"So, Tyki, huh? That's a kind of perfume, right?"

"Shut up." The rustling of paper. Tyki looks over his glasses at his nephew lounging with his feet propped up on his desk like some kind of badass. And trust Tyki on this, his nephew is not a badass. "You've got no room to talk. Who the hell names their kid Wisely?"

"Mine. And no dissing the dead, that'll give you bad dreams."

"Enough. Let's just get on with it." He taps the clipboard with his Waterman pen. "Now, why did you dye your hair white yesterday?"

Wisely shrugs. "Because I thought it would give Cyril a heart attack."

"Which it did. Along with a hernia and several hours in bed with a cold pack." Tap-tap goes the pen. "Any other deep, dark reason you're going to give me?"

Wisely contemplates. And then he shrugs again. The white spikes of hair tremble slightly. "Not really."

Tyki sighs. "I thought so."

God, he hates his job.

"So why the sudden tan?"

Wisely shrugs again, stretching luxuriously on Tyki's couch. Tyki twitches. That is a very expensive couch, thank you. He does not need dirty teenage snots soiling it.

"Felt like it," his nephew says nonchalantly, "and it's summer. Of course I'm going to get tanned."

"But full-body? What did you do, go to a nudist beach?"

Wisely gives Tyki a paranoid look. "How do you know it's full-body?"

"I have my sources."

"The pedo?"

"He is not a—" Tyki stops. He clears his throat. "Well, maybe he is."

"See?" Wisely smirks, sitting up on the couch. Tyki would never fully understand the appeal of low-riding jeans on teenagers. It just wasn't right. "I bet you're one too."

Tyki's eyes narrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, come on. You two are brothers, aren't you? You're going to have some similar personality—" he pauses, thinking. "Stuff."

Tyki raises an eyebrow. "You mean traits."

"Yeah. That's it."

Tyki twitches. Again.

God, he hates his job. With a burning passion.

"Any reason you've taken up wearing a bandana around your forehead?"

Wisely swallows and looks away guiltily. "Nope."

Tyki taps his pen. Hard. "You're lying."

"Not really. I just—"

"Felt like it, yeah, yeah." Tyki leans forward in his chair and stares at his nephew. "Time to confess."

"Confess what? You know, you and Cyril both are really paranoid buggers—"

It takes five minutes before Tyki, in a brief moment of victory, rips the bandana off of Wisely's head, panting and sweating. Wisely shrieks (in a very manly way, thank you), and continues his futile attempts to claw the bandana out of his uncle's hands.

"Not a chance, brat," Tyki grits out between his teeth, holding Wisely back by just a hair. Damn, this kid has nails. "Now, what exactly is—"

And then he stares.

"You must be joking."

Wisely scowls and sulks. Apparently he's given up since his uncle has now seen the cause of his dismay. "I thought it would look cool."

Tyki peers at the markings with an expression similar to disgust. "Did you do that in marker?"

"Permanent marker," Wisely grumbles, putting his hands over the three eyes sloppily lining his forehead. "And I didn't do it, Fourteenth did."

Ah. Tyki's look-a-like nephew. This explains everything, since the kid can't do anything without it looking like he's on crack or pot or worse.

Tyki finally stops straddling his nephew and gets up, still holding the zig-zag bandanna by his bare fingertips. "Soap," he says grudgingly, rubbing his temples with his free hand. "Lots of soap, and lots of water."

"You're not going to tell Cyril?" asks Wisely from his place on the floor. His nephew looks so small.

Tyki tilts his head to the side and smirks. "I might."

Wisely glares at his uncle. "Don't you dare."

"It's my job, you know." Tyki sniffs, looking away innocently. "And I'm your uncle. I have certain—responsibilities for you."

Wisely scoffs, getting to his feet and snatching the bandanna from his uncle's hands. "Oh, please. You can't even take care of a fish for more than three days."

Tyki feels affronted. How dare Wisely bring up poor, innocent Joyd? "That's beside the point."

"No," Wisely shoots out, suddenly malicious. "That's exactly the point."

His white-haired nephew tends to slam doors behind him when he leaves rooms. This causes a pot to fall from the top of a bookshelf and smack onto the floor, rolling back and forth and spilling dust onto the floor.

Damn, he hates his job. So. Fucking. Much.

Tyki sighs and gets up to go and wash the thing.

Thank God for plastic.

"And now you're wearing that." Tyki waves a hand at Wisely's new attire exasperatedly. "As if you couldn't possibly look any gayer, now you're wearing that."

Wisely sniffs and adjusts the stiff collar of the short—much too short, white vest with no way to hide his chest. Apparently, he's forgotten his temper tantrum from last session. "I think it looks cool."

"It looks like you're starring in some cheap gay porn magazine." Tyki groans, rubbing the space between his eyes. "Can't you just make my job easy for once?"

His nephew grins. "No."

Tyki sighs. "Thought so."

He is fairly sure that if he can't find another job before he turns thirty, he will throw himself off of a bridge.

Ah, poor Tyki. XD Another Wisely fic, starring these two. Because their dynamic is amazingly funny.

I need to learn how to write Tyki. :|a