A/N: This one is pre-canon and pretty Sunday-Mariner-Piper-centric. This is a prompt I got where they were forced to spend time together, and my imagination being wacky, this is what I came up with. Please enjoy and review.

Family Vacations

The Architect had favorites.

And it was pretty obvious, too.

When the Piper, Sunday, and Tom got into an argument, she always sided with Her eldest. The Old One wasn't much better- he always took the side of the youngest. Poor Tom was caught in the middle. You'd think that Tom would try and make as many friends as possible to make up for this, but in truth, it seemed that the Piper was far more socially gifted, and Sunday attracted girls simply because of his looks and power. It wasn't fair.

Life wasn't fair.

This was a terrible arrangement. You'd hate it.

Unless you were Sunday, of course. Then you wouldn't mind.

Sunday was so used to being told he was the most amazing thing that ever graced the Universe that he did not like his babysitter. Apparently, she was older than he was, and the problem was that she thought she was the greatest thing that ever deemed setting foot in the House. He was quite glad to turn eighteen thousand and get her off his back.

He'd told his mother at the ripe age of eighteen (not eighteen thousand) that he didn't need a babysitter, but She was so woefully overprotective.

Sunday couldn't wait for his first chance to enjoy himself on his own, without his ridiculous family tagging along. For his birthday, the Architect had rented a sprawling sea-side mansion near some beach in the Realms. She would have bought it, but Sunday (ever so modest) told Her he didn't need Her to go through such trouble on his account. "Just the thought makes me happy!" he'd crowed.

Looking back, that was a ridiculous idea. It had been meant to gain points, of course, but maybe he shouldn't have invested so much in being the Architect's favorite and should have invested more time in having an emergency escape in case someone decided to attack the Gardens. Then he realized the idea of someone attacking the Gardens was ridiculous and absolutely far-fetched, so he needn't worry.

Sunday was thus packing his bags, preparing for his lovely vacation on his own, when Tom knocked on the door. He could always tell the difference between the Piper's delicate taps and the Mariner's knocks that sounded as if he was trying to barricade past with a battering ram. "What?" he called out, irritated. "Go away!"

Tom entered as if that was an invitation and beamed. "Isn't it wonderful? A week at the beach, and then a weekend at Mars' Planetary Botanical Gardens!"

Sunday's jaw dropped. "What? No! That's my birthday gift. It's just me. You're not coming!"

Tom shook his head. "Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. This is my birthday gift. MY birthday gift. You're not coming!"

"I am, and so is the Piper, and Mother and Father," Tom said. "Did Mother not tell you of this?"

She hadn't. Sunday scowled. "Get. Out."

"Fine. But being a jerk over it isn't going to change the fact," Tom replied, wisely exiting.

Sunday grumbled the whole time. It was as it he had made it his life's mission to ruin that vacation for everyone involved. He complained that they were using Immaterial transfer plates instead of the finer china. He complained that he couldn't surf in low tide. He complained that the high tide drank up too much of the beach. He shouted that the place the Architect rented had terrible heating, and everything was a foot too small. He pouted that the Piper's room had a better ocean view, and forced him to switch. He yelled at Tom for bringing along his harpoon and using it far too often.

The Architect lovingly put up with it. After all, he was disappointed and disillusioned about his gift, and he was the birthday boy.

The Old One thought differently.

"Give me a belt," he told Her merely ten minutes into the first day. "That boy needs a lesson licked into him. I'll tan his hide so much he won't be able to sit down for the next millennium!"

The Architect rolled Her eyes and said something like, "No." Then they entered an argument about the best way to discipline children, and whether the physical punishment the Old One preferred, such as spankings, were appropriate measures compared to the psychological trauma the Architect was clearly leaning towards.

While they squabbled (as usual), Sunday and his siblings sneaked down to the beach. They weren't supposed to without a parent, but they figured they were old enough to go someplace on their own.

"Let's make a sand sculpture," the Piper suggested. "I really want to do a mermaid. Or a castle."

"Yawn. So uncreative," Sunday said. "I have a good idea. Let's dig a hole and bury one of us in the sand, so just their head sticks up. That's fun."

"How is that creative?" Tom asked.

"Shut up and do it," Sunday ordered, and because it was his birthday present and he was oldest, they acquiesced- as soon as they decided who to bury.

Tom refused to do it because of some fear the tide would wash over him. "But you can just hold your breath," Sunday protested.

"No."

"You're a terrible Mariner if you can't hold your breath long enough to get out," the Piper said solemnly. "Father can hold his breath for hours."

"That's nothing," Sunday scoffed. "Mother can breathe water."

The Piper refused to do it because he wanted to 'provide the musical backdrop,' which was his excuse for not doing any work and just playing his Pipe the whole time. Sunday was going to call the whole thing off- there was no way he would put himself at the mercy of his brothers to be buried in the sand, especially since they had several bones to pick with him.

