War is, therefore … a wonderful trinity, composed of the original violence of its elements, hatred and animosity, which may be looked upon as blind instinct; of the play of probabilities and chance, which make it a free activity of the soul; and of the subordinate nature of a political instrument, by which it belongs purely to the reason.

Chapter Text

"Winter, dearest snowflake, I don't mean to alarm you," said Chalk, murmuring conspiratorially over a flute of champagne, “but your father is approaching at a rather determined pace and I don't believe I can outrun him in these shoes."

"Chalk, love, give me your glass," stated Winter, in a tone as devoid of warmth as her family’s Dust mines. Chalk raised a bemused eyebrow and allowed Winter to pluck her glass from her fingers by its stem, then watched with an expression between curiosity and bewilderment as Winter downed it in a swallow.

"…Winter, my beautiful daughter, I have missed you."

Winter and Chalk exchanged Significant Glances. Chalk plucked the now-empty flute from Winter's fingers with an encouraging smile.

"Greetings, Father," said Winter, turning about slowly to face him. She was unsurprised to see him wearing the same double-breasted white suit he always wore to formal occasions. It was his privilege as a wealthy man to never have to worry about the shifting styles of fashion. Winter curled her fingers around her dress, before dropping into a curtsey so low her head was even with his waist. There was nothing familial in the obsequious motion, which would be clear to anyone within eyeshot.

"Please, Winter," scoffed Jacques, and as Winter straightened upright he pulled her into something approximating an embrace. Genuine shock fluttered through Winter's chest, subsiding only slightly when he pulled back to a respectable distance.

"Father, this is Xocolātl Adel, Brennan Adel's eldest daughter. She's a fellow Team Leader at Atlas Academy. We've become…" Winter's tongue seemed to make a dive for her throat, but Chalk just looked at her expectantly. "…Friends."

Chalk grinned a triumphant grin at having finally extracted that confession from Winter. And all it had taken was extreme duress. "Mister Schnee," greeted Chalk. She offered a courtly curtsey of her own, though with enough flair that there was nothing submissive about the gesture "It's an honor to finally meet you. Winter has told me so much about you."

"I'm sure she has," Jacques replied, his voice adopting a humorless tone. A tone that made it clear that he had no doubt that Winter's words had not been particularly warm ones. Chalk suppressed a wince, berating herself for misjudging his sense of humor. "Come, Winter, there are so many family issues to catch up on."

The emphasis on his words seemed to be directed not at Winter, but for Chalk's benefit. He was glaring at her like she was someone audacious enough to eavesdrop on a private family gathering. (Which, Winter wordlessly admitted, Chalk most certainly was.)

"I'll leave you two to rendezvous," said Chalk, offering an even shorter curtsey to conclude the conversation. Jacques turned his back and began strolling away, gesturing for Winter to follow with a snap of his fingers. Winter glared at the woman who’d deserted her and mouthed a word that Chalk chose to believe was 'pitch'.

"How have you been, father?" asked Winter, lengthening her stride slightly to catch up with him.

"Our profit margin is shrinking," Jacques answered, cutting straight to the issue that truly mattered to him. "White Fang attacks have more than doubled in the past six months. Insurance costs for shipments and facility security has skyrocketed, and on top of everything those terrorists have shut down our mine in Suikazura."

"I heard that was a labor strike," Winter replied, cautiously.

Jacques shot her a disappointed look. "Don't be a child, Winter. These are Faunus we're talking about." And this was not a crowd where he needed to worry about his words being overheard.

"One of my teammates is Faunus," Winter said, quietly but unashamedly. Sev, a third-generation Menagerian with a head of clipped quills instead of hair (and an attitude to match). It had been quite the journey getting to the point of amicability…

…But once they'd arrived at it, though, Winter could never see the world through her father's eyes as she once had. She had no delusions that she was a poster-child for progressiveness, not when many of her fellow students (and one roommate) were already actively engaged in Faunus rights campaigns. Beliefs internalized over a lifetime of indoctrination did not evaporate in mere months.

