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Team Rizzless (Omake 4) - Schnees and Caffeine
🕑 Added 2024-12-23 09:31:59 +0000 UTCNext omake. The Schnees plus a little Coco at the end cause people keep asking about her.
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Jacques Schnee sat in his lavish study, slouched in the oversized leather chair behind his grand oak desk. His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, and the top buttons of his shirt undone - not in some fashionable, billionaire-playboy way, but in the exhausted, barely-holding-it-together way. He stared blankly at the glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling it slowly like the answers to his problems might just manifest in the amber liquid.
They didn't.
The fire crackled in the hearth beside him, filling the room with warmth and light. Not that it mattered. Jacques felt cold. Tired. Drained. Across the room, behind a wall of polished glass, Schnee Dust Company stock charts were displayed on a massive screen. The numbers dipped here and there, nothing catastrophic - just normal fluctuations. To the average observer, everything was fine. But to Jacques? Oh no. He knew.
This wasn't just business fatigue. This was marriage fatigue.
Jacques took a long sip of whiskey, sighing as he sank deeper into the chair. He glanced at the large portrait hanging on the wall - a grand, oil painting of himself and his lovely wife, Willow. She looked radiant in her flowing white gown, a vision of beauty and elegance. Meanwhile, Jacques looked...like Jacques.
"Oh, Jacques," he muttered to himself, rubbing his temples, "You fool."
It was supposed to be simple. Marry into the Schnee family. Charm Willow Schnee, secure the fortune, and take over the Dust empire. And then, once his position was secured, solidify his position via a mix of threats and blackmail. Even if Willow to find out the truth about him, he'd be too entrenched to remove. Any attempt to do so on her end would've left her on the streets along with their children. A classic gold-digging playbook maneuver. He thought he'd be sipping martinis, bathing in lien, and living the good life by now.
Instead...he was living with a Huntress.
A very eager Huntress.
"Jacques!" Willow's voice called from somewhere in the manor, echoing down the halls with the playful lilt that both thrilled and terrified him, "Where are you, darling? I've been waiting all day~" Jacques sat bolt upright, adjusting his tie and trying (in vain) to smooth his hair down. He looked around as if there might be some hidden escape tunnel in his study. There wasn't.
"Oh gods," he whispered, downing the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, "Not again."
The door creaked open, and Willow peeked inside. Her long, silver hair cascaded over her shoulder, and her ice-blue eyes gleamed mischievously as she leaned against the frame in a way that was somehow elegant and predatory at the same time. She wore her old Huntress outfit, tight and form-fitting - far too tight for a woman with three children who was pushing 50. And yet, he couldn't deny that she looked disturbingly good in it. In pure looks alone, Willow Schnee put women half her age to shame, Huntress or otherwise. If not for the wrinkles under her eyes, you wouldn't even be able to tell she was a mother of three children, two of them being adults.
Sadly, her looks were of little comfort to him.
"Jacques," she purred, sauntering into the room, "There you are."
"Willow! Dearest!" Jacques shot to his feet, plastering on his best fake smile, "I was just about to - uh - get back to work!"
Willow arched an eyebrow, "Work? Don't be silly, Jacques. It's after hours. Time to unwind." She crossed the room in long, graceful strides, and Jacques felt himself shrinking back into his chair with every step she took.
"Isn't there something...business-related I could handle instead?" he asked, already knowing the answer, "Maybe a shareholder meeting? Or - uh - a Dust mining issue? I hear the Mantle branch had some supply chain disruptions - "
"Shhh." Willow pressed a finger to his lips, smiling sweetly, "We'll talk about Mantle later. Right now, I need your attention."
Jacques paled. This wasn't a request. He thought about resisting for a moment. About standing up for himself. But then he remembered the last time he tried that. The bedroom was destroyed. His back was out for two weeks. He had to hold shareholder meetings via scroll call from bed.
