#just her elegance... she's so distant and yet so warm. it's a fascinating contradiction

[mymarifae]

she's so lovely to be honest. hold me

[samsevenwrites]

note: the fic is twice as long as I expected, so I hope the “read furter” will work, if it doesn’t, I’m really sorry! It’s also my own translation from French, so sorry for the mistakes (and the dull ending, it had to stop!).

“These witches are really disconcerting creatures!”

Although he did not take part in the discussion, Corvo approved in petto the Baron Falero’s observation. For his part, he would have added that, at least, those of the Lodge were peaceful, but the man simply passed the group of aristocrats, continuing along the corridor, his hand away from the grip of his gun.

Farther away, among clinking glasses, audiograph players, and laughter, the Royal Protector heard a similar conversation, little surprised by the interest the witches aroused.

The evening was still young; the glimmers of the end of the day made the particles shine in the air, mixing silver dust and gold mist, the tables supported huge plates of greasy and heavy food, the pyramids of champagne glasses waited for gourd hands to dismount them, the servants and the guests were not yet drunk, but still: the names of the sorceresses had already bewitched all the tongues.

Because, indeed, what disconcerting creatures they were!

The Lodge’s sorceresses, by chance, were very different from their Brigmore fellows: instead of inspiring fear, they preferred to arouse curiosity by using more fascinating than terrifying magic.

In Dunwall, they were also known for their taste for mystery, wearing it as ladies adorn themselves with jewels, and, proud, they colored their lips with red and secrets.

But then, if the witches of the Lodge wanted to be riddles, why could the guests so easily guess their identity at the Boyle’s masked ball that night?

The irony had not escaped Corvo whose grin, concealed by his raven mask, became more pronounced as he passed near two women. They were surrounded by a few nobles, all hanging onto every word, unable to see the lips hidden by splendid masks: the first was the almost perfect representation of the head of a magpie, and the dark feathers with marine reflections imitated the delicate silk of the tailor. On the bust, to imitate the chest of the bird, lace was piled up and swelled, soft and rich at the same time, and a long stiff tail lay under the back of the guest, reminding the one of these thieving birds.

Her waist was surrounded by the arm of her neighbor, who was wearing a jacket with bronze puffy sleeves, speckled with white, matching the owl mask of terrifying realism. Feathers covered from her shoulders to her loins, the savagery of the animal mingling with the delicacy of the garment, echoing the perfect contrast of these witches.

Sheala de Tancarville and Philippa Eilhart, as rulers of the Lodge, attracted the young ladies who dreamed to play with spells, so they gathered around these two enchantresses, while the Royal Protector preferred to outdistance.

Corvo had never exchanged more than a few regards with Sheala, as she was so reserved, but Philippa had paid many visits to the Dunwall Tower, but neither Emily nor Corvo were fooled: this witch had a passion almost morbid for politics, and she did not seek the Empress’ friendship; she was looking for a place near the throne.

This approach did not surprise anyone, just like the Empress’ tolerance of the Lodge, as long as it did not commit any crime; the chapter of the occult was not a taboo subject under the reign of Emily Kaldwin.

It would have been to forget the fact that the Royal Protector himself had on his hand an esoteric tattoo—

Moreover, to prove her peaceful intentions, Philippa Eilhart carefully chose the name of her circle, insisting on the Lodge of sorceresses, and not witches.

Of course, it was not enough to calm the anger of the Overseers, and luckily the attitude of the Empress was not the only bulwark against the Abbey of the Everyman: there were also rumors that ensured that some of the magicians helped the poor for a crust of bread.

As he walked away, Corvo felt over his back the round, yellow eyes of the fake owl for a moment, feeling like a rat full of promise for the nocturnal animal.

Another event had cooled the ardor of the religious, much more important: the magicians of the Lodge were not simple country dweller who stained their fingers with grass and pieces of chalk, they did not use their voice for strange and harmless poems, their potions were not infusions within the reach of any apothecary— Their veins filtered a powerful magic, as had been proved during one evening, when Baron Goya had offended Philippa Eilhart.

Corvo had not attended the scene, but the testimonies were all the same: after an indiscreet question from the aristocrat, the magician’s eyes had become enormous and gilded like two cold suns. Brown and gray feathers had begun to grow on her jaw, shoulders and arms, developing with a nervous rustle. The lips then had look slimmer, had advanced to form a beak, and the transformation had only been suspended when the man had asked for forgiveness, perhaps even mercy, with profound sincerity.

This story had reminded Corvo of the legends of women with a body of birds that haunted the seas, able to seduce sailors with their song and their brutal beauty.

Finally, perhaps the authors had simply met the ancestors of the magicians of the Lodge?

Before climbing one of the marble staircases that gave access to the first floor, the Protector crossed a guest with a bust covered with long peacock feathers, so beautiful and gleaming that the absence of jewels was a good choice. Under the mask with the little white gold beak, blond locks had escaped. Corvo thought for a few moments, before remembering the name: Margarita Laux-Antille. Discrete, uninterested in the political world, she had never been to the Dunwall Tower herself, and even tonight, the young woman seemed reluctantly present. Arms crossed, she turned her back to society, to the masses of anonymous costumes. Her silver heels raised her proudly in front of the pictures she was studying, or pretended to study, drawing nearer to the verdant and natural settings so she could forget the hangings of the salons, so heavy they hid the horizons.

Out of respect, Corvo did not seek to divert her from her contemplations and left, but he still perceived, several meters away, the scents of moist hyacinth, as if they haunted him.

His pace was measured, so much so that at the moment of reaching the landing of the floor, Corvo almost collided with a guest much smaller than him. Under the robin mask, a soft voice apologized, but the Protector insisted on the fact it was his fault. Coral silk enveloped the witch’s throat, stretching over her cleavage in a prudish way, but this coyness was contradicted by the rich tailor that flattered the hourglass figure. The gray had never been so sensual as it was on this rounded chest, this small of the back— The silver beads scattered, attracting light on the winter fabric, making it warm.

It was Triss Merigold, the one haloed by these rumors of sympathy toward the poorer people.

Emily had already discussed Triss’ case with her father, trying to guess if this help was well-intentioned, or if it was a strategy to better betray later. Previous years had taught them to be suspicious, even miserly in confidence. So, even if it was hard to believe that a face so jolly that Triss' could be that of a treacherous woman, Corvo was distant.

