"There's a new rat faunus at my place," Max says, leaning against one of the tables in a Calypso training room.
"As help?" Elise asks, filing the end of her nail.
"Yeah, he's like a chimney sweep or something, I dunno. Anyway, I started throwing things in the gutter by my place, like a watch or a ring."
"Because who doesn't trash priceless jewellery?" Elise interjects with a grin.
"Exactly. As I was saying, slowly these expensive things start going missing, and sure enough who gets blamed?"
"Mouseboy?"
"Once again, he was a rat. But yes, and now he's spending two years in prison."
"Damn, man. That's brutal," Elise comments. She's able to feign being shocked and offended but in reality, she feels nothing but mediocre amusement. It's not necessarily that she's evil, like Max certainly is, but just indifferent to justice. He shrugs, popping his knuckles.
"I guess? How bad can prison be?" Some people just lack that key part of the brain named empathy. It makes them excellent CEOs, businessmen and fighters, because the pain of others is an abstract and distant fact, not something that pierces your heart like it should.
As the two joke and laugh instead of working, (They can already ace the exam with minimal effort.) Weiss bursts into their training room, stamping on the wooden floor. Her eyes are reddened and sore but refuse to cry, like a flower that stops itself from blooming or a full moon that never comes.
"Weiss? You okay?" Elise asks. Max just freezes up awkwardly, he's never been great with dealing with sad people. Even worse with women.
"What do you think?" She spits back. Elise ignores the vitriol and walks up to her with as comforting as smile as she can muster.
"What happened, Weiss?" She asks, gently rubbing the spot between her shoulder blades.
"I'm doomed," she whimpers. "My grade is damned to be as low as it can be, and my father won't let me go to Beacon with that."
"Well, hey, you don't know that for sure," Elise says lightly, gently pulling Weiss over to sit on the table.
"I do when Sommerhaut is my partner."
"He can't be that bad."
"He doesn't even know his semblance," she forces out. Even she feels ashamed to say it.
"Oh," Elise replies, suddenly finding herself bereft of any comfort to give. "I see. That is... uh, problematic."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Weiss left the room almost ten minutes ago and has yet to return. Though you doubt she will. In truth you feel a strange mix of guilt and pleasure brew in your heart. To some extent it's satisfying to see the perfect doll have her perfection marred by something outside of her control, and to some extent you feel as though you're a ball of iron chained to her ankle. If you were her, you'd be upset too. Probably crestfallen and defeated in fact, because you certainly will drag her grade down a lot, probably not enough to fail, but when you're so used to being the very best, being mediocre can feel just as maddening as flat-out failing does.
You glance out the windows, where snow has piled up so high it looks like the pavement and stone's grown a thick layer of smooth, sparkling fur. Even though you hate the Kingdom of Atlas and the worthless soil it's built on, even you can't deny that the endless winter has its moments of starry beauty.
With a sigh you look over at Funeral. It has rust climbing up the blade and most of the detail's been lost to weathering and age. It looks how you feel: inadequate and left behind. Maybe you'd just be better off if you left. Would make things easier for Weiss.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Weiss holds her head in her hands, unable to look at her friends lest tears start flowing.
"Weiss, I'm sure it'll be fine," Elise comforts, all the while smoothing gentle circles into her back.
"You don't know that," she replies, full of spite and anger. It's true, of course, Elise's semblance is not future-sight or soothsaying. Max stands awkwardly straight, keeping his arms crossed and a crooked frown on his face.
"Look. Weiss," he starts. "You're the heir to fortune, you have money. Use it. Bribe him into leaving the school so you get put into a trio," his face becomes a note more shrouded and sinister as he continues. "And if that doesn't work, just beat him into leaving."
Weiss' cold eyes meet his through the gaps in her fingers. His eyes are a shade of dark red, like old and clotted blood, as if they were stained by violence. A conversation of no words happens between their gazes, and she acquiesces to his idea. As long as she finds a way to get you to leave the school, she'll have to be added into a pre-existing partnership as a third person.
"Fine," she states, simply and politely, before brushing off her skirt and leaving the room. Each step echoes around ominously. Elise's brow furrows in concern.
"Are sure that was a good idea?" She asks.
"At least I actually tried to help instead of mumbling lies into her ear."