The door creaked open again, "Mother?" Whitley's voice carried into the room. The poor boy peeked inside, looking mildly disturbed as he caught sight of the way Willow leaned over him.
"Oh, Whitley!" Jacques nearly lunged for the distraction, "How are you, my darling boy? Come in, let's discuss- "
"Nope." Whitley turned on his heel immediately, "I'm leaving. This is the third time this week, Mother. Please let him rest."
Willow chuckled, waving her son off, "Oh, Whitley, you worry too much."
"You say that now, but if you kill him, who's running the company?" Whitley grumbled from the hallway.
Jacques's eyes flicked back to Willow, pleading silently, "He has a point, you know. Think of the company!"
Willow smiled, tilting his chin up with a delicate hand, "Don't worry, Jacques. I am thinking about the company. You're so much more relaxed after we spend time together. It helps you think clearly." Jacques wanted to protest that overwhelming exhaustion wasn't the same thing as relaxation, but he held his tongue.
This was his life now. No shady backroom deals. No exploiting workers. No bribing officials. He didn't even have the energy to embezzle funds! Every morning, he woke up thinking about all the dastardly things he could be doing as the CEO of one of the most powerful Dust companies in the world. But by nightfall, all he could do was survive another marathon session of Willow.
"Jacques," Willow murmured into his ear, snapping him out of his thoughts, "Come to bed."
"Yes, dear," he replied automatically. As she led him from the study, Jacques glanced once more at the grand painting on the wall. There, frozen in oil and canvas, his painted self looked so smug, so confident and self-assured. He thought he had all the cards, "You fool," Jacques whispered again, shaking his head.
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Whitley sat at the long dining table in the grandiose Schnee manor, idly stirring his tea with the same deadpan expression he wore every morning. The ornate chandelier above him sparkled like fresh snow, the room's elegance reflecting the Schnee wealth and status. It was the very picture of wealth and excess, one that just about anyone on Remnant would envy or kill for. They were the one percent of the one percent.
Yet none of it mattered to him. Not when he lived in a house full of cringe.
He took a long sip of tea, his eyes narrowing as he scrolled through his scroll, reluctantly browsing the latest trending topics on the Dustnet.
Weiss Schnee spotted simping for Atlas Guard Captain again - fourth rejection this month.
Winter Schnee spotted at training ground - still thirsting over General Ironwood, possibly delusional.
Is Willow Schnee the hottest Huntress mom on the continent? Poll results may surprise you!
Whitley groaned, setting his scroll down like it physically pained him to touch it. He was related to these people, "Wonderful," he muttered, rubbing his temple, "Another week of public humiliation by association."
It wasn't just the Schnee name that carried weight. It was the fact that his sisters had reputations. Loud, thirsty reputations. Winter couldn't attend a single Atlas military function without subtly (or not-so-subtly) trying to lure Ironwood into some 'disciplinary' scenario. Meanwhile, Weiss - once hailed as the elegant, unreachable Ice Queen - had somehow speedran her way into becoming the internet's favorite cringe failgirl with videos coming out every couple of weeks. She had a wiki page for it!
Every time Weiss tried to use her heiress status to flex on some guy in Vale, it ended with her getting publicly rejected and trending on Dustnet. And every time she did it, he could feel the Schnee name digging deeper and deeper into a cringe hole it could never escape from.
Whitley slumped back in his chair, staring blankly at his untouched breakfast. How was he supposed to uphold the Schnee legacy when his sisters were single-handedly turning the family name into a meme?The door to the dining room creaked open, and Klein, the ever-loyal family butler, entered with a silver tray, "Another refill, young master Whitley?"
Whitley eyed the steaming pot of tea and sighed, "Yes, Klein. Make it strong. I'll need all the strength I can get to survive the rest of this morning."
Klein poured the tea carefully, offering a warm, knowing smile, "Rough night, sir?"