In fact, there was only one witch that Corvo did not have the courage to turn down: a woman who carried moonlight on her cheeks and, in her hair, fragrances of spring.

By her strength and her reserve, this woman inspired respect, and since she had helped the family, she inspired the guard confidence.

One day in the Month of Rain, the Empress had received an ivory pendant, a present from the town of Poolwick, who had seen her buildings rejuvenate with Empire-funded work, but the gift had poisoned the Empress’ nights, plunging her into farandoles of nightmares, exhausting her, making her sick. Two weeks made Emily weak as a child, skinny as a skeleton, until the sorcerer went to the Dunwall Tower for a request. When she had begun to climb the steps of the hall, the evil magic had pierced her, and Emily’s health became a priority. The witch then had studied the cursed jewel, probing it to discover its past, how it had gone from one porter to another, to finally unveil the story of the gift: the real pendant had been replaced by a fake one engraved by an old sailor, who was half crazy because of stories of witchcraft. The piece of ivory had been broken, and its spells had been swept away by others, healthier.

The lady of Vengerberg had not asked for anything in return, and Corvo and Emily had been surprised by this selfless gesture— but also touched.

As he passed the library, Corvo was seized by this memory, by the fragrance of blooming lilac and ripe gooseberries. He closed his eyes and, almost in spite of himself, he inhaled deeply these fragrances of cold sunny aurora.

Corvo knew that he would meet the sorceresses of the Lodge at Lady Boyle’s, but to meet this one was a trial: for three successive nights, while he was unable to explain why, the raven woman had haunted his dreams. In the midnight shadows, the unknown body had become intimate and he had called her name so many times. Yennefer.

He had to make an effort to call her Lady Vengerberg, to forget the smell of her thick hair, to forget the groans in her tense throat—

In order to conceal his confusion, Corvo turned slowly, and held back a sneer: his raven mask was now facing a similar, finer, but equally elegant.

“Good evening, Lady Raven.”

“Good evening, Lord Raven.”

Among the jet-black feathers, purple irises shone brightly; amused with this pretended game of anonymity. Why break the rules of the masked ball when you had such a taste for riddles? Perhaps for the simple pleasure of being marginal. Rules are made to be broken.

The tailor of Yennefer had the color of welcoming nights, those filled with darkness that cradles tired bodies. The sleeves of the jacket were long, brushing the ground like tidy wings, leaving bare forearms. Under the white shirt, Corvo saw the complex black lace that took the shape of the body, as animated by the desire to marry her curves.

Even for tonight, even dressed, the witch had refused to display any touch of color.

Corvo had no will to leave.

As a Royal Protector who refused to dance, Corvo was only patrolling at the same rhythm of the hands of the clocks, languishing in the morning and his bed. Perhaps the hours would pass faster with this other bird?

Yennefer raised her thin hand, and brushed the fluffy texture of the twin face that remained static.

“This mask suits you better.”

She was the only guest who kept her hair loose, with provocative loops of freedom. Corvo tried to ignore the torture that was burning in the hollow of his stomach. Cautious, he replied in a whisper:

“You’re a lady who has a sense of style, so I trust your judgment— but my enemies don’t have that quality, then I doubt they can appreciate this mask.”

“That’s a shame. Since I don’t intend to become your enemy, I can’t even do you that honor.”

He heard her smile, remembered with ease the thin lips, almost sharp.

Apart from an old baron who was sleeping in a large armchair and two young men talking in an alcove, the library was empty.

“You’re not accompanied by a sister? It seemed to me that crows were more sociable—”

“I see my associates twice a week, which is already too much. As long as I don’t approach the plates of oysters during the evenings, they leave me in peace.”

What’s the link with oysters?

“You didn’t let your nestling take flight, tonight?”

She knows that the Empress is never invited to Lady Boyle’s annual party, does she want me to be the first to break the rules?

“She’s a nocturnal bird, it’s true, but she still doesn’t support cages.”

“Then you’re no different: I watched you fly from one point to another since the beginning of the evening.”

Sure of her, Yennefer wrapped her arm around Corvo’s, and walked quietly to one of the big windows, used as doors that gave access to a little balcony.

The sounds of instruments coming out of the audiograph players were getting so distant, the masked faces were already forgotten, and when the window was closed, Dunwall was nothing but a backdrop. The balcony overlooked a few small roofs, insignificant because they were too low; the perch was hoisted only to offer a view of the distant sea.

The horizon was mauve, right above the black waves that were ready to swallow the sun stuck in this tired canvas.

Yennefer pulled out a case of cigarettes and offered one to his companion, who declined, refusing at the same time to remove his mask. He did not understand what this woman was looking for.

“Are you afraid someone will come to spy on us? You’re right: the curious are attracted by what frightens them.”

The witch suddenly turned and, after a quick movement of the wrist, Corvo heard a clicking from the door.

“There. We can discover our faces.”

Her palms were under the edges of the mask and they made it slide. She gradually revealed a mouth covered with faded carmine, long dark eyelashes edging eyelids shadowed with eggplant shades: she had made up as if she knew she would remove her mask before the end of the ball.

Even under twilight, her skin persisted in being livid, seeming cold.

With a sigh, Corvo imitated her and removed his bird face, feeling his cheeks regain colors, the same as those when he still lived in Serkonos, hiding the gray complexion where Dunwall had left its mark.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take one?” Proposed the magician again. “Tobacco is mixed with willow sapwood.”

Corvo did not know how and why this ingredient was added to the composition, still he preferred to stick to a Cullero cigar.

Yennefer lifted the wooden lid: six white cigarettes lined up under a copper band, just in front of a lock of gray hair tied together with an emerald green ribbon. The fingers were nimble to slide one of the cigarettes, but in her gesture, the witch disturbed the wick that came off the holster.

Before a breeze carried off this relic, the Protector leaned forward quickly and grabbed it. Deceived by the color, Corvo expected the dry texture of an elderly person’s hair, but they were as soft as a baby’s. It was not an old gray; it was the gray coat of a little mouse.

Yennefer’s eyes were wide, stunned, even when Corvo straightened up to give her the wick. A little grimace twisted her lips, then she loosened them with difficulty to articulate:

“It was useless. Nothing can go very far for the witches: there’re so many spells to catch what’s trying to escape—” She closed her fingers on the hair, and, the treasure safe in the palm of her palm, she added with a sign: “thank you, Corvo. It’s something important.”

