#writing tester | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamer213 · 9 months ago

Text

Broken Machines: Between The Shadows

Chapter 14: A Single Mistake

Trigger warning: Child Abuse and Whipping

Jacques had arrived home with a crash as he burst through the front door, clip-on tie in his hand, open coat and shirt unbuttoned reeking of alcohol, tobacco, and anger. His disheveled appearance goes unwitnessed as the manor is eerily quiet, all the staff were either away or asleep in their quarters, as were the other occupants of the estate.

Or at least that’s how it seemed.

Up in his room, Whitley had managed to get inside, changed, and in bed before Jaques had even pulled up to the driveway. But he hadn’t gone to sleep yet, no he had just lied down and gotten into a sleeping position. Laying still and waiting with his bedroom door slightly agape, listening for his father’s return knowing that the second he opened the front door would be the dropping of landmines, and he would need to map them out before morning to ensure a safe passage for all come sunrise.

The first comes immediately with a shout as Jaques throws his coat to the floor while swearing like a sailor. His grumbling fit continues from the door through the hallways until coming to a stop with the harsh swing open and slamming shut of his bedroom doors.

Whitley waits for a few more minutes, just to be sure, and when the manor returns to its deafening silence he relaxes enough to sleep. He doesn’t doze for long, rising again when the sun comes up, and getting ready for the trying day ahead of him. After a quick shower, brush of hair and teeth, and change into his usual attire Whitley goes out into the halls to give the manor a once-over. The morning rotation of staff is just getting started when the young master comes in to evaluate the damage. It’s no worse than usual, broken vases, soil tracked in from his dirty shoes stomping against the marble flooring, all the normal signs of a Jacques hissy fit.

Whitley: Better start with the cleanup.

He thought, looking down at the broken remains of an antique flower vase. Per usual, he instructs the staff to clean up the messes from the previous night’s fit and discard what was too broken to be saved, taking note of the things that would need replacing to order at a later date. When breakfast time rolls around Whitley goes to the kitchen to check his mother’s food and sort out his father’s meals for the day. Knowing he’d be up late in the day and likely with a hangover, Whitley ordered a set of light meals mostly of soups and bread with finely cut meat to aid in his father’s recovery. As for his mother, he advised the cooks to make her something warm and filling but not too heavy to help her sleep.

Whitley: Better that she stay in her room until he’s calmed down. Don’t want a repeat of last time.

He muses before sitting down to have his own breakfast of avocado toast and a small bowl of fruit. With no time to lounge about Whitley finishes his meal quickly and gets back to work. By the afternoon, the manor is pristine, remedies are ready for use, and staff has been warned to be on guard. To finish off the clean-up Whitley goes to his father’s library and settles in with a book, waiting patiently in the wings at stage left for the drama to unfold so he can play his part.

As if on cue, Jacques finally awakes from his slumber with a choked gasp, salvia trailing down his cheek and pooling into a puddle of drool on the sheets below. Looking around with squinted red eyes, it takes him a moment to recall where he is, groaning aloud once he recognizes the ceiling of his own bedroom. Still hungover and agitated, Jacques turns on his bedside lamp, the light irritating his already splitting head and forcing him to sit up to adjust his vision.

Last night’s outing had been a complete failure! A complete waste of an evening spent in a stuffy old war museum full of stuffy old geezers!

Jacques had gone to the event to make some headway with the older generation and persuade a few to back his campaign.

Jacques: It should have been so simple, like shooting fish in a barrel!

Catering to old-timers was a no-brainer for him, all it took was some sweeping compliments, politeness, and playing to their political views and the living fossils would be eating out of his hand. It all should have gone so smoothly, he was playing them all like fiddles! Until one decrepit bag of bones had to open his mouth.

Jacques: That dammed Lutetuimor!

Irving Lutetuimor, a seventy-eight-year-old tradesman and military fanatic, a man of old money and a huge supporter of General Ironwood had voted for him multiple times. He also held quite the distaste for Jacques, referring to the man as a “trifling little upstart”, “pretty boy parasite” and “Willow’s rescue” back when he’d first appeared on Atlas’s high society scene. Years later that distaste had only grown with time, and with Jacques trying to get his foot into politics Lutetuimer had a new reason to despise him.

That old codger had battled him on every single talking point, policy, and action plan Jacques presented. All night this man would pick and prod at him, doing everything in his power to discredit him at every opportunity. Originally Jaques was supposed to go to a club for some “entertainment” with a few of his colleagues but Lutetuimor’s antics had soured his mood so much he decided to turn in earlier. Throughout the night Jacques had nursed his seething rage with glasses of wine followed by some spirits and a few pills to calm him down in the limousine. Now he was living with the consequences of that choice and his still seething rage.

Jacques: Uuuugghhhhh.

He grumbles, reaching out and pulling the thick silver rope beside his bed to ring his servant bell.

Yes, he has a servant bell in his bedroom. No there is not another in any of the other rooms in the manor. It was custom-built for him specifically under his order not one day after Willow and he started sleeping in separate wings of the estate. And despite staff being near often in close rotations, some even having pagers, he still used it to call for assistance. Mostly when he was hungover or thoroughly impaired.

With a harsh pull, the bell rings loud across Jacques’s wing of the manor, startling the staff hard at work and alerting Whitley to his father's awakening.

Whitley: And thus shitshow begins.

He thought, putting his book down and getting up from his seat to stand by the library doors. He listens as the staff hurries to tend to Jacques before the ringing drives them mad. It takes roughly an hour to get Jacques situated as he barks orders at a rapid pace with little to no clarification and a harsh tone but thanks to the preparations the maids and butlers act with the quickness to match. Soon he’s fed, medicated, tidied up, and dressed. A long gray fur-lined, white wool pants and light cotton white button-up replace his usual attire. When he’s finally settled, Jacques shews his servants off and stomps to his office in a huff.

