#so i put layer filters on top of legend. and then Studied it. and then moved onto twilight and picked the colors myself

[chibimyumi]

Redesign Prompt RESULTS!

Alright, thank you everyone who has voted, the results are now in! Overwhelmingly our winner is Ranmao 🐈!

First of all, I need to insert a few caveats here. Unlike with Victorian fashion, I do not have years and years of studying of Qing dynasty-fashion behind me. So whatever results I show here are the product of a fortnight of reading up and meticulous studying of contemporary photographs. a.k.a. I am merely scraping the surface here. But! I do promise that everything shown here is done to the best of my ability to be responsible as a content provider.

Now without further ado, let us dive into Ranmao’s current design, the blatantly obvious inaccuracies, and how I propose to redes...ign... her outfit while keeping the original intact as much.... as possible????  Heck, this is not even worthy of being called a ‘redesign’, this is straight up designing from scratch!

Hair

Let us start with her bangs. Her bangs are in fact surprisingly accurate, as late Qing dynasty women would wear their bangs in a variety of Bettie bangs trimmed well above the eyebrows. Having sides of the bangs growing longer framing the face was usual too, though they would be cut slightly thicker than Ranmao’s. Though, we don’t know how much hair Ranmao has, so I see no reason to alter it.

Twin braids are very much associated with the “China doll look”, but they seem to have been branded into our image of the “Chinese Girl” because it was the go-to look for unmarried women in Republic China (which is many years later than Ranmao’s time, and also has more surviving images.)

In Ranmao’s time, unmarried girls would either wear the bottom part of their hair down, or have everything tied into a single braid behind them. Girls who preferred a more feminine look would often decorate the sides or the top with flowers or other ornaments depending on their wealth.

Yana’s notes say that the flower in Ranmao’s hair is a Chinese peony, which is also called the Empress of Flowers in Chinese as well as Japanese culture. I could find sources on how the peony was the symbol of the Empress of China, and how one better avoid wearing any type of peonies around the Empress herself for fear of being suspected of disrespect. But I could not find any evidence of such flowers being banned for other people, so presumably it was more an ‘unwritten code of politeness’ rather than fashion law.

Hence, I kept the pink peony design for Ranmao, and decorated them in the way Qing women would have.

Neckline

By far the most interesting thing I learned from this redesign attempt was that the “mandarin collar” - the thing that pops up first in most people’s minds when thinking about Chinese fashion - was in fact not at all common.

In this academic work on Chinese fashion history, Finnane writes that the ‘high collar’ was “not a common feature of costume before the twentieth century.” Instead, most costumes would have had a round neckline.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 93

The ‘high collar’ gained popularity in early 1900s in China after the Europeans brought with them the beauty standard for high collars, as well as slim-fitted silhouettes. The Chinese increasingly adopted this type of collar and the slim silhouette (the well known ‘china dress/qipao/cheongsam’), and the relatively many early photos that survived helped engrave this stereotype into our minds.

Sleeves

I do not think it requires any mention, but 19th century Chinese fashion did not include boleros... For many of the original designs of Ranmao I can sort of see where Yana got that image from, but this bolero-look truly beats me.

The sleeves worn in the late Qing period were relatively wide, though they were starting to slim down over time. Late Qing women enjoyed much more flexible clothing rules than earlier Qing women, and the width of the sleeves was in great part determined by personal preference, season, but mostly one’s wealth.

Needless to say, the larger the sleeves the more fabric and embroidery it would require, and thus more expensive. Also, the wider the more it would get into the wearer’s way.

I don’t know how much thought Yana put into Ranmao’s original design in relation to her function as elite bodyguard, but considering how the original has zero practicality and only serves to maximise Ranmao’s attractiveness, I have no qualms about giving Ranmao fairly large sleeves too. Besides, let us assume that Lau is responsible for providing Ranmao with clothes. Illegal money tends to fill the pockets quite deeply, I don’t think he can’t spare a few pounds for big sleeves.

Wider sleeves would expose much of ‘a lady’s precious skin’, as such a more fitted layer would have been worn underneath. (The sleeves under the wider sleeves obviously did not have to be orange-ish. This was merely coincidence that both my redesign and the visual source have this colour.)

Silhouette

The figure hugging silhouette x Chinese clothes was - as mentioned above - not at all a thing in Ranmao’s time. In fact, the accentuation of the “female curves” was considered very inappropriate if not downright ugly in the Qing dynasty.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 94

Yana’s notes mention that the thing Ranmao wears is just an European corset and that that is the only thing ‘English’ about her attire.

Well... I don’t know where the idea that Victorians wore corsets on the outside comes from, but I myself admittedly was fooled by this a few years ago too... I promise you all now however, Victorians decidedly did not wear their ‘bras’ on the outside. I think even now this look is considered rather ‘questionable’ by most people.

Instead, Qing dynasty clothes were mostly cut wide and straight, loosely dangling around their bodies offering maximum comfort and space. You feared Ranmao killing you in her corset? Now tremble before her now blessed with maximised agility.

Trousers

Well... I considered ‘translating’ Ranmao’s attire to 2020 standard like I did for O!Ciel, but that would not be Tumblr-filter approved. Skirts so short they could be mistaken for a belt are nothing too surprising today, but wearing one with a split that deep is probably a bit too revealing even by today’s standards.

By the late Qing dynasty, men and women, rich and poor alike predominantly wore trousers. Long robes (skirts) were definitely in fashion too, but they were reserved for those who could afford to not have much agility. If you were a farmer, robes would not have been your first option. Perhaps the way long skirts were viewed by the Qing Chinese was not unlike the way we see them now; ‘more classy’ ‘more feminine’ and ‘less convenient’, but not the only way to express femininity.

In these pictures below we can see relatively rich women, married and unmarried alike, all wearing trousers.

Ranmao is predominantly a fighter, and as trousers are plenty feminine in Chinese fashion culture, I don’t see why she would not choose to wear trousers instead of a restricting long skirt. Hence I gave her a pair of trousers.

Shoes

Like I said before, “the shoes are correct...” But the anklets definitely are not!

Golden or silver anklets are something that are worn by very, VERY young children in China. Even to this day it is customary among many Chinese people to gift newborn children at least one piece of pendant, bracelet or anklet, for it is believed to bring the child luck. More practically, this piece of jewellery will become the child’s first piece of property then, which can be sold later SHOULD they ever run into a financially difficult situation.

These anklets or bracelets would not be removed from the child unless they have outgrown them, which happens fairly quick. Ranmao who is probably full grown should have outgrown them at least ten years ago. Hence, seeing these things on Ranmao would probably make it look like she is still wearing diapers or bibs.

Chinese people would likewise not have worn shoes barefoot. Instead, they would have worn cotton socks which were mostly white.