Her lips curve into the perfect visage of disdain. Ever so occasionally she finds his arrogance to be painfully annoying.
"Whatever. Let's just start drills."
Weiss stomps back to the room she left you in, fully intending to force you, by any means, into leaving the school. Admittedly it's a half-baked, potentially risky idea, but it's the best she's got. At this point she can accept the low grade you'll inevitably produce or get rid of you and be partnered which much more competent people. To her, the answer is simple. It's the Schnee way to be the best, the king amongst kine, no matter what the cost is. That mindset forged a corporation that might as well be the government of Atlas, and it took the shedding of blood both of the Schnee family and their employees.
She stops in front of the door, taking a deep and steeling breath of fresh air. She tells herself this will be just like negotiating a trade deal, which she'll inevitably have to master when she becomes the CEO of the SDC.
"This is practice," she tells herself, placing her hand on the door. However, through the door's small window, she can spy you, moving back and forth, training basic sword moves. It's nothing special, and it lacks any of the tact or refinement a Huntsman needs, but it's effort. Every step you take builds on what you have a little more. She was once very similar, going over the same steps in the icy ballrooms of the Schnee Manor.
She gulps, finding herself conflicted. At one point she assumed you simply lacked any effort or desire to succeed, but a little voice in her head reminds her that not everyone will have the same opportunities she has. It would be cruel to force you to leave, especially with money, manipulating her privilege and generational wealth to play with your life like a pawn. Maybe she won't get the grade she needs with you as her partner. Perhaps her father won't let her attend Beacon. But at least she'll have acted morally and properly. Her family were knights and huntsmen before businessmen, and that ancient tradition still screams in her blood, that she act nobly and justly.
She takes another, more shallow breath, and steps inside. The room becomes colder. You come to a natural end in your practice, returning Funeral to its sheath with a sound like the sleekness of silver and steel.
"I didn't think you'd come back, honestly," you say, breaking the silence. Both of you have the choking sensation of awkwardness where the throat meets the lungs.
"Yes, well... it was immature and inappropriate of me to do that, so I apologise."
You tilt your head, slightly confused and astounded that she has the humbleness needed to do such a thing.
"It's fine," you mumble, more shyly than before. To be totally honest you prefer when people treat you harshly and rudely, it's easier to know how to respond. But when people are apologetic and nice? It just makes you flustered and confused. Weiss' lips thin, as she expected a haughtier reply than that.
"If you insist," she says, drawing her blade. You do the same, falling into the typical stance used for basic moves. She notices this and shakes her head.
"Don't bother," she says, standing opposite you. "Clearly you have your own style, unprofessional and unconventional though it may be."
She falls into her own rapier stance.
"Instead of going over basics you should just refine what you have. Ready?"
"I'm ready to lose," you reply, moving into your own, more comfortable pose. It's a self-taught fighting style, with only a little bit of input from tutors or teachers.
"I won't use my semblance today, just to make it fairer."
"Great, now I almost have a chance of winning," you reply with an unbothered shrug. "Ready," you declare, causing her to dash forward.
The following hours blur together into a stream of slashes, cuts, trips and aura-breaks. Every time you give it around ten minutes to somewhat recharge before continuing your duel. It's no shock that she wins nigh every time. Not only is she a better swordswoman, but her rapier has a built-in ability to fire small projectiles of dust from the handle. Though it seems relatively unimportant, the added versatility of the various types of dust gives her a significant edge.
Neither of you notice how much time has passed until you feel the school bell pound your ear drums like a hammer hitting an anvil. You let it distract you, like an idiot, and Weiss takes victory by tripping you up. With a sigh you sit up as she slides her blade through a small hoop attached to her waist.
"Well played," you mumble, opting to stay on the ground.
"You should work on your concentration in fights, but yes, thank you," she smiles with satisfaction and curtsies, grabbing her bag. "Are you going to the cafeteria?"
"Gods no," you say, pulling yourself up and stretching out your tired back.
"Mhm? Why not?"
"It's like sixteen lien, that's overpriced."
"It's made by professionals," Weiss replies indignantly, almost offended that you wouldn't partake in Calypso's food.
"It's not only the cost, but I'd have to sit with the other students," a shiver goes down your spine. "Horrible."
"How rude," she says, crossing her arms. "So, you're just going to starve like a faunus on the streets?"