“An amulet of protection?”

“Oh no: there’s no magic here, this lock belongs to an ugly one.”

Corvo was surprised by this answer, by this sudden melancholy look.

If he had not been there, the witch would have brought the wick to her lips, a ritual she often practiced, as evidenced by the traces of lipstick that stained the ribbon.

“In reality, it comes from a dear little swallow.”

In the violent light of dusk, Corvo swore he could see a smile. He was trying to remember a swallow suit, but no one was wearing such a disguise. Now that he thought about it, none of the witches in the Lodge had hair of that hue.

The case back in her pocket, Yennefer tapped the end of the cigarette in the middle of her palm, and the tobacco began to ignite. Then, instead of extending her hand to Corvo and offering her magic to light up the cigar, she leaned forward and shared the tiny but fiery embers. The pungent odor of the cigar mingled with the more discreet smell of the cigarette. The Protector felt the perfume of the witch clinging to the woody vapor, as if lilac bushes had grown on the tallness of hundred-year-old trees, and under the rough bark, syrupy secrets were running, seeking a mouth to plunge the weight of the sap.

Corvo would not have said that the witch was beautiful, only one woman was and would remain beautiful in her heart, yet Yennefer had a certain charm, the same as the heavy storms of Karnaca, both hot and threatening , both soft and dark.

The sorceress suddenly moved the cigarette away, blew a cloud and her mouth remained open, like ready to confess a secret. Corvo was as attentive as if he was expecting the first thunderclap, but she just merely observed:

“It’s a good thing you left your bone charms in the closet. You’ve picked them all over the place, did you not?”

“Yes, I did, during— some trips.”

“They were created by clumsy hands, the magic is impure and it’ll hurt you in the long run, some of the charms can make you blind, others can make your bones brittle— and it’s not the worst you could have.”

“And of course, you’re the expert.”

“Absolutely.”

The handle of the window waved for a moment, then the visitor gave up, letting the two crows chat.

“And I guess you’re not going to open a shop? I could be a customer—”

“I don’t intend to open a shop, and don’t go to see Keira, she’s not as skilled as she pretends. But I could make some.”

“Why? At what price?”

“Because I need your help.”

“Is it about the witches of Brigmore?”

“No, it’s about those of the Lodge.”

The cigar had consumed itself for several minutes, and now, it eventually went out.

Yes, the witches of the Lodge were really disconcerting creatures: when the flower-covered witches sought favors from their respected Delilah, the feathers-covered one could have words, but for what? To replace Philippa Eilhart? Destroy the discreet Sheala of Tancarville?

“I saw you, Corvo, with your daughter. What you experienced in 1837 is not a secret; for many, you’ve defended the legitimate Empress, but for some, you’ve also protected your daughter.”

“Does the Lodge plan to attack the Empress?”

“No, not at all. Philippa may try to slip under her sheets, if she can’t sit near the throne, but besides it, the Empress is safe.” Yennefer plunged her hand into her pocket, and the tips of her fingers caressed the ebony case. “I need you to help me protect an other empress. To protect my daughter.”

“Witches can ‘t have— Excuse me, it was inappropriate—”

Yennefer accepted the apology, including the Protector’s surprise.

The handle was shaken again, so the witch raised her chin to one of the roofs of the Boyle’s house.

“Can you climb up there?”

“I can teleport myself.”

“Same power, different origins.” Yennefer observed as she stepped into a golden circle she had just made appear. The balcony was no longer a sufficient summit for the two black birds who found themselves, without the slightest rustle of wings, on a slope of tiles. The stone still held the heat of the day, and Yennefer folded her legs elegantly, sitting near Corvo who was not making so much.

Witnessed by the sky and silent passing birds, Yennefer told the story of the girl who had appeared in her life, the Empress who had left her crown in another world, who had been swept away by her own powers as a drowning person in the embraces of the ocean.

“So Ciri is your adopted daughter.”

“I know that Philippa covets her. I told her that Ciri had gone to another world, but this old owl is starting to have doubts—”

Elbows against his knees, Corvo remained silent. He did not know that such maternal love pulsed in this dark silhouette, and yet he could easily imagine this arm, like a wing, resting on shoulders swept by gray hair.

Yennefer was not a talkative woman; a few words expressed her affection for this little swallow, but they were sufficient as they were powerful. With the same brevity, Corvo confessed that he understood, speaking of his own strength that Emily gave him.

As the horizon darkened and the arms of the night enveloped them, encouraging the secrets to be whispered, both parents remembered their love for their respective daughters.

“We’ll help you.” Finally promised the Protector. “Once Emily and I have met Ciri, we’ll think about a solution.”

Yennefer thanked him again: influenced by the signs, the witch did not believe in coincidences, and the Protector’s quickness to stoop to seize this strand of hair was auspicious.

This man had been betrayed many times, and the bitter taste of disappointment could have filled his mouth, making him drunk with anger, but Corvo had remained faithful to his principles, to his family. His black hair had ceased to hide his face, and his eyes, though dark, bore a reassuring warmth.

Yennefer continued to detail his profile when she asked:

“Have you had strange dreams lately, Lord Protector?”

The burst that shook the huge body was unequivocal, and Yennefer even let out a laugh:

“Excuse me, I think it’s my fault: witches’ dreams tend to be contagious— Well, I’ll only feel bad if they were unpleasant.”

Witches were disconcerting creatures.

Draped with secrets, they did not know the meaning of the word ‘prudishness’: Corvo did not know if it was the words of the woman or the magician who came to plant under his ribs.

The emptiness that Jessamine had left was even greater than an ocean, and Corvo loved his empress so much that he was afraid of hurting her even in death. He knew, however, that the ghost did not want a mourning, which had lasted for a decade already, should not be a heavy ball dragged to the grave.

He could live, he could love with a different way, he could remain faithful to memories, while welcoming new ones.

“Have you really bewitched me?”

“No, I haven’t. I implied that I had dreamed ‘too loud’, which is different.”

Corvo did not know what he was exposing himself to: more secrets, more revelations?

“Have you ever had sex on a stuffed ox, Protector?”

“I— must admit I haven’t.”

“And the idea does not seem to seduce you more than that,” remarked Yennefer, almost disappointed, “what about on a roof?”

This new proposition was no less strange, but the roofs of Dunwall had become, in recent years, a familiar environment.

“You’re really strange, Yennefer; the dreams I had were happening in a bed.”

