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Atlas, Volume 4
The club was too busy. People packed in at all sides of Marrow; smoke flooded from their mouths like becoming chimneys was the only thing keeping them from jumping down to Mantle. Not a single hand was free of smoke, drinks, or glass vials of green liquid.
It was a new drug. A gimmick. Marketed as safe and relatively free from addiction, but no tests had been run yet to determine that theory. It was still so new. And pushed into the hands of every glitter adorned labrat in Atlas.
They were testing it in real time. No papers were signed, just a verbal agreement that they’d be getting a quick, free high.
He’d seen how it works. Crack open the protective seal, down the liquid, experience a mild high that lasts for about two hours. The more you drink, the more intense the effects. No hangover.
Yeah. Marrow didn’t buy that. Something like this had to have consequences.
“Hey, guy! Coming through,” A kid- couldn't be older than twenty- pushed beside Marrow. He was carrying a tray of those vials. The liquid in them glowed an unreal green underneath the changing clublights.
“What?” The kid asked, “Want one? Free of charge.”
Marrow shook his head. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”
“Really? Your coworker likes ‘em. Give it a try. Mercy Vials have never had an unhappy customer.”
“My coworker ?” Which of them would be so -
The kid nodded toward the raised bar.
Winter Schnee sat there, legs crossed, white hair loose and sprawled halfway down her backless dress. She held a drained vial close to her lips, licking green residue from the rim of the glass. Maybe the club lights were reflecting too strong on the tray of vials beside her, but her skin looked vibrant. Like, a section at time, her skin was glowing. Not just vial-green, but like a rainbow . All over her. Down her face, her neck, her exposed back.
“What’s happening to her?”
“It’s dust. I’ve only seen it happen to miners and older huntsmen. Something in the Mercy Vials reacts to all the dust they’ve inhaled. Makes ‘em glow. Figures a Schnee would glow too.”
“And?”
“And what?” The kid asked, moon eyed and absolved from all of this.
“The Dust - will it hurt her? Mixed with the vials?”
The kid shrugged. “I’m guessing you don’t want a Mercy Vial?”
Marrow huffed, pushing his way past the kid, into the crowds. When he got there, the bar was empty of Winter.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender asked, “Or do you want some of that radioactive shit?” The tray of Mercy Vials sat half-full where Winter had sat.
“How many of these did she drink?”
“Too many. I think she’s vying for a few pap shots, maybe distracting the public from something at Schnee Manor.”
Before tonight, Marrow thought Winter Schnee was too smart for a strategized public scandal. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He scanned the floor below, looking for rainbow glow and white hair.
Winter was easy to spot. The floor parted a bit for her, gifting her a wide berth to dance in. Several people looked on in disbelief.
Their runaway princess, their red-stained symbol, was swaying like dance coursed through her blood with dust. The hands of those lookers-on shook empty, waiting for the courage to join her and graze that dress’ violet fabric, feeling the ruins of dust beneath their fingers. Feel her .
Marrow turned his head back to the bartender.
“A shot of rum, please, whatever’s cheapest.”
“Yeah, you got it.”
Down one, down-
As far as Marrow knew, Winter Schnee was an uptight, well regulated person. A reliable coworker and someone who had handled Marrow’s near-misses with grace and dignity while on joint missions.
Now, the well-regulated, graceful, dignified Winter Schnee was shining like a glow stick, running her hands up the chest of a tall stranger. Her shoulders and arms streamed with splotches of red, pink, and blue. Dust .
“Winter-,”
She spun to face him, on her heels. The stranger’s hands still tangled in her own. A splotch of blue shine covered her right eye, spreading slowly to her ear. “Marrow?” She asked, hands dropping to their sides, tugging a little at the base of her dress.
“Can I get you water- or walk you to the subway?”
She stalled, a light shiver visibly running through her. The carefree mask she’d been wearing dropped so quickly it gave Marrow whiplash.
“No,” She began, pupils all dilated and hazy from the Mercy Vials, “But-” Her eyes squeezed tight, head shook. She looked scared, genuinely terrified. She started to say something else, but the stranger behind her grabbed her again by the waist. She let him, and the carefree mask returned.