DOUBLE HAMMERS

HERE COME THE WEAPONS! Luckily Yana wrote the following note or I would never have guessed what they are for my knowledge about Chinese weapons is next to nothing.

“These are【SUPER】heavy. They are weapons called 双錘 (double hammers) and they in fact exist. I heard these were used by power-type warriors.”

So, I googled 双錘 and it turns out that the type Ranmao is holding do indeed exist! But... only in fiction and theatre.

The hammers that were used in actual combat were either very thin and long, or short and plump. Such hammers were one of the most primitive metal weapons in China, and quickly fell out of favour among Chinese warriors when more practical weapons such as the metal spear, sword and bows were invented. The hammers mostly retained their value because of their weight in heroic tales and myths about legendary warriors and deities.

I don’t have the full details, but apparently according to some legends or myths, one of such big-ass hammers could deal a force of 200kg, and thus 400kg combined. Regardless of this being realistic or not, it sure does sound very cool! It is therefore no wonder this primitive weapon retains its popularity even today.

Nowadays when these hammers are used, they are either the blown up theatrical versions, or the smaller versions for the sake of preserving martial arts.

I had a bit of a dilemma as to which version to give Ranmao, but in the end I settled with the short and heavy ones because I wanted to keep the idea of this small and innocent looking girl wielding solid metal balls. Two cheer-leading sticks would simply not have the same weight, figuratively and literally.

Alright everyone! Did you enjoy my response to your votes? I hope you did ^^ Non-European fashion history really is not my strong suit, so my deepest apologies if I messed anything up.

Pray tell if I did, I am always happy to learn ^^

[meetthetank]

Cruciamen Chapter 12: Pest Control

Rating: Mature  Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (Nier) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214/chapters/83494138

A2 lies in their bed, blankets askew, and ponders the Elders of their home village while they stare at the wooden ceiling.

The Elders were stubborn, staunch traditionalists to the end, and severe, but they were also wise and kind. They took care of the village and led their people through good times and bad. A2 remembers how the cubs would gather around the Storyteller when she visited their classes, their eyes wide with wonder at the old legends and the old language. They remember the times where cocksure warriors would challenge a passing master and gawp at how quickly the hobbling woman would disarm them. They remember how the village men would study the intricate weaving and architecture of the old builders and seamsters for hours on end and how many failed replications would be offered to lovers as gifts.

A2 remembers how the oldest would hide how their scales and feathers fell out, or how the men’s brilliant plumage would fade. They remember how when an Elder would draw close to death they would hide themselves away from the rest of the village, but everyone would know. A2 would know too, when an Elder was about to die, even at that young age. There is an instinct to let the suffering member of their family sequester themself away, despite their pain.

A2 wonders idly, as they hold a fistful of brittle feathers, if that’s what they’re feeling.

The downy feathers beneath their hair had started to fall out a couple of days ago, right around the time the salves and bandages had stopped working. It wasn’t unusual that their down would shed every so often, typically around the summer months. At first A2 had thought it was because of the humidity of the area that threw off their body’s natural rhythms. Then the feathers had started falling out by the fistful, and they knew something was very wrong. They noticed the swelling of their wounds not long after, followed by the yellowish pus that seeped from them. They’d get exhausted from climbing a single set of stairs and couldn’t eat or drink too much too quickly, otherwise they’d vomit everything back up.

They’re falling apart again.

They should be used to this. Their first month outside their treetop village, they had almost starved before they could find a meal. Then there had been their time spent in the rotting mud of The Bog. Now they’re wasting away once more, but in a much more comfortable way. Sometimes, when the poppyseed milk A4 brings them first hits and their swollen wounds stop aching, they feel as if they could simply drift away into the abyss. It would be a gentle death, a quiet one. Yet every time they awake to the morning sun filtering into their room.

Their chest rattles and aches with each breath; even this is exhausting. Lying in bed, helpless as their wounds seep with infection and pus, their bandages become sticky and tough along with their sheets. When they shift in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position, loose scales fall from their body, leaving the raw skin exposed.

If they hadn’t been taken in by A4 and her convent, they would have died. Wild dogs would have taken them down or vultures would have picked apart their body while they lay helplessly on the ground. But now they’re condemned to waste away...

A fat rat scrambles on top of their chest after sniffing around their pus caked leg. It looks at them with beady little eyes, its whiskers twitching as it sniffs around their shirt. It waits for them to respond, and when nothing happens it begins scratching at their skin, looking for soft flesh.

A2’s hand lashes out, snagging the rodent by the head. It struggles for a moment before they plunge their claws into its neck, severing its spine instantly. The rodent goes limp in their hand as they sit up.

The convent doesn’t eat meat except on feast days, they’ve learned, and when they do they boil it. This raw rat has to be one of the most delicious things they’ve eaten in their life. Their teeth tear tiny strips of flesh and bone from the fattened rodent, its blood running down their lips and chin.

“By the Saints-”

A4 stands in their doorway, her hand over her mouth hiding a look of disgust and awe as A2 slurps down the rest of the rat.

“What?” they ask, as if they don’t have rat viscera stuck in their teeth.

She shakes her head and sets her bundle of fresh bandages and clothes. “You look like s-...” She stops herself from swearing, A2 can tell. “You look worse than yesterday.” The nun’s brows furrow as she looks the coatyl up and down, bright emerald eyes scrutinizing every stain on their sheets and clothes. “There’s more discharge than before, you’ll need to start taking medicinal baths soon if-”

“No way.” A2 grunts and takes another bite. “M’ fine. Just sore.”

A4 glares at them, but keeps her thoughts to herself. She eyes the remains of the rodent in A2’s claws. “Did you… catch that?”

“Yeah.” A2 gulps the last of the rat down their throat.

When A4 gives them a dismissive look at the same time another rat scurries past her feet, A2 leaps into action. They dive for the rodent, scooping it up in their hand and skidding across the wooden floor. A4 stumbles back with a gasp, startled by the sudden movement, but the shock is quickly surpassed by an awkward smile.

A2 struggles to their feet, grits their teeth to hide their pain, and holds out the struggling animal to her. “See?”

“That’s-” A4 stammers. “You’re very good at that.”

A2 grins, strangely proud of themself. “I am an apex predator after all.”

The nun snickers, “About as threatening as a fat house cat.”

They feel their blood run cold at the mention of those animals. The rat in their hand squirms out of their grip and scampers away, escaping into a hole in the wall. “Wh-... cats? Are there cats here?!”

She puts her hands up, quick to quell their fears, as confusing as those fears may be. “Don’t worry! We don’t have any cats here. Which… is also why there’s so many rats…”

A2 begins to remark that rats are better than cats, but a coughing fit forces them to double over. Their chest and throat tighten and they can only clutch at their neck as their body trembles with each spasm. A4 is by their side in an instant with a clean rag in hand. She forces their hand away and wipes the spit and rat blood from their face.

