Author's Note: Wow, it has been a while. Real life kinda sucks when it keeps you away from fan fiction, hehe. I want to thank everyone who has reviewed The T'weenage Years so far. I'm glad you guys are enjoying following the gang for a few more rounds of craziness. The next series of one-shots will cover the Slayers' funeral march through Zaibach to pay respects to the families of their lost Slayers. Each Slayer will get a chance to visit his home town and reunite with his family, no matter how unjoyous some of the reunions may be :D. First up, we have the Right Honorable Viole... ;). I expect this section to have 8-10 parts to it. I am working on the next part as we speak. Enjoy!


The Count of Castelloni

Viole

The bar's name was V3.

If the V's didn't warn Viole away from the place, the fact that they came in three's should have. All evil came in packages of three. Three sixes were the sign of a devil. Three sneezes in the row meant a cold was coming on. Three strikes you're out. Three sheets to the wind.

Three V's: Viola, Verruca, and Vanessa.

Viole sighed as he gazed around the frilly bar, decorated in lavender and lilac, every spare inch not painted purple covered in lacy doilies. The furniture was straight out of Grandma's parlor. Everything was hard, dark wood with intricate hearts and cupids carved into the arms and legs. Viole would not have believed it was a bar, if not for the crushes peanut shells all over the floor and the rowdy men pushing past him to grab bar stools.

Guimel and Dallet drooled as they watched Viole's older sister, Vanessa, work a crowd of burly men at one table wearing a bastardized version of her debutante gown. Its long full skirts and petticoats were altered so that the skirts only fell to the knee, and the petticoat flared so that Vanessa's sweetheart bloomers showed when she bent over. The cap sleeves were shoved down so that her shoulders were bare and her cleavage was on display like loaves of fresh bread for sale at the bakery first thing in the morning.

"Great recommendation. We gotta go back and tip that guy for telling us about this place," Guimel said, voice awestruck.

"Yeah, I mean it looks like Lady Penelope's sitting room threw up, but hey...gotta love the icons." Dallet's eyes were on Verruca as she strutted through the crowd holding a round tray of dark ale in fancy, iced mugs. She wore stilettos so tall they could have been stilts and fish net stockings caught up in garter belts. Her skirt was nothing more than a petticoat, and she wore a corset as a vest over a hot pink brassiere. Her face was heavily painted, like an expensive whore on lay-away. A beefy hand pinched her bottom, and Verruca tossed her head back, long black curls falling over her shoulders, and laughed.

"How come you didn't tell us your hometown had dives like this, Vi?" Guimel elbowed him in the middle, trying to get him to take another step into the room. As it was, Viole's feet were glued three feet from the exit, his hands itched and cramped as he kept them from finding the latch to open the door again. The only place he'd wanted to leave faster than this place was Dr. Marie's clinic on vaccination day.

"It didn't use to," Viole's voice was like a hiccup. Both Dallet and Guimel looked at him wearing patented shit-eating grins.

"Like what you see?" Dallet teased.

"What would Heather think about you checking out the local booty," Guimel laughed. "But hey, she can't fault your taste. Though it's a seedy bar, you can tell somebody with a lotta money to burn set this place up."

Guimel wrapped an arm around Viole's shoulder and dragged him to the bar in back. Dallet followed, walking backward, staring at Verruca's half-exposed butt cheeks.

This was traumatic. He squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to see any more of his sisters than he should. Where was Mother Dear– then had a horrible thought. Oh gods, what if she was in back wearing the worst outfit of all. Maybe she'd pop out of a cake and sing Happy Birthday to one of the patrons.

"I gotta get out of here!" Viole shouted. He broke free of Guimel and turned to run, and smacked into the chest of a very large man. Viole gazed up, blinking as the man looked beyond him, lovesick puppy dog eyes making Viole's stomach plummet to the floor.

Soft piano music began to play, like a ballerina music box being opened. Viole didn't dare turn to look, but the cat calls and whistles aroused morbid curiosity on his part. He turned his head to see a circular stage slowly rising from a now open trapdoor in the floor.

On top of it, danced Viola in a pair of shorts that might have belonged to him in another life, break-neck high heels and a studded, sparkly boostie. Dollar bills were being tossed onto the stage.

He was gonna be sick. He was gonna hurl the cardboard cereal he'd eaten for lunch all over the dirty floor. Nearby, Dallet stopped howling and Guimel no longer whistled. They looked from Viola to Viole to Viola again.

"Um... Vi..." Dallet started to say.

"That girl kinda looks like..." Guimel started to say.

"Oh my gods! It's his Right Honorable Count Castelloni!"

Viole eyes went wide as he turned to find the person who'd said it and found all eyes in the bar on him. Viola, Verruca and Vanessa stared. The people set down their drinks, ready to bow.

Guimel and Dallet flanked him, Guimel gripping his arm tight.

Viole offered them all a sickly smile. "Uh... Long time no see?"


Authors Note: All right, you know the spiel. Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Either way, please review. The next part will pick up with Miguel. Thanks for reading and take care!