“But what?” Marrow asked. Another tray of vials was shoved in his face.
Winter crashed into her bed at four in the morning, head burning, throat screaming worse than if she’d spent the day screaming orders. Truthfully, the night was so blurred she couldn’t remember how much was spent singing, what was spent yelling.
The apartment window was cracked a little bit, letting in cool morning air. There was no light but the moon, the lights of Atlas below, above her penthouse.
She held her arm up to the light of the window, vision cleared up enough now to see what others marveled at all night. Bubbles of color underneath her skin. She traced a blue dot up her arm until it dissipated. The colors were faint.
Echos of Nicholas’ black lung; his childhood cradled in a mine, his eldest years cradled in a hospital bed, face covered by a breathing machine. His legacy diminished to four hours of green drink. And so much worse.
Sleep came soon.
Winter’s first dream in Schnee Manor.
She was six and wearing a green velvet dress; a black silk ribbon was tied precisely in her hair. Shiny black shoes pinched at her feet, but she knew better than to complain.
This time of year was stressful for her family.
Winter was walking down a hallway. No light came in through the windows, no relief even from the streetlights or the city. Just black. Candles were lit in each of the sconces that hung high above her, lighting the hallway with a flickering, reliable path.
Dead silent, too. That was the worst part. She had swarms of practice keeping the patter of her shoes as quiet as the rest of the manor, but this was nearing impossible.
Click. Clack. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each movement of her horrible, shiny shoes rang out in the empty hallway.
A doorknob creaked in the darkness.
Her next dream on the coast off Mistral.
Winter heard the ocean before she could see it, or anything else.
Water dappled against rocks, little rivulets in between them. Her hands were buried deep in a pile of loose rocks. If she angled it just right, Winter could shake her way free.
She still couldn’t see. Frantically, she ripped her hands from the rock shore. Tears and scrapes cut up her palms. Raising bloody hands to her eyes, she swiped, violently, and the blindfold fell. She looked behind her.
Eight tall swords stabbed the rocks around her, blocking her from the rest of the shore. If she wanted out, she had to go straight. Span the ocean.
Instead, she rested.
The sunrise was ahead of her. How long had it been since she’d watched one like this? Probably since the last time she was in Mistral. She stretched her legs out to the shoreline, letting her feet soak up in the ocean.
There were more between the next, but they were short, just glimpses and images. Stark and bright and too surreal for Winter to want to remember the next morning.
(Weiss singing. A beehive. A soft-spoken huntsman, tucking Winter’s hair behind her ear. Whitley playing Op.20a, TH.219:1. Ironwood in his office.)
The final substantial dream was in her apartment.
Winter was herself, sitting at the foot of the bed. She was still wearing her club clothes, dress too-tight, stockings ripped all up the sides. She stared out her window at nothing.
Not metaphorically. There was nothing outside the window, not even stars or snow flurries. There was nothing at all besides that vast, endless darkness. Like a blanket that covered the entire content. The entire world.
What ate up the planet while Winter was blinking?
Strange beasts lurked beneath the ocean, eyes red and veiny. Was it some forgotten, uncatalogued but massive creature? Winter knew who it was. A woman. Her name sat in print in one of Winter’s childhood books, collecting dust. She was the catalyst for The End. She ate up the world.
A light flickered on in the apartment building below hers. She knew the space to be where the apartment building once was, but now there was nothing. Just that one apartment, that one flickering light.
And a man, tidying up his space, not seeming to realize the depth of their situation.
Marrow Amin.
She fished his application from a pile of twenty five other applicants and gave Ironwood the nudge to hire him. He’d been putting out fires in Mantle, fires in Atlas, jetting off to perfect whatever missions Ironwood threw his way.
Now he stood hunched over, scrubbing at his counter, an unlikely companion to Winter’s exile in the End of Days. He didn’t know.
“Look up,” Winter whispered, bringing her knees to her chest. “Look. Up.” Look at me. Look at me. Look at me, please, won’t you?
Marrow’s head tilted, looking out his kitchen window. He saw The Nothing, too. Abandoning the table, Marrow moved closer to the long window, scanning across the expanse and seeing, as Winter had, Nothing.
“You’re so close,” Winter said, “Look up.”