“That cough sounds bad…” A4 mutters while examining A2. “If the Bog Rot has spread to your internal organs-”

“I’m fine!” A2 snaps, then sighs. “It’s fine. Just ate that one rat too fast.”

“Are you sure?”

They can’t stay mad at the genuine worry in A4’s voice.

“I’m sure.”

A4 stares at A2 with those deep green eyes. She stares right through them, leaving A2 to sift through all of the repressed memories that those eyes bring back. They keep their composure aside from biting the inside of their cheek, and it seems that A4 doesn’t pick up on the small gesture. She goes back to her basket of supplies and motions for A2 to sit on the edge of their bed.

After she helps A2 change their bandages, clean their sores, and change them into clean clothes, A4 all but drags them by the arm (gently of course) out of their room. She insists that the fresh air will help every time she walks them around the Convent, and at first it did. The outside air and gentle breeze filled their lungs with renewed energy. Now, each breath of cool air makes their chest hurt and their joints ache.

A harsh gust of wind rattles the leaves of the surrounding woods and cuts through their clothes, straight down to their bones. They can smell rain in the air and the humidity clings to the inside of their throat. With each breath more heat escapes their body. They wrap their arms around themself and fail to suppress a shiver. A4 casts them a worried look but they straighten up and attempt to hide their pain. They keep their head held high, proudly looking at the path ahead. A2 is prepared to face the biting cold moisture with a steely gaze.

They’re not prepared for the soft shawl that gets wrapped around their shoulders.

A4 tugs their arm, pulling them back to face her. She pulls the grey shawl tighter and ties it snug against them. Already, shielded from the wind and mist, A2 feels warmth return to their body.

“Don’t be stubborn,” A4 says, locking eyes with the coatyl. “If you catch a cold on top of everything else, I’m going to throw you in the medicinal baths myself.”

A2 can’t help but smirk. “That’s a little violent for a nun.” They lean down, putting their face right in hers. “And what makes you think you could even pick me up, let alone throw me?”

Undeterred, A4 rolls up the sleeve of her dress and flexes her arm. The tanned skin of her arm ripples with well-toned muscle well-hidden by her clothes and a thin layer of fat. A2’s can only stare wide-eyed at the nun, mouth agape.

“I think I have a chance,” she says with a smug grin.

A2’s mind trips over itself trying to piece together a witty response from the shattered remnants of their consciousness. When that fails they opt for an intelligent response, and when that fails as well, they try a coherent one.

They cross their arms over their chest and huff. “Whatever, I’m still bigger than you.”

“You might be taller,” A4 retorts, jabbing her finger at an unmarred spot near their elbow, “but you weigh a lot less now. Probably about as much as a sack of flour, or a toddler.”

She giggles as A2 shoves her playfully, but their bright smile fades quickly the more those forest colored eyes study them. A2 almost feels how her eyes roam over their ravaged body and the weight of what she said in jest makes itself apparent.

They open their mouth to quell her anxieties, but A4 beats them to it.

“I have to ask,” she begins, wringing a fistful of her white apron, “and forgive me if this is to prying, but…”

She seems to shrink under A2’s impassive gaze.

“Why do you refuse more thorough care?” She asks, “If this illness gets to the point where-... I mean what's the purpose of letting it get this bad? I know I can’t force you to accept-”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” A2 snaps. “Why are you going out of your way to help a total stranger you picked up off the ground?”

A4 flinches but regains her stalwart expression quickly. “I’m a nun of The Order of Devoted. It’s my job to help those in need of aid, regardless of who they might be.”

Her intense gaze never leaves A2 as she waits for an answer. A proper answer. A4 will not allow them to dodge this any longer, not when they’re teetering on the point of no return.

“I hate being indebted to people.” A2 sighs and keeps their eyes forward, locked on something far, far away.

“Wh-” A4 composes herself, eager to pry into her mysterious patient’s inner workings. “How come?”

“Or people being indebted to me, for that matter,” they add. “It doesn’t sit right, you know? Getting a free meal or whatever. I gotta work it off somehow.”

A4 stares at them as if their expression might reveal their hidden self. The coatyl keeps their cool blue-grey eyes locked on the horizon.

“My sister went into a job like that. It was basically volunteering, never got paid or nothing, but it was something that had to be done, and something she’s resented for…”

A2 blinks and shakes their head. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

A4 makes the face she goes to when she’s about to launch into a lecture. Stern, furrowed brows, pursed lips, hands balled into fists. It’s cute.

She opens her mouth and the voice of an old, energetic woman comes out. Both her and A2 spin around to see Sister Margaret leaning out of the dormitory’s kitchen window, waving her arm at the pair.

“Four! I need a hand in here!” Margaret shouts.

“Coming!” A4 responds, then turns to A2 with a giggle. “Guess I’m on KP duty now.”

Even though they’ve only been here for at least half a month, A2 knows that arguing with the senior nun is pointless. They dutifully follow behind A4, wrapping the shawl tighter around their shoulders.

A4 looks over her shoulder, “You know you don’t have to come with me? You can head back to your room if you’d like.”

“What, and stare at the walls all day?” they snort. “It’s fine. I’ll sit down if I start feeling off.”

The two head into the dormitory and over to the kitchen. The scent of raw fish hits A2 the moment they walk in the doorway, their mouth watering within seconds. Ever since they entered the desert all those months ago they’ve had to eat everything but their favorite childhood food. Gazelle, antelope, field mice, and other game filled their stomach but it never tasted as good as a fresh-caught fish.

“Put a little pep in your step there, Four!” Sister Margaret shouts from the other side of a counter laden with all manner of ingredients. “There’s plenty to do and little time to do it.”

A2 can only stare as A4 puts her curly black hair in a tight bun and ties a spare kitchen apron around her waist. She dunks her hands into a basin of water and motions for A2 to do the same, which they do. The warm water soothes their aching joints for a moment. A4 hurries over to her mentor’s side, eagerly listening to the long list of tasks. A2 can’t help but be mesmerized by the way her hair bounces when she nods her head. The two women chat with each other, every so often glancing over to A2 and giggling. Whatever they’re saying, A2 can’t hear it. They're not sure if they want to.

“...Now hop to it, kiddo!” Margaret suddenly shouts, clapping her hands and sending a cloud of white powder into the air. “The Holy Day is in three days and if Mother Superior doesn’t get her Gateau de San Yonah then she’s going to make it everyone’s problem!”

“Holy day?” A2 asks, lifting an eyebrow and edging slightly closer to the basket of fish.

