Chapter 11

(in which riddles are solved and several people are not amused)

-/-

"You." Squalo stabbed Lussuria in the chest with a finger violently, making the latter stagger a few paces back. "See the fucking door? You see it?"

Lussuria did. It was big and thick and made of old oak, and it was right in front of him. It was a very obvious door, if rather ugly. Anyone who wasn't blind would be unable to miss it.

"What about it, Squ?" What Lussuria could not see was why Squalo had to ask an apparently stupid question. Sure, the swordsman often complained that people around him were on the same level of intelligence as the dirt stuck to the sole of his boot, so he might as well talk to the dirt because at least it didn't get cheeky; but a door was always a door. One didn't have to be clever to notice it.

Squalo emitted a sound that might be called a snort except that it would be stretching the term too far. It carried a lot of emotion in its wordless splendor: Lussuria was positive he could discern a healthy dose of anger, the background impatience and frustration that made part of Squalo's default state of being, and a great deal of irritation that seemed to be boiling so vigorously it made Lussuria want to back away in case Squalo exploded. He looked worse for the wear too, tired and in need of sleep and aware of the fact that he wouldn't be getting any in the foreseeable future. And Lussuria knew that a tired Squalo was ten times as snappish as the normal one, and that was saying something, as even the normal one was usually a trial.

Lussuria wondered if that whole door conversation could be some sort of unfunny joke on Squalo's part. The poor guy had never been able to get in touch with the sense of humor. Well, definitely not with the same sense of humor that other people might ever come to appreciate. The only other person alive to rival him in this department was the boss.

"Heeey! Quit spacing out on me, fucking faggot! You listen to what I say and lose this dumbass smirk or I'll cut out your liver and make you eat it!" Ten times as snappish and ten times as loud. Lussuria wondered if his ears were bleeding. There was a ringing in his head as if someone had used it as a church bell. Repeatedly.

"Please don't shout, Squ!" he said reproachfully. "I can hear you perfectly well with my beautiful ears. And I can see your door too. Is there something special about it you want me to know?" Were they not the Varia, Lussuria would probably even allow himself to hope a pleasant surprise or maybe a present might be waiting for him inside. Things being what they were, he only prayed it wasn't an exhibition of severed heads on pikes.

Squalo scowled darkly, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door.

"I put some valuable shit there," he announced gruffly. "And it stinks."

Lussuria's carefully painted eyebrows flew up. He could never quite master the fine art of distinguishing between Squalo Trying To Be Cryptic and Squalo Being Too Arrogant To Explain Properly. To a casual observer, there was hardly any difference at all.

He opted for the golden middle.

"Isn't it okay for the shit to stink, Squalo?" he asked in what he considered to be his best neutral voice.

For a moment, Squalo just stared at him hard, mouth twisted in a scowl, eyes narrowed and icy cold. He seemed to have been rendered speechless, and it was not a good sign. Lussuria's personal experience stated with all certainty that unless Squalo was dead or unconscious, his rare silences were only there to herald the oncoming explosion. They simply meant he had too much to say and was struggling to find the appropriate words – or rather, since it was Squalo, words awful enough to describe exactly how he felt.

Oh no, Lussuria prayed to whoever or whatever might be listening, don't let him be having a bad day please. Not agai–

There was an all-too-familiar sound of air being cut by something unmistakably sharp, and next thing Lussuria knew, there was a sword hovering less than two inches away from his left ear, gleaming ominously. Somewhere on the other end of the sword, Squalo exhaled through gritted teeth.

"Hey, faggot," he rasped in a low voice. "It's been a long, shitty night. Very fucking long. And I wasted it prancing around Europe, surrounded by complete morons all the damn time. And before that – you hear me, faggot? – before that, I spent one hell of a day breathing dust in Mammon's shitty lair because no one has cleaned there since Mussolini!"

"But Squalo!" Lussuria protested. "You're being unreasonable! How was I supposed to know you'd want to go in there? If only you had told me in advance I wou–"

But there was no stopping Squalo once he got started. He was famous for it.

"...and I had all those useless books and folders and crap falling on my goddamn head and Prince the Creeper for company, all because our retarded boss decided that he needed a friggin' illusionist now, just like that!" he snarled, voice getting steadily louder with every syllable. He shook his sword in what Lussuria considered to be a dangerous proximity to his ear. "And the illusionists all suck!"