You ignore that comment, it's not worth getting angry about, though it does make you roll your eyes.
"No," you walk over to your bag, slipping a container made of plastic from it. "I've got rice."
"Excuse me?" Weiss looks both curious and disgusted, peering closer. With a knowing smile you crack the lid, revealing cold, clumped together rice. Seasoned, but still not especially pleasant.
"Ugh!" Weiss recoils, glaring at you through narrow eyes, as appalled as can be. "I'm disgusted but not surprised."
"Gee. Thanks," you mumble, finding your reusable spork as well, which seems to offend Weiss' sophisticate sensibilities even more.
"This is too much, I can't be here any longer," she mumbles, hurrying out of the room. The double doors slowly come to a close.
"... See you in fifty?" You say, not than she can hear you. Once again, she's gone, and it's as though a spell of silence has settled upon the training room. "What a strange woman," you remark, pondering Weiss. It's clear that she's a paragon of the idea of a scion, and about the closest thing you can get to royalty in the modern era since all the actual royal families have been long deposed, by revolution, as in Vacuo and Mistral, or by the military, as in Atlas. The Valen royal simply abdicated and disappeared. Can't blame him. Despite that the nations are still called Kingdoms, perhaps the sense of strength bestowed from the word makes people more confident, makes the Grimm less likely to attack. Regardless, corporations are monarchical states now, and they transcend the ideas of borders and nationality. The only ideas that limit them are profit and the shareholder, like a God and his chosen people.
You sigh again, watching the snowflakes dance like toy soldiers marching down from heaven, angels riding ice.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I can't believe you kept him around," Maximilian says, chewing on some meat like a coyote.
"It would be unethical of me to have done... your idea," Weiss shoots back, eating her vegetarian meal in a much more civilised manner.
"Ethics? Weiss, ethics aren't real. Weak people created them to explain why they're weak, because they see people like us taking what we want and wondered why they can't do the same," Max rants. Indeed, it's lucky that he doesn't actually want to serve in the field as a huntsman, for he would lack any of the empathy and strict ethical morality needed by people who save lives and must make potentially fatal choices. It's like being a doctor, but instead of using medicine, you use guns and blades.
"Ugh, for one day can you not sound like a comic book villain?" Elise bemoans. Max tries to scare her with a harsh gaze, but all it does it make her exasperated.
"Well, if you must know I thought about what someone like Pyrrha Nikos or Ragna Gulbrok would do, and I realised that they would they not shy away from the challenge," Weiss lies. In reality it's more like she pitied you, but she can't give away that she actually feels embarrassing emotions like pity and sympathy to her friends.
"Whatever. Women," Max grumbles. Elise and Weiss are used to such comments, and although they would have responded more staunchly in their youth, they've presently numbed to the fact that he has a certain immaturity and childishness to him.
"Weiss, I happen to think it's very... cute that you're not giving up on Summerboy. Good deeds and all that," Elise shrugs. She's able to pretend that she's a good person, but it's more performance than truth. It's a key part of her huntress mother's appearance that she be the image of kindness and morality, even if it's only for the sake of celebritizing herself, and Elise has adopted that trait entirely.
"Ugh, you act like I'm doing charity work."
"It kinda is though. He's just a poor, below average guy who's gonna pass the final exam because of you. In exchange you get a reduced grade. That's charity," Elise explains.
"Whatever," Weiss mumbles.
The remainder of the fifty-minute lunch break is filled with absent minded conversation, ranging from Atlas' dreary weather to cruel jokes about faunuskind. Weiss has always been in an environment where making comments or acting at the faunus' expense has been encouraged, even expected. She's never known different, and even if a part of her ponders whether it's wrong or not, people can't wash away their upbringing so easily.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Have you ever wondered how fast a snowflake falls? A dozen centimetres per second perhaps? How long does it last on its tumble from the clouds? Ten minutes at most, I imagine. A whole life in ten minutes, doing nothing but falling. How serene it would be. A snowflake lives so briefly, and yet is entirely unique and beautiful in that time it has. Human lives are overly long and complex, filled with unnecessary ideas and necessities. Humans evolved to hunt the mammoth and shit, not learn accountancy and work in an office block.
In your trance you don't notice Weiss enter the room, not until her heel clicks reverberate from wall to wall.