“Yep!” A4 perks up and smiles blindingly at them. “There’s a lot of special days that we observe throughout the year, and coming up is the Feast Day of Saint Yonah. It’s one of our more important Holy Days. Sister Abigail went to the nearest town to get enough supplies that we could make everything we need, and Sister Bernadette spent all day fishing!”

A2 takes that as an opportunity to go over and…inspect the haul. They pick up one of the fish, a sizable river trout, by its tail. Not a bad catch but it isn’t the king of the river at all. They squeeze it to gauge its muscle and fat. Again, not the worst but far from the best. Most of the trout in the basket look much the same if not smaller. There are some other species in there too; small catfish, a little bass, and a few other surface feeders. Nothing remarkable, yet…

While A4 is busy with something, they gulp down one of the smallest fish. Their throat hurts afterwards, but gods it is delicious. They want more, but if they take any more they’re going to feel terrible. It is for something special to A4 and the other nuns after all.

As A2 looks over the kitchen once more, something A4 does catches their attention. She pours a fine white powder into a bowl, followed by water and a pinch of salt. They wander over to her, craning their neck around to get a better peek at what in the world she’s doing.

“Would you like to help?” A4 asks, smiling at them.

“I would but…” A2 shrugs, “I have no idea what you’re doing.”

“You’ve never made-” A4 stops herself and looks back at A2. “...Do you cook food?”

A2 shakes their head, “Coatyls have raw diets. We don’t cook.”

“Ah. That explains the rats.”

Sister Margaret cackles, “If you’re so hellbent on paying us back, you should be our rat catcher!”

They scrunch up their face at that, not knowing if they should be offended or not. But at the same time… It’s almost the perfect job for them, at least for now.

“... Maybe,” they respond with a smirk. “Lemme think about that.”

“Anyway!” A4 shouts, bringing their attention back to their bowl of powders. “Making bread is easy. Here-”

She steps out of the way, taking A2’s hands into hers, and shoves them into the bowl before they have the chance to protest. The water and white powder on their hands makes for a… strange texture to say the least. They want to recoil away, but A4’s strong tanned hands keep theirs in place.

“Just mash your hands in there until all of the flour comes together into one ball.” She explains.

“Flour?”

“The white stuff.”

“Ah.”

They do as she says and clumsily try to bring together the flour and water, and to their surprise the strange slime does actually form this malleable… paste. The more they work with the paste the more pleasant it is to touch.

“Oh- before I forget.”

A4 suddenly rushes away, leaving a bewildered A2 wrist deep in a bowl of not-yet bread. They keep playing with their paste until she comes back carrying something covered by a thin cloth.

“Here,” she says as she unwraps her gift, revealing a loaf of honey-scented bread. “I saw you snatch a loaf the other day and try to play it off. If you like them so much you can just ask, silly.”

They blink, dumbfounded. “You… made this for me? Why?”

The nun sighs, glaring up at them. A2 can’t help but notice the way her cheeks flush red for a moment. “Because I’m being nice to you, idiot. Is that so hard to understand?”

A2 can only stare in awe as A4 sets the loaf of sweet bread down beside them with a huff, and as a strange, familiar warmth fills their chest.

“Oi!” Sister Margaret shouts, snapping A2 and A4 out of their thoughts. “If you two are going to flirt instead of work, go outside!”

The old woman waves her large wooden spoon at the two. A4 promises her mentor over and over that she’ll get back to the mountain of work ahead of her. Not once does she deny Margaret’s jab about the two of them. Somehow, that makes A2 smile.

[texanredrose]

Aaaaaaand the Freezerburn Arranged Marriage AU continues. I think I’m going to stick with the name ‘Queens of Vale’. It’s either that or keep calling it the Freezerburn Arranged Marriage AU and that’s a lot to fucking type. Plus, the acronym makes me laugh too much. (I got you, FAMAU, lol, wtf is wrong with me.) So... yeah. Here ya go. Bonding shenanigans.

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

A cold wind whipped through the trees, rustling bare branches and sending a few dead ones tumbling to the ground while dense grey clouds churned overhead, obscuring the sunlight and adding to the dreary feel of the day. In Atlas, such weather would be considered mild at worst and pleasant at best, a welcomed reprieve from the harsh storms that ushered in the cold season and brought snow up to one's knees and waist, but here in Vale, many residents took it as a sign that the winter would be severe, the children staying indoors while the adults bundled themselves in layers of clothing against the low temperatures. Smoke billowed up from every house in the village and a thinner column rose from the spot in the forest where the blonde's childhood home stood, but Weiss couldn't help but feel grateful they weren't inside.

Despite living in the warmer country for months, she could still feel the lingering effects from her homeland and opted for a much different ensemble compared to the others; she wore a simple, long sleeved white dress that brushed the tops of her shoes, the fabric split at the waist to allow ease of movement, and thin white pants to match, both with light blue around the hem and the little wooden ties fastened at her shoulder. Faintly- so much so she hadn't noticed herself until running her hands over the fabric- a dragon design was stitched into the dress with white thread, its tail curling around one ankle and wrapping around her waist, sweeping its way up so its neck slipped over one shoulder and the head rested over her heart. On her back, blue thread outlined her customary snowflake, and while the whole outfit was probably intended for spring or early fall, she couldn't help but relish the sharp bite of cold air filtering through the silk, a faint reminder of her home without the unwanted memories of cold, empty halls and even colder eyes.

Yang, on the other hand, looked like a knight in soft armor, bracing against the weather as best she could. Gloves and thick boots accompanied her heavy cloak and the extra tunic she wore under her vest, all dyed brown or a faded yellow, and Ember Celica's straps had to be loosened a hole to accommodate the extra padding. She even had the orange fabric Ember Celica usually rested upon while they slept wrapped around her neck and pulled up, the hood of her cloak down low to shield her face and leaving all but the sliver of skin around her eyes hidden away.

The weather had turned much colder in the days following their reconciliation, forcing the blonde out into the forest alongside her father and Ghira to help harvest the last of the wood needed before winter began in earnest. Weiss wasn't left without things to do, of course. She cleaned the house while the others were out, regaining her strength and endurance along the way, and she managed to find some old books that helped further her written Valen, the characters simple enough for her to copy and understand. When the three returned bearing bundles of wood bound by leather straps, she helped stack them by the house or took them into the village with her wife, passing them out to those who needed them. News of her recovery preceded her, with many of the villagers offering her little tokens and charms in addition to whatever they gave Yang as trade for the wood, and now she had a nice little collection of various trinkets beseeching the Fall Maiden's mercy arranged on the dresser where Myrtenaster rested. After their burdens were distributed, they returned to the little house while the sun began to set and settled in for the night. The Atlesian had insisted Yang write a letter to Blake before the Faunus returned to his kingdom, so Yang spent the time bent over a scroll, brush in hand as she tried to word her message without reflecting her lingering frustrations, while Taiyang and Weiss prepared dinner side-by-side, and Ghira regaled the lot of them with stories from Menagerie and his own versions of the Valen legends he'd learned when younger. Then, Taiyang would challenge her after dinner to the strange game of red and yellow pieces, their matches sometimes lasting late into the night and requiring them to wait until the following day to continue.