"I think you are exaggerating a little, Squ." Lussuria tried to lean away from the blade, but it only prompted Squalo to move closer. "They can't all be that bad. Mammon was alright, even you have to admit it. And please watch what you're doing with this!"

"Huh?" Squalo glanced at his sword as if seeing it for the first time in his life, then stabbed it angrily at the unfortunate door. It sank into the wood as if it were butter.

"Squalo!" Lussuria exclaimed nervously. He had noticed blue flame dancing merrily along the edge of the blade and wasn't thrilled. Honestly, whoever had taught this guy it was alright to wield highly destructive weapons indoors? He was almost as bad as the boss.

Almost, but not quite. At least nothing was on fire yet. Lussuria wished dearly his colleagues would acquire some manners, even though he didn't raise his hopes very high.

There was a muffled squeak from behind the door.

"What!" barked Squalo, pulling the sword out and waving it in the air in obvious exasperation. "You fucking shut up there! I've had it up to here with you, little dickhead!"

Lussuria seized the chance and moved away swiftly, putting a relatively safe distance between himself and the danger, then cocked his head to one side.

"Ah? What was that?"

"That," said Squalo, scowling so hard it was painful to look at, "is the shit I was talking about. Also, it's our new illusionist. Fucking rejoice." He spat on the floor, then caught Lussuria's accusing stare and added. "And wipe that pathetic look off you face, you're not my mother. It makes me sick."

Lussuria heaved a sigh and reminded himself who he was talking to.

"So you have brought back a present, haven't you, Squ?" he said, straining to sound pacifying and cheerful. Lussuria was quite proud of the fact that he could pull off cheerful in almost any situation and he was very good at pretending; but it didn't mean he liked being insulted. Not all the time anyway.

"What I've brought back's a halfwit with the attention span of a dazzled caterpillar and social awareness of a hermit crab," Squalo's face darkened, but his voice became calmer and even took on a thoughtful tone. "Whatever, faggot. It's none of your business. The little freak stays."

Lussuria pouted. No one ever told him anything in this squad. No one wanted to share!

"But what about the boss?" he asked anxiously. "Does he know? Does he?" It would be a disgrace if he had to deal with the consequences of yet another fit of rage on such a nice day. Xanxus hated being the last to know.

"He does." All of a sudden, Squalo didn't seem to be in the mood to talk any more.

"And... what does he say?"

"The bastard approves."

"Really? Well, isn't it just wonderful?" Lussuria blinked behind his dark glasses. That was all? But he wanted details! "But Squ! What does he say?"

"Will you fuck off? He says we're keeping the trash. Happy now?"

"You're being mean to me again, Squalo! On purpose, too! Come on, I'm dying to know everything, did the boss–"

"Heey, Lussuria! If you want to know his precious opinion so fucking much, go chat with him yourself. I'll bet you my sword and my other hand he's still up in his office, hitting tequila bottles. I've got work to do, unlike you lazy assholes. As usually."

"Oh fine, fine." A talkative Xanxus was even harder to imagine than a good-mannered Squalo. Lussuria gave up. "What do you want me to do about, ah, the illusionist?"

"Nothing." Squalo rubbed the back of his hand across his face. "Just make sure no one goes in there until I return."

"When are you going to return?" Lussuria wiggled his eyebrows questioningly. Squalo was indeed one of those pro-active people who, if they were dropped in the middle of a desert, would immediately come up with at least a dozen things that needed to be completed before nightfall. It was as if he had a self-assigned production quota. "I mean, you keep saying you've got lots and lots to do..."

Squalo glowered at him darkly. "Soon."

"Ah. How soon is soon?" He knew it was a wrong thing to say, especially to a tired, already irritated Squalo, but he couldn't possibly sit near this ugly door for the rest of the day. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

Instead, Squalo just pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his eyes. "Stick around and you'll find out eventually, faggot. I don't have to explain shit to you." And he turned on his heels, ready to leave, apparently certain that his orders would be carried through.

"But Squ dear?" Lussuria called after him. "Aren't we supposed to welcome him home? His new home, that is?"

