If It Be Thusly (Weiss Schnee x Reader)

So Walketh

This morning is grey-skied and miserable (You assume it's going to rain later.) and your broken hand has healed thanks to aura. Admittedly it feels slightly strange, as though not everything went back into the same place. It works well enough though, and it can still clutch the handle of Funeral and fight. You make a note to thank Weiss again for what she did for you that night, but to be fair you may soon be cursing her just as much. Yesterday, late Sunday evening, you got a strange text from her, telling you to head to just outside the gate that opens the chain-link fence between the Atlesian streets and a restricted military base. You hope this isn't some cruel joke, though you wouldn't be surprised. The razor cold air cuts against your ears and your nose, and you find yourself wishing you were back at the school with its warmth and insulation. Some of the patrolling soldiers eye you suspiciously, which makes sense, your duster coat is frayed and patchwork, so you look more a homeless, dangerous vagrant with a sword than a huntsman-in-training.

You look down at your scroll, Weiss didn't give an exact time for when to appear, but you would have assumed she'd be earlier than you, sheerly because she strikes you as being very into punctuality. You sigh, adding to the misty air more white miasma. As you slip your scroll back into your pocket someone gives you a quick tap on the back. You spin around to face the woman you already know is Weiss, who greets you with a slightly perturbed look. Her eyes look you up and down a few times before speaking.

"Is that really what you're wearing?" She asks grimly.

You shrug, "I don't own much else."

"Oh. This is a poverty thing, then?" She says carelessly.

"I'm not usually ashamed of my financial status but you've changed that," you say, putting on a weak smile. You're trying to be civil, but it's hard when Weiss can be so brutal in her honesty, when she fashions truth into violence.

"Oh," Weiss replies, somewhat awkwardly. She actually seems somewhat guilty over her comments now. Now that the criticism of your style is done, you look over her. Her outfit is almost blindingly white, and as frilly as any princess. She's wearing snow white boots, a strapless dress of the same colour, and an impressive bolero, the inside of which is a bloody red colour.

"Is that a dress?"

"Combat skirt."

You raise your eyebrow.

"It's a real thing!" She declares, clearly having been through this conversation before.

"Alright, you seem very defensive about it," you note.

"I just- I've had to defend this stupid dress from everyone: teachers, friends, family. I'd rather you just not make any comments," she walks ahead, marching through the gate and into the airfield.

"Alright," you catch up to her, jogging the short distance. "I was going to say it looks good though."

Her eyes glance over your shoulder, shining curiously, "Really?" She asks, more shyly than she's sounded before.

"Mhm, you look like an elegant chevalière," you say. She turns away so you can't see her face, but if you could you'd see her blush and smile stupidly, though she tries to suppress it.

"I'm surprised you even know that word," she forces the words out as properly as she can, so it comes out more stifled.

"Well, I like to read." It's not as romantic as it sounds, sadly. A lot of chevaliers and chevalière (An older term for knights before Remnant's languages were homologised into one.) were involved in the initial conquest and settlement of Solitas and Mantle, and a lot of them were involved in some deadly sins against faunuskind. Yushan's rants about them are the only reason you know the word.