Whitley scoffed, "For me? No. For Father? Let's just say I'm surprised he managed to make it to breakfast. I swear Mother's going to kill him at this rate."
Klein coughed into his hand to cover his chuckle, "Your mother does have quite the...enthusiasm."
"That's one word for it," Whitley grumbled, taking another sip of tea, "Honestly, I don't know who has it worse - Father for marrying her, or me for existing in this family." Klein wisely chose not to comment.
A soft chime from Whitley's scroll drew his attention once more. With a sinking feeling, he picked it up and glanced at the notification.
New Message from SDC FanMail - You Have 36 New Admirer Requests!
Whitley groaned, letting his forehead fall onto the table with an audible thud. Oh yes. There was also that. It wasn't just his family's cringe antics that plagued him - it was the outside world, too. Being the only son of the Schnee family meant that he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom. Huntresses from all over flooded his inbox, desperate for even a sliver of attention. It was as if he'd made an AuraFans account despite very blatantly avoiding that site at all costs.
He scrolled through the messages reluctantly.
"Mr. Schnee, I'd love to show you my combat moves sometime - I think we'd be a great duo~ :3"
"I'm free tonight if you'd like to spar, Whitley. Or anything else ;)."
"Hey :P. I heard Schnee men are very resilient. Care to prove it?"
He rubbed his temples harder. There was no escape. Whitley had hoped that not being a Huntress would spare him from the infamous desperation and lack of shame his sisters exuded. He was wrong.
Huntresses were equal opportunity cringe. It didn't matter if he couldn't swing a sword or shoot a gun - the second Huntresses found out he had Schnee blood, they swarmed like vultures circling a particularly wealthy corpse, "You'd think they'd be more subtle," Whitley muttered, glaring at the messages, "But no. This is thirst in 4K." He straightened his tie, determined to carry on with his day despite the cringe storm surrounding him.
But just as he lifted his teacup to his lips, the door burst open, "Whitley," Weiss huffed, storming in dramatically, her high heels clicking against the polished marble. Her face was flushed, and she looked ready to rant, "You will not believe the nerve of the men in Vale!"
Whitley lowered his cup slowly, giving her the most deadpan stare imaginable, "I can believe it," he replied flatly.
"No! Listen to me!" Weiss insisted, slamming her hands down on the table, "I gracefully introduced myself to a barista this morning - a barista, Whitley! And he rejected me! Can you imagine? Me!"
Whitley arched an eyebrow, "Yes."
Weiss narrowed her eyes at him, "What was that?"
"Nothing, sister," Whitley sighed, gesturing toward the breakfast spread, "Would you like some tea? Perhaps it will soothe your wounded pride."
Weiss crossed her arms and sat down beside him with a grumble, "I just don't get it," she muttered, "I'm elegant, wealthy, and powerful. I offer them the chance to fuck me raw like a worthless slut." Whitley winced. He hated how she was so blunt about her sexual proclivities with her younger borther, "I'm willing to give them whatever they want sexually and yet they have the gall to say no! What more could they possibly want?!"
"Less cringe, perhaps," Whitley offered with a wry smile.
"Shut up, Whitley."
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Whitley thought he could handle public outings. He was wrong. Atlas was supposed to be a city of discipline and order - the bastion of civilization, where everything ran like a finely-tuned machine. A culture that emphasized formality and manners over the emotional outbursts of the other three kingdoms. It should have been the perfect place to escape the horrors of Huntress thirst.
And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of DustCo Mart, clutching a shopping basket and pretending not to notice the increasingly obvious approaches.
The first sign of trouble came in the form of a blur of neon pink and obnoxious energy.
"Whitley!"
Oh no.
Neon Katt practically skated across the floor with her impractical rollerblades, weaving between aisles with the grace of someone who spent far too much time running and jumping off things for fun. She skidded to a halt in front of him, her wide, mischievous grin already setting off alarm bells in his head,"Oh joy," Whitley muttered, carefully selecting a jar of imported tea leaves and placing it in his basket, "What brings you here, Miss Katt?"
