Weiss flies forward like a bullet, shockwaves in the air forming around her. The handle of Blue Angel fits awkwardly in your hand, like the hand of a new lover. And yet it gives you confidence. As her rapier closes in on your throat, you raise Blue Angel high. You deflect the blade, the sound of metal meeting metal bouncing around the room. Your blade, much heavier than hers, weighs down Myrtenaster. You take the chance afforded to you and slam your foot into her gut, winding her. While she's gasping for air you slam the flat side of your sword into her face. She rolls across the floor before stumbling to her feet, nursing the forming bruise on her face. You both tense before dashing forward, entering a fierce duel. The two swords clatter together, sparks flying from some of the more aggressive clashes you share. Though Blue Angel is heavier than the weapon you had before, it's still deft and easy to swing. In fact, the weight only makes picking up momentum easier and your swings even deadlier. You put all your might into a swing of your zweihander, which catches Weiss by surprise. She's not so used to the aggression you're showing today. She brings her blade up to defend herself, and Blue Angel crashes against it like a tidal wave.
"I'll pay you to let me win," she mutters. Myrtenaster shudders as you keep pushing your blade into it.
"Maybe if you beg for mercy," you shoot back, flashing a tigerish smirk.
She smirks in the same way. "Well, I gave you a chance."
A glyph appears below your feet and you almost say a curse. It glows red and you know it's about to burst into flames. Weiss backs away, smiling smugly, before you narrowly avoid going up in flames before you roll back. You spin the blade around a bit before glaring at her.
"Cheater," you accuse her.
"We never said semblances aren't allowed," she rebukes.
You dash forward, your sword propped up on your shoulder. "I felt it was implied," you add. Another series of steel-on-steel clashes fills the room. You catch a sparkle in her eyes before you feel something hook against your ankle. You try to move your foot, but she trips you up too quickly. You tumble down to the ground and groan after your head hits the ground. You roll over and lay on your back as your vision adjusts till you see Weiss standing over you.
"Advanced sword-fighting tip for you, use more than just your sword," she says proudly, holding the tip of Myrtenaster above your head.
"Yeah, whatever," you say, crossing your arms. "If you hadn't used your semblance, I swear to God..."
"Don't complain," she says pointedly.
"Round two, let's go." You pull yourself to your feet and your sword into your hands. She makes some distance as you glare at each other, both daring the other to make the first move. A single second of perfect silence passes before the sound of footsteps fills the room. You dash at each other, and you slam Blue Angel over your head. She blocks with her rapier as perfectly as expected.
"Here's another tip: don't make your attacks so obvio-"
You ball your offhand into a fist and sucker punch her like a kangaroo.
"Ah!" She cries, lowering her blade and taking a step back. A hand covers her nose. "Why- what the hell?!" She exclaims, slightly muffled by her hand.
"Advanced sword-fighting tip: use more than just your sword," you say, relaxing your arm. "I learnt from the best," you say with an arrogant shrug. She removes her hand from her face to point her pale finger at you.
"Now that was definitely cheating; I was trying to give you advice!" She protests. You're about to offer another snarky retort when you notice the river of red running down her face from her nose. It's blood.
"Weiss, you're bleeding."
Her finger gently touches her philtrum, becoming stained with the crimson liquid, and quickly retracts in disgust.
"This. Is. All. Your. Fault," she murmurs, grimacing at you. You roll your eyes and walk up to her.
"Your aura should've protected you," you tell her.
"We've been training all day! It already takes most of it to just make glyphs!" She moans, wiping away the fluid, which is starting to dribble down her face. She's right though, after you got Blue Angel down in Mantle you got food and then immediately came right back to Calypso's training room to start using it. Over the day her aura's whittled down to nothing.
You notice she's not doing anything to stop the bleeding, so it's just spilling over onto her clothes and skin, turning the snow-white shades to a rose-red. "You should pinch your nose, clot the blood."
She shakes her head, "What's the point? Aura will heal it soon enough."
You cringe at the sight of her blood flowing like watery paint on a blank canvas. "It's unsanitary and dangerous, Weiss." At worst she could develop somewhat severe blood loss.
She shrugs. You roll your eyes before raising your arm ominously.
"Look, why don't I-"
"Ah! Hey, what are you-"
"Just relax," you say, keeping your fingers deftly snapped around the bridge of her nose, while her hands clutch your arm.