He did. Slightly. His face caught the light, and they saw each other.
No headache when Winter woke the next morning. She supposed if Mercy had one thing right, that was it. Still, she laid in bed for longer than she wanted, staring at the insides of her arms, searching for bubbles of color that weren’t there.
They could’ve been imagined. A part of the high. Still, on big, bold letters on every Mercy Vial were the words: [Not A Hallucinogen.] Everything else happened as her eager Mercy representative claimed: no hangover, situational awareness during the high, intense dreams.
Marrow Amin. Winter dreamed of him last night. She had once before, but it was short and hardly notable. A closeup of his face telling a joke in her airship. A memory.
Pieces of her psyche were taken up by Marrow. Getting larger by the day. Impossible to fully ignore.
What the hell had she said to him, anyway? Nothing of substance. Whatever it was made his face contort in worry, brows raised high in anticipation. She didn’t even give a fake answer to ease that worry.
Ah . Winter remembered now. She was going to warn him.
Her legs swung over the side of the bed, popping in several places as her feet braced against the cool floor. She was still in last night’s dress. She stared at her nearly-empty wardrobe for longer than she should’ve before plucking out a sweater and pants.
The bathroom was large . Everything about Winter’s apartment was bigger than it should’ve been. She dumped the pile of clothes onto the vanity counter- shame it was so pretty, she never got to use it for its intended purpose- and began changing.
When she was six, she sat in front of mirrors like this for hours each day, hair being tugged and straightened and rolled into perfect ballet form. Not a strand out of place. Her stylist would then lather her face in oils and creams, dotting on thick coats of white powder, pink powder. Make her nose smaller. Her lips fuller. It all had a purpose.
Not a piece of her could look unkempt on stage.
Winter left her apartment at eleven with unbrushed hair. She typically knew better than to walk without a car on standby, without at least three layers on top of her streetwear to hide away the hair.
If she was lucky, she had five minutes before a man in black clothes with a long lense came stalking behind her. She hurried off to a magazine stand, bought the first one she got her hands on.
The spine cracked in her hands. Winter held the thing close to her face, careful to watch her step, watch for people. Otherwise, she’d never been so engrossed in a trashy magazine in all her life.
She ducked into the corner cafe and trashed the magazine immediately.
“You can’t outrun this. No one can.” Blue-green light washed his face-
Marrow Amin? He sat at one of the high-raised tables, nose buried in a book. No uniform today, but the bag at his side looked to have his rifle folded up inside it.
“Hello,” Winter said, standing in front of Marrow’s table. She knew what she wanted to say last night. She intended on saying it now.
He was beautiful. The dream-memory taunted her with it; the angles of his face, slopes of his smile and eyes and the color blue. Too much.
“Oh- Winter, Hi . Do you want to sit?”
“If you don’t mind. I’m glad I caught you, actually, I wanted-,”
to tell you to stockpile as much dust as you can, get on an airship, and never stop flying-
“To thank you for checking in last night.” She picked at her nails.
Marrow closed his book and leaned in.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay to make sure you were okay. You seemed so-,” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Scared?”
Scared ?
Fear churned like a curse in her stomach. Fear for her sister, fear for everyone with a pulse. Winding and winding like the fractals in snowflakes and glyphs.
“Are you okay?” Marrow asked.
Winter leaned back in her chair. She was fine. She was fine . Her hands laid flat on the table, looking normal. Like they’d never been multicolored and glowing.
“I’m sorry,” She said, “Everything’s-,” fucked . She didn’t finish the thought. This was a mistake. She should go.
“Are you in trouble?” Marrow asked hurriedly, keeping his voice low and hushed. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I want to.”
“No.” The voice that left her sounded mechanical and rehearsed, belonging to someone very different. “Marrow, my behavior over the past few day has been unprofessional to say the least. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have seen me spiral.”
Marrow leaned back in his seat, but that worried look didn’t leave his face.
“You really don’t have to apologize. What you do on your own time is- I mean, it’s none of my business. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to step in if something looks dangerous.”
Again. Why?
“Thank you, but I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” He said, a smile tugging at his mouth, “I’ve watched you decapitate ursa. But you know,” Marrow shrugged, taking a drink of his coffee, “You’re a person. You’ve got limits.”