With his chance to appeal to the elderly voters dashed at the moment Jacques’s spree of campaigning had hit a rough patch. By now rumors would already be making the rounds and undercutting all his previous efforts. He couldn’t act too soon or he’d seem rash but he couldn’t ignore it or he’d seem oblivious, Gods it frustrated him to no end!

Jacques: Damned that old bastard! He should have just kept his trap shut!

He grumbled, sitting down at his desk chair with a thump, taping his left foot on the floor as he tried to cook up a plan to get his campaign back on track before any more problems arose. Not much could be done without more doubt and suspicion falling on him but once the heat dies down Jacques would be able to make a comeback. Still, that does little to calm his irritation.

Jacques hated to lose even if temporarily, he had struck gold with Willow, climbed his way to the top, and did and continued to do everything in his power to stay there. Now he was only on the cusp of a new height, becoming a council member alongside his position as head of the SDC would make him the most power in the kingdom, if not the whole world! He was truly standing on the edge of greatness and yet things just wouldn’t go the way he wanted!

Jacques: Damn it all!

He groans in frustration. While thinking Jacques notices the pile of paperwork stacked neatly on his desk. It was the work he’d given Whitley the other day. With nothing better to do, Jacques takes a look through it. Everything looked in order as always, forms were filled out correctly, and sorted in order of importance and time sensitivity, until the final page of a spreadsheet which had an unfilled blank spot in the very last column.

Jacques groans loudly, slamming the papers back down onto his desk. Yet another disappointment to add to the pile of failures. However, unlike the rest, this one could be corrected swiftly. The ring is his small but still highly audible office servant bell, yes he had another this being a traditional handbell, Jacques summons the attention of nearby staff, who quickly move towards the sound to receive their master’s new demands.

Meanwhile, Whitley is still waiting in the library, pacing back and forth by the doors, ready to dive into action when things kick off. He’s stopped in his stride by the left door opening and Hannah walking in, her expression full of caution and uneasiness.

Hannah: Young Master?

She inquires meekly, Whitley meets her anxious gaze with a calm neutral expression.

Whitley: Yes, Hannah.

Hannah: Master Jacques would like to see you in his office, immediately.

She states softly. Despite her tone, Whitley knew well that this was an order, not a request. Not being one to shoot the massager he lets out a gentle sigh and shoots her a soft smile.

Whitley: Of course he does. I’ll see myself out so please return to your post until we call for you.

He orders gently before passing her by and leaving the library, Hannah lets out a sigh of relief before rushing off in the opposite direction. As he makes his way toward Jacques’s office Whitley feels a knot tightening in his stomach. He was only called to his father’s office for one of two things and given his mood even if it was to better of two evils it would still be worse than usual.

Whitley: Even if everything’s in order that man will find any reason to vent when he’s pissed. But if my ears must stand some strain to end this quickly so be it.

He thought, arriving far sooner than he’d realized. Standing in front of the door of his father’s office Whitley stares at the thick white oak door for a moment and takes a deep breath in and out before knocking three times.

Jacques: Come in!

Jacques shouts from behind the door. Taking one more deep breath, Whitley grabs the doorknob and pulls the heavy door open, its effortless glide doing little to mask the tremendous weight behind the motion. Without giving himself time to run or regret Whitley steps inside the office and shuts the door behind him, closing him into the room and off from the outside world.

Jacques: There you are! I’ve been calling for you for ages! What took you so long?!

He barks. It’s a complete lie and Whitley knows that but still, he plays along with his father’s antics.

Whitley: My apologies, I was double-checking some maintenance work near the garden when I was called.

He explains, which Jacques seemingly ignores before immediately getting to the point.

Jacques: Speaking of double-checking, can you explain why this was not checked?

He pulls out the incomplete form, tapping at the blank space with the tip of his pen. Whitley walks over to get a better look and almost immediately realizes his mistake, his face falters for a brief second before pulling back as he tries to recover the situation.

Whitley: That figure is a travel expense that we didn’t incur because of the embargo. Seems in my haste to finish in a timely manner I forgot to pull the appropriate sign. Please a-allow me to-

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Jacques shoves both the form and pen into his face. Without a second thought, Whitley looks through the form again, double-triple and quadruple-checking it for any other errors he might have missed in his rush before filling in the empty space with a null sign as he originally should have. When he looks back up at his father staring at him intently, his dull blue eyes are even colder than usual as his gaze pierces through his son like a blade. Though his nerves were beginning to flare Whitley maintained his composer and placed the pen and form back into his father’s desk gingerly. He points his gaze to the space below Jacques’s eyebrows to keep the illusion of eye contact without heightening his fear by actually looking at his father dead-on. For a moment there’s a deafening silence, with the curtains draw the dimly lit room growing darker and colder with every second that passes by. In a last-ditch effort to appease the frosty businessman Whitley speaks up and asks a single question.

Whitley: Is there…anything else I can do?

He asks, no requests as if seeking any way to leave this room and this situation as soon as possible even if only to prolong the inevitable. He attempted with all his might to maintain his typical calm tone but the softness of his voice showed his fear. A fear of what could happen, what was going to happen if he didn’t find a way out of this! And unfortunately, what does happen when Jacques finally replies.

Jacques: Roll up your sleeves and hold out your arms. Eyes closed.

He orders. Whitley stiffens, freezing in fright for a moment before compiling. He rolls up his sleeve to his shoulders, revealing lines of scars across both biceps. He puts his arms together and holds them over the desk, hands palm up and closed-fisted. Whitley takes soft swallow breaths and tries not to shake as he shuts his eyes tightly. Once he’s in position, Jacques pulls his center desk drawer, rifling through briefly before pulling out his sought-after tool, a short-riding crop whip.

The whip was made of strong cane and bound in thick black leather, the length reaching from Jacques's middle finger to his forearm as he held it. The lack of the leather tongue or keeper at the end left it with a rough sharp pointed tip.

