Whitley Schnee

For all... bugkind? Whitley decided not to ask about that. He was much more interested in this kingdom named Hallownest. Learning about other cultures hadn’t been incredibly emphasized in his lessons, and he found himself wanting to know more. One of the admittedly probably few good qualities about him was his desire for knowledge of all kinds.  He looked startled at Grimm’s suggestion, but put a hand to his chin. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, really... More and more in his own home it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to survive without knowing at least basic self defense. “...If you would be so kind as to teach me, then...” he paused for a moment longer before looking at the ground and steeling himself. “Then I would like to take you up on that offer.” 

Whitley followed without any more complaints, folding his wrists behind his back.  “My world is called Remnant,” he said, once again the perfect vision of an important company heir. “and I hail from the city of Atlas. We live in the clouds, so it’s quite cold there. Our nation is protected by a highly skilled military and we boast some of the most advanced technology available, thanks in no small part to the Schnee Dust Corporation.” He says it almost robotically, like it’s something he’s repeated a thousand times before. He was used to talking up Atlas to foreign companies, after all.  “Atlas is filled with society’s best, and my father-” he trips on the word and winces. Now that he was able to live without his father, just mentioning him threw him off. “Ahem. I mean, the president of Schnee Dust Corporation before me ensured that everyone was well cared for...” he trailed off, brows furrowing. It felt wrong to sing Jacques’ praises like he always had. Now that he knew the kind of suffering his father had caused- no, he’d been aware of it for awhile. Now that he was acknowledging it, he couldn’t stand to build the man up. He pressed his lips together. Best to change topics for now.  “What of your world?” 

Whitley blinked, his guard dropping just a bit further. The more and more Grimm talked, the more Whitley found he was... nothing like the creatures he resembled.  He flushed as Grimm pointed out his lack of combat expertise. “N-no, I don’t. My nation’s military has ensured I never had need to,” he said indignantly. Except... that wasn’t exactly true anymore, was it? The military had failed everyone. And who had been the ones to save what was left of them? His sister and her friends. He used to abhor the hunters and huntresses, but in the end, those had been the people that saved his city.  “You speak like you’re from a different world. What... world do you hail from, then?” 

Whitley had been against participating in this. It screamed danger, and not at all suited for his skill set- which was, of course, entirely lacking in combat skills of any kind. He hugs his arms around himself, looking around the space they’d been transported to.  But... well, Oscar had been going in, and the boy beside him had been about to only person from his own world he’d seen. There was a level of familiarity here, and familiarity was something he was sorely lacking in this world.  He just... hoped the other boy would keep him safe. He travelled around with his sister and her crew, so he had to have some kind of heart of gold like the rest of them, right..?  “A town,” he repeated, looking around. He might actually be useful in a town. Towns had people to talk to, and Whitley was good at talking. “That... sounds good,” he agreed. He shuffled closer to Oscar, eyes still darting around. He didn’t want to admit he was scared, but... He’d never been out in the wild like this, even if it wasn’t real. 

Whitley watched in amazement as Grimm conjured a rose from thin air. That... didn’t seem like a thing the monstrous creatures he knew could do. Maybe a semblance..? If it was a semblance, that was further proof this... person was a sentient, free being.  He reached out a hesitant, still trembling hand and took the rose. Roses had begun to become something like a symbol of hope for him, just like many of the people who knew a certain girl in a red coat. “My name is Whitley,” he said, voice still laced with fear. At least he was introducing himself properly, now. “Whitley Schnee. It’s... It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  As he spoke, he seemed to gain confidence. Going through his normal routine of formal introductions was strangely comforting. This was something he knew how to do. He knew how to be polite and introduce himself and the proper mannerisms for it all. He put a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. “I apologize as well. You... reminded me of certain creatures.” He shuddered at the thought of the Grimm. He’d very nearly been killed by them on multiple occasions, after all. 

“Then you... won’t kill me?” he asked, hope creeping into his voice. He certainly didn’t want to die. He had things he could still do to help, ambitions he still wanted to see realized. He felt like, at this moment, he would do anything to keep living. Anything to see his family again, now that they finally were reaching out to each other. He was still pressed against the bookshelf, looking scared, but now there was a large amount of uncertainty mixed in as well. He didn’t know what to do, and he felt like his life depended on making the right choices.  

Whitley stared, utterly bewildered and mostly terrified by the creature in front of him. But... he called himself a bug. Grimm could take the form of bugs, though, right..? Oh, now Whitley regretted that he’d so disregarded huntsmen. Maybe if he’d studied a bit more, then he’d know what kind of situation he was in.  But this... bug was willing to talk to him. Maybe it wasn’t completely under Salem’s thrall. “Right...” he answered, pressing himself fully against the bookshelf to create as much space as possible between them. His breathing was completely asynchronous, coming in and out in rapid, uneven intervals. What did you expect from him? He was a 15 year old boy facing one of his worst nightmares. Except it was talking and rationalizing with him.  “Do you work for Salem?” he asked in a single exhale, almost inaudible. It was so hard to get words out. This was terrifying. He hadn’t expected to find a Grimm here, much less a sentient one that spoke to him as if it meant no harm. 