"Welcome back," you say lowly, still watching the vista like an unblinking snake.
"Mhm," she hums in return, not offering much in the way of conversation. You turn your head to look at her, still sat on one of the spare tables.
"How was lunch with your... uh, friends?" The word is slightly unfamiliar to you, and you can't say you've ever had any at this school, mostly due to your own social incompetence, but also your lower class, which already sets people's bias against you.
"Perfectly adequate, how was lunch... watching the snow?" She says it awkwardly, as though it's unusual to her that you could spend fifty minutes doing nothing but watch the snowflakes fall like autumn leaves.
"Mhm... thought provoking, I suppose," you reply, tilting your head to one side.
"... Really? The same snowstorm this city gets every month?"
"Mhm, it's quite pretty, I think, makes me wonder what life would be like without expectations, pressures and the future looming over us."
"Ugh, worse, for sure. Human lives are unique because we have standards to live up to and goals to fulfil, without those our lives would be stagnant and discontent, without innovation, like animals or faunus."
"Really? You think that humans need to have pressure placed on them to be complete, even if it's stressful?"
"What you are describing is duty," she says firmly, drawing her rapier like a huntress ripped straight from the old storybooks, back when they had codes of chivalry and honour.
"And the faunus? They have no duty?"
"Well, maybe they feel something like that," Weiss shrugs, pointing the tip of her blade at your own sword, telling you to pick it up without any words. "But they lack the same drive as us, of that I am certain."
Your body tenses, recognising this antiquated view of the faunus and their lives. It's pseudo-science at best to see them as lacking some key part of the soul. In older times it was justification for the slave trades and the genocide of faunus nations.
"I disagree," you draw your blade, entering a both a martial duel and a philosophical one. "The faunus show great loyalty and duty to each other, greater than humans have," you advance forward first, uncharacteristic of your style, landing as many swift strikes as you can.
"Why would you think that?" She parries each strike deftly, moving backward with such precise footwork she may as well be waltzing.
"There is only one faunus nation: Menagerie. There are four human nations, and many more minor ones. Faunuskind is more unified than humanity," you opt to palm strike her collarbone, making her stumble out her practiced stance. Though she easily blocks your attempt to capitalise on the situation, followed by landing some very close pokes next to your head.
"Only because they have the perceived threat of humanity and the Grimm to unite them, if not for that there would be many squabbling countries of faunus. At best," she leaves that thought hanging, as though leaving it for you to complete.
"And you think at worst they'd devolve into warring tribes and clans?" You sardonically guess what her vile view of the faunus is.
"Yes, precisely that, actually," she says, nodding along. She then strikes your knee with her blade, causing you to grunt and fall to one knee.
"You're an ignorant little child," you spit, much more spitefully and wrathfully than anything else you've said to her. In return she narrows her winter tide eyes and slashes upwards diagonally, tearing through your aura like paper.
"How dare you!" She exclaims. "I have had more knowledge of the faunus than you ever will, they have tormented my family for decades!"
"When you keep kicking someone, should you really be surprised when they start punching back?" You retort, trying to cut her to ribbons with Funeral in hand. Your rage lends to your fighting style better than you think, spinning and dodging around Weiss like a peregrine falcon dancing in the middle air over the moors. She struggles to defend against each attack, and her anger only makes her sloppier.
"My family has only benefitted the faunus. They have employment and opportunities because of our sacrifice."
"Because of your exploitation. You know that the government won't enforce labour laws over faunus citizens."
"That's not true," Weiss sharply replies, the syllables as sharp as Myrtenaster. She finds a gap in your barrage and predicts where you'll be ahead of time, and strikes. By the time you see it coming, there's no time to dodge, and you're already enveloped by the pathetic light of your aura breaking. With an exhausted sigh you let yourself roll and collapse to the floor, lying on the cool wood. "And besides, why should a human like you care so much?"
You look up at her, as the light reflects around her white hair like a halo.
"I happen to know a faunus," you mumble, raising a hand to block out the light.
"So, you want to protect their honour, defend them? Or something else stupid like that? The only person you should try to defend is yourself, it's condescending to be offended on someone else's behalf," she says, sitting down beside you. She crosses and legs and pulls her long skirt over them.