However, things had to change eventually, and the Faunus determined her fully recovered and left to bear the blonde's letter the previous day. One would think her wife would feel more at peace now that everything returned to normal, yet, Yang seemed more eager now than ever, rising with the winter sun and gently prodding her to leave the warmth of their bed.

"So, are you ready to train today?" She looked up, lilac eyes peeking out from under the hood. "I know it's not ideal conditions-"

"That can't be helped." The Atlesian feigned thoughtfulness as the wind picked up again, prompting Yang to turn her gaze skyward and watch the clouds for a moment. While the blonde was distracted, she studied the woman's posture, noticing she seemed far more relaxed now that they were back in the clearing. From what she could gather, it was the first time Yang had returned to the space since their reconciliation.

It still boggled her mind how the woman could be so adamant about being forgiven when she'd done nothing wrong but Weiss accepted that, in the end, it didn't really matter. The warrior bore her no ill will and promised to make amends when the Faunus princess next came to visit, so granting unnecessary forgiveness to put the events behind them seemed a small price to pay. Though, if she was brutally honest with herself, she rather liked how everything turned out; for as horribly as things might've gone, the Atlesian instead found herself looking at her wife in a new light.

Perhaps it had something to do with the way Yang had doted on her while she could hardly control her own body, tucking her in and lending her heat whenever needed, making sure she felt safe and grounded even while lost to the fog of her fever. Or how readily she consented to having her wound tended with just a pointed look or two, as if she felt absolutely no shame in letting the Atlesian treat her with the same care despite being a strong, decorated warrior. Then again, it could very well be the mental picture now stuck in her mind of the fearsome warrior hiding behind her while a harmless garden spider crawled across the floor that continuously struck her as... charming. It reminded her of the blonde's honest blush when confessing the meaning of her joke the night of their wedding ceremony, the open fury on her features while cursing the former King of Atlas for his transgressions against Weiss, the genuine alarm in her voice when she realized she'd fallen dead asleep while snoring loud enough to rattle the panes of the window in their bedroom- a very endearing sort of fallibility she appreciated more and more with every passing day.

It might be all those things, which culminated in the realization that Yang Xiao Long, warrior Queen of Vale, stood as exactly the opposite of what Atlas would consider a proper noble. She accepted her faults- especially the ones that only she thought of as such- she never failed to be open and honest, and it seemed her sense of fairness skewed in the favor of whoever she dealt with rather than herself. The novelty of it all still hadn't worn off. Weiss' father would have a heart attack were any child of his to act in a similar fashion.

Well, a daughter of Atlas she may be, but embracing a few of her new kingdom's customs seemed appropriate, and the one she wanted to exemplify today stemmed from that reassuring touch and warmth she'd felt while being thrown from one extreme to another, the genuine care with which the blonde had treated her when she was at her weakest. She wanted to repay that, and despite how calm Yang looked now, Weiss could still see the tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers seemed a hair's breadth away from curling into fists. Every time they settled down for bed, she could feel the restless energy running through the blonde's frame.

It would be easier, she eventually decided, to burn off some of that energy before trying to discuss anything. "Where should we start?"

"We start with principles," Yang replied, tapping a finger against her temple. "Your semblance is part of you- your very spirit released and honed like any blade, but a sword's no good if the person holding it doesn't understand how it's meant to be used." The blonde looked around, shaking herself as if to ward off the chill in the air despite her layers. "Let's go through the forms as a warm-up."

She nodded, settling into her stance, dimly aware of Myrtenaster pressing against her hip. Wearing her weapon again after the few days of bed rest felt odd at first, like suddenly becoming aware of a limb that had fallen asleep, turning and flexing the newly rediscovered muscles until everything felt right again. Across from her, with about four feet between them, stood the blonde, mirroring her position. On an unspoken count, they began moving, flowing from one position to another as reflections. By this point, she didn't question which of them moved first- if she followed the warrior's lead or vice versa. The motions felt natural, repetition making them familiar despite the comparatively short amount of time she'd had to study them- methodical, measured, calming- and her breathing slowed to match the rhythm of each transition, finding comfort in the practice.

"Have I ever told you how good your form is?"

"You've called me beautiful before, yes," she replied, lifting the corner of her mouth in a smirk. "Or did you mean something else?"

Yang blinked, surprise shining bright in lilac orbs before she chuckled. "Oh, so someone has jokes, is that it?"

"I've learned more than just exercises and breathing techniques from you." Both of them slid from one pose to the next, shifting from being as fluid as water to solid as stone, then light as the breeze and, in brief flashes, quick as a flame. The forms corresponded with the Maidens- the guiding deities the Valens turned to- and the entire exercise emphasized how they worked together to create the whole. While she didn't personally subscribe to the religious connotations, Weiss could appreciate the story they wove. "Your teaching skills are superb, by the way. Perhaps I've mentioned that?"

"You have, but you forget: I have an excellent student." The blonde twisted her hips in time, so they stood side-by-side, and the two took steps forward in tandem while moving through the later forms.

Their feet brushed across the barren ground, any grass that might've once grown there long ago trampled by Yang's use of the clearing, each step muted in the cold morning air. They twisted and turned, following the poses until the final one, which brought them both back to center, once again standing across from one another, though... it certainly looked like they'd drifted closer, somehow.

Not that she was complaining, of course.

Together, they drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, allowing the tension to flow from their muscles, ready to begin the training in earnest.

"Can you feel your semblance?" Through her scarf, the blonde's breath came out as wisps of white fog, curling in front of her face like smoke. "Where is it?"

"Yes, it's..." Weiss closed her eyes briefly, acutely aware of the familiar chill thrumming through her body, at harmony with the cold of the season while remaining distinct. Ever since falling under the tea's sway, she'd been able to feel the cold within her easily, as if it couldn't quite retreat to wherever it hid before. However, right now she could feel a concentration of the internal energy resting in her chest, and she brought one hand up to hover over the point. "It's everywhere, but strongest here."

