(Hello beautiful people! I'm here with the official reWrite of Schnee swap! The ideas and some polishing were done by Vastheawesomeness, Author of "Whitley's dilema" and "Prince among thorns" so check em out, they're a huge help and the whole reason I'm rewriting this! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!)
Today.
The word echoed in the cold empty palace that was his mind. This day had seemed like a dream for so long, but now his frail body was hanging off the side of his bed, filled with excitement that was near impossible to express! His usual mask no longer affected him now that he was alone; the youngest Schnee let out a satisfied smirk and a sigh.
Today was the day it was all building up to, the day he would have his...revenge.
Revenge was such a foreign yet appealing concept; for so long now it only felt like the frigid temperatures of planning, patience and persistence, with only the promise of reward to keep him going. It felt like a far off goal that he sometimes thought would never come to light.
But now, here it was….and it was glorious.
The sunlight of Atlas danced off the fresh morning snow and into the glass window, lighting the soft blue and white room of the Schnee. It was neat, absolutely everything in its proper place. In one corner were neatly piled clothes with labels on the ground before them, one for each day of the week. In another was a keyboard and a pair of headphones; he used these when he wanted privacy. Otherwise, it'd be the cold ivory keys of the grand piano down the maze-like halls - in comparison, his keyboard had a certain sense of….comfort and safety. Yet another corner was a door - his private bathroom, connected to his room. It was certainly convenient in that he didn't have to traverse the frozen hallways of the manor at night just to find the bathroom.
Lastly was his bed, sat in the final corner of the room right below a window that showered the snowflake patterned covers with rays of light.
His room was perfect. Everything had its place, everything had a label if needed, a certain corner and so on - it was simply orderly and perfect.
He should stop praising himself over how proud he is over his room. The young lad had much more pressing matters to attend to. First order of business was to get dressed.
The day was Monday, a fitting start to what looked to be a promising week. The sheets were glided over to the end of the bed, and his feet made contact with the ground with a quick 'Thump!'
The contact with the floor was easily the worst shock of the day - no matter how many times he would try to get used to it, the shock of a cold floor to his relatively warm feet was nothing short of unsettling.
Again it mattered not. The unmoving thought of the bigger picture motivated the Schnee to move forward with purpose. His steps were full of pride and promise, large strides taking him over to the clothes piles like the cold floor was not affecting him at all.
Bony pale hands wandered down to pick up the first item of clothing - his underwear, a simple pair of blue boxers. He continued with article after article of clothing until he stopped suddenly to look at himself in the mirror seated by the clothes piles. What he saw in it was….infuriating.
Those bruises, ugly and brown on his otherwise perfect pale skin. Reminders of times he wasn't careful enough around father, or simple notes on how he needed to try harder in training. He was good enough….he would push himself, just to spite these blemishes that thought they had the right to be on perfectly pristine pale skin!
His training…..now where should one begin with that? This whole end goal was the reason the boy pushed himself through hell and back and thensome. At first, it had started with pushups and extra food portions to try and 'beef himself up' so to say, and even those had felt like torture on his brittle bones.
Yet every time he came to the decision to up the training or quit, he never backed down. If Whitley had one thing going for him, it was his persistence….or just plain stubbornness.
When the time came that he had felt his body was ready, he had needed to take the next step and craft his own weapon. Now what would a fine member of the Schnee family like himself possibly deem worthy as a tool for extending his greatness to the masses?
To be blunt….it was a knife. It was simple, and commonly deemed as one of the less dangerous weapons one could have, and that's exactly why he chose it. He compared it . . . to a pawn. Sure, there were more powerful pieces, stronger weapons to use, but the biggest advantage of a pawn is the ability to become something better than itself. Besides, isn't it a valid strategy, considering that a pawn is perfectly capable of taking down kings and therefore entire armies?
the boy improved on the knife. Well not him, rather, he used one of his connections to improve the knife for him. He was a businessman after all and you can't very well deal with Jacques for most of your life without picking up on one or two of his more useful practices and tricks.
His connection obeyed his orders completely (as one should for a Schnee), and his weapon was born - Morddulch, a knife that could turn into a spear and hold three different types of dust. Why, it was genius! Such a destructive and capable weapon in the right hands, and who would suspect a simple knife wielder to hold it?