She shouldn’t. Mindless, non-sentient droids shorted out before Winter did. This spiral should’ve been curbed days ago. These feelings were wrong. Red error messaging flashing up her coding. All entwined.
“Right. Anyway, thank you for the chat. I should really-,”
“Wait!” Marrow flinched at the volume of his own voice. He shrunk a little in his chair. “Sorry. I just-,” He sighed. “Last night. It looked like you wanted to tell me something. You can, if you want.”
Winter’s hands left the table and came down to her knees.
‘Leave Atlas but don’t go to Mistral but Vale is in Ruins but Vacuo won’t take Atlas militants but there’s nowhere safe. Stay out of the kingdoms, but between them isn’t safe. If you die, I’ll kill you myself.’
“I don’t remember,” She lied.
Marrow didn’t believe it for a second. “Sure,” He said. “All that- uh. Stuff got in your brain, huh?”
Winter stuttered out a reply, feeling too warm. “Should we be talking like this?”
“You tell me, Specialist.” His voice was hushed, all breathy across the small table. But the intention was clear. Winter approached Marrow. Winter almost asked Marrow to run away last night. Winter was moments away from starting something again now.
Fuck it.
“If I asked you to come to my apartment would you?”
“Yes.” He didn’t react. He didn’t need a moment to think. Just ‘yes.’
Winter shook her head.
“Are you sure ? I mean that’s- you don’t even know why?”
“The answer would still be yes.”
Winter threw her coat on the rack.
“This is nice.”
And it was. Better than what the Aceops were offered, leagues better than what Winter started off in- barracks kicked her ass for the first year - and so obvious that the apartment was an unnecessary commodity.
She didn’t want it. She would still be in the barracks if needed.
“Thank you,” Winter said, taking Marrow’s coat.
There wasn’t much furniture for Winter to host company in, but she led Marrow to the couch.
“Okay, are we talking now?”
This wasn’t a smart idea. Marrow wouldn’t believe her. He would report her to Ironwood. He would laugh. He would-
“Wait here a sec,” Marrow said. He got up, headed straight for her kitchen. He came back a minute later with a cup of water, handing it to Winter. “Drink this.”
The glass was cool against her hands. She drank half the cup and set it on the coffee table.
“I didn’t think it needed to be said, but anything you need to say stays between us. Unless you- like- killed someone we’re associated with, but I doubt that.”
“Just ‘doubt’? There’s room for possibility?”
Marrow deadpanned, but then the corners of his mouth lifted up in a smile.
It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him. The urge was half-hers, half-fear. He was good, kind, and reliable. And he was certainly sitting close enough, knees almost brushing against Winter’s. She could kiss him. Lie about why she wanted him here.
That would be wrong.
“Okay. A few days ago I had a meeting with the general. He told me some very classified information, and I’ve been trying to decide if it’s okay that I know this. If it’s morally right that no one else does. There’s more. But- I can’t. You know what that’s like.”
Marrow nodded.
“Can I ask you a question?” Winter’s thumb ran along the inseam of the couch.
“Yes.”
“If you were in my position, and you found that you were chosen for my job years before applying, what would you do?” It was a vast oversimplification. But it was what she could say now. She couldn’t fumble out the words “maiden” or “magic” without shoving them both down an impossibly dark rabbit hole.
His face fell a bit. Confused. Then knowing.
“When did he start?”
“..He didn’t specify. But I’m gathering that I was a child.”
Now he was angry, a scoff coming out of him. He fell back against the couch, hands running across his face.
“I’d threaten to cut off his dick with my saber.”
Winter laughed.
“How do you feel?” Marrow asked.
How do you feel about this? It’s normal to be afraid. I still have nightmares.
“I want to leave Atlas. I want to find Weiss. We shouldn’t be here. Not when-” Mistral is next, then us. Winter fumbled for another clear explanation. It couldn’t leave her.
“What are you saying?”
“Leave with me.”
His eyes were wide. Confused, again.
“You won’t tell me what happened but you’re asking me to run away with you? Do you know how that sounds?”
Winter took up the glass. Cold against her palms.
“Yes.”
