If It Be Thusly (Weiss Schnee x Reader)

They Came From the Deep

Weiss skittishly stands under the oppressive shadow of the Bifang-Sommerhaut cottage. All the weight of her own confusion, regret and anxiety settles on her shoulder like bloody snow. Even now the image of those scales, as white as cotton, still haunt her mind. She had never once considered that you were in fact one of them. That's probably her own fault. She always assumed faunus weren't as smart, that they were brutish, that they wouldn't be able to keep up with human conservation. The possibility of you being one never entered her mind, but truth is often abnormal and unexpected.

Does this change anything? she asks herself. Nothing has fundamentally changed about you, of course. You're still the same person you were before she discovered your scales. You're a faunus, you always were, even when she thought you were human. Even so, she doesn't care. Even though all she's ever been told of the faunus is that they are often degenerate and violent, vain and wrothful, it doesn't matter to her. You're (Y/N) first, a faunus last.

She sighs and raps her knuckle against the door. The wood is so aged that it almost seems to splinter under her touch. What should she even say to you? Apologise, surely? She chews her lip, unconsciously drawing crimson blood, and then looks down at her feet. One of them is tapping the stone anxiously. The door creaks open very slightly, and Weiss stiffens sharply. It's not who she wanted behind the door, however. Weiss' lips thin pointedly, and she suddenly becomes much colder.

"You shouldn't be here," Yushan mutters, stepping outside. Her eyes burn with a rage that's scarcely hidden by her hood. Weiss takes a step back and clears her throat.

"I'd like to speak with-"

"Yes. I know why you're here," Yushan interrupts, her eyes narrowing. "Whatever you said, whatever you did, you should know it broke (Y/N)."

"Broke?" Weiss repeats. Her voice is full of worry, which she quickly tries to hide. "I didn't 'break' anyone, that's ridiculous. Get out of my way; you're not who I want to speak to," Weiss demands, though it's lost on the older woman.

"No, you'll only make things worse. Turn around, leave and never return." Yushan crosses her arms, glaring down at her.

"But-"

"Go. Away. I won't repeat myself." Yushan's enjoying this. Scolding an actual Schnee is a dream come true.

Weiss' teeth grind together, but she steps away as demanded. Yushan re-enters and slams the door behind her, making Weiss flinch. She chews the edge of her nail, looking back at the cottage. This is her fault, though she's struggling to admit it. She pulls out her scroll and checks the text history between you and her. Since last night you've not responded to anything—not after she discovered your serpentine scales. She doesn't understand why you won't just talk to her. That's all she wants, a chance to apologise, to explain. Text after text tumbles down the screen, some long and elaborate, some short and pleading. She sighs and pulls her eyes away.

The cottage casts many shadows around itself, like a castle of darkness. Weiss feels as though the shadows might start clawing at her legs if she stays still any longer, but she can't leave yet. All her life she's been told that she must be responsible: for her family name, for the Schnee Dust Company, for her father. And yet she was scarcely told about the most important responsibility, which is the responsibility we take for other people. For when we hurt them, and for that she needs to apologise sincerely, and it is sincerely. She can't bare the thought that she hurt you, which is strange. This is the first time she's felt the poisonous feeling of guilt so strongly.

No matter what Yushan says, Weiss' path is clear. She recalls where your room is, and therefore where your window is. She sneaks around the cottage and finds it easily. The curtains are drawn but it's the only place she imagines you can be. She glances around. The street is quiet and empty, it's actually very quaint, so Weiss takes her chance. A staircase of glyphs form when she flicks her wrist. Each step she takes releases a small rainfall of sparkling lights from itself, and she easily ascends the air to your window. At that point it's only a matter of her dainty hands pulling up the window frame. The woodrot helps with that, and with some grumbling, she manages to open it. After a tentative moment, she pulls the curtains away and steps inside.