"I said no!" Squalo barked impatiently, whirling around to face Lussuria again. He took a deep breath and continued brusquely. "Listen, the little freak knows his stuff. Worked on Bel alright, anyway." It was obvious that he was more than a little reluctant to give praise to the invisible illusionist. "And you suck at distinguishing real from fake just as much, Lussuria. I don't want to chase the brat all over the place again just because you want to play at family or some other shit like that. And I will have to, unless you expect our trash of a boss to get his ass off the goddamn chair and do it himself."

They shared a moment of understanding. Xanxus had a certain fate reserved for those who tried to dump their workload on him, and it was a grim fate indeed.

"I really don't think our boss is the type to chase anything or anyone, Squ," said Lussuria finally.

"Hah! Too damn right he isn't! He expects to have everything delivered to him on a silver platter!" Squalo aimed a kick at the door again before turning away once more and setting off at his usual brisk pace.

It occurred to Lussuria that something was a bit off about the whole situation. Certainly, Squalo tended to jump at every opportunity to bitch, but it was usually just general bitching. Today, however, he seemed to have a specific reason to be angry at the boss and Lussuria suspected it was connected to the task of finding a new illusionist. He couldn't imagine what that might be though, seeing that now that the job was done it shouldn't even be a problem.

The problem, Lussuria reminded himself with a sigh as he watched the Chief Commander of the Varia storm away down the corridor, muttering threats and curses under his breath and occasionally slamming a fist into the wall to vent out, the greatest problem of all was that any kind of Squalo could turn into a Pissed Squalo in a blink of an eye.

Lussuria wrung his hands dramatically, uncaring of the fact that nobody was around to witness and appreciate the performance. It was an old habit with roots running deeper than those of an ancient oak, and happened all by itself most of the time. The Varia was his whole life and his only home, and he strove as hard as he could to make it resemble a family. He knew it was a feat next to impossible when it had to include a bunch of people who wouldn't understand the concept even if he handed them a manual, but he also knew he wasn't getting another chance. And it was still much, much better that any other option he had been able to come up with so far. However, it was sometimes unspeakably frustrating – not to mention exhausting – to realize he was the only one putting in any effort. The others all apparently believed family was some weird shit meant for pussies, or at least that was what Squalo grumbled whenever Lussuria tried to make them see his point.

Ah well. Maybe this new illusionist boy was a friendly soul? Unlikely, considering that Xanxus and Squalo had been the ones to pluck him out of who knew where, but Lussuria was dead set on hoping for the best, if only to make a difference in comparison with the horrible doom-and-gloom attitude exhibited by everyone else.

He rubbed his hands together. Unless his memory was going, there was still some of his new wonderful soup back in the main kitchen. And it was his own recipe too. Sadly, he had only managed to test it on Belphegor. Squalo, an unimaginative simpleton that he was, had refused to try as much as a spoonful – such a shame! – and Lussuria wasn't suicidal enough to give it to the boss just yet. The memory of Xanxus shoving him head-first into the bowl full of his previous concoction still stood out vividly in his mind.

Lussuria eyed the locked door for a moment, a finger pressed to his lips in a manner that, in his opinion, made him look sophisticated. Surely Squalo had been exaggerating when he said the boy's illusions were all that powerful. Squalo exaggerated all the time, it was in-built into his character. Bel must have gotten distracted, that was all. He often did. Besides, Lussuria thought, pouting, some people were simply incapable of wrapping their head around the idea of someone else's potential usefulness. Some people needed to take measures against their own superiority complex because it was getting alarmingly overblown.

Ah, seriously. No harm could come of a little hospitality. They needed more of it here.

Lussuria floated up to the door and knocked on it.

"Coo-ee!" he sang happily. "Anybody home?"

The silence on the other side seemed to become deeper, as if even the spiders and rats – there was bound to be plenty of them in there, the room having been unused for years – had gone quiet and now waited with bated breath.

"Ah, I see you're sulking!" Lussuria crooned, quite unfazed by the lack of response. "It's understandable, but darling, you do so need to get over it! Let's try and be a little nicer to each other!"

There was still no answer.

"It's not like you can leave, sweetums. You're staying with us from now on. We're your new family."

The silence grew hostile.

"Aren't you hungry, dear? I've got some delicious soup, by the way, so if you'd like to taste it, just let me know, I'm right here! Okay?"