“Really? So they were only from you.”

The absence of magic could have been reassuring, but Yennefer did not believe in coincidences, so she lay on the tiles with a triumphant air, gripping the Protector’s sleeve, determined to test his imagination.

[texanredrose]

I guess the Arranged Marriage AU continues? I need to figure out a name for this thing.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (here) / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Weiss glanced up, watching as gentle rays of sunlight filtered through the leafless branches overhead, a cool breeze teasing the end of her offset ponytail as the strands brushed the back of her calves. Growing accustomed to the manner of dress in Vale was something of a trial. The wardrobe she'd brought from Atlas would make her pass out from stifling heat; the fabric were heavy, designed to combat the Atlesian cold, and Vale's climate simply ran much warmer in comparison. Her wife had done everything in her power to ensure the new wardrobe would suit her tastes, though, with every garment woven from the finest silk or the smoothest cotton, dyed white or blue to match her hair or eyes. They all had high necks, long sleeves, hems that brushed the ground, and pants to provide her modest where most Valen clothing provided little, to her sensibilities, anyway. Designs were stitched into them as well, looping and elegant, and Weiss didn't miss how the Valen royal sigil- a fierce, golden dragon lacking wings- entwined with the white snowflake that had always stood as the emblem of her house over her left breast.

It wasn't hidden beneath the dragon and the ancient progenitor of the Xiao Long clan- or so the legends went, and she was finding it a little difficult to discount- didn't superimpose itself over the snowflake. They simply existed, together, in the same space, equal parts of her new sigil and a perfect counterpart to Yang's own, a flaming heart with the same dragon wrapped around it, yellow and gold standing out against the brown of her vest. With the turn towards cooler weather, the woman had taken to wearing a plain, long-sleeved shirt beneath the hide and matching full length pants tucked into her boots. It was curious to see her now, as winter began to settle into Vale, fighting not to shiver while pulling her sash tighter, trying to keep the warm air trapped within the confines of her shirt even as the long, tapered end fell lower, just past her knees. The oddest part wasn't that, by Atlesian standards, this ensemble would've been far more acceptable for their wedding than what the blonde actually wore; it actually stemmed from the twinge of regret lingering in the back of her mind. She'd... grown rather fond of seeing her wife's chiseled muscles on display, especially whenever they came out to the clearing together. Now, she could only admire them when the two prepared for bed or awoke for the day.

"You know we don't have to do this, right?" The blonde offered, as she always did, her supportive smile doing little to hide the worry in those lilac eyes.

"Nonsense," she replied, straightening her posture and tilting her chin up, brushing off the annoyance that it did little to intimidate her taller wife. "You said it yourself; Valen children are capable of controlling their semblance. I can do this."

"It's not a matter of can or can't, Princess." Yang's shoulders dropped slightly as she spread her hands. "You don't need your semblance. I promised I'd protect you, remember?"

"It's not a matter of need. Am I not allowed to protect myself?" A low blow, perhaps, taking advantage of the blonde's perpetual concern regarding their arranged marriage to bolster her argument, but the back and forth between them was exhausting. Her wife would relent, as she always did, and the lesson would proceed, yet she always tried to gently discourage further attempts. Where once the Atlesian might've suspected some manner of foul play- much easier to exert control, after all, when the target had no means of defense- now she knew better. The reluctance on the Queen's part came entirely from not wanting to see the disappointment on Weiss' face when she failed to manifest her chi in any significant way. In the two months they'd been together, that much she was willing to bet on without hesitation.

Her fascination with chi, however, was far more recent. After the blonde's comment on what the Atlesian considered their 'true' wedding night, the curiosity lingered. There was no word in her native tongue that corresponded with 'chi', leaving her at a loss for what Yang had truly meant. It wasn't until a month later, when the question flew from her tongue over breakfast before she could clamp down on the impulse, that she realized it was a purely Valen concept. The blonde had pursed her lips together in thought, trying to snatch the Atlesian equivalent and failing, before launching into a brief explanation. An energy that resided in all things and could be harnessed by the Valen warriors to protect them from grievous wounds. But chi could be developed further, allowing an individual warrior to achieve things far beyond the scope of a regular human being.

"A semblance," she'd said in her mother tongue, wonder filling her tone. Yang had furrowed her brows, confused, before she explained, retelling half a hundred fairy tales from Atlas about great heroes who were blessed by the God, granted a bit of divine power to aid them in battle, protecting people and doing great deeds. It was thought that only those chosen by the heavens to become heroes were capable of receiving such gifts.

The blonde had laughed. "You don't need a God's blessing to be a hero. Just a strong heart."

Weiss had wanted to protest- there was no evidence in Atlas to contradict those old tales and she was raised believing them- but instead she'd paused and considered. If the Valen army were all capable of wielding their 'chi' in such a way, to the point where they effectively had the semblances of old, then it would certainly explain why the war against Vale was so obviously doomed. How every wave sent to the distant shore came back, muttering absolute gibberish about the terrors they faced on the battlefield... perhaps her father had dismissed their claims too quickly.

Rather than argue the point, the Atlesian took what appeared to be the obvious step. If Valens could harness their 'chi', and Atlas had their own legends regarding something similar, it had to be possible for Weiss to develop her own chi, her own semblance. Her skills with the sword were already a match for her instructor; Yatsuhashi had said as much before departing to return to his own lands.

Snapping back to the present, blue eyes caught the way Yang's lips twisted into a frown. "You're allowed to do whatever you want, Weiss. I just don't like how much this is upsetting you."

"I'm frustrated by my lack of progress," she replied, curling her fingers around the hem of her sleeves. "Ceasing altogether is not a step in the right direction if that's where your concern truly lies."

"Maybe you just don't have a very good teacher." The Queen shrugged, puffing out a sigh. "This... it all came naturally to me, Weiss. I don't know how to explain it right." She passed a hand through her hair, obviously more aggravated than she was letting on previously. Maybe the Atlesian shouldn't have prodded; Yang had shown her nothing but kindness over the past two months. With all the clan leaders gone, returned to their lands after wishing the newlyweds a happy union, there was no one left aside from the blonde herself who even had an idea how to teach another to manifest their chi. "But... there's one more thing I can think of that might work."

"Then let's try it." Weiss allowed herself a small smile, hoping it would encourage her wife. It was strange, how such small gestures seemed to mean something greater to the other woman while they would be outright shunned back in Atlas. No weaknesses on display, no cracks in the armor her father had often said, but it seemed the more she showed Yang, the more the blonde wanted to see.

