Heir Groomed

   “Wendy I’ve told you a THOUSAND times over–

[moments ago]

   “Wint–”

   Tone cut, the young Schnee startled as he near tumbles into his eldest of sisters; unaware that her presence even still lingered within the manor. Near instantaneously that familiar sensation of hurt begins to rise to transform into contempt, to shrug away the eldest with nothing more than backhanded comments to her wish of a ‘discussion’.

   But oh, how he found himself tongue-tied with a wrapped gift thrust forward, and nothing more than faltering features and blinking eyes are present as hands coil around the offering. Lips part, close, and part again, Whitley finding it far too difficult to seek his voice.

   “I–…

       Thank…you, Winter.”

As he closed the distance between them, Oscar began to think he understood why the general had insisted that he go check on the other boy. More than their age. Hazel eyes couldn’t help but drop from the other’s icy gaze to take note of the spots that were familiar from family pictures, little (distant) cousins, and his own skin. Different, of course, but not so much that he couldn’t see them for what they were. 

And why they might be hidden. 

Almost, without thought, his gaze darted up for a moment, before he forced it back down to meet blue again. He…didn’t want to think about what he thought he saw in drenched hair. Not until he was sure. Not here, in Atlas. 

“I mean, yeah. I, um….I know you don’t really know me or anything, but I saw what the others did and…it was awful. They aren’t bad people but they can be…really awful sometimes, and I’m sorry this happened. I was…uh…actually wondering if you’d let me help?” He held his arm with the opposite hand, as he offered the other teen a small smile.

“I didn’t really…grow up in all this—obviously.” He wasn’t sure if the hand motion he made next was meant to refer to the wealth of the manor, the political chess game they were both caught in, or Atlas itself. All could fit, though. “But growing up where I did, I got really good at getting stains out of clothes.”

   Scouring eyes are not quite ignored, and as the other Faunus approaches, Whitley’s cheeks flush with crimson; skinny fingers risen in an attempt to hide the blemishes adorned. He hadn’t been thinking, too preoccupied with the shock of it all to even imagine the dripping of light foundation, and ever lucky did he feel that it was this boy rather than any of father’s guests.

   Even still, shame flurried in his chest, the young Schnee forcing his head down and to turn; to shadow exposed features and tear his gaze away. 

   “Awful is a very POLITE way of describing them.”

   Tongue bitten between teeth and it takes a handful of slow, steady breathes to swallow back lingering frustrations. The caused scene was one thing in itself, but being approached by the farmhand was an entirely different sensation of humiliation and fear. Yet, Whitley knew who this other boy had been glued to during the night; the very man that his father was attempting to ruin, and the very man Whitley was taught to see as a menace to their lifestyle--perhaps he couldn’t trust Oscar after-all. 

   Or perhaps, it was a concrete reason to do just that. 

   Lips knead together, words are caught, and defeat escapes through pale lips as hands finally fall away from cheeks.

   “I would expect no less from you,”

   But, the weight of the box in his hands certainly tells him differently. Curious brows knit, lips round in wonder, and as Emerald further explains herself, the lid is pried off to give shine to that crossbow. Briefly, Whitley’s unsure of its intention–weaponry, he was never known to take much a liking to it all, taught that someone of his stature held no need to ever worry about self-defense.

   –Though, things were different now. Perhaps it was time to pick up a new skill, ‘lest he find himself nothing more than dead-weight for Emerald to heft around.

   Weaponry is not instantly tested, and lid is replaced before icy eyes flicker and rise, garnering Emerald with a Chesire grin that begins to fade into a sincere smile.

   “Thank you, Emerald. I will do my best not to look a fool wielding this–”

   No promises, though.

M E D I E V A L . tired eyes. coffee stains on the table. listening to the bustle of the city. unmade beds. loose ponytails. sunlight seeping through the curtains. chapped lips. walking barefoot across the floorboards. dusty dictionaries. black and white reruns. huge sweaters. the ticking of the clock. hearing birds in the morning. fireplaces. falling asleep during class.