One of his fingers brushed the hair from her eyes, then absently rubbed her eyebrow. His hands were gone quickly, almost pretending it didn’t happen. But it did.
“I’m coming with you either way. But I want to know why we’re leaving. Not that your reasons weren’t good enough. They were. But there’s got to be more.”
Magic is real and there’s a woman controlling and creating Grimm and the maiden fairytale is real and Ironwood planned for me to be one of them.
Winter took one of Marrow’s hands, thumb stroking along his knuckles.
“Whatever took down Vale is coming for Mistral. And then we’re next.”
They planned to leave that night.
Marrow went back to his apartment, gathering clothes and what dust he had lying around and shoving it all in a bag. He didn’t know what they’d need or how long they’d be gone.
He ran down the hallway and withdrew an obscene amount of cash from an ATM. As much as he could. That got stuffed in the bag, too. The bag slung over his shoulder.
Throwing a last glance across his apartment, Marrow grabbed a beanie laying on his dining room table and tugged it on.
Marrow’s rational mind was keen on keeping him here, in Atlas, in this apartment. On setting his bag down and shutting the curtains to the window that looked up at Winter’s.
But he believed her.
Two months ago, nothing rattled Winter Schnee. Last night, she downed vial after vial of glowing green fluid, holiday bulbs pressing under her skin. Last night, Winter Schnee was afraid.
His scroll lit with a message.
‘Don’t come over. I’ll message.’ Winter.
Marrow dropped the bag back on the ground, sat at his kitchen table. He looked up at Winter’s window.
She was sitting on her bed, talking to someone unclear through the open bedroom door. Her legs were crossed. Leaning on her arms, head tilting like she was making a joke.
Ironwood came through the door, said something. He left quickly.
Time passed, maybe a minute, maybe five, before Marrow watched Winter fall against the mattress. She reached across her duvet, patting her scroll. She called Marrow.
He fumbled a bit for his scroll.
“Yeah,” He said, voice cracking.
“Come over.”
Winter had stopped packing halfway through. A duffle bag sat near-empty on the floor. Winter herself was pacing. Rattled from whatever she and Ironwood spoke about.
She stopped abruptly, hands wringing.
“I think this was a mistake.”
“What?”
“ This ,” She said, motioning to the bag on her floor, to the bag on Marrow’s shoulder. “He says it’s handled. It has to be.”
Marrow shook his head, because no . If there was another full scale attack planned for Haven, why wouldn’t they try to stop it? Especially when Winter’s little sister was somewhere on that campus.
“No, Marrow. This is wrong. Right? I’m just flitting off again. Self destruction, we - we kind of talked about that, right? It doesn’t matter. Weiss is capable. Her team is capable and they have Qrow Branwen. I have to trust that they can handle this. They took on Vale, didn’t they? And, we- Atlas needs as many people as possible.”
He listened for as long as he could, still picturing a too-young Winter talking to James Ironwood about becoming a huntress.
That image lurked in the back of his mind since she implied what everyone kind of already knew. It was worse knowing James Ironwood was a Schnee family friend. It was worse knowing he was invited to every dinner party, holiday event, recital. James Ironwood took advantage of Winter’s fucked home life. (Which was also a non- secret.)
“When Sa-,” Winter stopped herself. “When it comes for us, we have to be ready for anything. Defenses up, willing to work with what we have to protect what we have. I can’t let what happened to Vale happen in Atlas. The fallout would be much worse.”
Atlas crushing Mantle, once and for all.
“Okay.”
Winter nodded, still looking unsure.
“Okay.”
What now? How could either of them go to work tomorrow pretending this hadn’t happened? He didn’t want to pretend, not after finally seeing the Winter behind Winter’s carefully constructed image. How was he meant to deal with Atlas emergencies when she’d just asked him to run away together?
He couldn’t broach it, because she was right.
Ironwood had his faults, his big unignorable faults, but he was also the one who’d taken them all in, who’d given them room and board and food since they were seventeen. He was all they knew. If Ironwood insisted that it was handled, it probably was.
Didn’t shake Marrow’s unease.
“If you need me-,” He started, letting it fall flat. The rest unsaid.
Winter nodded, arms folded around herself. How long had it been since she’d really slept? Her pretty icicle eyes all clouded by the dark circles underneath them.
