some interest in what those are?"
"I don't waste time writing speeches," Winter said plainly. "If someone hands me something to say, and it's awful, I won't say it. I assume you won't be stupid enough to write something terrible."
It was a reasonable guess. Sienna Khan was known for her rhetoric, a skill that even the most cynical of Atlasians were forced to acknowledge. It was slightly different than a press release, however, and Sienna had the suspicion Winter would be extra picky. She dropped her pen and placed her elbows on the table.
"So, you acting all aloof," she commented. "That's not just a thing with me, but that's how you actually run your business?"
Winter paused.
What was she doing? Sienna said she wanted to get to know Winter better. Was this an interrogation all of a sudden… or worse, small talk?
"How I run my company is of no concern to you."
"Eh… kind of a concern. Given that I'm endorsing your leadership and all."
Winter tried to cut it off at the pass.
"Which I didn't want to do, just like I don't want to do now."
"Yes, I'm aware. The constant hanging up made that very clear," Sienna said casually. "But you're here and I'm here and for better or worse, we are in this together, so I'm going to try to make this work to the best of my ability. I would like it if you did the same."
"You should try less."
"Trying less isn't exactly my style, I'm afraid," Sienna sighed. "You know, I've gotten this treatment before. Most times, actually. A lot of people try to resist me, but they are never able to."
"Resist, huh?" Winter scowled.
"Yeah," Sienna grinned. "From building a relationship. Pretty much every Atlasian I've ever met has given me the cold shoulder—no pun intended. But I've learned to be quite persistent, even with the people who hate me. I wouldn't have made it this far without reserves of patience. I get that you don't trust me. I mean, given how we met, that's understandable. And I know I've created quite the headaches for your business. But I'm not a bad guy, Winter. I'd like you to see that."
Winter did not see that. In fact, she ignored pretty much everything Sienna said, and zeroed in on one particular word.
"No. The word. Resist," Winter claimed. "That word is appropriate."
"Yeah?" Sienna leaned in. "How so?"
Winter glowered. "Because it feels like torture."
Sienna rested her cheek on her palm. A certain weariness washed over her. She drew inward, yet her curiosity remained. "Torture? Is that so?"
Winter huffed. "Yes, actually. Being in this meeting feels like torture."
"You're going to have to explain that."
"Actually, I don't have to explain anything."
"I would please ask that you explain."
"No." Winter looked around the café for an escape. "I think we're done here."
"Hey," Sienna said defensively. "I'm just trying to be friendly—"
"Oh, don't give me that shit," Winter snarled suddenly. "You must think I'm naïve. I've lived my life around the cruelest men in Atlas. I've broken bread with an island of rats and snakes. I know when someone is playing around. And that's what you're doing. You're playing with me. And I don't like being played with."
Sienna shook her head. "I'm… not trying to play with you."
There. Right there. That little hesitation. It drove Winter mad.
"You don't care about trying to be friends with me," Winter accused her. "No one has ever tried to be friends with me, but especially not you. You stand for everything I'm against. You want to see my company in ruins and my family suffer. Everything you do is for your own gain. You're trying to find dirt you can use on me, but I won't tolerate that. I have lived too much of my life underneath the thumb of another, and your, frankly, pitiful efforts to persuade me otherwise annoy me."
Sienna had to stifle a laugh, the crudeness of Winter's accusation barely grazing her. "I annoy you? Really?"
She didn't mean to extrapolate any further. The more she talked to Sienna Khan, the more she felt this horrible tightness in her chest. Just sitting this close made her feel uneasy in a way she couldn't quite describe. Yet, somehow, the words came tumbling out, and Winter's revulsion turned into a spectacular rant. "Yes. You annoy me. I don't like you. I don't like anything about you. Everything about you just annoys me to no end, including the way you are looking at me literally right now. And worse than that, I am convinced it's intentional. You enjoy annoying me. You are fully aware that you irritate me being in my presence, and you want me irritated because…"
Winter pursed her lips, turning away in shame. Sienna leaned in closer.