Standing up from his desk chair, Jacques stands over Whitley and holds the whip end lengthwise across his arms right above one of the fainter scars. He doesn’t let it touch the skin instead just hover close enough that Whitley could feel it in his proximity. It stays right above his skin until Jacques can see Whitley’s muscles tense and twitch then raises it up. He takes a few mock swings at the flesh of Whitley’s arms once, then twice, before coming down hard into the skin with the third strike.

But instead of the pop of leather against the skin, the whips force ricochets. A familiar faint blue light flickered to life at the contact, surrounding Whitley’s being in its protective glow.

It was as Jacques had feared, his efforts to keep Whitley’s inherent powers at bay were failing.

After Weiss’s departure, Jacques had done everything to guarantee his legacy through his last tie to the Schnee bloodline, his son. He had been grooming him into his most loyal pawn as a last measure in case both his daughters failed to meet his expectancies. And when both Winter and Weiss had escaped his clutches Jacques’s efforts towards Whitley only grew harsher. He pushed him not only toward the role of the heir but away from his true potential as the child of strong huntsmen blood. The Schnee semblance was hereditary all children born of direct relations inherent. The unlocking of aura was inevitable so long as the child lived to see maturity. Both of the girls had unlocked their own right around the beginning of puberty and had been trained in some regards before Jacques had taken full hold of the family’s power. Their eventual revolt and fleeing were unprovable due in part to this as, desperate his best efforts, Jacques was no match for the might of the Glyphs semblance.

But thankfully for him, he had one ace in the hole. Whitley was the youngest, he didn’t have the time to learn about his ability from his grandfather before he passed, and the truth of Jacques’s deceit had shattered the family so firmly that the poor young boy was left behind in the wake with no one to turn to. Training a child into compliance and placation is far from difficult when everything is in chaos. Obedience was the price of peace and the boy had no choice but to pay it if he wanted to keep his sanity.

Unfortunately with time comes growth.

Despite limiting his food intake, increasing his workload to the point of depriving him of a proper sleep schedule, and bringing him into stressful environments to deteriorate his mental fortitude and fortify his control over his son’s psyche Jacques could not stop time’s endless march forward and Whitley didn’t stay that scared little boy for long.

Even looking at him now Jacques could tell, their height difference had been steadily decreasing at an alarming rate. Before he used to tower over the child but now he was less than a head or so taller. Beyond that, Whitley’s frame had grown wide, his shoulders broader, and muscles though undefined robust from the constant effort of maintaining all the duties Jacques had thrown at him. It had been clear to him for some time now that Whitley had grown strong enough to overpower him, if he attacked him directly Jacques would stand little chance of besting his son in physical combat.

So, he ensured that Whitley would never think to strike up at him by striking first.

In the beginning, it was just his arms but after hearing whispers of Whitley carrying his mother during one of her drunken episodes Jacques had moved onto his back, and eventually his feet for good measure. He’d chide the boy for any mistake he could and punish him harshly for it whenever he felt the boy’s cheeks were looking too full or pink along with undermining any means of true connection outside of the manor. He’d done his damnedest to break the boy down until he couldn’t raise his head without permission, but even so, the soul is a hard thing to shatter.

At some point, Whitley’s aura activated on its own during his punishment. Due to Jacques’s efforts, it wasn’t strong enough to hold up to strain and appeared infrequently.

It had been months since he felt the need to punish him, and though there was a lapse when Ironwood’s red-haired dog had been sniffing about, Jacques thought preventing any further interaction had crushed whatever pointless positive the mutt had dragged into Whitley’s psyche. He thought keeping the pressure on him would be enough before some reason his son seemed stronger and healthier than ever before and he had been too busy campaigning to notice.

A mistake that must be rectified immediately.

Whitley is unaware of the glow that surrounds him, eyes closed still awaiting the pain of a strike. He starts to lose feeling in his hands from balling them up so tight, his arm shaking from maintaining this stiff position. He just wanted this to be over and done with so he could get as far away from here as possible. He knew he wouldn’t leave this room unscathed but the sooner it was all over and he could get to nursing his wounds the better.

Whitley: Please, just make it quick. Just take your pint of blood and pound of flesh and let me leave!

He pleads internally, hoping for once his father would know mercy, just this once let the torment be swift and bearable. The pain does come eventually, after several harsh strikes Jacques breaks through Whitley’s aura and thick leather meets soft skin. He gives him five lashes, one for each time hit it took to break through. When the blows finally stop the whip is painted with a thin tent of crimson and Whitley is biting the inside of his cheek, holding back tears.

Whitley: That was…that was enough right? Please tell me it was enough!

He prays, tears threatening to spill over as prays to all the gods that his torture was over. But his prayers, like many others, fall on deaf ears when Jacques issues another command.

Jacques: Kneel.

He orders. Whitley’s eyes shot open, tears falling free as his resolve finally breaks.

Whitley: …..What?

He whimpers, but his pleas do nothing to deter Jacques and restates his command.

Jacques: Take off your shirt and shoes, and kneel. Now.

He demands coldly, powerless, and afraid Whitley obeys. His tears never ceased as he removed his vest then his shirt, his socks, and shoes. The tapestry of scars across his body is on full display as he steps back and gets down on his knees. He kneels upright in what some would consider a praying position with his head down, arms out in front, and the soles of his feet facing up. Jacques steps out from behind his desk, whip still in hand, and as he looms over his son’s back he raises it up high. Gripping the handle tightly, Jacques aims for the tender spot between Whitley’s shoulder blades. Sensing the incoming blow Whitley can’t help but beg for some kind of leniency.

Whitley:….Please..please, don’t-AAHHH!

Whitley’s plea is cut short by a strong crack of the whip to his spine. After the first hit, he can’t hold in his cries as he’s hit with lash after lashing, his mind so engrossed in pain he can’t focus long enough to count the hits. Once much of his old wounds are reopened and his snow white is painted red, Jacques moves down to Whitley’s feet. The soles appeared cracked from scarring as were the heels up to just below his ankles, and with brutal strikes, Jacques only increased that number as his blow tore at the vulnerable flesh.