"Let go of me," she tries to warn you, though since you're sealing her nose, it makes it come out funnier than she intended. Without thinking you laugh, making her cheeks flush. That only makes the blood rush faster, worryingly enough. "Don't laugh!" She tries to sound menacing as she pulls away from your grip. You chuckle to yourself and sneak up behind her, grabbing her hand from her side.
"Let's go," you say, pulling her along. She initially resists you dragging her along, but lets it happen hesitantly.
"Where are you taking me?" She asks incredulously.
"To clean up," you reply simply. She opens her mouth to object but promptly shuts it; blood is all the way down her face and her torso. The corridor blurs into a beige mess as you pull her through the maze of Calypso. When she looks at you, holding her hand so gently yet marching ahead, something radiates from her heart through her body, like butterflies fluttering away and leaving a faint numbness. She can't quite deduce what it is. Blood loss, perhaps? Anxiety? It's strange but she doesn't dislike the feeling per say. In her daze more drops of blood leak from her face, leaving bright red splashes across the ground, like little lakes of scarlet. She hopes someone'll clean it up. She certainly doesn't want to.
You pull her to the bathroom door and push your way in with your shoulder. When Weiss walks up to the sinks, she finally gets a chance to see herself in the mirror, and she sees more blood than she expected. She almost looks like she's been shot. It's disgusting and it ruins the porcelain of the sink as it drips down, clotting into little dark spots and trickling down the sink bowel and into the drain. While she's staring at herself in shock you quickly duck into a stall and pull some paper from the dispenser.
"Hey, look at me," you say, making her turn around. With one hand you clutch her wrist and in the other you pinch the top of her nose with the tissue, and then move her hand so she can hold it. "This'll stop the bleeding." She takes the tissue from you.
"Ugh, I look horrible," she says.
"You still look as pretty as you usually do," you say truthfully. Even like this she's stunning, like a nosebleed angel. She flushes yet again, which is amazingly frustrating, and only makes the red rivers run down her face more fiercely.
"Yeah, well... I look like a White Fang assassination gone wrong," she says grimly.
You chuckle, which makes a small smile bloom across her face.
"Don't be dramatic."
"I learnt from the best," she shoots with a mocking wink and a smirk.
"Hey, I am not dramatic," you insist light-heartedly.
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Oh, how you wound me, what pain you cause me that you should say that," you lament like a thespian, playing to her notion that you're 'dramatic.' She giggles and leans backward on the balls of her feet.
"Uh huh. Cute," she remarks with a smile. "You should have been an actor."
"Only if you, who is like the lustre of silver in a sea of midnight, would be my leading lady," you swoon and gently tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, making her roll her eyes. Her heart pumps harder at that, although she would never admit it.
"Okay, I get your point. You can quit it now," she says, trying to hide her blush. You hum proudly, quickly getting some more tissue paper.
"And I was just starting to enjoy that," you shrug, walking back up to her.
"Yeah. A little bit too much," she mutters. You slip a palm against her head and raise it up by her jaw, so that with your other hand you can wipe away the blood. Initially she feels little lightning bolts run between your skin and her hers, which fades to a faint warmth against her jaw. You dab the paper against her skin, clearing up the blood.
"Are you saying you wouldn't want to be my partner in a tragic romance?" You say lowly, swiping up another drop of blood.
"I don't- I mean- that's... I..." she stumbles through words without any coherent meaning, her flush only deepening. "... You're mocking me," she says, looking away. You use your hand to pull her gaze back to you.
"Maybe. What if I wasn't?" You say simply. Her heart explodes, and her brain turns to nothing but sparks and light. She can't even form a word, and by trying her breath grows heavier and faster, till her lips are made to part. The hand holding the bloody tissue falls to her side, yet no blood flows anymore, and her own eyes snap down to look at your mouth before flicking back up to you. Have you always looked like this or is she hallucinating from blood loss? The distance between you feels painful yet untenable, yearning to be closed, like you're the earth and she's the sky, desiring to be connected by a single bolt of intoxicating lightning.
Without thinking, pushed forward by fate alone, you both lean towards each other, as angels faintly sing in the distance, only getting louder as your lips get closer. And as her breath cools your skin, and your hand handles her so tenderly, it seems like God is in her heaven, smiling brightly at this little moment, and everything's right with the world...