“Thank you, Marrow. For everything.”
That was his out.
Vacuo, Epilogue
“You need sleep,” Marrow insisted. He needed it too, especially after his long day of pretending to be helpful, sharp on Winter’s heels. Watching for fallout.
“I’m aware.”
Winter was now hulking bags of food from her airship onto a wheelbarrow. She hadn’t slowed since dawn. Marrow was sure she hadn’t slept in days.
“ Are you ?” He asked, voice too condescending for her to listen to.
She paused with a bag in her arms. Her eyes closed for a second, a steady stream of air blowing from her nose. Good, Winter was equally frustrated with Marrow.
“You should get to camp. It’s late.”
“The order said to unload the ship in the morning . Let’s finish up then, okay? I’ll be ready first thing.”
Bag thrust into the wheelbarrow. Another in Winter’s hands, then in the wheelbarrow. She kept a steady rhythm for someone about to pass out of exhaustion.
“I kept you out all day, I’m sorry,” She said, over her shoulder. Thunk in the wheelbarrow. “Marrow, I’m f-,” fine. But she wasn’t, so she didn’t say it. Another thunk in the wheelbarrow.
Marrow stepped up onto the ramp with Winter, pulling two bags under his arms. He tossed them both in the wheelbarrow, then picked up another load.
Dregs of sleep were after him, the nasty clawed creature wanted him to stop. He knew if he felt this bad, Winter must feel worse. What would Vine say to this? He’d suggest getting Winter to stop and for both of them to go to bed.
That wasn’t happening. They had more bags to go.
“What’s your favorite color?” He asked, dumping a bag off the ramp.
Winter’s pace stalled. She clambered for another bag, heaving it off. She shrugged. “I have no idea. Why?”
“Come on, you don’t even like one color better than another? And don’t say white. That one doesn’t count.”
Winter made an amused sound. “I wasn’t going to say white. I suppose I like blue. You? Any hard opinions on colors?”
“I love blue,” Marrow said, tossing off one of the last bags. “It’s good. I bet blue would taste like..jelly candies.”
Winter dropped off the last two bags. She brushed her hands against her pants, streaking sand against the blue fabric.
“Jelly candies? You like those?”
“Yes. Not the sour kinds. The ones that taste like actual fruit, like old people make. Those are good. Blue.”
Winter rolled her eyes, a loose smile tugging at her lips. She jumped from the side of the ramp, holding out a hand to help Marrow. He took it and hopped down the ramp himself. Winter darted off to close the airship’s door, to lock it.
The airship’s ramp folded up, and Winter moved to grab the wheelbarrow’s handle. They started walking back towards the kingdom.
“What about..” He thought about hard opinions , about little things Winter Schnee liked and didn’t realize. “Um. Books?”
“Eh. Books. I liked reading in classes, but never really had the time after graduation. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you the last book I read. Maybe poetry.”
“Ah yes, the great Atlesian nationalist poetry.”
This got a laugh from Winter. Self depreciative, maybe, but a laugh. He’d take it.
“Yes, yes. Poems about airships and the smell of metal on a false summer day. I tore through them. I suppose that the old proverbs and poems were just touting the same thing as everyone else. The Atlas dream, ” She said, through a scoff, “I mean, it was never for everyone, was it? I used to believe Nicholas was completely absolved of blame. But I don’t know if that’s possible. Complete absolution .” Her voice hitched at the last word.
Marrow was quiet for a while, trying to commit Winter’s words in memory. He didn't want to forget anything she said.
Winter sniffled. “What’s with the interrogation, anyway?”
A stiff breeze cut along the night.
“I keep unearthing things about myself that I didn’t know before. Colors, foods I like, music, movies, books. What I like to wear, or talk about. Shit, my morals . I’m trying to figure myself out. I’d like to figure you out, too.”
It sounded awfully like flirting. He didn’t try to take his words back, not caring if they sounded less than platonic. Marrow wanted to be honest now. He wouldn’t press.
He didn’t want to begin anything now. They were both too raw from Atlas. Winter needed time, he knew, to grieve and live and learn to be herself outside of what everyone decided she was.
Marrow was eager to learn about her.