By the end, the whip stained a bloody red and Whitley can barely hold himself up right. The pain and exhaustion, both emotional and physical, have weighed him down so much he can hardly breathe. The light in his brilliant blue eyes has all but gone out as he stares blankly at the floor. His helpless state elicits a proud huff from Jacques as walks back to his desk and retrieves a cloth rag to clean the whip.

Jacques: I don't want to see any more mistakes like that again, do you understand?

He states, Whitley nods yes slowly never lifting his gaze from the ground. But Jacques pressed him.

Jacques: I said do you understand?

He repeats, obviously wanting a verbal confirmation of Whitley’s submission, and with no strength left in him, Whitley complies.

Whitley:… Yes… Father.

His voice is worn from the screaming, the iron undertaste of blood still fresh in his throat. Satisfied with his work, Jacques waves his son off.

Jacques: Good, now go to your room and think about what you’ve done.

He orders, Whitley nods and redresses to the best of his ability, and leaves the office. His white stains from the red of his still bleeding back but swiftly hidden under his vest as are the prints in his socks with his shoes

At times like this, it was a blessing that he knew how the manor was run down to the minute. That way he could sneak around preying eyes and avoid whispers of unfortunate staff undetected. More for their sake than his, their concern would only put them at further risk. Being a living example of what Jacques could do, even to his own blood, Whitley didn’t want to imagine what he would do to those considerably more expendable.

It takes him much longer to find his way through the hall in his injured state, his feet burning with every step and crease. Fate was truly not on his side today as his isolated path is impeded halfway through by Mary leaning his clearly impaired mother against the wall of an empty hallway. The two make brief eye contact, and Whitley opens his mouth to ask about his mother’s condition but Mary beats him to the punch.

Mary: She got antsy and walked one too many laps around the garden on a stomach full of soup and rum.

She explains, rubbing Willow’s back as the woman attempts to keep her lunch down. Whitley sighs and pats his mother’s head, caressing her temple with his hand before pushing onward.

It takes him far too long to finally reach his bedroom, when he arrives he sees a box of medical supplies sitting at his door. Inside are bandages, medical gauze, disinfectant, and nonprescription painkillers.

A kit to clean himself up with after his beating, typically of his father. This was the closest to a sense of remorse the man had and that was being generous.

Taking the kit inside with him, Whitley is too exhausted to even think of cleaning his wounds. He just wants to rest, to consumed in darkness of his mind and forget this awful day. He tosses the kit onto his bed and hears a metallic thud. He doesn’t really think about what that sound could have be but in a moment he remembers something crucial. In his quick return to the manor the night before Whitley had not had the time to put his pocket watch back in its usual hiding place and had stowed it in his bed frame.

Suddenly panic overtakes him, Whitley dives over to the frame of his bed scouring it for the misplaced watch.

Whitley: Please, please, please!

His mind races with anxiety as he digs down between the boards of his bed frame, not even caring about the strain on his arm wounds until he feels the cool rounded metal on his fingertips. He grabs the watch with all his might and pulls it out, frantically looking it over for damage. Luckily it’s just fine, still ticking on just as it did the day she gave it to him.

Whitley: Thank god.

He clutches the watch close to his chest, right against his heart. He really didn’t know what he’d do if he lost it after everything. The night before had been so wonderful, it would crush him to lose such an important gift.

To lose a piece of her.

Whitley’s eyes well up again and pain seems to hit him all at once.

It hurts, everything hurts so much, it hurts so much!

How long? How long did he have to play this game of submission and terror?!

How long does he have to wait until this nightmare could finally ends?!

Why was he born into this hell?!

Why did he have to be left behind by everyone?!

The people who were supposed to love him unconditionally, his father his mother his sisters not one had done a thing to protect him from the world!

They’d either tormented him or lent on him to survive or left him to rot away in this ivory prison with the madman who’d ruined it in the first place!

No one, no one had him in mind!

No one would step up and be his savior, they didn’t even look back while everything came crashing down!

No one wanted to save him, to protect him, except for….for…

Whitley: Penny.

She was the only person who would do anything to be with him. He had seen it, he felt it, Whitley knew deep in his heart that no matter what happened she be there for him no matter what. While others could give their concern she had the power to fight for him.

She had the will to fight for him!

She’d done so from the moment she knew he was in Mantle and every time he came back. He could never ask it of anyone else, but he trusted Penny, he loved her!

He loves her.

And yet, he hides all of this from her.

Whitley had kept so much bottled up inside to protect himself so he could keep going, keep fighting for his goals, to obtain the freedom that was stolen from him. Secrets and feelings were kept close because he knew that if anything were to go wrong he’d be truly alone. He didn’t want to drag anyone down to the depths of this bottomless despair with him, he couldn’t. But no he had some light, one strong enough to shine through enough to give him the courage to live instead of just survive.

She had given him real happiness and taught him what it meant to be loved and seen after so long.

And yet he couldn’t give her his everything.

Because Whitley was simply too afraid.

Afraid that the ugly truth would ruin the beautiful dream they had created together, that she wouldn't like the shattered parts of him as much as the pristine. Or maybe he just hated those parts so much that he didn’t believe they deserved to be loved.

And yet in the moment, in his most unsightly state of being, all he wanted was to lay his head on her chest wrap his arms around her waist, and cry against her until he had nothing left.

Whitley: Penny.

He weeps, whimpering for her warm touch and soft voice to take away his agony.

As nightfall draws Penny starts at her scroll screen with worry. She’d been waiting all day for Whitley to call her but he hadn’t so much as texted her once since yesterday. He’d promised on his way out that he would and he’d always make sure to a least text or warn her if he was going to be unreachable for a while.

She’d spent the day dodging Neon’s incessant calls and texts all day to clear up the line so she wouldn’t miss him. But as she readies for bed there’s still nothing.

She’s sitting on her bed, fresh out of the bath and in pajamas just staring at the screen hoping he’ll call soon. Her usual smile replaced with a focused stare, as flops down on her side, her grip on her scroll never faltering.

