If It Be Thusly (Weiss Schnee x Reader)

Moonlight Fever on Porcelain's Edge

You stand in line for food, just behind Weiss. She taps her foot on the ground impatiently and glares at whatever's unlucky enough to cross her path. She's like a shark haunting shallow waters. You in turn watch her, ready to hold back her arms if she tries to take a bite out of anyone. The line moves up a bit, and Weiss scoffs. She glances over her shoulders, iced eyes sharp and annoyed. "This is terrible service. Atrocious."

"I won't argue," you say. At the very least, room 2B is small and quiet. The walls must be thick, which is strange, you realise, because they don't seem to have any insulation packed inside, judging by the heat. The cafeteria, however, is nothing like 2B—it is loud and wide and open. A few chandeliers hang over your head, though not every bulb arranged on them is lit, and some even seem shattered. Long tables run from one side to another, made from a predictably dark mahogany. Whomever designed this place did not have a diverse set of interests.

You snort and move forward as someone else ahead of you finally gets their food and the whole line shifts up by one agonising step. Weiss spins around. "I knew we should've left earlier."

You laugh. "Uh-huh, I seem to remember that I was the one who said that." You lean in teasingly. "You kept asking for one more minute more."

She flushes and turns away from you. "I don't recall such things," she mutters.

"If you say so."

You both move up another step more, but it seems the student currently getting their food is arguing with the server, pausing what was a good flow of people getting out of the line.

"Oh, God," Weiss bemoans. "If this goes on any longer then I think I might scream. You will shut my mouth before I make a fool of myself, right?"

You shrug. "I could kiss you, I suppose, that'd shut you up."

She stomps her foot down. "Stop teasing me!" she whisper-shouts.

"I would never," you say. She weakly punches your shoulder and turns back to the front of the queue. Not only is it moving once again but the end is finally in sight. A few more students get their food, including Weiss, and you finally get offered a porcelain plate. Nothing is being served but steamed rice and steamed vegetables, apparently.

"Utilitarian, my favourite," you say, looking up at the server.

He's grey-skinned and looks more like a corpse than a living man. You can't tell if he's in his twenties or his fifties. Every second seems to change your guess. He reaches over with limp, thin arms and jams a set of silverware into your meal like he's stabbing roadkill, then slams down of glass of some deep maroon liquid in front of you.

"And this is?"

"Beetroot juice," he says, though it sounds more like bitrut in his half-heartened manner of speaking.

"Well, alright then," you say, picking up both it and the plate, then walking away.

Such plain food is probably served so that no one gets any sort of food poisoning or sickness, or so you guess. Still, you can only hope it was cooked recently instead of just being reheated. Weiss waves you over to her seat at the far edge of the room, away from most other cliques and friend groups. You sit down across from her, and together you stare hollowly at your food.

"We should've brought stuff to eat ourselves," you say.

She hums. "I did."

You look up, hope in your eyes. "What?"

"Just chocolate and sweet stuff."

"Damn."

"Yep."