"That's great!" Her eyes sparkled like gems, conveying the mile wide smile currently hidden from view. "You've got the two most important parts down, then. First, you have to know what it is. Then, where it is." She lifted her arms, curling her hands into tight fists and allowing them to hover in front of her face. As she shifted to the balls of her feet, the air around her rippled, the cold driven back as steam began to rise off her clothes while lilac morphed into blood red. "It's a part of you, in every bone and muscle and your very skin, ebbing and flowing with every heartbeat, and controlling it is second nature, like breathing." The blonde threw a few jabs at the air- quick strikes that Weiss almost couldn't follow with her eyes- as her feet danced beneath her as she battled an imaginary opponent. As she drew near to one edge of the clearing, the warrior reared back, eyes sharpening to throw a punch aimed at a nearby tree that never actually made contact, heat rippling out from the points of her knuckles and somehow turning the withered bark black as the dried wood began to smoke and smolder. The Atlesian nearly stepped back in surprise; of all the times she'd felt the fire burning within her wife's soul, she'd never imagined it could manifest in such a destructive manner. All those reports- stories her father passed off as shaken soldiers allowing their imaginations to run wild- depicting the Queen of Vale as a dragonspawn wreathed in flame seemed much more accurate than before. After a moment, Yang drew back from the tree, taking another deep breath and releasing it slowly. "Your semblance is a weapon that needs only a thought to be drawn; if you know what it is and where it is, you can wield it with just as much ease as you move Myrtenaster." She chuckled, her stance relaxing. "After all, the best defense is a good offense."

Pale brows furrowed. "You mean, the best offense is a good defense."

"Uh... no?" The blonde chuckled nervously, obviously replaying the words in her head to ensure she'd said the right thing. Satisfied she hadn't misspoken, she coughed into her hand. "Is... that what you were taught?"

"Of course," she replied, absolutely certain of her answer. "For centuries, Atlas has faced threats from within and without our borders- the other, former nations of Mantle, the ferocious beasts that roam the remote regions, raiders and bandits- and we have maintained a strong standing army to defend ourselves against them. It's how my father unified Mantle when the civil war erupted."

A small pause followed her words where the other woman fidgeted, looking almost nervous and also a little confused. "Well, that... explains a lot." Brows creasing in concern, the Atlesian took a step forward, silently bidding her wife continue. "During the later parts of the invasion, Atlas' soldiers would land on Vale's shores and try to build fortifications, or turn our existing structures into ones." She spread her hands. "But this is our home and each one of us is capable of fighting. We outmaneuvered them, rendered their defenses useless, and struck when they were exhausted from the effort of trying to turn our own land into unfamiliar territory. We had no strong defense to speak of ourselves- no walls to hide behind- but every time Atlas soldiers mounted an attack, we met them with greater force and broke their ranks, turned their neat lines into chaos, and they couldn't recover." Lilac met blue briefly before being redirected towards the ground. "With an emphasis on defense, Atlas stands strong against invasions, like an aegis. But aggressive action requires the force and decisiveness of a blade's edge. The blunt strength of a shield can only do so much damage; it takes wielding it just right to get the same effect."

"I suppose you have a point. The other nations of Mantle had comparatively smaller forces than Atlas. We overwhelmed them; had the armies been evenly matched... I'm not sure we would've triumphed." She conceded, shoulders falling slightly at the reminder of her father's foolishness. "We truly stood no chance at successfully invading Vale, did we?" Immediately, she shook her head, refocusing on the task at hand. "It doesn't matter. My former countrymen couldn't manifest their semblance the way Valens can, so I suppose it's a moot point."

"Well, there's still a lesson to be learned from that way of thinking. It all comes down to discipline, really." Yang stepped towards her, lightly laying her hands on the smaller woman's shoulders. "When I say 'the best defense is a good offense', I mean that drawing out your semblance is, in itself, an aggressive action. It's pulling a weapon that formerly hadn't been brought to bear out into the open, like unsheathing a blade. You might only use it to block or parry, but that's still your sword doing the work. Does that make sense?"

She bit her lip, looking down at the ground between them. "I... think."

"That's okay; it'll become clearer with time. It's just a mentality you're not used to," the blonde said, crossing her arms over her chest. "But, I think there's something inside of you that understands it on a deeper level. I caught a few glances your way while you dueled Blake; she couldn't break your defense and, when your semblance manifested, it acted as a shield, blocking Adam's attack. Now that I know how heavily your people emphasized defense, that makes sense- it's how you're naturally inclined to manifest your energy."

As much as it pained her to admit such, she couldn't quite take pride in that assessment. "She got very close a few times."

"Maybe, but 'very close' is as good as 'not', in that case. I can't tell you how many times I've almost had an ax or a sword slice into my throat, or an arrow embedded in my back." She held up a hand, keeping her thumb and forefinger just slightly apart. "Sometimes, only that much separates you from death- it's the difference between a missed attack and a killing blow."

She raised a brow at the word choice. It seemed strange to her, how easily Yang spoke of the dance with death. It reminded her of the difference between their homelands, how Atlesians looked at war as a grim but ultimately necessary tool to expand their nation's borders and defend against the 'barbaric' peoples of the world. Valens, meanwhile, thought of it as an integral part of life, another form of the eternal struggle between opposing forces. Day and night, light and dark, hot and cold- Taiyang had gone on at length about them while teaching her the encircling game but never in a negative light, as if such a thing shouldn't exist. It simply did. "I suppose it comes down to strength, then?"

"Or speed. Or skill. Or cunning." The blonde moved, holding both arms out wide before curling her hands into fists and bringing them up. The effect was lessened by the layers of clothing she wore but Weiss could still make out the bulges of hard won muscles straining against the fabric, drawing tight across her arms and chest, almost as if she might rip the very seams. "Strength is my approach of choice, obviously, but it doesn't have to be yours." She heard the smile in her wife's voice and continued staring long after both arms dropped. "You'll figure out how to wield the weapon once you have a firm grip on it, when you can feel its heft and balance for yourself. What matters is that you're decisive when wielding it and, unlike any other weapon, your semblance will never leave your hand; you can only be disarmed if you allow your spirit to be broken."

She met the warrior's gaze, brows pinching together, feeling as if Yang was talking in circles. "Then how do I draw it? How do I control it?"

"Easy." The warrior shifted her stance, moving her right foot back and raising both fists. "You need to tag me."

"Excuse me?"

"Tag me." She shrugged, a little lost as to how to explain. "You know. A punch, a slap- just get a hand on me somehow." Then she pulled down her scarf enough to flash a little grin. "And if you actually manage to knock me to the ground, I'll give you a kiss." Almost too quick to catch, something flashed across Yang's expression, eyes widening and her lips quivering before they pulled a little wider. A month or more ago, she might've been fooled, but Weiss could tell when her wife was faking cheer to keep others from being concerned by this point. She'd seen it enough during the journey back to Patch. "Or maybe breakfast in bed, or I can cook dinner one night? I'm a pretty good chef."