"Just grabbing some snacks," Neon replied, rocking back on her heels, eyes gleaming with the same predatory look most Huntresses had, "Gotta keep my energy up, y'know?" She leaned closer, her arms casually resting on the shelf beside him, "But it looks like my day just got a whole lot better."
Whitley felt the cringe seeping into his pores, "Ah, yes," he deadpanned, stepping slightly to the side to create distance, "Because nothing screams 'exciting afternoon' like the tea aisle."
Neon winked, "Hey, I like a little sugar with my tea."
Whitley gave her the driest, most unimpressed stare imaginable, "Was that supposed to be flirting? Because it felt more like secondhand embarrassment."
Neon chuckled, undeterred, "Aw, c'mon! You don't gotta play hard to get. I mean, look at you - all dapper and broody. It's kinda hot."
Whitley mentally calculated how long it would take to fake a sudden phone call and exit the store, "I'm seventeen," he replied flatly, grabbing another box of tea and clutching it like a lifeline.
Neon just shrugged, twirling a lock of her hair, "That's legal in Atlas."
"Goodbye, Neon."
He turned to walk away, but her voice followed him like nails on a chalkboard, "Hey, if you change your mind, I'm free tonight! Or right now! The produce aisle's practically empty."
Whitley did not dignify that with a response. Just as he thought he was in the clear, fate decided to double down, "Whitley Schnee." His grip tightened on the basket. Of course she was here. He turned around to face his new Soleil, Huntress prodigy and military-grade buzzkill, emerged from behind the canned goods aisle like she'd been lying in wait. With her pristine uniform and straight-laced demeanor, she was the last person Whitley expected to join the ranks of the thirst brigade.
But there she was, arms crossed, scanning him like he was some kind of checklist she needed to complete, "Miss Soleil," Whitley greeted tersely, already bracing for the inevitable.
"I have been considering the merits of partnership," Ciel began without preamble, her tone perfectly professional, "After thorough analysis, I believe we would make an optimal match."
Whitley blinked, "I...beg your pardon?"
"Sexual partnership," she clarified, tilting her head slightly, as if he were the one being slow, "Based on our respective genetics and the Schnee family history, the likelihood of producing efficient offspring is exceptionally high. Additionally, intimacy would strengthen your physical resilience. A logical pursuit."
Whitley slowly pinched the bridge of his nose, "Ciel," he started carefully, "Do you genuinely think that starting a conversation about genealogy and 'efficient offspring' is the ideal way to flirt with someone?"
Ciel nodded, apparently proud of her 'effort', "Correct. Logic dictates that appealing to practicality will yield better results than emotional rhetoric like all other Huntresses attempt."
Whitley gave the basket in his hand a long, calculating look, wondering if he could feasibly crawl inside it and escape this mortal realm, "I see," he said through gritted teeth, "Well, Miss Soleil, as...flattered as I am by your proposal, I'm afraid I'll have to decline."
Ciel's brows knit together slightly. It was her version of a frown, "Disappointing. You are one of the more tolerable men in Atlas."
"I'm honored," Whitley replied dryly, "but I'd like to finish buying my tea without being ambushed."
Neon's voice echoed from the next aisle over, "I'm still free tonight, you know!" Whitley seriously considered switching to online delivery services from that point forward.
Ciel, however, remained undeterred. She stepped closer, her analytical gaze unwavering, "If you reconsider, I am willing to provide thorough demonstrations of my capabilities."
"Oh, for the love of- "
Before Whitley could finish his protest, Klein appeared like a guardian angel, sliding between them with a perfectly-timed cart, "Ah, young master Whitley," Klein said with a polite bow, clearly sensing the crisis, "Your father requests your presence at home immediately. Something about an urgent business matter."
Whitley nearly sagged with relief, "Oh no. Business. How unfortunate. I must go at once."