The level of hostility shot up and mixed with incredulity on the way. Lussuria sighed, pulled out his box weapon and quickly applied his Varia Sun Ring to it.

"You stay here and don't let anyone in," he chirped to his box peacock as soon as it materialized. "I'm going to the kitchen to get some hot soup! There's no call to starve the poor soul, whatever Squalo may say."

He swanned up the corridor in the direction of the stairs. There was no way the boy wouldn't like his amazing soup. And since Bel was still alive and kicking, it was obviously safe to eat as well. Safe and perfectly healthy.

Anything with snakes' heads in it was bound to be, after all.

-/-

Xanxus, the boss of the Varia, was a man of many talents and skills of which only some were known to those around him. An extremely keen sense of hearing was one such talent, especially useful when coupled with a well-honed ability to listen. And contrary to what his appearance and behavior suggested, nobody could listen better than Xanxus when he put his mind to it. It was just that unlike the majority of the idiots populating the planet he didn't automatically assume that listening meant agreeing. He'd never been too good at agreeing anyway.

It was amazing how much time and effort could be saved, for example, if he just let his enemies run their dirty mouths for a while without interrupting. The information was all there, in the pauses and intonations and gaps, and reading between the lines wasn't the most complicated of sciences. It wasn't necessary to pull out anyone's teeth and fingernails to extract the precious knowledge, always a bonus for those who preferred to get the job done with the minimum amount of shit and blood splashed on the floor. Xanxus had nothing against getting his hands dirty in a metaphorical way. He just didn't want to physically touch any trash unless he couldn't avoid it. He employed other people for that. Occasionally one or two of them even managed to live long enough to get paid for what they did.

Xanxus knew that many different ways of listening existed in the world, each to suit its own purpose, and he had taken pains to become good at all of them. There was listening to the actual words, no matter if they were all rotten lies, because that was exactly what the scumbags wanted him to hear and believe. There was listening to what they wanted to tell him but couldn't, for various reasons including blackmail and plain old fear – fear of him more often than not. And of course there was the aggressive listening which was Xanxus' personal favorite. He really had the knack for that one. The only thing it required was sitting still, staring the speaker straight in the eye and making a very fine point of paying attention to every damn syllable pronounced by the pathetic trash. Xanxus practiced it daily on all of his subordinates starting with Squalo and it never failed to yield satisfying results.

And Xanxus was all about getting results. That was important. The rest was shit.

This time however, he was simply listening to the sound of footsteps coming from the corridor on the other side of the door. They were still faint but getting louder and louder, which meant he was probably about to have guests. None of his lowly scumbags ever came up here for a walk.

As well they didn't.

In his right hand, Xanxus weighed the new sniper rifle he had been examining – a presumably top-secret military project that no one in the world was supposed to know about – and chose to ignore the sound. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, and he couldn't be bothered to beat them up, although the latter could change any time. Even in the Varia, there were always pathetic fuckups who were incapable of getting it through their thick heads that disturbing him might be the last thing they did; and some other fuckups, no less pathetic, who never seemed to understand it was their bloody responsibility to do something about this situation.

And anyway, how many morons did he have to kill to make them memorize the proper way to cook steak? It was just one fucking recipe; how hard could it be? One would expect that even a complete retard would absorb some knowledge by now, thought Xanxus grimly, forgetting that he never gave anyone a second chance and so far, no one had learned to cook steak from the grave.

Maybe the scumbag, whoever he was, would use his small brain for a change and fuck off.

As the sound of the footsteps drew nearer still, though, Xanxus realized it wouldn't happen. By now, he could identify the scumbag.

There was a knock on the door – not too loud, but definitely not timid – and Belphegor poked his head into the room, grinning.

"Boss?"

Xanxus pondered the two possibilities that occurred to him. The first one was to shoot Bel using the rifle. He liked the idea. It would be killing two birds with one stone: he'd get rid of the trash and he'd test the new weapon and find out if it really was what it was cracked up to be (probably not).

The second one was to let Bel get on with whatever he wanted to say. That would imply listening to the insect.

After a moment of hesitation, Xanxus chose the second option. Unfortunately, he still needed Belphegor around for a while longer. There was no one to replace him with. Yet.

"Trash," he said to acknowledge his subordinate's undesired presence.