Ah, so that was it. Narrowing her eyes, Weiss settled into a stance of her own- a fencer's pose, the same discipline Yatsuhashi had taught her what seemed like a lifetime ago- with her left arm outstretched towards her opponent and her right curled into a fist at the small of her back. How he came by the knowledge escaped her but he taught her well and she wouldn't disappoint. After all, how different could a game of this 'tag' be from a duel? "I accept your challenge."

Lilac eyes brightened, her guard lowering ever so slightly to beckon her forward with both hands. "Alright. You have until lunch. Now, let's see what you got."

She didn't move, biding her time and analyzing the situation. Yatsuhashi had warned against such goads when first instructing her during the journey to Patch; he emphasized striking only when she felt ready, never allowing another to dictate her motions or else forfeit the battle before it began.

"From great wars to solitary duels- in the end, all conflict is decided by who retains control," he'd said, holding his large greatsword perfectly level with one hand. It stood as tall as he did, weighed more than she could carry, and gleaned under the fading sun like the strange, staggered pauldron that covered his off arm and functioned as a shield. "If you sacrifice control of self, you will never gain control of the conflict."

While this may not be as serious a battle, the test laid before her required her utmost attention, studying the way the blonde awaited her opening maneuver. Weight on the balls of her feet, hands up, her center of balance high and evenly dispersed. Bringing her down wouldn't be easy... but it was possible.

As the wind picked up, she rushed forward, darting her hand low to get beneath the woman's guard. She missed, the blonde skipping back a step and rolling to her right to dodge the obvious follow up swipe, and so they began their dance around the clearing. Weiss pressed forward relentlessly, trying to back the warrior into a tree, but just when she thought all avenues of escape were cut off, Yang would surprise her- jumping clear over her head accompanied by a blast of heat, sliding beneath her outstretched arm, stopping her momentum too quick for the smaller woman to do the same, steam streaming behind her in wisps. Always maintaining her balance, the upper hand, and always with that little grin in place- she was having fun as the Atlesian's frustration mounted. As the smaller of the two, one would think she could move quicker, change direction easier, but she found herself thwarted with every attempt. If she darted to the left, so would Yang, somehow anticipating her actions the moment she decided on them, remaining just out of arm's reach. Simply thrusting her arms forward never worked- the blonde would dodge to one side or another and skip a few steps away- and swinging horizontally or vertically produced similar results.

Defending was always the easier of the two sides to pick, in her opinion. Assess your weaknesses, decide if they should be strengthened or intentionally weakened to draw in the enemy, and keep your greatest strength a closely guarded secret. When attacking, one had to be ruthlessly efficient, because the opponent would capitalize on every mistake, every extra bit of expended energy gone to waste, and Weiss could feel the sweat dripping from her brow as they continued variations of the same dance all over the clearing, with her wife sometimes ducking behind trees to create distance. Her breath started to burn her lungs, begging her to stop, but she pressed forward, pushing aside everything; she would not be so easily defeated.

Through it all, Yang was careful, never using her forearms to block or redirect the Atlesian's momentum. The metal of her cestus gleamed in the weak light of the sun peaking through heavy clouds, the barbs designed to catch blades and shred skin never coming even close to Weiss. If anything, the blonde seemed to keep her arms up out of habit, muscle memory burned too deep to be set aside despite the obvious effort made to merely duck and dodge rather than counterattack. Theoretically, it should've made the warrior's movements more predictable, easier to gauge, limiting her in reactions and freeing her opponent to go all out in pursuit of her goals.

Reality, however, proved her wrong at nearly every turn.

The longer the exercise went on, the heavier she breathed, not used to nearly so much movement and just a week past being on bed rest. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, each breath scorching as she sucked it in, trying desperately to catch just the fabric of her wife's vest if nothing else, but even that eluded her. For her part, Yang seemed a bit amused, her smile never dimming and her breathing not nearly as labored despite the sheen of sweat collecting on her face, bangs becoming plastered to her forehead.

Finally, her frustration mounted, and she realized the only way she would possibly win this little game would be to force the blonde to react to a move she didn't plan to make. She would have to change her momentum before her wife could register it; she had to rely on not just speed but her ability to misdirect. With her plan firmly set in mind, Weiss lunged to her right, and the other woman, of course, broke the other way. Then she did it again, and again, until they were circling the clearing in an odd shape, straight jagged lines cut every time the Atlesian struck towards the right and her quarry skipped away. In those lilac eyes, she could see that Yang knew what she planned- had to, she'd done nothing to hide it- and seemed ready to break to the right the moment she gave an indication that she would switch her pattern.

She lifted her left hand, clearly expressing her intent, and her wife read it immediately, shifting her weight to break back towards the Atlesian's right, but waiting for her to commit first. Which she did, beginning her lunge to the left, prompting Yang to move the other way. However, that first change in direction brought with it a slightly shorter back step, something she'd noticed throughout the exhausting exercise. In that moment, her resolve solidified, the cold energy within her pushing out and invigorating every muscle, and Weiss capitalized on it, jumping back to her right and throwing herself forward.

Lilac eyes widened in surprise as the woman's arms immediately went behind her, preparing to break their fall, because while she'd finally figured out how to beat the warrior at her game, she didn't quite take the most graceful option. Her shoulder slammed into the blonde's chest, both of them going to the ground as neither could keep their balance, landing with her wife flat on her back and Weiss somewhat curled up on top of her.

The warrior groaned, raising a hand to her head where she'd hit the ground hard, prompting the smaller woman to push herself up using her arms. "Yang? Are you alright?"

"Yeah." She chuckled, smiling up at the Atlesian. "I knew you could do it."

Puffing out a breath, Weiss shook her head, sitting up and just barely registering that she now effectively straddled the woman beneath her before she spoke. "As amusing as it may be to you, I'm not sure what it accomplished." She crossed her arms over her chest, surprised to find that she wasn't gasping for air, a stark contrast to hardly a minute ago. She felt a little tired, perhaps, but her muscles weren't complaining and her breath came even and steady. Strange. "But I expect to receive my reward regardless." A pause followed as she weighed her words, looking down into her wife's lilac eyes before speaking. "You promised me a kiss."

They hadn't spoken about it. Noble Atlesian wedding ceremonies carried few traditions outside of the giving of gifts, the exchanging of rings, and the eventual bedding; frankly, more concern was given to the seating of guests and displaying the proper heraldry than the ceremony itself. Vale, in contrast, had many nuances to their unions- the burning of incense, the chanting of the soothsayer, the exchanging of weapons, and on the list went- but physical affection... well, in the kingdom across the sea, the bedding itself served as all that would be required on that front, aside from the necessary task of providing heirs. In Vale, she couldn't tell. The villagers of Patch seemed affectionate, often exchanging kisses in greeting or farewell, giving hugs freely to family members and friends, and sometimes the children would even run through the streets and latch onto whatever adult didn't have their hands full.