Perhaps more than sympathy for Faunus, what Winter felt was scorn for the sentiments of her father and his coterie, their unthinking demonization and Othering. It was just so childish, Winter had had no choice but to conclude, wasteful and destructive. A fear of difference that Jacques Schnee had somehow never quite grown out of, calcifying into xenophobia with adulthood. A worldview he reinforced with a healthy diet of sensationalist tabloids and pseudoscientific studies.

Jacques looked like he'd swallowed something rotten. "Well then, Winter, that should make coming home that much easier."

Winter almost tripped over her feet. "Excuse me?"

"Come home," repeated Jacques, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world ."You were right, sending you to Atlas Academy was a mistake. James runs it like a dictatorship, doesn't he, forcing his beliefs on his students. Students, bah. All he sees are more toy soldiers for him to play his war games with, of course."

Winter's whole body felt unnerved. There were so many things wrong with what her father was saying it was setting off alarms from her epidermis to her gastrointestinal tract, her whole body perturbed and disturbed. "You want me… to leave the Academy?"

"Yes. I think I've let James do quite enough damage to my firstborn daughter. Perhaps in a year or two you can try another academy. Beacon, maybe. Something a little less… martial." Jacques continued making his way through the ballroom, shooing off anyone who tried to pull him away from his daughter.

"I didn't realize that bothered you so, father," Winter replied. Jacques said nothing, well aware that his polite lies were being called out by a daughter who knew him oh-too-well.

"It's not about me," Jacques lied, making a summoning gesture with his hand. "Your little sister misses you something awful."

The barb in that last adverb was lost on Winter as a portly man in a tux stepped aside to reveal… "Weiss."

Winter's stomached clenched. It had only been a few months since she'd last seen Weiss, truthfully, but Winter felt like she'd missed so much. Gone was the girl who'd barely hit puberty, petrified by the changes happening to her body and mind. Standing before Winter was a young lady of high society, not even a débutante, unfamiliar with the intricacies of a ballroom. Weiss wore a short white dress that glistened softly in the light, snowy hair falling over bare shoulders. For just a moment, she was smiling from ear to ear.

Weiss composed herself in a heartbeat, offering her sister a flawless curtsy, which Winter reciprocated a tad belatedly. "How have you been?" asked Winter, aware of the dozen ears and eyes turned to their conversation. Their father's undoubtedly included.

"Very well, thank you for asking," answered Weiss, with the socially apropos measure of formality in her tone. "How are you enjoying Atlas Academy?"

Winter thought back to all those eyes and ears. At what they didn't want to hear. "…Very much, Weiss. I'm actually thinking I might join the Service after graduation, as a commissioned Huntress. Or even a Specialist."

Weiss blinked, genuinely surprised by the answer. "But… I…" Weiss began fidgeting with her hands. "Father said you would be returning home in a few weeks."

Winter's exhale came out jagged. "He told you that?"

Her younger sister nodded readily. "Yes. He's talked to me about how you hate it there. I am so sorry to hear that, Winter." There was genuine pain in Weiss' voice, which seemed to claw at Winter's chest.

Winter's fingernails dug deep into the flesh of her palm. "It's not that bad, Weiss," Winter replied, though she knew her words would sound hollow, a post hoc rationalization to her sister's ear. Winter leaned forward. Even wearing stiletto heels Weiss was nowhere near her sister's height, and the trajectory of her growth suggested she'd never reach it.

"How is mother?" Winter's voice dropped to a low murmur, impossible to hear over the conversations and footsteps and music.

Weiss squeezed her eyelids shut, steeling herself for something she did not want to say. "She's getting worse." Winter said nothing, but stared into her sister's eyes once they opened. "She's drinking. More than before, I mean."

"Is she causing trouble?"