"Irritated because…" She lingered on the final syllable, trying to draw out Winter's reasoning. The Schnee felt Sienna draw closer to her, that fur frustratingly close to bristling against her skin. Her cheeks nearly turned a different shade before she willed them to be pale
"I don't know why," Winter confessed. And it pissed her off. "But I know you enjoy seeing me squirm, and I hate you for that."
Sienna pulled back slightly—not too far to give Winter a genuine reprieve, but enough to gather her thoughts. She let Winter simmer and melt for a few more moments, then slinked her way deeper inside her head.
"Let's go back to the torture thing," she said calmly. "Because you know what I consider torture? Trapping thousands of Faunus in your dangerous mines and refusing to let them leave."
Winter's flustered shame quickly turned to outright disdain. It was the casualness in which Sienna said it, just throwing it out unprompted, that made Winter's will harder than before. She finally had her answer. It made her more upset.
"So… revenge?" Winter asked coldly. "After everything I do for you, sacrificing billions to free your workers, you decide to get back at me for the sins of my family?"
Sienna smirked. "Oh, no. I have no issue with you there. I greatly appreciate your help."
Winter stared at her.
Sienna stared back.
What?
"Then… what? Shame?" Winter asked, confused. "You want me to feel ashamed that I don't support your people enough? Is that it? Whittle my defenses until I'm one of your allies?"
Sienna scoffed. "Oh, I don't think you're ever going to be an ally."
"What?"
"I mean, technically you are, but you aren't," Sienna confessed. "To be honest, while I would love for you to overcome your prejudices about the Faunus, I don't have high hopes. You don't strike me as a person overly willing to learn, and most Atlasians tend to be set in their ways by their teens. The brainwashing hits hard. No, I don't expect you to become a Faunus rights activist anytime soon."
"Then literally why are you bringing any of this up?" Winter demanded. Sienna just shrugged.
"I don't know."
That was… what? What?
"How do you not know?" Winter shouted, having to quiet herself when she realized she was still in a public place. "What are you planning? I know you are planning something!"
"I'm not planning anything," Sienna said innocently. "I know you think I'm this brilliant, conniving politician. It's the same thing Blake thinks of me, that I'm always scheming something. But honestly, sometimes I just like messing with people."
"I…" Winter stammered, gnashing her teeth. "I don't believe you."
"I know you don't believe me!" Sienna admitted with a laugh. "But it's true. You're this incredibly uptight Atlasian businesswoman who hates my guts, and it's kind of fun watching you squirm."
Winter tried her best not to explode. Her cheeks betrayed her and turned an awful shade of pink. This… this made no sense. It had no purpose behind it. No direction. She knew Sienna was an annoying nuisance, but now she was an annoying nuisance on purpose? For, what, fun? That was utter nonsense and only sent Winter into a further tailspin. The entire reason she was annoying was that she was a schemer and a manipulator, but now she wasn't even that? Did that make her more annoying or less annoying? It had to be more annoying. Look at her! Her face made Winter want to kill herself.
"Hey, can I ask you a question?" Sienna said suddenly. "Why do you hate my guts?"
Winter was so taken aback by the question she could hardly answer. In the empty air, Sienna could only speculate.
"Is it really because you just think I'm annoying?"
Yes, that!
"That can't be it."
Yes, it can. Couldn't it?
"No one just finds a person annoying, not to this degree. It's always something more personal than that. I was thinking it could be the racism."
Well, her Faunus traits did irritate her. Those big floopy ears with those little, soft tufts of fur sticking out…
"But I don't think it's just the racism either. It's definitely a little racism."
Racism was a bad word for it, though.
"And then there's the whole 'I blackmailed your sister' thing."
Oh yes, that was a very big contributing factor.
"But if that was the case, you would probably hate me in a more violent way. That doesn't explain… whatever this is."