R E N A I S S A N C E. freckles. the sun rising. watching the sea. taking shots of the city. historical museums. bright eyes. looking up at the clouds. walls covered in artworks. drawing in the middle of lessons. tracing your fingers on the sand. painting for hours. staying in uncrowded coffee-shops. worn paperbacks. messy braids. going to bed with your knee-socks on.

B A R O Q U E. dark hair. a little sophisticated. always observing the world around you. intricate designs. high ceilings. extravagant musical pieces. dim lights. colourless photographs. fancy furniture. pale skin. hearing soft footfalls coming from outside the room. mischievous looks. bitten nails. candlelight dinners. dark shades of lipstick.

C L A S S I C A L. chandeliers. the clinking of a teacup mug. laced clothing. modern architecture. light hair. watching the view from the terrace. hidden birthmarks. drinking tea in the morning. wandering about in an empty building. botanical gardens. old films. ancient marble sculptures. expensive perfume. breakfasts in bed. reading about mythology.

R O M A N T I C. compassion. short writings on scraps of paper. blushed cheeks. a bouquet of roses. reading collections of poetry late at night. loose hair. carpeted floors. attending operas. faint music playing in the background. staying under the covers until midday. the night sky. streetlights. picking flowers. dancing around in silk dresses. scented candles.

   Oh dear; now his gift, along with a thinly veiled comment of aggressiveness certainly paled in comparison. Perhaps the boy should have better thought it through, but in the end, he barely knew Winter, and the last thing he could recall were any personal likes.

   Unlike her though it seemed as she kept in mind his enthusiasm for the violin. Ever careful are hands when holding the box atop both, bright eyes flickered down to scour the carved bow and admire the lettering etched upon. The longer his stare lingers, the more guilt begins to bite down with iron jaws, and forced to turn head away is the young Schnee before attempting to murmur.

   “…Thank you, Winter.

   “Yes, sister?”

   A curious lilt quickly lost as hands are grasped around a gifted box, blued eyes blinking thrice over in growing bewilderment. Gift giving had–…well, it hadn’t been a custom in their home for years. Not since Winter left, not since the chill had begun to surround the manor and place it into it’s own wintry globe. 

   There are no words properly said, only a round of lips as lid is removed and that camera nestled comfortably is shown to light. At first, he’s confused, about to question his elder–but Weiss had already beat him to it, and her words settle like a blanket to bring one warmth. Whitley swallows a sudden lump in his throat, but a smile blooms all the way up to softening eyes. 

@shatterflake gets a starter.

“Whitley, come back to the Academy with me.” Winter urges him. She’d missed what had happened to cover her little brother with red wine, but she had a feeling it had to do with the younger group of Huntsman that the general had brought along. She’d give them a piece of her mind when they got back to the Academy. “You’re not safe here with him. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you or Weiss with me when I left, but I want to remedy that now.”

   “--Excuse me?”

   Offense piques, and Whitley looks to Winter as if she’d completely lost her mind. Completely out of the dark, a request for he to leave and go to the Academy--the Academy ran by the GENERAL, the very man who was turning Atlas into the laughingstock of the Kingdoms. 

   It had to be some joke; and in response, Whitley only finds himself scoffing.

   “Since when have you cared at all about me?

Reindeer Faunus Whitley for my Faunus AU!

   –A package? Whitley wasn’t used to such gifts from those that weren’t family obligations or knick-knacks from his father’s associates. The surprise is wondrous, to say the least, and the festive wrapping only further proves to confused the boy on who had delivered such a surprise. 

   Honestly, the young heir is uncertain if he was to open it or not–but as his name was written upon the paper, he knew better than to question his father on just where it had come from. Instead, it’s taken to room to be peeled at, unopened, and gawked. The yarn was soft, warm, and such a handmade item he’d never quite seen before, so once it’s is held up and inspected the boy is unable to will away the delicate smile that tugs against pale lips. 

   The note is only briefly glanced at, causing blue eyes to roll as that touch of smile grows into a full out grin. She may not have been blood, but something about the Huntress sure felt familial, and a delivery of something handmade only caused such a sensation to grow. 

“That’s it.”

She’s withholding Whitley and Ruby’s gifts.

   Leeeeans forward to match Weiss’ height.