Bel's grin widened as he sidled into the room. He looked disgustingly happy, almost elated. Xanxus made a note to himself to ensure that, starting tomorrow, the scumbag would get more assignments and fewer reasons to wander around the estate, giggling madly.

Not letting go off the rifle – it always made him feel better to hold something that could bring death and destruction – he reached out with his free hand and picked a wine glass from the desk where it had been peacefully leaving unsightly dark stains on a letter from Iemitsu Sawada. It didn't matter. Xanxus had already familiarized himself with the contents and made all the necessary conclusions, one of them being the decision to not answer the trash. It was the usual sickening blather about unseen enemies plotting, spies lurking in shadows and storm clouds gathering over the heads of the unsuspecting members of the Vongola Family. Xanxus, who suspected everything and everyone on general principle, found the letter idiotic. Of course, there were scum plotting against them. That was how you knew you were doing it right – your enemies were supposed to be pissed off and unhappy.

Xanxus sipped his wine, then returned the glass on the desk, carefully placing it exactly on top of Iemitsu's signature. He leveled Belphegor with a look.

"What the hell do you want, trash?"

"Just dropped by to chat?"

"Fuck off," suggested Xanxus calmly. "I'm not in the mood."

"Actually, boss, I have a question."

Xanxus stared at him in a decidedly unfriendly manner. Fucking inquisitive minds. Fucking questions again. Why did he have to bother with this shit?

"Ask Squalo," he grumbled finally, scowling. "Whatever the hell it is, ask Squalo."

"It's about our new illusionist." Bel donned a sullen, almost pouting look. It was such a Lussuria-ish expression that – same as with Lussuria himself – Xanxus felt his hands itch to punch the little trash square in the face. A lot of patience was required to deal with Bel, and Xanxus had an extremely limited supply.

And he never thought it was his problem.

"Ask Squalo," he repeated in a deceptively quiet voice. "And if I have to say this again, I'll shoot your head off."

"I've already asked him." Bel backed away prudently, positioning himself closer to the exit, obviously hoping it would give him enough time to jump out into the corridor if the worst happened. "He says I'm the one who's going to have to work with the newbie because he's the replacement for Mammon."

"Your point, trash."

"I don't like him. I don't want to work with him. He's annoying. I can't see why it has to be me anyway."

Eyes narrowing, Xanxus fought the urge to roast the insolent little fuck on the spot. He could feel the familiar heat spread through his right hand, a foreshadowing of the Flame of Wraith ready to spring into existence and bring devastation. He almost wished Belphegor would be stupid enough to try and add something else, to announce that he was a prince and would do as he pleased, perhaps. Anything at all would serve as an excuse now. Leaning forward ever so slightly and flexing his fingers, Xanxus waited.

Sadly enough, even Bel, a useless piece of trash though he was, possessed enough brains to realize he'd gone too far. The brat froze, and although it was hard to tell with his hair covering half his face, his unseen eyes seemed to take in Xanxus' posture, darted to his hand, already beginning to glow with the orange light of the Flame, and finally focused on his face.

Bel closed his mouth, then opened it again and said, in a voice that sounded only a little strained.

"But if that's your decision, boss, I've got no problem with it."

Xanxus slouched in the chair again, disappointed. Very briefly, he considered setting Bel on fire anyway, but his heart wasn't in it. The world was too fucking boring already for him to resort to such a cheap trick. And even if he did, it would only amuse him for about five minutes and then he'd have to go through the whole tedious business of replacing one of the chief officers. The trash just wasn't worth the trouble.

Picking the glass up again, Xanxus half-closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at Bel and evaluated the situation. He hadn't bothered to issue any orders regarding the matter, but as far as he could see, there was nothing wrong with Squalo's decision. The little knife-loving scum sucked at working alone anyway. He had taken to leaving a trail like an elephant trampling through the jungle ever since Mammon bit the dust.

Of course, Xanxus mused, if he overruled Squalo's order it would piss the idiot off like nobody's business, and that was always entertaining. On the other hand, if he confirmed it, Bel would be pissedoff, and Bel was already here. And he was being annoying as hell.

"Do as you're told, trash."

Belphegor looked neither surprised nor put out. Instead, he actually beamed.

"So does that mean I'm the one in charge?"