This? There was no this. This wasn't a thing.
"So, I can't quite figure it out," Sienna confessed. "And honestly, that intrigues me. You're such a strange person, Winter; this idyllic Huntress so easily losing your cool with a few gentle prods, a Schnee devoted to tearing down your own legacy, an absolute pushover when it comes to your sister. There's something fascinating about that to me. And maybe something about me fascinates you, too. Maybe you really just get this messed up around a Faunus with a lisp. Am I getting close?"
Getting close… Winter didn't know where the hell they were. Weren't they supposed to be talking about some press release? How did this become a deep valuation of her internal psyche? Well, if Sienna wanted answers, Winter had bad news for her. She had no idea why Sienna bothered her so much. That weird, indescribable feeling in her chest just kept growing like a shadow until it snuffed out all the light inside of her. Everything about Sienna seemed to annoy her, every minuscule detail of her being, her posture, her voice, her beliefs, her heritage, her dress, her toes, her eyes… god, those smirking, hideous eyes. But it was a symptom, not the disease. By some unknown means, Sienna had rooted inside of her brain and was poisoning her from the inside out.
And wasn't that what Sienna had wanted all along? To break down the barriers between them? To know each other more intimately?
Before this conversation began, Sienna gave her an out. If she didn't enjoy their lunch, Sienna would leave her alone. Cut off contact. She would be at peace. But something compelled her to come here regardless, and now, something compelled her to stay at this very table. Winter hadn't been in touch with her own thoughts for a very long time. Jacques stole them from her, and even after reclaiming them, she had refused to explore the depths of her feelings, terrified of what she would find lingering behind, as if revisiting the scene of a crime. Sienna challenged her to go further.
Maybe that was all it was. A challenge. Or maybe she was going crazy. But she needed to know.
"I…" Winter said carefully, finding some courage to look Sienna in those godawful eyes. "I want you to stop annoying me on purpose. I don't… like that."
Sienna had to pause. Winter's stern, burly façade had crumbled into something far more genuine. It was the Winter she had desperately been looking for.
"I will dial it back," Sienna promised. "I was serious about wanting to get to know you. Teasing is fine, but I don't actually want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anybody."
Winter huffed. She would be the judge of that.
"And I want you to apologize for hitting me with your tail," Winter said firmly. "That was very rude, and I don't appreciate it."
Sienna bowed her head. "I'm for whacking you with my tail. You're right. That was probably too far. I won't touch you again without your consent."
"Thank you," Winter said cautiously. She didn't know what that last bit about consent implied, but she was willing to take the apology at face value. "And to be clear, I don't hate you."
"Okay, well…" Sienna said with a small smile. "You literally said you hated me two seconds."
"That's not real hate," Winter stated, smirking on her own. "Trust me… you'll know when I actually hate you."
Sienna laughed again. It was annoying. "Oh, don't worry. The feeling is mutual."
"…and that's basically everything," Goodwitch said, clasping her hands together. "So, is that enough?"
Cinder sat, eyes wide, lips zipped shut, dumbfounded at what had transpired. Ozpin and Goodwitch were grinning like mischievous cats, and the information swirling around Cinder's brain was so dense she could barely keep track of it all. It… it was so much. Not just the personal drama. Weaknesses. Injury history. Weapon failings. When she said she needed reasons not to support Team RWBY, they took it practically as well as personally. No need giving support to Huntresses that wouldn't win, right? Not to downplay the drama, because damn.
"That… that is quite fascinating," Cinder said breathlessly. "I never would have guessed."
"Imagine what we've had to deal with the past year," Ozpin sighed. "Quite the hassle."
"Quite indeed," Cinder nodded. "I'm going to need some time to process this."
"Well, I hope it's persuasive," Goodwitch said confidently. "If there's anything else that could be used against Team RWBY, we don't know of it."
Cinder smiled politely. Innocently. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll get plenty of use out of this…"