"Let's lure Father down here," he whispered, mischief ringing in his voice, "and bury him."

"He wouldn't allow it," the Piper said, seeming a bit uncomfortable. Sunday hoped he wouldn't squeal.

"He won't know if we slip enough Upper House vodka into his dinner drink," Tom said. "Being a sailor, I am quite familiar with spirits."

"We don't have any with us," the Piper scoffed.

"Actually, that ex-babysitter of mine gave me some," Sunday said, "for my birthday."

"Oh. Well, how sweet," the Piper said. "Is this is the same babysitter that is now my girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't she give me any Upper House vodka for my birthday?" the Piper wailed.

Tom and Sunday ignored this, instead trying to decide the best way to trick their father into drinking a large amount of Upper House vodka. "He prefers bourbon," Tom said, "so we'll have to tell him that's what it is."

"If he knows it's even there," Sunday retorted. "Let's switch drinks."

"Then Mother would have to order the servants, because they wouldn't let us do it without Her consent," Tom said. "Which means we'd have to let Mother in on it."

"She'll say no," said the Piper.

"Nothing wrong with a little fun," the Architect chuckled, basically saying, "Yes, let's prank your father and My other half." When the Architect referred to Her husband as Her other half, She meant it literally. Which made Her children wonder why they never got along, but oh well.

The Architect didn't even hide the fact that the bourbon was now replaced with vodka; She had the servants pour it in front of the Old One, and she purred, "Sweetie, I thought you'd like something a little stronger for tonight."

"Why would I want something stronger?" the Old One asked in a gruff, but he drank it anyway and found he quite liked it. Thus, he asked for more, and found he liked that as well. He doused the entire stock by himself. That made Sunday a little sad, since he loved Upper House vodka as well and wasn't quite pleased to have his father drink every single drop of the birthday present he received from his ex-babysitter, but he supposed it was for a good cause.

The Old One tolerated spirits exceptionally well, but even he couldn't do much against five bottles of it, and was snoring away quite soon.

The Architect didn't bother lifting him, gesturing with the Keys to carry him along to the hole the Piper had been preparing all day. Sunday and Tom knew he would tell their father first chance he got, being such a mini-Dad, and put him to work to avoid the unpleasantness that might arise if he did manage to spill the beans. The Piper was moody and grumpy by the time they dumped the Old One into the hole.

"You can fill it," he said, thrusting a shovel into Sunday's hands.

"Er, no. You can fill it," Sunday said, thrusting the shovel into Tom's hands.

So Tom filled it.

When the Old One awoke, some seagull was trying to peck out his eyes. "Go away!" he shouted, and tried to shoo it with his arms, but realized they were pinned to his sides by a bunch of sand. Now, normally the Old One would have been strong enough to get himself out of a simple pile of sand, but considering the effects of last night's drink was still buzzing around in his head, he couldn't quite manage it. He did, however, manage to throw up.

"Eew," he moaned.

"I'll say," sniffed the Architect, drawing up behind. "Jeez, dear. You need to build up an alcohol tolerance."

"Meh. Let me out."

"I don't know, I kind of like you there," She shrugged.

"Darn it, woman! Let me out!"

"But I'm taking the boys to Mars' Planetary Botanical Gardens," She said, putting on the puppy-dog eyes. "You know, I'd love some mother-son bonding time, considering they seem to prefer you."

"Only the Piper."

"Meh." She grinned. "You get my drift. Speaking of 'drift,' the tide is coming in soon, and it seems like lots of little flotsam, jetsam, wood and whatnot, is floating in it. I'd rather not get my skirt all wet and salty, so if you'll excuse me..."

"Gaarrgh!"

The Old One was very wet and very displeased when the Piper came to dig him out after his family was done being terrible tourists (which is a story for another time). "You should have come earlier," the Old One complained.

"Sorry. But I had some quality time with Mother."

"No, you didn't. She spent the day doting on Sunday, didn't she?"

"Er, yes."

"Whatever." As soon as the Old One was out, he gave the Piper a hearty slap across the rump. "That's for going along with their hare-brained scheme."

"Sorry, Father," the Piper apologized. "Want me to play you something?"

"Save it for later."

"Okay."

"Where'd you get that vodka anyway?"

"Sunday's ex-babysitter who is now my girlfriend," the Piper said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "She didn't get me anything for my birthday."

"What are you talking about? She wrote you that sappy poem dripping with lame prose," the Old One sniffed. "Denizens and their terrible capacity for creativity. That's why you and I prefer mortals, eh?"

"Is that why we were conceived with mortal women Mother possessed?"

The Old One blushed. "Son, you know I love talking to you, but there are some things you and I have no business discussing."

A/N: Sorry about that, but I wasn't really sure how else to end it... Please review if you loved it, and even if you hated it!

Thank you,

Dragonlord Stephi

(P.S.- still taking prompts for the next ones, so feel free to send one my way via PM or review)