If It Be Thusly (Weiss Schnee x Reader)

Oh, Mirror

As you lie on the floor of the training room, Weiss walks over, her breathing slightly more laboured than usual. She sits down beside you as per usual, on her legs, and starts lecturing on you on your form and technique. All your errors and points for improvement spill from her mouth like a flood of water, and you try your best to sift through it all and learn something. She's not as harsh-spoken or pushy as she used to be, in fact she says it all very patiently. If you look confused or ask her what she's talking about, she'll just stop and go over it again. There's no sneer in between her words or rolling of her eyes. Well, sometimes there is, usually as a joke though. She doesn't get as angry as she used to. She still does, occasionally, it's to be expected, but she is holding herself back.

The last couple of weeks has been an adrenaline fuelled rush of duelling and practice. Every moment has been exhausted refining your technique with Blue Angel. And Weiss has only been amping up the ante. Before recently you didn't realise how much she'd been holding back, but in your last sessions she's been zipping around the training room like a peregrine falcon or a deadly phantom. Actually knowing where she is has been half the challenge of fighting her. Although despite that, you've improved too. It's been nice to see.

Weiss finishes her list of observations and invites you to stand up by holding out her hand. You take it, your palm slipping against hers like a key entering a lock, and pull yourself up. You both stretch out your tightened and tired muscles and pack up your things. Rain beats down on the window, sounding like a thousand people tapping away, trying to get inside.

"Looks heavy," Weiss says with a frown. Her eyes watch the droplets fall down the glass as she puts her bags on.

"I suppose. Could be worse," you shrug. Bad weather isn't unusual for Atlas, especially in winter. Weiss hums in response.

There's a lull between you both, as though you're both listening to the rain and don't want to ruin the sound. It's cosy, actually, despite the cold. Once you're both ready you walk beside each other and leave the room, walking the old wooden corridors to Calypso's big red doors, the gate to the outside world.

When you open it together, you both suddenly realise how heavy the torrent is. A few streams and rivers are already running over the concrete of the courtyard and draining into the street. The rain gathering on the ground is grey, reflecting the world around them like mirrors.

You glance over at Weiss, who seems uncomfortable walking into it than you are. To be fair her clothes cost more than yours, and you're not sure if what makeup she wears is waterproof.

"You okay?" You ask, gently nudging her side. She breaks from her daze, her blue eyes lazily sliding in their sockets to analyse your face.

"Mhm," she hums, after a second. The winter wind runs through her hair and causes her fringe to undulate with it. "Just evaluating my options," she finishes, taking a step out into the showers. Almost immediately her hair is completely drenched, her ponytail becoming heavy and large strands hair starting to stick together. You follow her closely, afraid that she might be swept away by the flood.

Maximilian and Elise are by the opening where the courtyard meets the street, holding their red blazers over themselves like umbrellas. When they notice you both, they jog up closer.

"God, Weiss, couldn't you have been any faster?" Max asks rhetorically. "C'mon, let's go," he urges, tapping his foot in the water. 'Splash, splash, splash!'

"Uh..." she takes a step away from him. "Actually, I think I'm going to go another way, tonight," she says stiffly, making him shoot her an angry, inquisitory look.

"Really? We waited out here for you- in the rain -and now you're just going to bail on us?" He says, his teeth gnashing together on each syllable.