Xanxus remembered Fran's retarded look, and his idiotic prattle and, most importantly, his laughable conviction that he would be able to outsmart everyone and escape. Rokudo's little lapdog hadn't said it out loud, of course, but Xanxus knew anyway because he'd listened very carefully to what the brat had kept to himself. People were too fucking easy to read most of the time, especially when they thought they had a perfect poker face.

Of course, just because Fran was so transparent didn't mean he wouldn't cause any trouble, and Xanxus despised dealing with unimportant stuff. He could certainly break Fran's spine himself, but what would be the point of being the boss if he still ended up doing menial labor? He kept the other scum around for that.

"You're in charge," he growled at Belphegor and, as soon as a wide grin began to spread across the bastard's face, he added. "You'd better not fuck up, Bel. If you do, I'll flay you alive and use your worthless hide for decoration."

For a moment, Belphegor's expression was blank, as if he were calculating pros and cons and, wisely enough, having doubts. Then the loony grin returned. "Sure, boss. Don't you worry, soon the frog will look more like Mammon than you can imagine."

Xanxus' first instinct was to ask how the hell Fran had become a frog, of all things, but he suppressed the urge. It would only prolong the discussion and, quite possibly, bring to the surface some stupid joke that was only funny as long as it floated inside Belphegor's delirious head. It wasn't like Xanxus gave a damn what his dogs called each other, provided they did as they were told. Provided they could boast of enough brains and skill to cope with the job.

As he watched Bel's retreating back, Xanxus took note of the fact that Belphegor, who was notorious for being the laziest of his subordinates, had decided to actually volunteer to do something. He must have a serious reason, and Xanxus had several theories as to what it might be, but now wasn't the moment to mull over the issue, and he filed it away for future use. Still, he was quite content with the result of the conversation. Initially, he had been planning to make Squalo responsible for Fran's behavior. It wasn't the most original plan, but it had a merit of being simple and it worked all the time. However, if Belphegor wanted to be useful, whatever his real reasons, why bother to stop him? Xanxus certainly couldn't care less about whose head he was going to bash if things went wrong.

Pulling the door open, Bel suddenly paused and turned to look back at Xanxus from under his long golden fringe.

"Hey, boss?"

"You're still here?"

"Not really. You knew, didn't you?"

Xanxus kept silent. A fucking blabbermouth that he was, Bel would undoubtedly go on regardless.

He did. "You picked this Fran yourself, right? You knew it'd be him all along, otherwise you would have tested his abilities to see if he was really the best we could get. You knew he was Rokudo's apprentice too, I bet."

Xanxus let his eyes close. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. The scumbag of a prince could talk to himself if he wanted.

"Did you have the keys to Mammon secret archive? Because you know, I can recall seeing the word Rokudo on the frogface's file, and I'm pretty sure it was your handwriting. I have a very good memory." There was a sound of muffled giggling. "Unlike some people."

Xanxus yawned, not even bothering to cover his mouth with a hand.

"Squalo bitched for hours that you'd sent him on a wild goose hunt and never told him anything. What were you going to do to him if he'd brought back a wrong guy?"

Too bad he hadn't, thought Xanxus regretfully, the sharkbait would've made a perfect target for his new rifle.

"How very cruel of you, boss."

Hm. Like he needed praise from any insects.

Bel laughed softly, triumphantly. "I can't wait to see Commander Squalo's face when he finds out."

That was a good point. Xanxus was looking forward to it too.

As the heavy door swung shut behind Belphegor, cutting off his annoying laughter, Xanxus opened his eyes lazily and examined the glass he was still holding in his hand. He was glad he had refrained from breaking it on Bel's head – for the sake of the wine, of course, not for Bel's sake. This wine was some good shit. A nice change from tequila, if nothing else. Xanxus finished the glass in one gulp and rose up unhurriedly, kicking the chair back as he did.

So Belphegor at least still remembered how to use his brains. How very uplifting. One of these days, he might even become competent enough for a job that required actual thinking. Not yet, of course, Xanxus added to himself as he threw a jacket over his shoulders and checked his guns, not until the brat learned that just because he'd come to understand something it wasn't always a good idea to open his big mouth and yack about it.

Locking the door to his office, Xanxus made his way down the stairs. It was almost night.

It was time to head out.

A/N: evil Xanxus is evil :D

Thank you all again for reading, and please leave me a review, I want to know what you think! :)