#weissenschnee

Whocries when someone dies in a movie?

If it’sa mother dying, it’s an absolute certainty that Wolfy will be bawling her eyesout. Not much makes Weissen cry

Whowears the ugly holiday garb?

Theyboth do, since that ugly holiday garb came from their good friends

Whopays for the meals?

Theyargue about it so regularly that honestly, half the time they end up forgettingand have to go back to pay for it

Whoslams the oven door and who plays the trombone?

Theyargue about that too, so ultimately it never goes anywhere

Wholeaves the bathroom door open?

Neither

Whotells the ‘dad jokes’?

Neither

Whowants kids more?

Weissenfor sure, Wolfy’s way more hung up on the consequences so she’s a bit morereluctant about it

Whotravels more?

Theyboth travel roughly the same amount

Whospends more cash?

Neither

Whobuys the things in infomercials?

Neither,but they do like to watch infomercials and laugh

Whodraws in the dust on their cars?

Weissen,because he’s a piece of shit who likes to see Wolfy get worked up over someonetouching her car

Whostarts the snowball fights?

Wolfy,it’s usually payback for when Weissen goes and draws in the dust on her car

Whoputs up holiday decor?

Theyboth do, and then they get into arguments about how to put it up correctly

Who ismore likely to forget to bathe?

Neither

Whogets more obsessed about things?

Neither

Whosings in the shower more often?

Her legs were on fire, footsteps loud in the brush as her boots pounded over the forest ground. Yang was far off the path, barreling through the underbrush, branches and thorns tearing through her skin and sluggishly healing. In her arms, precious cargo, wings wrapped around the smaller Weissen to offer added protection.

Yang was in a near panic, she had no idea how long she’d been running from the veritable herd of Grimm that had attacked their team. They’d been fine one minute and surrounded the next and Weissen let out a cry, intercepting a set of claws and there was so much blood.

She could feel it covering her arms as she held Weissen close to her chest. Oh, it was probably soaking his beautiful tail, too. 

Massive trees ringed the clearing, casting dappled shadows on the peace party. A light breeze stirred the grass, carrying the sweet soaps and perfumes the Schnee family favored. Even in the open air it made her nose sting. They didn’t belong here, Brindle thought savagely. Surely they could have gone back to their ancestral lands, and left this valley for her family? It was hard won even before it was soaked in blood.

“I can’t believe the war is over.” Mari whispered when they heard the news, tears brimming over in her eyes. “It doesn’t feel real.”

For Brindle it wasn’t. The war was going to follow her home, eat the same food, sleep in the same bed. The rat’s ears swiveled, following the forging of water rights and borders with little interest. She spent her anger when this alliance was first suggested, and now she found herself dull and tired. Her attention wandered with no conviction to hold it in place. 

On the other side of the great fallen log that served as a table was the Schee head, Beinern - a pale-haired woman whose every gesture was razor-sharp with control. At her right was her eldest daughter, Winter Schnee. Brindle felt the glower more than saw it, but didn’t falter under her gaze. There was a reason the other girl had only one eye for glaring...

The big tiger faunus at Brindle’s left let out a rumbling laugh, jerking her back to reality. Thankfuly he caught the ear flicked in his direction, though she hoped the humans would not notice the subtle question. A heavy hand rested on her shoulder. “This is our heir, Lord Schnee. I’m only an old soldier.”

He said that as if they hadn’t cowered in the same holes when the Schnee summons flooded the field.

Brindle growled, swiping at the spot where Weissen stood only moments before. “Stay still you goddamn - agh!”

Another pinprick stung at her shoulder, a spot of red blooming on her white shirt.

“You asshole!” She could get the blood out easily enough, but that wasn’t the point. She swiped in his direction again, bones in her hands aching from a white-knuckled grip on her twin cleavers. Her hair stuck to her face, and her clothes clung to her skin. Each heaving breath burned, cold winter air clinging to her lungs.

Slate gave some mild farewells as the students of his afternoon practical trudged out of the room. He couldn’t really blame them for a lack of enthusiasm-this late in the year the outside held nothing but cold and wet, even if they did all have the rest of the day to themselves. Still, he re-shuffled his papers and tapped out an unsteady rhythm on the desk even as the room remained quiet and empty. He had the room booked for another hour, and all the students were free, including the one he had, against his better judgement, agreed to meet.

Still, out sprung a smile he’d been keeping when the door quietly opened to admit a familiar face, and he patted the desk besides him in invitation.

Consciousness came back slowly, though he couldn't have said where from. Awareness arrived in patches, the absurdity of the situation hard to judge when before was...blank. He was in some kind of bed, some kind of glass an inch from his body, but he couldn't remember falling asleep. Couldn't remember anything.

When the glass slid aside it was more of a surprise than anything else, and he jerked off the bed, flailing, before he realised it was really gone. Whatever had been the purpose of having him sealed, it was gone now.

He rose, scanning the new room. It was a few metres square, empty save for a few simple furnishings, but the clear walls showed a larger room beyond, similarly sparse save for a hazy window out of clear view and a large camera, pointed...straight at him.