Ciel opened her mouth to respond, but Klein was already steering Whitley toward the exit. As they left the store behind, Whitley muttered under his breath, "I'm not even old enough to inherit the company yet, Klein."
"Indeed, sir," Klein replied with a knowing smile, "But I felt it was a matter of life and dignity."
Whitley sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"This city is a minefield." Perhaps he would attend the next MenToo rally. He heard Adam Taurus was coming to visit.
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Whitley prided himself on being composed. Dignified. Mature beyond his years.
...
So why was he currently hiding behind a tree in Atlas Central Park, watching a girl feed ducks like some lovesick teenager in a second-rate romance novel?
He peeked around the trunk, heart pounding as Penny Polendina crouched by the pond, tossing breadcrumbs to a cluster of quacking ducks. Her bright orange hair caught the sunlight like flames, and that perpetual cheerful smile of hers practically glowed. She laughed - actually laughed - as one particularly bold duck waddled closer to her lap, eyeing the bread in her hand. Whitley's grip tightened around the bag of groceries he was carrying, his palms suddenly clammy.
'Pull yourself together, Whitley,' he scolded himself, 'You are a Schnee. Schnees do not get flustered by girls feeding wildlife.'
And yet, here he was. There was just...something about Penny. She wasn't like the other Huntresses who prowled the streets, hounding after men like wolves in heat. Penny wasn't thirsty. Penny was...pure. Innocent in a way that seemed impossible for a Huntress. She didn't leer, flirt, or stalk like the rest of them. She met people with an earnest smile and a sincere desire to be befriend them. No ulterior motives, no horny cringe.
To Whitley, she was the embodiment of romantic perfection.
He wanted a connection that was genuine, soft, and wholesome - a sweet courtship where hands brushed accidentally and letters were exchanged in secret. None of that 'shove a man against the wall and demand he fuck' nonsense that seemed to be trending among Huntresses these days.
And Penny - surely Penny was his ticket to such a romance, 'Alright, Whitley,' he thought, squaring his shoulders, 'You can do this. You are suave. Sophisticated. A gentleman.' With all the grace of a future Dust magnate, Whitley strode forward confidently, "Hello there, Penny," he greeted, carefully arranging his expression into what he hoped was his most charming, debonair smile.
Penny looked up, her green eyes sparkling, "Whitley!" she chirped, waving enthusiastically with half a piece of bread still in her hand, "Oh, it's so wonderful to see you here! Are you also here to befriend the ducks?"
Whitley opened his mouth to respond, but the sheer earnestness of her words caught him off guard. Befriend the ducks? "I, uh..." He coughed into his fist, trying to salvage his composure, "I was simply enjoying the weather."
Penny gasped, clasping her hands together, "That's fantastic! What a wonderful day for it. Ducks love sunny weather." Whitley glanced at the ducks. One of them squawked loudly and flapped its wings at him, as if challenging his very presence.
"Right," he muttered, tightening his grip on the grocery bag, "The...ducks."
Penny smiled, scooting over on the bench and patting the empty spot beside her, "Come sit with me! It's always nice to have company."
Whitley hesitated for the briefest of moments. Then, steeling himself, he sat down - carefully, of course, maintaining the perfect amount of distance to seem respectful but interested, "I suppose I could spare a few minutes," he said smoothly, resting his elbow on the back of the bench and turning slightly toward her, "After all, the ducks seem quite...engaging." The same bold duck from earlier honked loudly, waddling closer and glaring at Whitley like it knew he wasn't there to feed them.
Whitley scowled at it.
"So," he said in what he hoped was the most casual tone he could muster, "What brings you to the park today, Penny?"
"Oh, just enjoying the fresh air!" she replied cheerfully, "I finished my patrol early, and I thought, 'Why not make new friends?' Ducks are such good listeners."
Whitley tried not to visibly sweat. Why was she so charming? "I imagine you're a...natural at making friends," he said carefully, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, "Your personality is quite...magnetic."