"I guess..." you say, disagreeing with her without saying it. As you're laying down, Weiss' eyes fixate to your blade, and she looks towards you with a questioning look.
"Go ahead," you say, letting her pick it up. The first thing she's surprised about is the low weight, suddenly all your feats become much more understandable. The next thing she notices is the nicks and rust.
"Do you never clean it?"
"Only if it starts to blunt the edge."
"That's irresponsible."
"I doubt Funeral cares."
"... You named your sword Funeral?"
"Actually, it used to be called the Funeral Blade, I shortened it when it was given to me," you explain. You consider analysing her own weapon, but that might just make you envious.
"Huh..." Weiss holds it up to her eye, appreciating the fine detail and craftwork. At Calypso it's generally considered a given that students have already bought or inherited a weapon, since it's really only the wealthy who enrol here, unlike other schools where weapon crafting is a taught subject. "It's old. Buy something new," she says plainly, letting it drop to the floor with a clatter.
"If only," you mumble. "Unlike you, I don't have buckets of blood money."
Weiss scowls at you, curving her mouth into a most frightening frown. Both of you are well aware that arguments and disagreements will be the norm between the two, yet you've both agreed without words to not take them to heart.
"Should we start again?" You ask, sitting up with an exhausted stretch. She sighs and glances over at you with half-lidded eyes.
"Do you really want to?" She grumbles sleepily. Dark marks are already growing below her eyes. You're actually somewhat surprised that even people like her, who are as confident and proud as lions, get too nervous and anxious to properly sleep before important days. Your perception of her as the perfect glass statuette of a person may be flawed, born of judgemental thoughts.
"Not really. I thought you would though."
"We should, we should, we should... ugh, I don't want to though," she gives up, her normally proud and straight frame limping somewhat. "Let's just go over the talk, exam, talk stuff"
"Pardon?"
"Y'know, the exam itself?" She says that like it's obvious. "Tell me you at least know the basics."
"It's most important thing I've ever had to do, of course I know what it involves."
"Really?" She asks, both smug and sceptical. "Even though you sleep all lesson?"
Your brow creases and you narrow your eyes threateningly, masking your surprise.
"You know about that?"
"Everybooody knows about that," she says back, placing too much emphasis on the word.
"The teachers don't seem too," you reply. Honest to God you thought you were hiding it well, always dozing off in poses that looked like you were note taking. One time you managed to sleep with your eyes open. Not as hard as others make it out to be.
"They do. Every single time they do, they just don't care."
"What? Really? Why didn't they wake me up?" Your lip contorts in confusion, as you intently listen to Weiss.
"They gave up I guess," she says with a shrug. "Every class is going to have the passionless loser."
"Hey, unnecessary."
Her eyebrow crooks up, scrutinising you.
"You just called me ignorant."
"That was an accurate observation though," you say back, aware that it'll only inflame her more.
"Oh? So you think you're not a loser? What grade did you get on the theoretical exam?" The theoretical exam was much simpler than the practical will be. It's a traditional pen and paper exam, done for the sake of gauging someone's ability to identify Grimm, explain the properties of Dust and the ethics of being a Huntsman.
"... Will you judge me for it?"
"Just answer."
"Low standard."
Weiss' heart stops in its tracks, like a car that just had the handbrake pulled while speeding. That's the lowest possible grade someone can get and technically pass.
"I'm judging you," she snaps, almost instinctively.
"Yeah... I had a feeling you would," you don a shaky, wry smile as she processes the information. You can't help but be ashamed, pulling further into yourself. In truth you just didn't care, and you already struggled plenty with the content, so in the end you just did the bare minimum, and you got the bare minimum in return.
"Okay... okay... okay... and just to be sure, you do know what's in the practical exam, right?" Her words are more frantic now, as though she just been shot by the bullet of reality.
"Yes. It's a four-hour period wherein two huntsmen can potentially be put against Creatures of Grimm, other Huntsmen, even robots, for the sake of evaluating their ability to work as a team and fight in live fire situations. Both students are given the same grade, which is the greatest decider when it comes to acceptance into one of the combat academies."
"Good," she marches up to you. "So, you know how important this is?"
"Kinda," you shrug. "I'm not applying for an academy so..."
"Of course you aren't," she grumbles, sounding like an upset, feline purr.