Yes… looking back on his achievements, it made those bruises seem almost worth it. Almost….
By now Whitley was fully dressed in his usual attire - a snow white vest with red lining over top and a more creamy white short sleeve shirt below. His tie was a deep red, his pants a soft pale blue and dress shoes being black, of course (like any good shoes are).
It would finally start today…. Finally, after these years of careful planning and waiting, it would finally be time for - oh! The sound of Klein knocking probably meant that his breakfast was ready. Plenty of time to think about the revenge he was going to have later.
/
Crumbs, all that remained of his breakfast, were swept away from the corners of his mouth by a black handkerchief the Schnee kept in his breast pocket. Delicious as always; he should thank Klein for it before he leaves. Well...if he remembers to. He might not have time after….
"Good morning, Mistress Weiss."
Ah, the sound of Klein welcoming his….dear...sister to the table.
This was the reason he was doing this.
But to understand that is a story in itself; one that began when Winter left to be Ironwood's personal military lapdog.
All he needed to remind himself of right now was that Weiss was the one who made no effort to try and reconcile with him after Winter left; she was the one who was favored, she was the heir to the company he KNEW he deserved, she was the one taking away his dream!
And so, he would take away hers.
Was it a bit too petty to take away your sister's dream out of spite? Perhaps so, but he was not a good person...only a good businessman.
She would have to learn that she should not mess with his dream unless she was prepared to face the consequences of her actions.
The memories started to flood back - all the slaps and hits and bruises because Weiss disobeyed a command their father had made, all the times that he had had to be so careful around his father, like he was stepping in a damned minefield!
But….what of his reaction? What did he convey to Weiss, the object of his hate (and...love strangely enough….complicated feelings to be pushed into the back of his mind)? Well, he simply gave a nod and a oddly genuine smile.
"Good morning, sister. Breakfast is delicious, as always."
Normally, a twitch of her eye or a sigh of annoyance would not have been out of the ordinary as her response. But today was a day Weiss had already decided would be a good day, and not even her strangely peppy brother would change that.
"Is it? I'll have to try it for myself"
And that was it. No lengthy conversation or sibling rivalry this morning. Why, she knew nothing, and it was so painfully amazing to watch! If he could savor the moment when her face would soon go into complete shock. Maybe it would make all those months upon months of grueling training seem like it was nothing!
And there they sat, not making a sound or so much as looking at each other. It was like any other day in this household. He would try to reach out with a smile and she would reject it almost instantly.
Eventually, Weiss finished eating and stood up abruptly, before making her way down the hall. She didn't tell him where she was going but…..he knew. And it was time.
It was finally finally FINALLY time to get his revenge on Weiss Schnee, and steal her dream of being a huntress from right under her!
...Tap...tap...tap
The sounds of her heels clicking the ground.
Bump….bump…..bump…
The sound of his shoes clamping onto the ground.
… … …
And the sound of tension was silent, yet it was so thick it was like he had trouble breathing in it.
"What do you think you're-!"
She snapped and turned around at him, annoyance very clear in that high pitched tone. But alas, she was cut off. Oh, how he would miss another unwarranted verbal lashing from his loving sister….Not.
It was their father that interrupted her, just now coming from the other side of the door before them.
"Weiss, Whitley. Good to see you two made it on time." The man gave a smile….an unsettling smile given the circumstances surrounding it.
The same smile he had given last night.
Yes, this man was in on the plan to let his two dear children fight to the near death over - well it didn't matter what it was over! There was no excuse for allowing; he was a monster. But monster or not, he did unfortunately have some importance in this plan for revenge. His revenge on his father could wait for another time. Patience leads to great things, Whitley.
"What are you talking about?! Why is he here?!" Weiss protested, her shrill voice rousing with anger. She even stomped her foot on the ground, like she thought she was actually intimidating.
"Were you not aware? You're not the only one contending to go to Beacon today. What kind of father would I be if I didn't give both my lovely children a fair chance?"
Whatever helps you sleep at night, abusive bastard. Justifying what is basically child cage fighting and making yourself seem like the good guy? He did get his manipulative side from someone, as loathed as he was to admit it.