It was... heartening.

"Yeah, okay." Yang nodded, her smile returning. "It's going to be a little different from what we've been doing."

The past two weeks were filled with meditation and simple, repetitive motions meant to clear her mind and hone her awareness of her body in turn, but neither seemed to do anything aside from offer unique relaxation methods the Atlesian was unfamiliar with, which was a good thing. Not their goal, of course, but a boon nonetheless. Their chosen space, a clearing just a little ways from the blonde's childhood home, served their needs well, providing a tranquil area devoid of distractions, except the errant animal like a squirrel or a deer moving through the minimal brush. They could only come out whenever her wife's duties allowed, which was surprisingly often all things considered. At least once a day for an hour or two, but it still wasn't enough for them to make significant headway towards their goal.

After hesitating for a moment longer, the Queen approached. Weiss watched, blue eyes briefly catching on the gleaming light any time the cestus passed beneath unbroken sunlight, and remained still while the blonde walked around behind her. Myrtenaster hung on her hip, as they were both armed whenever they left their bedroom, and there it remained as her wife was mindful not to catch its pointed tip against her pant leg. There was a pause before Yang came closer, hardly any space between the two of them. "If... if you don't-"

"I'll say something." She assured, turning her head just enough to catch her wife's gaze over her shoulder. Although it made her uneasy at first, she'd grown more than accustomed to the blonde's occasional timidity whenever it came to physical contact between them. It clearly never resulted from lack of impulse- although she'd never made a comment on it, Weiss had caught her wife more than once reaching out towards her and then jerking the movement into something else, like a poorly executed stretch- and the Atlesian had come to accept Yang was genuinely trying to simply respect her space. A concept she was growing to appreciate just as her regard for the woman was slowly turning to... fondness.

Or perhaps something a little stronger.

The blonde's larger hands landed on her hips, somehow burning through her clothes despite exerting no pressure. "You remember the breathing exercises? I want you to start... but sync your breathing with mine."

She raised a brow at that instruction for a moment before Yang moved closer, standing almost flush against her back. Heavy boots bracketing her much smaller, thinner shoes, wide hips against her backside, those hands sliding up her sides and down her arms until the blonde's gauntlet clad hands curled around her own. Breath stuttering in her chest, Weiss didn't dare move as she became acutely aware of every point of contact between them. It might've caused her apprehension once but now it just made her feel warm and safe, eyes falling half lidded of their own accord.

"Come on, Snowfall. Breathe with me." The blonde's soft, smooth voice set just beside her ear nearly made her shiver, but the Atlesian managed to marshal her senses at the last minute, focusing on following the other woman's lead. Eight counts in, eight counts out, her heartbeat slowing from its steady pound to a soft lull that fell away. Her wife's heart was strong, louder, so she focused on that, as if she could truly feel it against her back. "Good, just like that. I'm going to reach out with my semblance."

Weiss kept the majority of her attention on her breathing. Yet, she could distinctly feel the moment when Yang's chi surged, through the blonde's body and into hers, like a wildfire spreading across dry grasslands. Searing heat that didn't burn rushed over every nerve ending before something else rose up to meet it, an unnatural cold that suffused her being and moved outward, pressing against the other woman's presence. Somehow, despite the knowledge that she felt cold- colder than she thought possible- she didn't shiver or balk, as if the ice inside her was no threat. Once it reached the tips of her fingers and toes, everything settled and she began to feel a new sort of balance take precedence, like she'd spent her whole life precariously wobbling on the edge of a cliff and just now realized there was solid ground just a step behind her.

"Perfect." She could hear the smile in her wife's voice. "Now, move with me. The first twenty four forms."

In her right mind, she would be skeptical they could actually move together without severely injuring themselves, but she was just about the furthest thing from that state of being just then. There was just the beating of Yang's heart and their combined breathing providing white noise in her head, so she moved without thinking, the repetitive motions burned into her muscles' memory. The heat never abated, their forms never separating as they moved. Was Yang leading her through the motions? Or was she guiding the blonde?

Did it matter?

They moved, comprised half of winter's fury and a happy inferno, each motion fluidly flowing one into another until they reached the last one. Arms raised, one outstretched while the other hovered midway, stance wide and steady, they stilled, hearts beating in time and breathing deep and even.

"Bring us back to center."

Weiss did so- still unsure if she was initiating each movement or if she was simply following the blonde's lead- taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly as their arms came to rest, elbows bent and a bit higher than she would usually keep them, an approximate compromise between their differing centers while their feet returned to a simple, ready standing stance. After a moment of remaining like that, Yang moved, her fingers working between the Atlesian's until they were threaded together, bringing both arms in for a hug.

"Did that work?" She asked, leaning back into her wife's solid embrace. Honestly, the answer didn't matter to her too much- if this failed, she would hunt down the nearest library and turn to literature for answers- but her curiosity simply won out this round, as it was starting to do more and more often.

Yang chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss just behind her ear. "I don't know. I think it did, but we'll have to-" Suddenly, the deep booms of the village's drums echoed out over the forest, pulling the blonde's attention away. Weiss' breath hitched, immediately equating the warning with an impending attack. There was no other explanation. "Stay here."

"What? No," she replied even as her wife pulled away, turning towards the path that would lead to the village. "I'm coming with you."

"Weiss-" The Queen looked back- and, make no mistake, that's exactly who the woman was right then, brows furrowed and expression set in absolute seriousness- and seemed to war with herself for a moment before coming to a decision. "Just... be careful. If things look bad, run back to the house. My father will keep you safe."

"I can defend myself."

As the drums rang out again, Yang stepped towards her quickly, both hands coming up to gently cup her face. "I know that." Her expression faltered, the determination of a warrior about to head into battle sliding away as worry overtook her features. "You could have the blessing of every deity in Remnant and I would still worry, Weiss. I care about you."

Rising up slightly, the shorter woman leaned up to press a soft kiss against her wife's lips. "And I care about you, Yang. That's why I refuse to cower while you charge into battle. By your side is where I belong."