Penny blinked, tilting her head, "Oh! Thank you, Whitley. I do my best to be approachable. Friendship is important, after all."
"Yes," Whitley said, his voice dropping a touch lower, "Friendship is important." This was it. He was in. He could feel it, "Perhaps," he continued, lowering his gaze slightly like he'd seen in those old romantic dramas Winter and Weiss forced him to watch before he knew better, "It wouldn't be too forward of me to suggest we- "
Penny suddenly brightened, holding out a handful of breadcrumbs to him, "Would you like to feed them too?"
Whitley blinked, "I...beg your pardon?"
"The ducks!" Penny beamed, gently nudging his hand with the bread, "They're still hungry."
Whitley stared at the bread in his palm, then at Penny, who looked at him with complete, blissful innocence. She didn't get it. She didn't understand that he was (tastefully) flirting. He fought the urge to groan. No matter how suave he tried to be, Penny treated him like a kindergarten pen pal.
Still, he took the bread, begrudgingly tossing some to the ducks. Penny's eyes sparkled, "Oh, look! That one likes you!" Whitley watched as one of the smaller ducks pecked at the crumbs near his shoe. The bold one, however, continued to glare, spitefully refusing to eat the bread.
'Even the wildlife knows I'm striking out.'
"You know, Whitley," Penny said, resting her chin in her hands as she watched the ducks, "You're really nice to talk to. I feel like we're becoming great friends!"
Whitley's hand froze mid-toss. Friends, she said. He forced a polite smile, masking the sinking feeling in his chest, "Yes. Friends." As the ducks happily quacked around them, Whitley leaned back against the bench, resigned. He may not have wooed Penny today, but there was always tomorrow.
Or the next day.
Or the day after that.
Romance is a long game, he told himself, sneaking a glance at her as she giggled at a duck waddling too close. And Whitley Schnee was patient.
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Coco was used to turning heads. It wasn't arrogance - just a simple fact. She had style, swagger, and the confidence to match. She didn't just walk through Beacon's halls - she owned them. Designer shades, perfectly tailored combat gear, and that trademark smirk? Yeah, she was a walking thirst trap.
At least, she should've been.
Coco leaned casually against the wall near the cafeteria, twirling her coffee cup in one hand as she scanned the crowd. Huntresses filled the room - laughing, talking, and occasionally pretending to 'stretch' in ways that just so happened to show off their assets when one of the visiting (male) inspectors visiting today passed by.
It was pathetic.
They threw themselves at any man who so much as breathed near campus - flirting aggressively, flexing Aura-enhanced muscles, and practically begging for attention. If she had a lien for every time she watched Yang grab some poor guy by the shirt and demand he take her out, she'd own half the Dust in Vale. And that was just Yang. She wasn't even the most desperate or horny Huntress in campus. That honor went to Weiss.
But the moment Coco did the same thing to one of them? Crickets. No, worse: Judgmental crickets.
Take last week, for example. She'd seen Velvet standing by the mission board, her partner looking cute as hell in that oversized sweater she sometimes wore. One smooth line, one suave approach, and Velvet should've been putty in her hands. Instead? "Oh, Coco, haha! You're funny!" Velvet had laughed awkwardly, clutching the mission clipboard like a lifeline and sidestepping out of reach, "I'm, uh, flattered but...you know, not really looking for anything right now!"
Two hours later, Velvet was seen in a gym down in Vale shamelessly 'spotting' for a shirtless meathead while making him uncomfortable with far too many hands-on corrections.
Coco grunted at the memory, sipping her coffee with a grimace. It was the same story every time. If she so much as winked at one of her classmates, they acted like she was the weird one. Was it because she was a woman? Was that it? Oh, but let a guy trip and fall into someone's chest, and suddenly it's a romantic accident worthy of writing a novel about.