Until the sound of footsteps and a door opening makes both your eyes open wide and your heads snap toward the interruption. A brunette girl from the year below you stands frozen in the doorway, one step into the bathroom. You don't know her name but you've seen her around. Because of what she walked in on she looks like a deer in headlights.
"Uh... I'll use the other- the other bathroom across the building," she says slowly, backing out as though any quick movements could get her pounced on. Sucks for her, that's like ten minutes away. Your gaze turns back to Weiss, and when you make eye contact you both back away from each other awkwardly. You both look away, unable to meet the other with eyes. The moment is gone. No angels can be heard, the moment for lightning has passed.
"Uh... the bleeding stopped. You should go back to the training room," she mutters, to which you nod, trying to make all the thoughts clotting and swirling around your mind come to a stop.
"Right. Yeah, I'll do that," you mutter, equally anxiously. You hurry out of the door, leaving Weiss alone with the bloodied porcelain and her thoughts. She promptly puts her hands over her mouth face and screams into her palm, before pulling away and turning around to analyse herself in the mirror: she's a blushing, bloody mess. With a pithy sigh she lets her limbs go slack.
"I have never been so embarrassed," she tells the mirror, who looks as ashamed as she does.
As you leave the bathroom you cherish the feeling of the cold Atlesian air sobering you up. No doubt your reddened cheeks will fade to their natural colour soon enough.
"What was that?" You ask the air, starting to walk back from whence you came. Everything that just happened was purely impulse and instinct, born from nothing but teenage hormones and stupidity. She's the Schnee Heiress, the perfect huntress-to-be, and you're nothing but... you. Do you even feel... that for her? Romantic feelings, platonic feelings, sexual feelings... they're like strings which knot and tie together. Sometimes they become a corded rope instead of three separate strings, and suddenly it's hard to distinguish them. And it's equally hard to describe what you feel for her. Platonic feelings, most certainly, like admiration and comradery... sexual feelings? She is very pretty, but do you really feel the passionate burn of lust? And romantic feelings? Would you willingly have her life tied to yours like true, loving couples do?
You shake your head, it'd never work when you two are so different, and you're ashamed to even think such a stupid thing. You bury all these thoughts and questions into the depths of your mind and return to the training room as she asked you to. As you walk inside you notice Myrtenaster and Blue Angel on the floor, placed on top of each other. You approach the blades and pick up Blue Angel. Below the rust, the age and the nicks it's a beautiful blade. More so than Funeral was. You still wonder what this trigger does, and you press it once again. Just as happened before, you hear a terrible grinding sound, like a car being driven at fifty miles per hour while in first gear. You stop pressing the trigger and sigh. You're going to have to clean and investigate this amazing relic.
In one hand you hold Blue Angel, and in the other you pick up Myrtenaster. Just after that Weiss walks through the door, and you turn around. She stands awkwardly, holding her arm with her hand. The blood's been cleaned up, though her clothes are still faintly stained. It almost looks like red wine. The air around you is heavy, stagnating, almost rotting with discomfort. Both of you wonder who's going to speak first, and if either of you'll confront the issue.
"Hey," you nod at her, throwing her weapon back at her. She catches it without issue and walks a bit closer, though stays a certain distance away from you, as though you're exuding a repulsive aura.
"Hey," she mumbles, dropping into a duelling stance and skirting the edge of your 'exclusion zone.' "Shall we spar again?" She asks.
It seems you've both agreed somehow to ignore whatever just happened. Fair enough, what would you even say? You sigh and look outside the windows.
"Again? We've been at this all day. The school building's about to shut..." you say, letting your arms go slack.
"Oh, so it is," she coughs, glancing over at the darkening skies. "Uh... well... I guess we can continue tomorrow."
"Tomorrow it is," you add, as you both grab your bags in a tense silence. You wait for her as she packs up her weapon, though you're not sure if you should. Once she's finished you both head through the doors without speaking.
Only the
'tap!'
'tap!'
'tap!'
of school shoes dares to break the quietness.
Her blood still decorates the wooden floor, having thickened into dark, bulbous drops. You hope someone'll clean that up. You will if you have to, though.
When you leave and enter the school's courtyard the sky is already dimming. In Winter the night marches on the day much quicker than in Summer. Maximillian and Elise, Weiss' 'friends,' are waiting expectantly. She doesn't seem eager to walk home with them, but she seems even less eager to be with you right now. She side-glances you.
"I'll see you later," she mumbles, walking off to join her friends.