"This is absurd! He can't even fight!" His sister pointed to him.
Whitley let out a slight chuckle as he inspected his nails, as if to say she wasn't even worth looking at.
"Oh? And since when did you know so much about my fighting technique? It's not like you ever offered for me to join you."
"WHAT?! Why didn't you ever tell me you could fight?!"
Because seeing that stunned look on your face is strangely pleasing to my sadistic side? Or maybe it was the years of you ignoring me while I downright protected you from our father's abuse?
"It must have slipped my mind." He replied casually, keeping a straight face as he stepped forward. "Now dear sister, why don't we get this over with?"
"Fine," she replied, venom dripping off the end of the word.
The two siblings stepped into the chamber. It was originally a concert hall, but it had been completely cleared out, and the stage made into a battle arena with fences along the sides. Many statues of knights stood looking down at them from the edge of the ring, the grand white and blue of the hall sparkling in the daylight. It was nothing short of glamorous, and he could only describe it as a fitting place for this fight. Typical of Father.
Weiss was completely silent. He knew why of course; it was simple. She was determined not to let him ruin her chance at going to Beacon. She will underestimate him, though, and that would be the exact thing that spelled her downfall.
"Ready?" Jacques's voice called out.
The two took out their weapons. Weiss's rapier was a tricky thing to counter, but spears are often known at their excellent ways of dealing with such short ranged weapons as swords. Whitley took out Morddulch in its knife form, and his sister smirked.
Go on and underestimate me….
"Begin!" The overgrown bush hair lip declared with a grin that seemed to spell out how terrible he truly was.
"Now wa-"
Weiss was cut off by a 'THUD!'
When did….when did he get so fast?! The only thing that was left of where Whitley originally stood were black skid marks from his shoes.
That thud noise….she looked to her sword hand to find her rapier had been knocked out of it. Rather than let herself be pushed so easily, Weiss lept backwards and grabbed her rapier back.
As she looked up to calculate her next move- the only sight there to greet her was the bottom of Whitley's dress shoes.
SMACK!
Weiss was propelled backwards and skid across the ground until she stabbed her rapier into the ground and pushed herself up. That was it, NO MORE MISSES NICE SCHNEE!
A glyph began to appear below her, the markings befitting her family name. She would use it to jump forward and use the longer range of her sword to attempt to slash at the boy in front of her.
She charged -
'CLANG'
What?!
The knife had changed; it had elongated into a silver and black spear and it had countered her blade. He used the ground he was on to overpower her and knock her to the side.
She landed upright and ready to return to the fight, growling slightly.
"You may be fast, but you don't have the glyphs!" Weiss declared, letting a dark glyph appear below Whitley to keep him in place.
She began to walk. Click...click….click….
"Now I can finally…"
Click….click….stop?
"What?"
Weiss seemed to be stuck too - looking down, she could barely make out a second black glyph below her.
"What was that, my dear sister?" For once in a lifetime Whitley gave her a genuine grin - a cocky, maniacal grin.
"That doesn't matter, I can still-"
Once again, the heiress was cut off - this time by ice suddenly freezing her weapon's barrel in place, causing her to flinch and the glyph she had placed to drop.
She was stuck in place now, and Whitley wasn't dumb enough to let himself stand too close. Instead he would make use of the fire dust in his weapon and continually fire at her.
Stuck in place, she had to use her aura and rapier to block it….and it was draining her, quickly.
"Now, I can finally…"
FWOOSH.
CLANG.
"Get!"
FWOOSH.
CRASH.
"MY REVENGE!"
FWOOSH.
"Gah!"
Her aura dropped into the red - the fight should have been over, and Whitley should have noticed it. But his mask had dropped, and he wasn't paying attention to anything else.
That cold palace of his mind was now a roaring fire of passion and hate. He paid no attention to the aura levels as Morddulch shortened back into a knife, and he lunged at her one final time.
"You can't have your cake and eat it too!"
It was too fast for her to react, she screamed out before-
It happened.
Blood dripped down from the skin over her eye, the lids closed and tears formed… she quietly began to sob.
What...what have I done?