Author's Note: So, I lied. This isn't Shesta. After two false starts, Dilandau decided to take charge and host this section. I hope you like it. I'm not going to tell you who's next, because I'll probably change it again.

Dilandau

"Viole, I'm positive that she's still following us," Dilandau said, looking over his shoulder for Viole's female doppelganger. Viola had claimed Dilandau as her own and glued herself to his arm milliseconds after Verruca pulled a Migs and used her nose to determine his social standing. Dilandau was very accustomed to weird things happening to and around him, and that by no means had been the weirdest or creepiest, but good gods, who did that?

Viole sighed. "No, she's not. Viola doesn't like being outside for long; says nature clogs her pores or some crap like that."

More than all that mud she had caked on her face? Dilandau raised a brow, but said nothing. Viole didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. Miguel, Shesta, Gatty and Dilandau had entered the "bar"—though Dilandau would have called it a powder room with beer—only to run into a servant there in the name of Countess Castelloni. The tiny woman quickly escorted them to a backroom where three vampire bats claiming to be Viole's relations descended on them. It was all downhill from there. It ended with a screaming match between the estranged Castelloni siblings and Viole storming out of the bar claiming that the day he helped she-beasts would be the day he stripped naked and tap-danced on Sir Allen's melef in broad daylight while singing the Zaibach national anthem. Dilandau wondered what Allen would say to that. He'd probably toss up a squeegee and some soap. Wash it while you're at it.

They walked in a tight-knit cluster down the cobbled path from the bar back to the inn. Cottages that had their lights out as they passed flipped them on, inhabitants leaning out the windows to stare at the Count and his "court". Dilandau supposed they made a strange procession through town. Miguel seethed at Dilandau's shoulder. He'd been silent since the same sister that had sniffed Dilandau and deemed him noble by birth and highly favored by multiple monarchs, had deemed him noble, but without hope of attaining a title unless he committed major fratricide. All interest in Miguel had been dropped like a bad habit, and Guimel, Dallet and Gatty falling over themselves laughing didn't help to improve his mood.

Okay, so Dilandau laughing didn't really improve his mood either, but Miguel had looked so funny. Then, Viola, fangs out, latched onto Dilandau and claimed she would "accept" him as a suitor, like she was doing him a favor.

"I think we should leave this place immediately," Miguel growled. "The atmosphere is stifling and the food's going to make me fat."

Guimel, Dallet and Gatty snickered behind them. Dilandau bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile.

"Hm, just an hour ago you wanted to extend our stay and sit on your bum in a fluffy bathrobe eating chocolates," Shesta said with a smirk. He walked on the other side of Viole.

Miguel snarled. "You were the one who-! You know what, never mind that. Viole is right. This place is insane…."

"Only because you've been knocked off your royal pony, Ex-Prince Miguel. All bow down to His Right Honorable-oof!" Viole's elbow caught Dallet in the solar plexus.

"Shut up, Dallet."

"Geez. I was just playing man. Chill."

Dilandau turned to give Dallet a silencing look. No one spoke again until they reached the inn.

"Um… I guess I'm going to bed," Dallet said, faking a yawn. Guimel frowned at him, ready to argue, but Dallet grabbed his bicep. "Guy too. Night." Dallet dragged Guimel through the doors of the inn with Guimel grumbling after him about wanting to stick around and hear "the talk."

Shesta looked from Viole to Dilandau, then back at Gatty. "I suppose we ought to go to bed too, Gatty. We'll be riding out early, I think."

Viole stood still as Gatty and Shesta brushed by him to enter the inn. Dilandau didn't know whether he should be flattered or annoyed that all his friends assumed that Dilandau would have some kind of heart-to-heart with Viole now. If anyone should have a heart-to-heart with Viole, it should be Miguel, but Miguel hurried inside after Shesta and Gatty without a word. Dilandau didn't know a thing about being titled nobility by birthright other than most of the ones he met were spoiled prigs, Dryden included. He couldn't very well say that to Viole.

Viole sighed again and Dilandau's gaze slid to him. His friend looked defeated, shoulders slumped, head down. "You don't have to try to think of some pep talk to assure me that leaving my sisters and Mother Dear to deal with their own mess is okay."