She sighed, rolling her shoulders. Fine. Whatever. She wasn't about to start sulking. There were plenty of fish in the sea - and if this particular pond was filled with thirsty hypocrites, she'd just have to double down. Her eyes flicked across the room, finally landing on Blake Belladonna sitting alone by the window with a book.
Perfect.
Blake was mysterious, broody, and had that 'I'm too cool for this' vibe that made Coco love a challenge. Plus, those cat ears of hers? Adorable. She wanted to bite them. Coco pushed off the wall and approached the table with her usual swagger, smoothly pulling out the chair across from Blake and sitting down without asking, "Hey, Belladonna," Coco drawled, tilting her shades down just enough to make eye contact, "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, or did you land gracefully like the badass you are?"
Blake's amber eyes lifted slowly from her book. She blinked once, gaze as unreadable as ever.
"...What?"
Coco smirked, leaning closer on the table, "I said, you look like an angel. Thought I'd save you the trouble of pretending not to notice me." Blake stared. Then kept starting. She stared long enough that Coco started to feel the faintest twinge of doubt.
Then, finally, Blake spoke, "Coco...are you hitting on me?"
Coco chuckled, "Yeah, figured I'd shoot my shot. Can't blame a girl for trying, right?" She flashed a grin, casually adjusting her hat.
Blake's expression didn't change, "You know I'm reading, right?"
"Oh, I know." Coco leaned back in her chair, balancing it on two legs, "I figured I'd add a little something to your day. Call it...multitasking."
Blake narrowed her eyes slightly, "I think I'll stick to the book," she replied, turning a page pointedly.
Coco raised a brow, "You sure? I'm way more interesting."
Blake exhaled slowly, "Coco, you're nice and all, but...I don't swing that way."
Coco snorted, "Blake, you stare at women's butts daily."
Blake raised a very unimpressed brow, "I'm comparing to see if my butt's bigger than theirs. We all know men love big asses. That's what the books say, at least."
"Sure," Coco teased, "And I'm just admiring your dedication to observing." Blake's cat ears twitched, but she stayed silent, giving Coco a look so dry it could've peeled paint. Coco laughed and reluctantly stood, downing the last of her coffee with a quick gulp, "Well, can't say I didn't try. I'll catch you later, Belladonna. Let me know if you ever wanna...broaden your horizons." As she strolled away, Coco could feel Blake's glare boring into the back of her head.
Hey, a girl could dream.
She wasn't out of the cafeteria for five minutes before she heard whispering behind her.
"Can you believe Coco just hit on Blake?"
"I know, right? I mean, it's one thing to flirt with guys, but with us? What a weirdo."
Coco didn't bother turning around. She already knew the faces behind the voices. Hypocrites. Absolute hypocrites. Yang had literally tried to grind on some poor dude in the club last night (he filed a restraining order), but she was the weird one for giving Blake a compliment? She stuffed her hands in her pockets, rolling her eyes. Fine. Let them talk. The thing about being a confident, hot Huntress was that eventually, someone would crack. And when they did, she'd be there to be their princess charming.
Hours later, Coco leaned against the railing outside Beacon's library, her trademark smirk firmly in place as she spotted Weiss walking briskly down the corridor. Weiss, as always, looked like she'd stepped off the cover of Dust Empire Weekly - polished, pristine, and practically begging for someone to ruffle her perfectly groomed feathers. Every part of her screamed Ice Queen. And by the Sisters, did Coco want to see her melt.
Today felt like a good day for Coco to test her luck.
"Weiss!" Coco called, pushing off the railing and striding over with her usual confident swagger.
Weiss turned, one manicured eyebrow arching upward as she regarded Coco with the same mix of mild annoyance and haughty indifference she reserved for everyone who dared interrupt her 'busy' schedule, "Yes, Coco?" Weiss asked, her tone clipped but not outright dismissive.