Weiss shook her head. "No. It's more like…" Weiss cast a guilty glance over her shoulder "…she's not there anymore. She's shutting herself up, shutting us out. I can't… I can't…" Weiss rubbed her eyes, then straightened upright. She was still a Schnee, after all, and Schnees were too damn prideful to tear up in public.

"I understand," said Winter. It was a bit of a lie, but a lie was the best she could give Weiss right now.

"So now that the two of you are all caught up…" Jacques' voice was loud and abrasive to Winter's ear, his tone making it clear that he knew exactly what his daughters had discussed. "I trust you'll submit the paperwork to withdraw tomorrow morning?"

Her father looked at her with determination in his eyes. Weiss' were pleading. Between them, it was as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and she was struggling just to stand upright…

"…Actually, Father, I think I'd like to continue my studies at the Academy."

Somewhere behind her, someone dropped a bottle of something very expensive. She chose to believe it was a coincidence.

"Winter…" There was nothing paternal about Jacques' tone. His daughter's back straightened. "Winter… I'm not sure if the money will be there for tuition at Atlas Academy."

Winter's jaw actually dropped at the audacity of her father's claim. She'd seen the costs simply of keeping his mansions free from literal dust. The cost of four years at Atlas wouldn’t cover a season's topiary. Her brain properly parsed the sentence a few moments later - he hadn't said that they could not afford tuition. Simply that the money wouldn't be available for such an expenditure.

"I would like to attend regardless. My allowance would cover most of the expenses."

Winter was pretty sure her father actually growled at that. "Then I will have to reduce that allowance until you find something more prudent to spend it on." He paused, his eye twitching as if he was sizing her up for a fight. "How about I take you shopping this weekend? We can buy you, oh, some new shoes. Daddy's treat." His words caused Winter to cool so rapidly it was quite possible her blood was crystallizing.

"It's getting late, Father, and I'm afraid I have an early day tomorrow." If he could lie to her face, she could return the favor. “And Weiss,” something guilty shot through her veins as she spoke her sister’s name ”...I promise I’ll message your Scroll first thing in the morning.” Winter had a very hard time believe that that was the best she was capable of doing in this situation, but her mind denied her anything better. She squashed the feeling of shame before it could fester. At least for the moment. “Now, if you'll excuse me, father." She curtsied once again, low and genuflecting, but there was no mistaking the gesture for submission.

Winter spun on her heel and stormed off before her father could utter another word. Chalk caught up with her not ten paces into her march, a glass of bubbly in either hand.

Jacques' eyes followed his eldest daughter until the crowd enveloped her entirely. He stood still for several long moments, his expression devoid of emotion, before he took Weiss' hand in his.

"We're going home, Weiss," he stated, in a tone that left no allowance for defiance.

"And Winter-"

"She's coming home too, Weiss."

She just doesn't know it yet.

CODA

"You're supposed to hold my hair," Chalk chided, her voice echoing from the bowels of a toilet bowl. "It's what friends do for friends…in the movies…."

Winter, seated on the lip of a porcelain bathtub, made a gesture of helplessness. "Your hair doesn't reach your shoulders."

Chalk dry-heaved again, then made an indistinctly pitiful sound. Winter grumbled something similarly inarticulate in reply, then leaned forward anyways. There wasn't really a lot she could do with Chalk's asymmetric bob, but Winter ran her fingers through chocolate-colored hair regardless.

"Mmmh," hummed Chalk, the noise rumbling in the ceramic echo chamber. "Feels nice."

Winter rolled her eyes. "This makes us even for you buying the airship ticket back."

"Love you, Winter," Chalk managed to get out, before her whole body convulsed again.

Despite ages of words of poets and sages, Chalk had long learned that love was a simple thing. Joy for another's happiness; sorrow at their pain.

"Love you, too, Chalk," Winter replied with a weary sigh.

It had eluded Jacques Schnee all the same.