Dilandau blinked. Now that was surprising. "I didn't think you needed assurance for that. Those women are…" Heavens help him "…worse than Celena!" Dilandau frowned. "Do you feel bad for not wanting to help them?"

Viole shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I kind of went out to my riding lesson one day and never came back. I missed several weddings and I know I probably missed births of nieces and nephews, and… Well, for me to be given the title of Count means they've officially declared my dad dead to Castel, and I don't know how Mother Dear took that plus Viola, Verruca and Vanessa turning Grandma's shrine into a bar."

Dilandau smiled and placed a hand on Viole's shoulder. "Vi, do you miss your mom?"

Viole puffed out his cheeks. "No! That woman drove me nuts! She put me in bow ties and ankle length skirts that she called man-skirts! She made me do pageants and take dance lessons!"

Dilandau didn't say anything. Sometimes, Viole just needed to talk things out by himself. If he came in smiling, the group would attribute it to Dilandau's excellent counseling skills, and Dilandau wouldn't correct them.

"She gave me birthday parties with pink ribbons and pastries like I was a girl! She used to kiss me and use her handkerchiefs to clean me up in public, when I was 12! She decorated my room with ponies and pastel flowers and probably kept it that way! She let my sisters dress me in drag. She-"

Dilandau waited.

"-only had me to make my dad stay, but he didn't, and she never failed to inform me of that whenever I displeased her. I failed her by not making him stay; failed her by not doing what she wanted me to well enough. She never asked me what I wanted to do, never cared what I wanted to do, and she was the same way with the girls. I got away; they didn't."

"And so you want to help them?" Dilandau asked.

"Maybe."

Dilandau began to walk, not looking behind him to see if Viole followed. The outdoor tennis court was in sight, the moonlight bathing it as effective as street lamps. Two rackets sat unattended on a wooden bench; a pale yellow ball rested against the low net. He stepped onto the court, rubber soled shoes crunching across the green pebbles filling in the court. A beat later, he heard a second pair of rubber soled shoes crunching across the pebbles.

Dilandau grabbed a racket and tossed it over his shoulder.

A yelp was heard, but not a clatter. Good reflexes, Soldier.

Dilandau claimed a racket for himself and retrieved the ball from the net. He tossed it into the air, catching it on the racket and bouncing it up and down. He knew Viole was watching him.

"Aren't you going to say something profound?" Viole asked after a minute of staring.

The ball hitting the racket made a soft pinging noise.

"Why?"

"Because—because you usually do," Viole said. He sounded like he was scratching his head. "You know everybody left because they thought we were going to have this grand 'talk', right?"

"Hn." Without warning, Dilandau served the ball to Viole and raced to the other side of the court.

Viole yelped again, returning the ball with a wicked backhand.

Dilandau bounced on his toes, running to catch and return the shot.

"Well, do you want something profound?"

Viole smacked the ball back on Dilandau's side. "Uh…"

"I'm not a profound guy, Viole. I tell it like I see it, and as I see it, we're not in a hurry. It wouldn't hamper us to swing by your mom's place, if you want to peek in the windows. You're a man now, Viole. No one here can make you do anything; it's not like she can put you in tap shoes and a bow tie now. What could it hurt to go and see for yourself what's going on? I mean, after all, you're not planning on sticking around long term and making things here your problem."

The ball fell in Viole's court, bounced twice and rolled to rest against the toe of Viole's boot. "Do you…"

Dilandau tapped the racket against his thigh.

"Do you think I should—should go see Mother Dear—see if I can do something to help my sisters, even though they're blood-drinking witch-harpy-trolls?" Viole asked.

"If we leave here and you didn't, would you think about it later?" Dilandau asked.

Viole bit his lip and hung his head. "Yeah."

"Then, you just answered your own questions. Now serve that ball and give me a decent game. I need to be tired enough to go to sleep tonight and not dream about your harpy-troll sister."

"You're one to talk!" Viole picked up the ball and tossed and caught it with one hand.

"Hey, my sister's only a troll. Yours are hybrid trolls."

The ball whizzed past Dilandau's head and he grinned.

"Point for me!" Viole hooted.

"Your only point. Get ready to lose."


Author's Note: So what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, either way, let me know. Please review! Take care!