Coco grinned, adjusting her sunglasses and letting her eyes take in the heiress from head to toe. Weiss didn't have the raw sex appeal of Yang and Blake, but damn did she have that 'I want her to step on me' energy, "You're looking extra sharp today, Schnee. That skirt? Killer. Makes me wanna ask if you need help warming up for combat class later...or, y'know, cooling down after." She leaned in slightly, letting the innuendo hang in the air like a mischievous cloud.
Weiss blinked once, then crossed her arms, her face perfectly neutral, "...Excuse me?" she asked back, voice dryer than the Vacuo desert.
"I'm saying," Coco continued, undeterred, "You and me. Maybe we could- "
"Stop." Weiss raised a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. Her expression didn't shift, but the ice in her voice could have frozen an Ursa mid-charge, "Coco, do you genuinely believe this-" She gestured vaguely between them, " -crass, juvenile attempt at flirting is appealing?"
Coco tilted her head, taken slightly aback but still smirking, "Well, yeah. You're hot, I'm hot - figured it was worth a shot."
Weiss scoffed, looking at Coco like she'd just tracked mud onto her pristine white rug, "Let me make myself perfectly clear. I have standards. And someone who thinks they can simply waltz up to me and demand...whatever it is you're implying...is beneath those standards." Coco blinked, the smirk faltering for just a moment. Was she seriously saying what she thought she was saying? Cause if so...holy crap. Look in a mirror lately, Snow Angel?
She just kept on going.
"Who-" Weiss continued, her voice rising slightly in pitch as if she couldn't believe she had to explain this, "-could possibly find that kind of behavior attractive? Honestly, Coco, it's no wonder you haven't had any luck. What woman would be attracted to someone showing up just demanding sex like a common delinquent? It's shameful. I'm surprised no one's complained to the professors about sexual harassment yet, the way you conduct yourself daily."
This coming from the women infamous on the Dustnet for being a cringe girlfail?
Her jaw dropped slightly, but Weiss was already turning on her heel, her ponytail swishing dramatically as she strode away, "Now, if you'll excuse me." She scoffed, "I have more important matters to attend to. Like figuring out how to secure the attention of that man I saw at the park earlier. I still remember his burning looks and crimson hair. He will be ravaging me like a common whore before the day is done. Oh, yes..."
Coco stared after her, dumbfounded. It took a full five seconds before her brain caught up with what had just happened. She raised a hand, pointing vaguely in Weiss's direction, "Wait, what? Weiss!" Weiss didn't so much as glance back, already marching toward her next grand delusion with the determination of a queen on a mission. Coco ran a hand down her face, groaning softly, "Am I the only one who sees the irony here?"
The corridor remained silent except for the faint echoes of Weiss's heels clicking against the polished floor. Coco shook her head, chuckling despite herself, "Yeah, sure. I'm the weird one. Definitely." Sliding her sunglasses back into place, she turned on her heel and headed towards the courtyard. Maybe she'd have better luck with some of the transfer students.
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Poor Whitley. He'll be in the friendzone forever. And of course Huntresses are hypocrites. No wonder Ruby won. Jaune. She has common sense.
Comments
pilot puntastic
Jacques being too tired physically, mentally and spiritually to actually be a terrible person is just hilarious. It looks like Jacques should have done his research on Willow. Whitley is just incredible here. He's a great mix of disappointed in his sisters and exasperated at the world. Heck it even looks like he couldn't escape Penny's magnetic friend zone. Coco is great here. She's still incredibly confident and attractive but can't get lucky while hitting on the horniest and most desperate in all of Remnant! It's like a cosmic joke. I'm really hoping that her, Emerald and Illia have meetings together complaining about their luck with the fairer sex.
Ty2bp
Wasn’t expecting Whitley to be my favorite pov so far.
Yugo Strange
Or coco here a crazy idea ,try instead of going after a huntress you go after a common gal instead Or is this like a elden ring abridged mogh thing " A normal girl ,you want me to down grad from a huntress to a normal girl"