Penny: Please call, I want to see you. I want to hear your voice before I go to sleep. Or I’ll just end up dreaming about it until I do.

She whines to herself, her clingy side coming out with newfound courage. After Team FNKI had found out about Whitley and taken it so well Penny felt more comfortable with their circumstances than before. Her friends in Mantle approved of him, some more than others, and her friends in Atlas liked him too. This was the calmest things had been since they first started dating and Penny wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible.

And like a prayer answer, Penny finally gets a video call request from Whitley! She jumps up, gets into a comfortable sitting position, and fixes her hair up a bit using the viewfinder before hitting the acceptance call button, a big smile across her face as the video feed starts connecting.

Penny: Whitley! Good evening! I have been waiting all…day?

Penny’s smile drops and a pit forms in her gut once Whitley comes into view on her scroll screen. The scroll was sat at an angle where she could see his full form sitting on his bed, and taking it all in just for a second made her eyes wheel up with tears. His eyes are red and puff, he looks deathly pale, and she can see rows of bandages around his torso through his open night shirt.

Whitley: Hello my love, sorry it took so long to get back to you. I’ve been…busy

His voice sounds so horse and tired Penny can't believe he’s even speaking in full sentences with how rough his throat must be. It made her feel queasy with worry as her mind filled with questions and concerns.

Penny: Whitley…..wh-what happened to you?! Why do look so-why are your eyes- your chest is covered in bandages! A-are you okay?!

She fires off question after question not even finishing her thought before moving to the next, she’s so frightened.

They had been together just last night!

He was supposed to be at home all day!

Penny can’t imagine what could have possibly transpired to do this kind of damage in one day since then and in the safety of his own home!

On the other side of the screen, Whitley feels a little more at ease. Though he hated seeing her like this Penny’s concern gave him some peace and security. She won’t look away or ignore his suffering, she cared too much to let things be. That’s why he could be honest for once and tell her everything.

Whitley: Not, I’m okay. Penny, I have not been okay for a long long time.

Penny: What?!

Whitley: I’m been lying to you about a lot of things, hiding things, too many to count. But…I’m tired of lying, of pretending to be strong when I’m not. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not.

He admits, eyes searching for a reaction but Penny maintains her look of concern. So he continues.

Whitley: Do you remember how we met? How I used you saving me to make a deal with General Ironwood for my father?

Penny: Y-yes.

Whitley: That….wasn’t the whole truth. The real reason I went out of my way to get involved was to…gain some good will with the General.

Penny: O-okay, but…why?

Whitley: Because…I need his help.…to escape.

Penny tenses at the word escape, knowing enough of the Schnee history she’s got a good idea of what he’s about to say.

Whitley: He helped my sisters get out, so I thought-

Whitley paused, letting out a deep sigh and burying his head in his hands.

Whitley: I-I’m getting ahead of myself, let me…start at the beginning of this whole disaster. It all started after my grandfather Nicolas died-No, actually, it started long…long before that but it didn’t get bad enough to notice until he was gone.

Whitley regales his version of the family’s collapse, it’s very much the same sad tale Mary had told her under the guise of a tragic fairytale, though coming directly from the source made it feel more… raw.

Whitley: After my sisters were gone my father focused all his expectations on me. I didn’t want to be his puppet but I had no choice but to endure.

Penny: Endure? Does-does that mean he’s the one who….

Penny bites her lip, it quivers with a mix of sadness and rage. She can’t bring herself to say it, to acknowledge this…this savagery actually happened to someone she cared so much for! Sensing her distress Whitley doesn’t drag the point out and confirms.

Whitley: Yes, it’s his way of “disciplining” me.

Penny: B-but when?…w-why?

Whitley: It started right after Weiss left for Beacon. As for why, he does it whenever he thinks I’ve gotten out of line or as an outlet for his stress. Honestly, I can’t tell which is which anymore.

He says mournfully, looking down at the scars on his feet for a moment before turning his gaze back to Penny. Tears are pouring down her face, her breathing is shaky like she’s running out of breath and her fist is balled up tight around her blanket, grips so tight it threatened to burst the seams.

Penny: Why….

Her voice is trembling, and she grits her teeth for a moment before continuing.

Penny: Why did you put up this? Why didn’t you ask for help when we first met?! Why didn’t you tell me the first time you came to Mantle-why did you have to suffer like this?!!!

She questions, clearly not asking him but the world itself. She can’t understand how this could have happened right under her nose. She’d seen him hurt before, she was so close to the old wounds if she had just looked closer-

Penny: Why didn’t I see it? How could not have-I-I…I should be able to…I should’ve…

She sobs, feeling more defeated and helpless than she ever had before. This was more than failing as a protector but failing as a partner as a chosen significant other! This wasn’t something she was just made for, it was something she chose! Something she agreed to and put her whole heart into.

Penny: I’m sorry…I’m sorry.

She whimpers through tears, weeping from sheer vulnerability and grief. Whitley can only watch from the other side of the screen, feeling just as powerless and guilty. He knew telling Penny the truth would be agonizing for both of them but it was too late to turn back. There were things he needed to say, and he had to say them now.

Whitley: It’s not your fault, I did my best to hide from you at every turn.

Penny: But why?! Why did you do this?!

Whitley: Because I need time.

Penny: Time for what?!

Whitley: Time to get everything together, to make things right.

Penny: What?

She questions, tears of remorse turning to one's frustration as she gets confused by his words but Whitley is quick to clear things up.

Whitley: Penny, I didn’t endure all this just to survive. I did it to stay close to my father so I could learn his secrets.

Penny: Secrets?

Whitley: He’s done horrible things, Penny. Him and the wretches he brought with him when he took control of the SDC. Things that could ruin the reputations and lives of everyone involved, things people are willing to kill to keep secret. But because I played along, because I behaved, in a way that made him believe that I couldn’t raise a finger against him I got to see and know everything. Every dark secret, conspiracy, and crime I know it all. And I’ve been gathering evidence of everything, more so since Father first struck me.