Whitley was quickly arriving at the end of his rope. It was stressful being a 15 year old kid in a new place with absolutely no one he knew and no income or connections. He’d already cried about it privately, of course, but at this rate he felt like he was going to have a meltdown in the street.  That’s why when he first saw a familiar figure, he almost believed he was hallucinating. It didn’t stop him from running up and grabbing her sleeve, though, eyes wide and scared.  “You’re... Blake, right..?” he asked. He almost didn’t want to hear the answer. 

Whitley nearly screamed when there was suddenly a voice behind him, and then nearly did again when he turned to see who- or in this case, what- it was. He didn’t, though, if only because it felt like there was something in his throat keeping his voice from coming out.  “Wh..wha..?” he managed to stutter out. Was this... a grimm? It looked like one, with it’s coloration, but... He’d never heard a grimm talk fluently before. Nor one that didn’t attack on sight. And if a grimm was here, did that mean Salem was as well?  “What are you?” he blurted when he finally found his words. He backed up a few steps until his back bumped into a bookcase. Oh, no. Oh, no. He was trapped, and his mother wasn’t here to save him this time. (No surprises there- she was never there to save him before. Once was an exception that proved the rule. But this time... well, it wasn’t really her fault.)  This thing was sentient, though. And it... hadn’t seemed outright hostile. Maybe it could be reasoned with? Whitley was good at that. He had been a diplomat countless times, serving in his father’s stead in more minor meetings and making connections at parties. If there was one thing Whitley could do, it was talk. Though, perhaps his earlier question wasn’t the best start. 

Whitley sniffed, looking Yamato up and down. He didn’t really have a better option. “Alright,” he agreed simply, stepping aside so Yamato could lead him. It was an honestly generous offer, one he’d expect of someone trying to help him in the hopes of gaining his father’s ear. The stupid ones. As if his father would ever care about someone who helped Whitley.  But he didn’t have his estate here. He didn’t have the wealth or fame that came with being a Schnee. This man was just... nice, he supposed. He glanced down at the ground, a small frown on his face. “Thank you,” he muttered. 

Oh, he was coming closer. Fantastic. He only needed more reasons to be embarrassed! “I was unaware that your proposed route needed turns to begin with,” he countered, drawing himself up with a dignified air once more. “Perhaps you could be a bit clearer this time? I do have business to attend to.” The shame that made his cheeks hot turned his tongue sharp before he could stop it. He didn’t really mean to be that short with this man, but he was getting frustrated and tired. He never would have had to deal with this at home.  ...Thought, at home he was dealing with Grimm attacks and his father in prison and his mother suddenly showing that she cared about him, and a whole slew of other things, so maybe this was preferable. 

Whitley’s cheeks grew gradually pinker. He hated people making a fool of him. He was about to throw his hands up and storm off, probably getting himself even more lost, when Yamato finally stopped teasing him. Almost stopped teasing him.  “I can handle that perfectly fine,” he huffed, scowling. “Thank you for your assistance.” He gave a curt bow. Even if this man was going to be rude, Whitley still had his manners.  He brushed past Yamato, going in the direction Yamato had gestured. Honestly, could he have been any more vague in his gesture? At least it was a direction, Whitley supposed.  After a few more minutes of walking around- the directions had been virtually useless after the first corner- he nearly let out a shout of frustration. How could this city be so confusing?! He was about to double back and see if the other road lead him somewhere, when he spotted a now-familiar head of brown hair.  You had to be kidding him.

40. Talk about school. Did you go? What classes were you the strongest in? The weakest? Did you do any sports? Were you popular/loner? Bullied? A bully? College? What degree did you get?  “School, hm? Well, I’m homeschooled, of course. Father brought in the finest tutors for my sisters and I, though they both ran off. I excel at all my subjects, though I do particularly well in mathematics. My original plan was to attend college in Atlas, though I don’t know if I will have the time since I have to run the company now...”  41. Can you swim? At what age did you learn if you did? Have you swam in the ocean/lake or just in a pool? The last time you did swim?  “Er... swimming..? Ahem. Well. That particular skillset was never needed where I’m from. Most bodies of water are frozen over for most of the year in Atlas, due to the high altitude. So, no, I cannot swim, but I’ve never had a need to.” 

27. Are you an open person or are you closed off?  “Closed off, if you must know. I don’t see why other people need to know what my business is. Besides, I’m a member of the Schnee family. We’re important political figures, and making the details of our private lives public is, to put it in simplest terms, stupid.” 

Whitley decided he did not like this man. If there was someone who was going to be a smarmy, sarcastic jerk, it was going to be him, thank you. Well, he was trying to work on not doing that, but hey! It’s been his brand for awhile.  “If you are so insistent that I’m lost, then why don’t you tell me where I am?” he asked, making sure to never outright admit that he was lost. He folded his arms over his chest, staring pointedly at Yamato.  He really had no clue where he was. He knew he would have to depend on this stranger to get back to his lodgings, much as he didn’t want to. The question was how much this man was going to degrade him before he gave him directions. Whitley could only hope the answer was not much.