Although she looked ready to argue, the blonde merely nodded silently before they both turned to run towards the village. It was easier without all the extra foliage, allowing them to glimpse the shore in the distance. The Atlesian couldn't see any ships or boats, nothing to indicate the enemy landed and began their assault from there, but she was more focused on not tripping, hiking up the hem of her long robe to keep up. When they broke through the edge of the forest, at the top of a hill that sloped down into the village proper, they were able to take in the breadth of the battle below. No less than twenty hooligans were in the main thoroughfare, yelling loudly in a foreign tongue that Weiss couldn't begin to place and fighting with the Valens defending their town.

"Haha! This should be fun!" Blinking in surprise, Weiss looked at her wife and noted the wide smile on her lips, excitement flashing in her eyes. "Okay, change of plans; if things get bad, just go to the ground and don't get up. Also, don't kill anyone, just disarm them or knock them to the ground, trust me!"

"Wh- what kind of instructions are those?" She sputtered, her request falling on deaf ears as the blonde charged forward, leaving her rushing to catch up and draw Myrtenaster from her side. The metal flashed dangerously as her momentum carried her down the hill and into the street, a few steps behind the other woman who seemed to lock onto her target immediately.

"You!" Her voice called out above the din of combat, catching the attention of one invader with a shock of bright red hair, broken up only by... the... bull horns on his head.

Faunus. The Faunus of Menagerie, creatures the people of Atlas reviled above all others as beings of unnatural origins, had invaded Vale. A cold bolt of dread shot through her as she raised Myrtenaster to a ready position, blue eyes scanning to take stock of the threats all around. Now that they weren't indistinct blobs in the distance, she could clearly make out the various defining traits on display- a monkey's tail, a dog's ears, a ram's horns- but she didn't have time to catalogue each and every distinction before she caught sight of a combatant bearing down on her. Weiss quickly turned, ready to face off as the Faunus stopped a few paces from her and raised their sword.

In the heartbeats before their battle would begin, her eyes scanned over her opponent, seeking out any obvious weaknesses. A decidedly feminine figure wrapped up in a white shirt with a black waist coat atop it, white pants tucked into knee high black boots, and a light purple ascot tied around her neck that brought out the shine in bright amber eyes- she wouldn't look too out of place among Atlesian nobility, were it not for the cat ears standing proud atop luscious black locks that cascaded back over her shoulders. These were the monsters Atlesian children were told would steal them away in the dead of night and it took a mental feat of strength not to back down immediately. The Faunus was smiling, obviously amused, while her sword lazily traced a figure eight through the air between them. The blade's scabbard hung from a belt about her hips and Weiss cursed her shortsightedness; had she drawn Myrtenaster into her right hand, she could at least count on the element of surprise against her foe.

The Faunus said something in a flowing language that sounded entirely alien to the Atlesian, unable to parse anything but the obvious enjoyment she was getting from the one-sided exchange. With a noise somewhere between nonchalance and disappointment, her opponent shrugged off the lack of a response and pressed forward, lightly tapping their swords together.

A test, to see if she would take the bait. Weiss narrowed her eyes, her pride bristling at the obvious affront. She would not allow herself to be made fool of, especially not when defending her wife's hometown. A second tap she let slide, remaining calm and poised, but when the Faunus went for a third, she twisted her wrist, allowing the other blade to sail through the air while she lunged forward, quite nearly driving the tip of her blade into her opponent's side.

The Faunus skipped back, belting out a quick laugh while bringing her sword to bear again. After that, there were no more games as Weiss defended herself from a series of quick strikes, parrying each while ceding as little ground as she could. It took no time at all for it to become apparent that she was outclassed; the Faunus likely fought for years, flipping her blade around with ease while the Atlesian kept a firm death grip on her own. However, after a particular exchange brought the edge of her foe's sword a bit too close to her neck, Weiss changed her tactics, calling forth the forms Yang taught her to make her movements seem more erratic while conserving her energy, allowing one motion to flow into the next. That bought her a few seconds' respite and forced her opponent to show her hand, the Faunus's off hand quickly pulling her scabbard free through some sort of mechanism and using it to block a strike that well could've landed across her back.

And then Weiss was defending herself twice over, blocking both the blade and its scabbard as the Faunus pressed a relentless attack. She could hardly keep up, retreating with every parry and having to duck at least once to avoid a slash. It occurred to her to heed her wife's warning and simply 'play dead', as it were, but some part of her objected heatedly to such a sentiment. Instead, she grit her teeth and exploited a small window of opportunity to aggressively press her opponent. It was futile, that much was made certain when the Faunus dropped the pretense of needing both arms to deal with her strikes, allowing only the scabbard to blunt her attacks, and only a matter of time before experience won out over enthusiasm.

"Hey!" Against her better judgment, blue eyes snapped to the source of that pained, angry shout, immediately recognizing the voice. When her gaze landed on the blonde, whose golden locks were just barely being released by the Faunus sporting huge boar tusks jutting from his cheeks and a massive sword, there were already signs her chi was flaring to life, lilac giving way to blood red in an instant as the woman rounded on her opponent, a crushing right cross landing on his cheek and sending the bulky foe to the ground easily.

But that was just a distraction as the one with the bull horns from earlier sprinted forward, already sporting evidence that he was losing his own fight against Yang. He took advantage of her distraction, however, reaching to pull his sword free while her back was still turned, jumping high into the air so gravity would strengthen the blow.

The blonde must've sensed it, must've felt the presence bearing down towards her because panic flashed across her expression even as she tried to jump forward and get out of the way. She wouldn't be quick enough, though; he had a head start and the sick, red color of his blade was already showed as he drew it free.

"YANG!" She called out, reaching towards her wife with her right hand as if she could pull the woman out of harm's way from the other side of the street.

The very next moment, everything stilled. The sounds of fighting died down all around her as Weiss stood, frozen, arm outstretched.

It wasn't until Yang turned around, wide-eyed, to look at the giant snowflake that suddenly sprang into existence behind her that the Atlesian even thought to breath. White light formed a perfect mimicry of her family's sigil, apparently forming a shield that the bull horned Faunus couldn't get through. In fact, he seemed a bit... stuck, braced against the white snowflake but unable to move. Well, anything except his eyes, apparently, which looked at Yang with such barefaced hatred that Weiss knew she wanted nothing less than to send this cretin far, far away from both of them.

Whatever the snowflake was, it readily complied with that sentiment. Without any warning, it launched the Faunus away, sending him flying in an arch that went high enough it allowed one of the other Faunus- shaggy blond hair and a monkey tail, that was about all she could glean- to scramble up to the roof of the tavern, disappearing from sight for a moment before poking his head out over the main street.

