It was snowing in Atlas.

Far from unusual, certainly, but still noteworthy. It added a certain effect to the pristine area of tall, modern buildings, full of tall glass windows and shimmering metal which – in the freezing temperatures – burned with cold. All of this overlooking a small park space, complete with frost-dusted pines and grasping, dead-looking oaks which had long since lost their leaves as winter approached.

The combination created an intense business area, frequently bustling. Briefcases were found in abundance, carried by men in crisp suits at the forefront of fashion. To be in anything less than a bespoke suit was to be less than a real businessman. There were no cheap coffee shops here either, only artisanal espresso stops, and only frequented by the interns on collection runs.

It was late now, however. Easily past midnight, there were no suits to be seen. The only people around now were the ghosts of the business world, or those who had more important things to do than sleep.

Jacques Schnee was in his office, facing towards the large screen on the left wall, in front of the large windows. Bulletproof, of course; he had far too many enemies for them to be normal. They were even mirrored, to prevent any prying eyes from looking in.

He sat behind a long, polished desk of Mistral rosewood, which shone in the dim light. It was one of the most expensive items in the room, being harvested from one of the few remaining trees in an ever shrinking grove. In fact, its expense was second only to the Vacuan fire-whiskey Jacques was slowly sipping.

Aged slowly and carefully in charred oak barrels, it was carefully mixed with just enough burn dust to give it a distinct bite found nowhere else. The purity of dust required to prevent a toxic drink being made was the reason for the expense. So few dust crystals of that purity were mined – almost all from the Schnee mines, Jacques would be quick to add – that its price was extortionate. It was as much a statement of wealth as a fine drink, and one Jacques frequently employed. Particularly on nights as… difficult as this.

On the screen ahead of him, the news was still blaring about the recent attack on Vale… and on Beacon itself. Normally, he wouldn't care except to point out that he was right about the filth known as the White Fang… and to bemoan his drop in sales due to a reduction in customers. The latter behind closed doors of course, in public he would be required to say how terrible a tragedy it was.

Unfortunately, he was somewhat more vested since Weiss was currently in the middle of these events, having been at Beacon herself – against his wishes he might add. He blew air slowly out from his nose in a pronounced sigh, moustache ruffling slightly. He took great pride in his appearance at all times, but allowed himself a moment of less-than-perfect composure.

He would have to fetch her, of course. It had been a few days and she had still had not called. If she wouldn't wilfully face him, he would force it. It would not do for a Schnee to be caught in the middle of this. The apparent heiress especially, not that she truly was such any longer. That would be an interesting conversation. Jacques wondered if she'd cry, or beg. He'd respect her less, certainly, but at least he would know he still held the power.

Picking up his scroll, he dialled Klein quickly.

"Get my plane ready. We must head to Vale shortly."

That was all. No further words were deemed necessary. Klein was an efficient butler, and would see to the matter promptly.

He sipped from his crystal glass, imbued with ice dust, and stood. Jacques walked to the window, and gazed out over the small park outside. He had an excellent view, as befitting his station. Even here, where the wealthiest men on the planet did business, he was above them.

There was someone outside.

At the edge of the park near a quiet alleyway, a figure stood proudly. He – for it was a male – was facing the direction of the Schnee building. The man was plain, with no distinguishing looks. He stood wearing a dark waistcoat over a white shirt, with black trousers and shoes. Finally, a black coat that reached his calves billowed gently in the icy wind. Above his shoulders, two dark rods stood proud. Jacques wrinkled his nose.

A huntsman, complete with weapons.

The figure seemed unmoved by the chill, content to stare right into Jacques office window. Of course, he had no way of knowing Jacques was there.

As if on cue, the man turned towards the alley, and approached. At the entrance, he crouched slowly and held out a hand towards the dark.

After a moment, a far smaller figure appeared. It was a girl, dressed in rags, and shivering in the chill. Her long brown hair was dishevelled, and matted. She had clearly been sleeping outside for a long time.

But her hair did nothing to hide the long, drooping rabbit ears on the top of her head.

Jacques lip curled slightly. It seemed security had been getting lax if she could get into this area, even this late.

The girl took his hand, carefully and warily. He spoke gently, though Jacques could obviously not hear what was said. She replied, and he spoke again. She relaxed as he did so. He nodded, and swept his coat off of himself and onto her, revealing a crossed harness on his back for what Jacques presumed to be swords, and holsters at each hip for hand guns.

The man turned to look at Jacques – at the window, Jacques mentally corrected. Then the man quirked an eyebrow, as if in challenge, before standing and turning his back to the office. Jacques bristled at this impossible offense.

Still holding her hand, the man spoke to her again, before sweeping the girl off her feet and into his arms. He began carrying her away, without looking back.

Jacques stared long after he had gone. His scroll rang, breaking him from his reverie.

"Klein. What time will it be ready?"

Jacques nodded and gave affirmation, before ending the call.

It was time to fetch his daughter.