He expounds, expression turning from sorrowful to stern and focused as he continues to clarify his intentions.

Whitley: I’ve put together profiles of my father’s wrongdoings so thick they could brick a wall.

Penny: That much? Then why didn’t you say anything?! Why keep this up when you have that kind of evidence?!

Whitley: Because if I act while he’s still in power everything will come crashing down with him. The SDC, our family name, everything! And I have been through too much and suffered too many atrocities to let that happen!

He growls, agitation pooling in his tone as his layers of deceit pull back to reveal his truest self.

Whitley: The Schnee Dust Company, my grandfather’s legacy, is all I have to my name and I’ll be damned if I just sit back and watch the bastard who swindled it away burns it to the ground! So I forged a plan, collect evidence, play the loyal dog to Father, gain trust with the one person I know will bring him to justice-

Penny: The General!

Whitley: Yes! And once he finally hands over the title of head I’ll turn everything on its head. I’m going to burn his world a-fucking-sunder! Take everything he stole from my family back with interest and see to it that he can’t hurt anyone ever again!

He roars, voice full of conviction and lust for justice so palpable burn in his gaze like light blue flames.

Whitley: And then…then I’ll be free, we’ll all be free. Mother, the staff, the old board members, the people under those hacks he keeps power, everyone! I’ll end this nightmare once and for all, no matter what it takes. Even if it means I have to do something drastic.

Penny: What do you mean by drastic?!

She questions. Whitley sighs deeply, this was the very last secret he had to keep, and the one he knew could change the way Penny looked at him forever. But he’s in too deep now, he had to let the other shoe drop.

Whitley: Penny, if it comes down to it I will kill my father, Jacques Gelè, myself.

Penny: …what?

Penny blinks, eyes glazed with shock.

This couldn’t be real, he didn’t really mean that did he? Whitley was far too kind to actually end a life but seeing his current condition and the burning hate in his, Penny can’t be sure of that anymore.

Whitley: I know it’s wrong, but I…hate this man with all my being. He has ruined my life and any chance I had of having a good childhood or family! So if it comes down to it, I will end him, and wouldn’t even be that hard. I have access to all his medication, his food, everything. All it would take is giving him the wrong dosage by “mistake” and walking away. Those office doors are so thick no one would hear his gasping and pleas, he’d die on his back like the animal he is.

He elucidates in a cold but calm manner as if he’s thought of doing so for years. And he had, often enough that it became a temptation. A way to end this hellish existence once and for all and in a way he could hurt the one who had so heartlessly tormented him back til his last gaping breath. But he never acted on it, the catharsis was not worth the risk. But still, hearing this Penny can’t help but feel beyond horrified, but not in the way one would think. Beyond the worry, fear, and anger was a sense of…belonging, of similarity, of understanding, and empathy.

Penny was born and made to protect the weak with power stronger than any human could naturally wield and a heart pure as snow. She had fought battles for humanity over and over again and she was faced with another protector. One with not even a tenth of the power she had, nor the support or love in his upbringing.

Yet he fought day after day for his cause. His purpose and desire to end the suffering of the many even at the cost of himself.

In this moment Penny sees Whitley clearly for the first time and she wants nothing more then to hold him. To praise him for his strength and hard work, to take all of those burdens off his shoulders, and let him breathe freely for once.

In this moment, Whitley was no fairytale prince in her eyes but a true prince of principle and protection, one people would read of in history books and admire. This was the real person she had fallen for and even with the cracks, the scars, and bruises, his brilliance had not been deemed to her. Rather just changed in atmosphere, it was harsher and the dirty blood stains and battle scars were no longer hidden from her view but the light he had was as still bright as ever before.

Penny: Oh, Whitley…my poor Whitley.

Whitley: I know this a lot but please…Penny, can you accept it? Not just my plan but…me? The liar, the scammer, the spy, the pawn…

He rubs his upper arm and grips it tight.

Whitley: The broken punching bag. Can you still say you love me…even knowing all this? That you’ll stay with me, even if I have to get blood on my hands.

Penny: Whitley.

Whitley: Please, I need to know. I need to hear it.

He pleads, begging for reassurance that his faith has not been misplaced. That just this once someone would love him for him no matter what.

Penny could do that, couldn’t she?

She’d always demonstrated her affection without fail and even now her love for him had not wavered for a single second. Surely, just saying those words that still ring true even after all their shared hardships wouldn’t be an issue?

But after hearing the full extent of Whitley’s suffering, Penny can feel the pit of despair pooling even bigger and bigger.

During the entire call, Whitley had been opening up his heart and pouring its contents at her feet. He’d let it all out, spared nothing from her, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to do the same. She’d keep asking for clarity and muttering worried whispers while her own secrets were left unspoken.

And now he was asking if she could find in herself to love him despite his lies?!

It was like a bad comedy, irony far too cruel to be saved by any punchline! His lies, born of survival and compassion, were worth seeking redemption for keeping, and yet she…

Penny: Of course I still love you. I could stop even if I wanted to. Even if I didn’t deserve to.

Whitley: Really? You…you mean it?

Penny: Yes, of course I do! You know I can’t tell a lie. With words. I can still hide the truth, I can still keep things from you.

Whitley: Oh, thank god!

He lets out a big sigh of relief, the tension, and fears that she’d abandon him falling from his heart like a stone into the sea.

Whitley: Then you’ll keep this between us? Just until it’s time.

Penny: Yes, of course. Not like I have the right to talk about your secrets when I can’t even speak my own.

Whitley: Oh, thank you, thank you so much Penny. You don’t…you don’t know how much this means to me. I love you so much!

Penny: I love you too. Even if I can’t bring myself to be honest you-Damn it! Why can’t I say it?! Just say it! Say it! We can’t keep this in any longer!

With the reassurance he needed to be given heard Whitley tears up but this time with happiness. Penny tears up in turn but in hers are of frustration, she knows this is unfair and that being truly selfish by not speaking up and letting him have all this faith in her but she can’t help it.