He shouted in that strange language, apparently shocked as his jaw hung open immediately after he finished.

There was silence. Complete, total silence.

Then, the Faunus she'd spent the past however long fighting suddenly broke down in a laughing fit, hardly able to slide her sword into its scabbard and secure it to her hip before she doubled over, arms across her stomach. Weiss had thought she'd gone mad until everyone else joined in- Valen and Faunus alike- and then she considered perhaps she had gone mad and this was all just a hallucination. Blue eyes cast around, looking for anything to make sense of the situation, but there was nothing except a smiling blonde bounding towards her.

"Weiss!" Out of breath and covered in sweat, Yang scooped her hands beneath the smaller woman's arms, effortlessly lifting her up into the air and spinning her around. The Atlesian's focus switched from trying to figure out just what was happening to maintaining a keen awareness of her sword, not wanting to hurt the brute currently treating her like a child. She'd curse her wife's abundant strength but settled for wrapping her legs around the woman's hips and using her free hand to grab hold of her shoulder, steadying herself. "You did it! That was amazing!"

"Yang! What is going on?" Weiss growled, effectively bringing them both to a halt. It didn't bother her so much that they were speaking Valen, considering they were standing in the middle of the village, but they were also still surrounded by enemies, so now really wasn't the time for such theatrics. The hands at her armpits moved down, wrapping around her waist and holding her. There were small tremors all along the blonde's arms, as if the brute was just barely refraining from delivering one of her crushing hugs as lilac eyes sparkled. "And what did I do?"

"You manifested your chi! I've never seen anything like it- I mean, usually it's just a physical surge, like mine and Ruby's and Dad's, or an illusion, or-"

"Yang, you're babbling." Someone else cut in and the Atlesian turned her head to look at the Faunus she'd been fighting.

"I'm excited, Blakey! Did you see that?" Yang laughed, holding her closer and lowering her voice. "I'm so proud of you, Weiss! I knew you had it in you."

It took a conscious effort to beat down the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks but her lips pulled into a small smile against her will anyway. "Put me down, you dolt."

"Oh, right." Her wife's sheepish tone was a tad ridiculous, all things considered, but it still made her feel bad. "Sorry."

The moment she was on her feet again, Yang made to pull away but she reached out, carefully grabbing the blonde's wrist to keep her still. Setting Myrtenaster at her hip once more, Weiss pulled gently to bring her wife down, allowing her to lean up and brush a gentle kiss against the woman's lips. Physical affection in front of others still seemed so... wrong on some level yet it didn't stop her from setting the woman's mind at ease. And, perhaps, she was grateful that she even could give her wife a kiss, considering the battle that had raged just moments ago. "Are you hurt?"

It took a moment for the blonde to come back to her senses, apparently surprised by the gesture. Once she did, a smile curled her lips, that soft expression she wore so often when they were alone. "Nah, of course not. This was just a mock battle."

And just like that, her goodwill dried up. "Just a what?"

"In the times before the wars, whenever the Chieftains of Menagerie came to visit the clan leaders of Vale, they would show their respect for Valen warrior culture by engaging in tests of skill, fighting honorable duels with no intent to wound," the Faunus said, her own Valen accent altered slightly by her mother tongue. If she noticed the way Weiss stiffened, she said nothing of it, continuing on while wiping mirthful tears from her eyes. "Now that Menagerie and Vale are at peace, we've brought the tradition back."

"It's a sign of trust between our nations." Yang reached out to firmly grasp the Faunus' forearm in greeting, still smiling widely. "Plus, Menagerie is home to some of the best weaponsmiths in all of Remnant. They've forged a lot of our weapons; it's only fair they get to see how we wield them. Blake here actually forged mine."

"It was the second one I forged, the first being my own sword. I'm surprised Ember Celica has held up after all these years." The Faunus turned their arms, amber eyes tracing along the cestus' grooves with a craftman's care, seeking out any imperfections. "You've certainly put it through more use than I anticipated."

"Yeah, two wars will do that-"

"YANG!" A deep voice boomed out, calling their attention to further down the street where the path lead towards the village docks. There stood more Faunus, the largest of them a male with a barrel chest, a midnight black beard framing his face and lending to the severity of his yellow-eyed gaze. He was draped in a deep purple cloak with silver straps keeping it closed and a thin circlet wrought in gold sitting across his temples. Were it not for that one detail, she might've mistaken him for one of the Valens- he looked every bit as human as anyone else she'd met, despite his larger stature. This had to be the King of the Faunus- or the Chieftain, she supposed- and as he raised one arm that was larger than even the blonde's impressive muscle sculpture, she couldn't help but feel extremely nervous. "Who just sent Adam flying into the sea?"

"That would be my wife!" Yang proudly proclaimed, shifting to rest a hand at the small of the Atlesian's back, a comforting gesture that calmed her nerves. "May I introduce Queen Weiss of... House... Schnee."

On the one hand, she wanted to be exasperated- despite having ample practice introducing her to various clan leaders, this sort of pomp continued to elude the warrior Queen- but there was also a little charm in the way her wife's brows pinched together as the words came out, already aware she'd said the wrong thing but continuing on regardless. With a soft sigh, the Atlesian leaned closer and gently corrected her. "Queen Consort Weiss, formerly of House Schnee."

"I mean-"

"I've gathered what you meant." The large Faunus cut her off, striding down the street towards them with his entourage in tow. Every Faunus he passed lowered their heads in respect before falling into step behind him.

Immediately, she bowed in the traditional Valen manner, bending at the waist. If nothing else, she could take refuge in courtesy; these people were allies of Vale and, therefore, her childish fears were unbecoming. She would have to shove them aside for the time being... and every time subsequent. "I sincerely apologize for-"

"Apologize? I don't want an apology!" Her gaze snapped up as he stopped in front of her, his smile wide and toothy. "It's about time someone cooled that hothead off."

Dumbfounded, Weiss mechanically offered her hand, which was almost immediately engulfed in the Chieftain's larger one. He could probably easily shatter the bones but he didn't, though his grip was a great deal firmer than Yang would ever use, and she fought down the impulse to pull away and retreat. Meanwhile, her wife focused on teasing Blake, completely missing how very uncomfortable the whole situation was making the Atlesian.

"He's still giving you grief, huh?" Yang cocked her head to the side and waggled her eyebrows. "Trying to court the Princess?"