"Sorry?" You say, not quite sure what else you can offer. Talking and being social are a struggle for someone like you, who has no friends their own age.
"It's... whatever. I can fix this."
"Fix?"
"Work with this, with you, I mean. I'm sure everything will be fine," she says, with a forced laugh that comes off slightly psychotic. She gnaws at the well-kept nail of her thumb, curving and contorting the shape in ways that make you cringe.
"I'll just follow your lead," you whimper, slightly cautious about making her anymore anxious. The last thing either of you need is her having a full-on mental breakdown.
"Yes, you do that. We should set up some ground rules."
"Joy," you mumble sarcastically.
"What was that?" She says, suddenly very cold.
"Nothing."
"That's what I thought," the words stew in her air a second, and you're reminded that this girl is not your friend. "Firstly, arrive at the earliest time possible. The school forces every student to leave at five, so that gives us nine hours of practice and prep a day."
"Isn't that assuming we only work?" You ask, realising nine hours is eight till five. That's longer than you sleep for, too.
"What else would we do? This time is too valuable."
"... Eat?" You say.
"We can eat and work. Secondly, get your weapon cleaned. Thirdly, at least try to discover your semblance."
You grimace. It's not so easy as being born with it, like she was.
"Yeah, fine," you grumble. You both stand, just as the old bell in the corner of the room starts vibrating. It's five 'o'clock. End of the day.
"It hardly feels like the end of the day," she says, more to herself than to you.
"Time goes fast when you're debating whether faunus have souls or not," you sharply reply.
"Strawman argument," she spits back. You can't help but roll your eyes. "I did not say faunus lack a soul."
"Mhm. Whatever," you mumble back, grabbing your bag and hoisting it over your shoulder, slipping Funeral between it and yourself. Since she must put Myrtenaster into its case you can leave much quicker than her, pressing through the doors and strolling down the corridor. It's an appreciated moment of separation from Weiss, who you can tolerate but hardly enjoy the company of. Which makes it all the more annoying that she should sprint up beside you, swiftly elbowing your ribs.
"You left without me," she chides, walking alongside your crumpled figure. For a brief moment you consider hitting back, but self-control is one of your greater virtues.
"I didn't realise you wanted me to wait."
"You should've known. It's the principle of things. Politeness and all that," she says, sounding as though she's lecturing a child. You can't help but grimace as a question forms in your mind.
"Does this mean we're walking home together?"
"What?" She almost giggles in her surprise. "No, of course not. Don't be stupid."
"Right, yeah," you force out, finding yourself glaring with murderous intent. "Stupid question."
"It's fine. I know you can't help it."
You roll your eyes. She's so arrogant you can't tell if that was an attempt to reassure or insult you.
"Thanks," you spit sarcasm at her like venom. Together you walk through the antique hallways of Calypso, passing small memorials to previous, successful alumni. They're supposed to be inspiring, but all they make you feel is anxiety and trepidation. Finally, you both exit the school building, finding it's still snowing heavily. Problematic for someone like you, who can't bear cold environments, while Weiss seems to almost glow in the winter winds. You must be the last one out, as there's no crowd or rabble lingering about the school gates.
"Hey, Weiss!" Maximilian calls out, catching both your notices. Him and Elise stand by the road, though they're waiting for Weiss, their attentions are on you. Both stare at you with judgemental looks, and to be fair it is very alien for someone like Weiss and yourself to be in company.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Weiss says, ignoring their stares and walking up to them, leaving you behind. As they leave you catch Maximilian still glaring at you, a pithy glance full of harsh emotions. Weiss didn't even say a farewell, not that you care.
You wait for them to leave before walking home yourself. It's a habit you've picked up from your guardian, since they're hyper conscious about people following you or them to your home. In reality you don't know why she's so concerned, but you'll listen to whatever she says if it makes her happy, such is the debt you owe her.
Once they've disappeared into the Atlesian snowstorm you let your legs carry you upon the long road home. It's a fair distance, as Calypso is somewhat within the city itself, whereas your house is on the very edge of the flying island of rock that is Atlas City. Buses don't often operate up here due to the wealth of the citizens. A car is simply expected.
As you walk home you watch the snowflakes dance and swirl above, as though sewn into the silk of the sky, which undulates and shakes with the push and pull of the wind.