Whitley needed her, he needs her more than and she couldn't destroy all the trust he had in her after everything they’d been through!

But the burning in her chest and stinking her stomach won’t stop. She can feel herself twisting on the inside from the stress but the pressure just isn’t enough to pull it out of her! The truth sitting and building up like bile that she stubbornly refuses to spit out!

Penny: I…I want…Come on, come on, say something!… I want to see you.

Whitley: I can’t really leave the manor like this-

Penny: No, I need to come see you. I need to check your wounds and make sure they’re clean and dressed properly…I need to hold you, I don’t care how I have to get there I just…need to. I need you.

She begs, tears streaming down her cheeks. Weak to her earnest tears Whitley concedes, thinking about the layout of the manor he knew if his help and proper instructions she easily sneak into the estate.

Whitley: Okay, but it’ll have to wait til morning. I don’t have the strength to draw up a proper map right now.

Penny: That’s okay, just get some rest for now. You need it.

Whitley: I know. Good night Penny, I love you.

Penny: Good night, Whitley.… I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m such a huge lair, I shouldn’t be-I’m so sorry… I love you too.

Whitley smiles softly and blows her a kiss goodnight, Penny pretends to catch it and blows one back before disconnecting the call. When the screen goes black Penny drops her scroll, drops her head onto a pillow, and screams.

It’s a blood-curdling scream, one that comes only from grief.

Penny: WHY DIDN’T I SAY ANYTHING?! WHY COULDN’T TELL HIM I AM NOT REAL, THAT I’M JUST AN ANDROID?! WHY CAN’T BE TRUTHFUL WHEN I NEED TO BE?!!! GOD WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!! AHHHHH!

Penny screams to herself, disgusted and anguished by her inability to open up the most crucial of moments.

Penny: WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! WHY DID IT HaVE TO BE LIKE THIS AT ALL?! WHY-

Penny’s mind festers on how this all started, with Whitley's bandaged appearance. With the abuse, he could no longer hide from her. The abuse from that self-serving sociopathic greed fuel bastard who had robbed his own son of so much joy Penny’s kindness seemed like a dream.

Penny: That monster, he did this! He hurt him, he hurt him so many times! And for what? Money? Power?! As if any of that is worth a family member’s life! A loved one’s life! Not that fucking beast can love anyone but himself!

Her disgust quickly redirects to Jacques and morphs into rage. It burns her deep inside that this horrific demon shaped like a person could do this to someone and the only way he could be stopped without creating a mountain of suffering in his wake is to allow this misery to continue!

She hated it.

She hated it, she hated it, she hated it, she hated it, she hated it, she hated it so fucking much it made her skin burn up with anger!

Despite Jacques being a defenseless man with no aura and no ability to defend himself, Penny couldn’t help but want to bring him down. By design, she wasn't supposed to hurt unarmed civilians with immediate and express reason to do so. The metal army that was destroyed in Beacon was hard programmed with this clause, Penny had a similar program though it was more just a reminder than an application that could control her actions. Once that soon blared in her head as her thoughts became darker and darker.

System Alert:

WARNING: LETHAL FORCE CAN NOT BE TAKEN AGAINST UNARMED CIVILIANS. REPEAT: LETHAL FORCE CAN NOT BE TAKEN AGAINST UNARMED CIVILIANS.

It blasted on repeat in her head, trying to distract her train of thought from the dark path it was going down.

System Alert:

LETHAL FORCE CAN NOT BE TAKEN AGAINST UNARMED CIVILIANS-

Penny: Shut the fuck up already. I don’t care.

Penny’s voice is cold as ice and the alarm in her head comes to an immediate stop at her declaration.

Penny: I want him dead, I want that fucker to die the most painful death possible!

She states with her whole heart, chest burning with pure anger. Never in her life had she felt this way, this absolute disdain for life and desire for it to end in the most gruesome ways she could imagine. Most of which would be by her own hands.

Had she been a less rational creature, Penny would have been headed straight to Atlas and wouldn’t return until she had Jacques’s head on pike. She could yank him from his warm bed, drag him through the streets, and put him down like a rabid mutt he is!

But she couldn’t do that, the consequences were too great for herself and for Whitley. This was his vengeance and his justice to win and she had no right to impede on it, especially if she couldn’t share the same level of honesty with the boy she called her beloved.

Still, she needed to vent. To get this feeling out of her chest because the pressure was building so fast and hot her resolve would last much longer!

Getting up and walking downstairs to the front door, Penny grabs her rocket boots. She leaves her swords behind and heads out the door, walking down the cool streets for a little while before turning on her boots and taking off.

Her distention? The tundra beyond the city walls.

Blowing past the breach and its guard station Penny continues to fly off into the distance until the city lights begin to look distant. Once at a safe range, she lands on the snowy grounds below takes a deep breath in with exhales a truly unholy scream.

Penny: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

She screams with all her might, letting out every ounce of grief, anger, and despair she has in her being like a shockwave. It doesn’t take long for Penny to get results, the growls of Grimm soon following her scream, drawn in by her misery. Penny lets the first get close, really close, eyes locked onto its bleach-white skull face. She reels back as it attempts to strike and when it’s close enough Penny puts her fist through its head in with a single punch. Her gaze is unfocused, as if she’s looking past the creature as it dissolves into black smoke as more come charging in. Penny doesn’t flinch at this, instead she tears through the wave of beast bare-fisted with clouded eyes.

With each smash of bone and rip of flesh, Penny can't help but imagine a different smaller more mammalian skull cracking against her fists. And that the inky black dust spewing from its shards was a warm thick red, oozing from the much smaller sides and staining beautifully pressed white fabric.

Soon time later in Atlas, Winter is winding down for the evening when her scroll rings. Grumbling under her breath, Winter puts down her cup of tea and takes the call.

Winter: Hello?

Johnnie: G-good evening Lieutenant Schnee. T-t-this is Johnnie Zinc f-from the surveillance de-department.

Winter: What are you calling me for Johnnie?