"Yeah. Bye," you say, equally as subdued. You stay still and watch them as they walk away, before sighing. Your exhaled air looks like steam as you breath into the Winter winds.
As you do every day, you walk back to your home in silence. As it gets darker the yellowish light of car headlamps illuminates the streets in beautiful flashes before zooming off again. The streetlamps are similar, spraying golden light over the city like rain. You're thankful for this brief moment of solitude, away from awkward moments in school bathrooms and tough sparring matches.
When you walk through the cottage door, it's a relief. You drop your bag and pull your shoes off in the hallway, before strolling into the living room. Yushan lounges on the sofa, bouncing a tennis ball off the ceiling.
"Okay," you fall into a chair opposite her. "I have something to tell you- and don't get too excited."
She hums, catching the ball and sitting up.
You take a deep breath. "Today I shed Schnee blood."
Yushan raises an eyebrow and leans back, sinking into the pillow. She somehow seems both amused and concerned.
"I thought you wanted to reconcile with Weiss, but you killed her instead?"
"Uh- what? No," you shake your head "I mean literally. I punched her so hard that she had a nosebleed," you say in deadpan.
Yushan bursts out in a muffled laughter, giggling into a pillow she quickly grabbed. As a faunus and die-hard enemy of the SDC and their brutal exploitation of faunus labour, this is probably the best news Yu could possibly receive. You should have saved it for her birthday.
"I see, I see. I can't believe you managed to make a Schnee bleed before I have," she says with a smirk.
You're suddenly reminded, due to all this talk of blood, that Yushan is still a killer. That soldier from that outpost is still dead, and Yushan is still almost certainly the murderer. You still haven't confronted her about it, and you still don't plan to do it anytime soon. Maybe that's evil of you. Maybe 'morality' is fake. What do you even gain from confronting her about it? Nothing, or so you convince yourself. At some point you'll confront her, but now's not the time.
She pulls herself up and wanders to the kitchen. "Was it at least fun? Did you savour the moment? I've always dreamed of doing what you've done today; you're officially my hero!" She calls from the other room, rummaging around the cupboards.
"I did not enjoy it. I'm not a sadist like you are," you reply as she walks back in, holding stacks of flavourless biscuits in her hands. The only reason she eats those is that she's too lazy to actually cook anything. "I regret the whole thing, wish it never happened." If you hadn't hit her, then you wouldn't have had that weirdly romantic(?) moment in the stupid school bathroom.
"Lame. You're lame," she mumbles, mouth still full of biscuits.
"Very mature response for someone turning thirty next year."
"This is something you'll learn as you age, but youth doesn't end till you decide it does. There's no moment where you suddenly become an adult, it's a slow path you walk along." She lies across the sofa and rests her chin on a pillow.
"Mhm, where are you on that path?"
"Due to my childhood trauma, I never really started," she says, somewhat spitefully.
"Oh... right." Of course, Yushan ran away from home when she was fourteen after being assaulted by humans. Yikes, I guess that would mess you up. "Well, while I was out, I didn't only do the one thing you've been wanting to do since you were sixteen."
"Five," she corrects.
"God, really?" You say, briefly distracted. "I mean- here, look at this," you demand as you pull Blue Angel up from the floor, pulling the blade up into the weak light of one of the cottage's many lamps. Yushan doesn't look particularly amused, though you can't really tell due to her feathery hood shrouding her face, as per usual.
"Mhm. It's similar to Funeral," she notes emotionlessly. "How did you purchase it?"
"I got Weiss to buy it."
"Do you have her wrapped around your finger?" She mutters.
"No. This is just for the exam she cares so much for. Anyway, what do you think?"
"It is what it is."
"Nothing else to add?" You try to get something, anything, out of her.
She shrugs. "Dare I say that it's made of steel?" She forces out halfassedly.
"Really? That's all you have to say?"
"Yes. It's a sword, child. Nothing more than a weapon."
You sigh, already exasperated, and roll your eyes. "There's writing on it too, if you care."
"Uh... fine, let me see," she slides off the sofa and onto her feet lazily, before stumbling over to you. You pass her the handle, and she pulls the blade high into the light.
"Take me unto the Revolution; Kill those who defy our mercy; That my blade is Gospel; And this Blue Angel rides upon Remnant," she recites monotonously.
"Doesn't even rhyme."