"Don't call it that, don't act like it's legitimate." The Faunus put her face in her hands, sighing heavily. "I still don't know why we brought him with us."

"Because your father holds out hope he'll 'fall' over the side of the ship during a storm." A new voice added as a female Faunus approached them, feline ears sporting a few golden piercings. She, too, wore a golden crown, though far more ornate and it was difficult to tell if it was because of the ears or for some other reason. "Until the Taurus line does something worthy of expulsion from the circle, he's here to stay... once he dries off, anyway."

"Mom, please, can't we just make something up as grounds for expulsion?" Blake sighed, running a hand through her hair.

The Chieftain laughed, releasing the Atlesian's hand in favor of standing beside the smaller, exasperated Faunus. "Kali, our daughter has a point. Isn't that something we can do?"

Ignoring the pleading of her husband and daughter, Kali turned her attention to Weiss, scanning her form in a way that was very familiar, more akin to what she'd expect of a noblewoman's gaze. There was no maliciousness glinting in her eyes, though, just that same sort of amusement that was perfectly mirrored by Blake earlier. "So, this is your Atlesian bride? We've heard much about her."

The Faunus tilted her head, the large feline ears canting towards her despite addressing Yang. Then she said something in the same fluid tongue Blake had used earlier, raising a brow when Weiss didn't react.

"Cat Mom, please stop teasing my wife," the blonde said in Valen, stepping up to lightly wrap an arm around her shoulders. She had half a mind to shrug off the contact but let it remain, grateful to have something to ground her during this surreal experience. When Yang spoke again, it was in Atlesian. "Are you okay? You look really tense. I promise, they aren't here to hurt us."

The corner of her mouth twitched. She couldn't very well insult those who were obviously so close to Yang's heart and it was only a matter of time until she reacted out of ingrained habit, which would no doubt cause that very offense. There was only one course open to her. "I'll excuse myself. You'll be busy entertaining your guests."

She turned, ready to head back to the forest- no doubt the Chieftain and his family would be entertained in the tavern, like the clan leaders, but she couldn't bear facing the older Xiao Long at present- but the arm around her shoulders tightened, a rare moment when contact wasn't broken the instant she desired it. "Weiss, please talk to me. What's wrong?"

"I'm just tired, Yang." It wasn't technically a lie- her duel with Blake was exhausting, pushing herself to the limits of her admittedly limited fighting skill, and the manifestation of her semblance brought with it a shock that was seeping into her muscles- but it wasn't the whole truth, either. Regardless, it was the best excuse she could muster. "I... think I'll take a nap and join you for the evening meal."

That might be enough time, she thought. To come to grips, to reclaim her calm and poise. Sitting through one meal among those she'd always believed to be terrible creatures of legend would be... manageable, at least until she could get over her hesitations.

"That's all, huh?" Her wife frowned, lowering her gaze for a moment before looking over to the three Faunus and speaking in Valen. "Is there anything important we need to talk about?"

Blake shook her head. "We just thought we'd come congratulate you on your marriage and introduce ourselves after visiting with the Vacuon Council. We'll be here for a few days before returning to Menagerie."

"Great. We'll see you at dinner." Without giving her a chance to object, Weiss was scooped up into the blonde's arms, one arm just beneath her shoulders while the other hooked under her knees. The position reminded her just how small she was in comparison to the warrior Queen though some part of her heavily objected to the display in front of the Faunus. "Whenever Adam hauls himself onto the beach, let him know I'll deal with his complaints after we've rested."

"Provided I haven't dealt with them first," Kali replied with a slight frown, her gaze darting to the dazed boar Faunus briefly, and she inclined her head. "We look forward to seeing both of you this evening."

Blake and her father echoed the sentiment before Yang started off, heading back to their home. It was a bit unnerving, watching everyone interact in such a friendly manner after being locked in battle but, she supposed, it also explained why Atlas never stood a chance against their neighbors across the sea.

"So, are you going to tell me what's really bothering you?" They were just hitting the edge of the village proper when the blonde asked, keeping her gaze trained on the way ahead. "Because if I were to guess, there's something that's genuinely terrifying you and you don't want to tell me what it is for some reason."

Weiss bit back a curse. Of course she wouldn't be able to hide it completely, this apparently irrational fear, but she'd grown accustomed to her wife's protective streaks. Shutting her out quickly would buy her the time she needed. "You're right. There's something that bothers me and I don't want to tell you."

It hurt both of them. Yang never hid anything- her heart always worn on her sleeve for anyone to see- and this time was no different, her expression twisting into a wince, but the Atlesian was more disciplined, feigning aloofness as guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. The Faunus were allies to the blonde, and perhaps closer still; until she could react to them without the burden of her upbringing threatening to turn the situation into a diplomatic incident, it was safer to isolate herself.

"Okay. That's okay." It wasn't a lie. The blonde never lied, not to her at least, which made it all the more painful; she wasn't 'okay' with Weiss not wanting to tell her, but she would accept it for the Weiss' sake. "When we get back, I'll draw you a nice, warm bath, light some of those lilac candles you like, and... hopefully, you'll feel better." The omission of Yang's presence stung. The blonde would likely remove herself from the room unless expressly invited inside to share the smaller woman's space. It was precisely what she aimed for but... it felt wrong to trick the woman into it, to hide from someone who never bothered trying to do the same. "I meant what I said earlier. I knew you could manifest your semblance."

"I have an excellent teacher," she replied, allowing her posture to relax fully and laying her head on her wife's shoulder. As much as it pained her to keep secrets, this one she would need to hold onto, because she didn't want to make things difficult for the blonde, to force her to choose between the Atlesian and the Faunus visitors. She could feel the way Yang cradled her closer, bending her head down to brush a kiss to Weiss' temple.

They remained silent for the rest of the walk.

I should note that, in case it didn’t come across very clear, ‘chi’ and ‘semblance’ are being used as equal terms that correspond with the language being used, chi being the Valen term and semblance being the Atlesian one. Also, I’ve not seen V4, so no idea on the characterizations for Ghira and Kali, but they seem nice and supportive, so yay Cat Mom and Cat Dad, come be disarmingly nice to the poor Atlesian. Also also, yay suffering and cheeky Blake, you exist in this universe apparently, welcome to the party, stay a while, have some fun.

And, fuck, Weiss, must you be so fucking difficult? smh