But Yang didn't push one way or another. She initiated some contact, yes- brief embraces to comfort, chaste kisses to the top of her head to reassure, a lingering touch on her arm for guidance- but never asked for anything to be reciprocated, and Weiss certainly hadn't taken the lead.

Except when they were sleeping. The night of their bedding, she'd allowed her wife to hold her, telling herself that it was only for the practicality of the position- to keep the dreaded snoring at bay- but the night her wife returned to the bedroom with her eye nearly cut to the bone and swollen shut proved otherwise. While the blonde slept, she'd gathered her courage and laid down beside her, curling around the solid warmth and pressing a soft kiss to Yang's forehead, even as she began to snore. She'd already spent enough time acutely aware of how empty the bed felt without her wife and hoped the woman wouldn't begrudge her the comfort. Which she didn't, initiating their usual contact upon waking, and the sleepy apology that followed never failed to pull a small smile from her whenever she thought of it.

So, this would be new- a new challenge to overcome, a new boundary to test. With luck, perhaps it would chase away those lingering agitations that plagued the woman. Even if it didn't... she felt like it was a step they'd take eventually. Might as well test the waters now, to better prepare herself later.

Surprise showed plain in the blonde's face, which was almost immediately overtaken by a broad grin. "Yeah, I did. But first..." One brow raised. "How did you change direction without touching the ground?" Thrown off by the question, the Atlesian looked towards the spot, expecting to see some mark from where she'd pushed off- because she did touch the ground, had to, in order to push off with enough force to cut Yang off and then spring forward- but instead found the fading remnants of her family sigil, the white snowflake slowly breaking apart and disappearing into nothingness. She stared, mouth popping open as her jaw went slack, confused as to how she'd managed to conjure such a thing without thinking. "Using your semblance is second nature, like breathing." As Weiss continued staring, the woman beneath her shifted, pushing herself up into a sitting position without forcing the Atlesian from her lap. "But you breathe subconsciously long before you're able to control it."

She remembered how the cold spread through her in an instant, her own soul surging in response to her plan, ensuring that the moment she needed to move, she could. Decisive, the blonde had called it, an aggressive action- now she understood that Yang hadn't meant that she should focus on attacking someone to draw it out. The energy within her could be both sword and shield, and even more- it could take whatever form she needed. Right then, she needed something solid to push off of, and her chi immediately provided that, just like it blocked the bull horned Faunus what seemed like a short lifetime ago. It functioned as an extension of her will just like Myrtenaster served as her arm.

"I... I did that." She spoke out of awe more than disbelief, yet the edges of her voice lilted just slightly, almost indicating a question.

"Of course you did." Then the blonde moved, leaning forward and pressing her lips to one pale cheek while Weiss' gaze remained focused on the slowly dissipating snowflake, which winked out of existence the moment she realized what was happening. She stiffened at first, surprised, but realized that she should've expected such- Yang would take whatever option demanded the least from the other woman- and relaxed, waiting for the blonde to draw away before turning her head. At first, lilac eyes stayed hidden beneath her sweat slicked bangs, her head tilted down. "I knew you could."

"Thank you," she replied, gently slipping a hand beneath her wife's chin and coaxing her gaze up. When their eyes met, she could see the faint blush in the warrior's cheeks and it curled her own lips into a soft smile. For a moment, she thought about leaning forward and initiating a kiss herself- it would only take a few inches- but something held her back. A chiding tutor's voice echoing in the back of her mind, chastising her for giving those peasant fancies a passing thought, saying such public displays were uncouth, unseemly, and barbaric.

Something must've shown- or perhaps nothing did, but the warrior Queen was always extremely perceptive- because Yang raised a hand, cupping the cheek she'd just kissed and allowing her thumb to slide towards pale lips. "Next time?"

Lilac met blue, the remainder of the words left unspoken but understood regardless. "Next time."

"Okay." Through the brightening of her blush, the blonde's smile stretched wide. "How about we take a break?" Weiss nodded, carefully extracting herself and offering a hand to help the other woman up, leaning back to act as a counterbalance to the warrior's superior weight. Upon standing, Yang took a step back and curled her right hand into a loose fist, laying her left over it and bowing her head, motions which the Atlesian quickly copied, having temporarily forgotten how the Valens ended their friendly sparring matches since her last bout with Yatsuhashi. When they straightened up, the blonde stepped forward and carefully put a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding them towards a small bundle she'd brought with them. "I, uh, packed us a lunch."

"When?" Not that Weiss wasn't grateful, seeing as she'd suddenly become aware that all that exertion had worked up her appetite. She'd chased her wife around the clearing for hours, the sun now high overhead despite being obscured by the clouds. "We left so quickly this morning..."

"Last night, while you were bathing." Yang cleared her throat, almost seeming like she had more to say but instead turning her attention to the package, revealing two bowls with rice and two more filled with steamed dumplings, plus two little bottles.

"You brought wine to training?"

"I brought it for celebration." The blonde smiled wide, sitting down and crossing her legs. Her wife invited the Atlesian to join her, which she did, tucking her legs beneath her and accepting one set of bowls and a bottle of the sweet rice wine. Although she couldn't drink it with the same enthusiasm the warrior did, she'd grown a bit fonder of it over the past few months. "I had a feeling you'd be able to get the hang of it before we stopped for our first break." She chuckled. "You're too stubborn to have quit before then."

Weiss brushed some dirt from her knee before opening the bowl with the dumplings, picking one out with her chopsticks and holding it a moment to raise a brow at her wife. "I might've passed out."

"Then it would be a pick-me-up when you regained consciousness!" Yang teasingly clicked her sticks together before starting on her bowl of rice.

She couldn't help but chuckle. "Ever the optimist."

They ate in silence a while, the heat from their activities protecting them from their cooling sweat. With just the clinking of wood against ceramic and the wind blowing through the dead trees, she had plenty of time to consider her next actions carefully. Now seemed to be as good a time as any to address her concerns, both of them in high spirits after making such progress, but... was it wrong for her to want to hold onto that feeling a little longer? Surely she could put things off another day or two without any detriment. She didn't want to come off as intrusive- her wife continued to be patient and respectful of her every wish, and it would only be fair for her to be the same- yet she'd also promised to be more forthcoming on the things that plagued her mind, and this certainly had over the past few days. Curiosity mixed with a bitter sort of understanding- she didn't expect to be surprised by the answers she sought yet still felt inclined to ask.

Shouldn't she just leave the matter alone?

"Is something on your mind?" She looked up, now aware that her contemplative silence hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I... have a question, actually." Yang tilted her head, enough of an indication for her to continue. "Who is Summer?"

She didn't expect a particular reaction, aside from either remorse or anger, but braced herself anyway.

What she got... troubled her.