Johnnie: Th-there’s a problem near the breach in soother bend of Mantle’s graurd wall .

Winter: The southern bend? Has the breach expanded?

Johnnie: W-well not really a problem with the wall. M-more of what just passed through.

Winter: Excuse me?

Johnnie: Penny Polendina just flew out past the wall and into the tundra. There was some……commission and now there are grimm barreling towards her location.

Winter: …What!

Johnnie: That would be a big enough problem on its own but that’s not why I called.

Winter: Then what is?!

Johnnie: Judging from the radar imaging the grimm are dropping just as fast as they appear.

Winter: …Pardon?

Johnnie: We really don’t know what’s going on out there but it is not good! No one on the ground right now is equipped to handle her so we had to call in you or the general and your number was faster to type in!

Johnnie squeaks, clearly frightened by this extremely abnormal event. Winter pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs before replying.

Winter: I’m coming down. Have a security detail meet me at the gate.

She orders before hanging up, a loud groan escaping her lungs as she gets up from her chair and marches right back over to her hanging work clothes. Her face scrunched in annoyance as she wondered what trouble Penny of all people could have conceivably caused.

Winter: This better be a real emergency or I swear!

She curses in her head, baffled but what someone so kind and caring was doing in the middle of snowy terrain in the dead of night.

Her confusion, however, doesn’t last longer than it takes for her and the security detail from the wall to drive out to the scene.

What they find is not a stampede of grimm surrounding their comrade but a snowy patch painted black from grimm dust, grimm fleeing from the area, and Penny standing in the center covered in grimm dust. There’s no way of telling how many she’s killed but it was enough that the other grimm knew instinctively to run far and fast away from her, something grimm really did when presented with lobe prey. This was a true massacre of monsters done with nothing but pure brutality at the hands of a teenage girl in a moss-green nightgown.

When the military van comes to a stop Winter jumps out. Guided by the headlights, her right hand on the hilt of her rapier she quietly walks over the blackened snow to engage with the eerily quiet android.

Winter: …Penny?

She calls out to her, there’s no sign of movement for a few seconds but eventually, Penny turns to face Winter. Her eyes are glowing but hollow, not dead or forlgnoed just empty. Her facial expression is equally blank. It’s almost like she’s frozen in her mind, unresponsive, until she finally speaks.

Penny: Hello…Winter Schnee.

Her voice is cold but not in an expected way. It’s not robotic but just void of any feeling. It would be a depressing tone if the tone had even a hint of sadness to it but there was nothing. And that emptiness made Winter nervous.

Winter: Penny Polendina, what are you doing out here?

She asks politely, unsure of what could happen if Penny was provoked.

Penny: Killing grimm.

She replied frankly.

Winter: In the middle of the night? Outside of the city?

Penny: Yes.

Winter: Why, exactly?

Penny: Because……

She doesn’t have an answer for that, not what she wanted to give at least, and especially not to Winter. Winter is perplexed by her non-answer but relieved that it’s a non-violent one, meaning she could proceed.

Winter: Well, they seem to have dispersed for now so you can leave.

She takes her hand off her weapon, calmly offering it to Penny.

Winter: I’ll give you a ride home, it’s much too late for a young girl like you to be out alone.

Her words spark a second of recollection from Penny, Whitley had said something similar to her once, and the overlap resonates with her enough that she manages to pull herself out of her spiral momentarily. With a quiet nod, she walks past Winter and to the military vehicle. Winter sighs, this time with relief, and follows. She’s still slightly annoyed at the whole situation, more so since the incident was coming to an end with no clear answers. Miffed, as the two soldiers are climbing into the cam Winter can’t help but comment on the whole mess as Penny is stepping in ahead of her.

Winter: This was absolutely ridiculous.

Penny pauses at her words, her hand gripping the side of the van tightly.

Winter: I understand upholding your role as a protector but this was too much. I mean I’m a bit of a workaholic but still, this was just-

Winter closes her mouth quickly when she notices that Penny has stopped directly in front of her and is glaring at her from over her shoulder. It’s a heated glare, one that screamed “Silence or I will crush you like a fucking bug” and Winter knew good and well Penny was more than capable of doing just that.

Penny: I…do not want to hear that from you right now. I do not want to hear your voice. So please, stop talking.

Penny states, voice still cold as the tundra itself with a slightly venomous undertone. She didn’t want to be lectured by someone who could disregard their own family member while protecting another the way Winter had. Just hearing her pompous and strict musings made Penny want to vomit.

The ride back into town is completely silent, no one knows what will set Penny off again so they keep quiet. This leaves Penny’s mind room to roam away from the rage and back to the guilt.

What was she thinking, throwing a tantrum like that? If even a single thing had gone wrong people’s lives could have been at risk! But Penny couldn’t see that, she couldn’t see anything past her rage, and even that was pointless. Recklessly slaughtering monsters wasn’t going to do anything to the real monster she wanted to kill. And it wasn’t going to heal Whitley’s wounds. And after all, was said and done it didn't soothe Penny’s aching heart one bit.

Penny: When did I become so selfish?

She thought bitterly. Once they drop her off at her front door Penny automatically turns the knob before remembering she left without her keys. However, the doors opens with little resistance.

That’s right, in her hast, she hadn’t thought to lock it.

Stepping inside Penny shuts and locks the door behind her before slumping to the floor, breaking down on the welcome mat. She didn’t want to believe this was real. That any of these was really happening.

But it was.

The person she had come to love was being abused horribly, she currently didn’t have the power to protect him without also harming him, and she didn’t even have to courage to be honest with him about her true origins even after he shared his.

She had become another betrayer to a person who had known far too many already. He even believed her to be his biggest support! His confidant, his beloved trustworthy Penny.

And all she could do about it now was sob.

#fanfic #rwby fanfiction #rwby #penny polendina #fanfiction #whitley schnee #beta testers #angst #winter schnee #jacques schnee #I actually cried writing this #triggering content #trigger warning: child abuse #trigger warning: blood

4 notes · View notes