"It does in its original language," she tells you, swinging the blade over your head, almost cutting through your hair.
"You recognise it?" You lean back, as she rests the blade against your neck playfully. Both of you know she won't do anything, so you're not worried, though the blade is chillingly cold.
"Yes. You want its history?"
You nod, relaxing for a good story.
"A long time ago, before the absurdity of the modern world, many of the faunus were in slavery, and many of those faunus yearned for freedom and liberation from their chains. One of them was a falcon faunus." Her brows crease in concentration. "Or was he a hawk? A peacock? A raven perhaps? You get the point, he had feathers."
"Like someone I know." You watch her own feathers move and bristle with each movement of her muscles.
"Mhm. True. As I was saying, he rallied the people under an ideal he had, named 'freedom.' He is one of the first recorded faunus freedom fighters in written history. Even his name has been lost to the erosion of time, and now he's simply called the Blue Angel, after the mythical messengers of the gods. There's a lot of poetry, songs and art made which is based on him and his story. Most of it is made by the faunus, for obvious reasons."
You hum. She continues to swing the blade around her, suddenly finding it much more interesting now that it's in her hand.
"There's a trigger next to the handle, too." You point to it, and immediately after she compresses it with her finger, making that same grinding sound.
"Every time it's pressed it makes that damn sound," you explain to her. Her amber eyes examine the weapon curiously.
"Probably has to do with the hollow handle," she mumbles.
"I- wait- the handle's hollow?"
"You can't tell?" She says, almost smugly. "It's lighter than it should be."
"No. I couldn't tell," you mutter sardonically.
"Once you get used to weapons like they're extensions of yourself, you'll start to detect stuff like this," she investigates the pommel of the sword, which is shaped like a winged, robed person with their hands clasped together in some sort of prayer. "Maybe this comes loose." She grabs the metal statue and starts pulling.
"Please don't break it."
"Please don't doubt me," she shoots back, still pulling. She pulls harder and you consider ripping the weapon from her hands, but your eyes open wider when you hear the sound of metal grinding against metal once again. Then you see little, reddish shards of rust trickle from her hand, dancing their way to the floor. With a 'crunch!' the whole inside of the handle gives way, sliding out of the actual handle to reveal a cylindrical, hollow metal shell.
"No way," you mumble, peering closer. "It's a container? For what? Dust? You guess, your mind spinning with ideas and excitement. Never did you think that a weapon which looks so simple could actually hold a mystery.
"Probably," Yushan mumbles as she sliders her long, pale finger into the cylinder and pulls it across the wall. When she moves her finger into the light, you notice many little pinpricks of red light sparkle across her skin. They're traces of a fine powder. "Fire dust, more specifically," she tells you.
"I can't believe you figured that out so easily," you say, stunned.
"It's not that hard; you're just inexperienced." She ignites the dust particles on her finger with aura, causing them to burn up like little stars, leaving only smoke on her skin.
"Oh. Well... thanks for not calling me an idiot instead."
"Mhm." She hands the weapon back to you, which you take gently.
"I'll have to get Weiss to give me some of her dust."
"She can certainly afford it," Yushan adds.
"Too true."
She stretches her arms above her head and yawns. "Is that all?"
You scrunch up your face and think. The Bathroom Incident (Which is apparently what we're calling it now.) still lingers on your mind. Some part of you wants to tell her, to have her affirm to you how stupid it would be to... to kiss Weiss, or to validate your suppressed desire to do so. In the end you decide not to tell of the Incident, especially since you doubt she'll have anything valuable to add. She'll probably be disgusted and disown you.
You flash a crooked smile. "Yes. Sleep well."
Her eyes narrow at you; she can tell something's off. She hums once last time before hesitantly leaving you be.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Practice makes perfect, but in truth you rarely ever realise it. You only reach that perfection after doing something so many times, to the point you hardly even remember the first time you did it nor all the times after that. It becomes like breathing or speaking, something you do because it's human to do so. But sadly, once you get to that point you never get to revel in your perfection, because suddenly it's so mundane you can hardly remember it ever being difficult.
That's what Weiss thinks, anyway. She's standing alone, in the training room on a misty day, while loading a new set of dust cartridges into Myrtenaster's revolving chamber. She does each motion fluidly, slipping out the empty cartridge and inserting a new one in one flick of her wrist and fingers. In a blurry haze she remembers doing this the first time. She sees her young, childish hands struggling to pull Myrtenaster apart so that she could get to the chamber. She remembers the cartridges being too unwieldy for her hands. But most of all she recalls the edge of her nails eroding and crumbling from the constant trying. It's strange, that. The brain remembers the oddest yet most distinct things.
When remembering a childhood car you might recall the stickiness of the radio's buttons, because you spilt juice on them earlier. When trying to recall a past birthday you might remember the taste of lemonade and candy. When remembering an awkward moment in high school you might remember the warmth of someone's breath, the stench of your own blood filling your nostrils mixing with cleaning fluid, and the pure white tiles of the bathroom wall.
Her hands stumble as she replaces another cartridge. Her face is alight in another blush, and the fantasy of almost kissing someone is turning her talent to clumsiness. She curses as she picks up the dropped water dust cartridge and slips it where it's meant to be, before closing the chamber by flicking the blade back where it should be.
She wonders what you're going to say this morning when you walk through the doors. Will you sweep her off her feet and continue what happened yesterday? Will you stumble and mutter your way through apology or... a confession, perhaps?
Weiss slaps her cheeks, trying to will those thoughts away.
Maybe you'll both continue to ignore the whole thing and persist in this awkward silence till the exam. Maybe you won't show up at all.
When you crash through the doors without any subtlety she jumps, and without missing a beat you start talking.
"You won't believe what Yushan found, she's an absolute genius for discovering this!" You exclaim, making her frown. For some reason whenever you say her name, Weiss feels a discomfort in her soul. She thinks it's jealously, but it's unfamiliar to her as someone who's usually been given anything she could want. Without a doubt she's jealous of Yushan, that she's apparently so smart and that you trust her so much, as well as the fact she gets to have you at home, whereas Weiss only gets you in school hours like spending time with her is an obligation. And yet she's also jealous of you, that you should have this woman care for you so much that you defend her and gush about her. The only women in Weiss' life are her sister, who does truly care for her but is cold and stoic like ice in human form, and Willow Schnee, her mother who can barely take a single step sue to how much alcohol is in her blood, like she's self-prescribed poison for her pain. Weiss thinks her mother is like willow (The actual tree.) that never learnt to stand so she won't be destroyed by the harsh wind; she's weak and cowardly. If she dared to stand up for herself, she could have given her children the life they deserve, and yet she chose to hide and let Weiss endure the abuse alone. Weiss somehow hates her more than anything, even when she knows Willow is equally a victim. It's irrational, but hate very rarely is.
"Okay?" She says lowly. This isn't how she expected things to go at all. You seem like you've forgotten what happened yesterday. Did it matter so little to you? You pull the pommel till the cylinder slides out, catching Weiss' curiosity.
"Huh."
"Cool, no? It needs fire dust to work."
"Where are you planning to get th- oh, from me," she quickly realises.
"Yup. Got anything spare?"
She sighs and starts rummaging around the briefcase she normally keeps Myrtenaster in, pulling a cartridge of red dust from it. She presents it to you and you agree it'll work perfectly. Eagerly you put the dust into the cylinder and slide it back into the handle with a 'click!' Weiss looks sceptical about this, however.
You briefly press the sword's trigger, making it rev much more healthily than before. A few azure sparks leap from where the handle meets the blade and bounce across the floor before fading. You look as happy as a child receiving a new toy, whereas Weiss looks shocked it worked at all. You press it again for a short moment longer, making the same happen. Once more you pull the trigger, making the weapon rumble and rev like a car struggling to start. Finally, the weapon succeeds, and a bright blue wreath of flames engulfs the blade, starting from the base and running to the very top. The blaze hangs to the blade, not fading even when you stop pressing the trigger. It's royal light cloaks everything within the room in a blue shade, being even stronger than the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. You and Weiss look on its empyreal light with awe. Shades of teal, turquoise and deep blue all mix and churn across the steel in a mesmerising manner.
With newfound confidence you point the blade at Weiss and smile, making her do the same and draw Myrtenaster.
"What happens when fire meets ice?" You ask slyly.
"Depends how strong the Winter winds are," she responds, before propelling herself forward on a glyph. Quickly the battle turns to a fierce duel of spark and steel. Weiss is glad that there's no awkwardness left over from yesterday. You two make good friends, she tells herself, there's no reason for either of you to bring it up or consider it anything more than simple, stupid hormones. There's nothing to say.