Author's Note : And... got nothing. Well, no. Got a new job, might be a bit wonky between posts. Other than that, have at.
Edited (3/21/29) - Minor corrections.
Russian Roulette : Second Chamber
Chapter 21
(Friday the 31st of July, 1970. De Mort Castle, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
"Usov," Sonya started with a touch awkwardly but then again, this topic was probably either going to be a non issue or a tricky one to navigate, "you're still a Zolotov."
"I am." Brightly agreed the Mist in question, giving her a slightly demented grin from under his father's elbow where he twisted to see her standing in the doorway clearly. Maximillian looked briefly alarmed while glancing between his son and her, but slowly relaxed the longer the silence went on and nothing happened.
"Do you have a plan for that?" She eventually asked warily, when nothing else seemed to happen.
The edge to the young child's smirk turned a bit more wicked, an impressive feat given it was already a shade too intent to be comfortable either seeing or wearing. "Of course!"
She glanced at the boy's father curiously who still looked only mildly alarmed, so it was probably safe to ignore him, then back at the one she had come to speak with. "Do I want to know?"
"Nope!" Usov's smirk was now almost wider than his entire face allowed, distinctly inhuman in either how wide it was or by how gleefully he was waiting for her to ask the obvious follow up.
Opting not to go there, she knew better, the thief turned to her master of domestic accounts rather uneasily waiting out her questioning the loyalty of his son. "Is everyone registered and the fees paid for the next school year? Did the kids pick a school they liked?"
"There were only a few to pi-"
"Aww…" Outright sulking while the older man nodded distractedly and tried to answer her, the second oldest Mist she had turned back to the little sheaf of comics he had been perusing before she entered the office space. "No fun, Dama."
Now stubbornly not going there, she pinned the boy's father with an expectant look to offer some other topic or issue. Maximillian looked entirely regretful for a full second, which really should've been a warning. "Usov, what are you doing?"
Brightening, to the point he was literally giving off visible light somehow and his shadow was reduced to nothing even under his tan corduroy pants, the child turned around on that old beaten up couch so fast he very nearly tore the paper he was holding. "I could start reporting on you, if you'd like…?"
That would do nothing but harass Gedeon, and quite frankly… "I have no grudge with the Zolotov clan, just the current leader."
Usov looked thoughtful now, which was honestly more terrifying than his gleeful-face. "Just the current leadership? How curious."
Leaving him to work out how to weasel that into whatever he had planned, she gave a half-hearted wave goodbye to the father son pair and got the hell out of there. She liked the kid decently well, but there was only so much specifically malicious Mist poking she could tolerate on a good day and Usov had pretty much made it his job to take it all up as often as he could.
Probably in a drive to ensure there would be no other Mists invited in to further 'infringe' on his… whatever it was. Sonya might know she was part of whatever Usov's Mistborn insanity had latched onto, but she didn't entirely understand how she was involved in it.
She did kind of wonder if his parents were part of it with her or not… but there was no way to ask without ensuring she'd never learn.
Alek glanced up at her curiously but didn't immediately paw at her boots to get picked up, so he could avoid the maids trying to sneakily pet him, meaning the Storm-Cloud ignored the canine for now. He'd whine at her if there was something wrong, or he just felt like being lazy.
On their way out from the back rooms of the castle, Cesare tipped his head in her direction which made her assume he wanted a word. Or just was acknowledging her passing by. At the very least, he seemed willing to speak with her instead of look at her strangely when she approached.
"I am a little surprised," started the chef-assassin in a reasonably business-like tone of voice, "how well your suggested cover ended up working. Not to say I've been specifically asking around, mind you, but all I can hear about that little outing is what you claimed would happen."
Sonya blinked at him blankly for a long moment, but he was rather systematically pressing a filling into some ravioli pasta wrappers without looking at her. "You're stranger than fiction."
He glanced at her over a shoulder questioningly.
"What's more interesting to talk about? Something run of the mill, or some happening that doesn't happen often coming from one of those 'dirty foreigners'?" The delicate sneer that crossed his face likely meant he entirely understood her point. "There will be those that suspect or realize the truth, more by those like you than those like me, and they will just be ignored by those that supposedly 'know better' about Flame user habits supposedly 'preventing' that truth."
Fuck, reminders still kind of hurt.
At least she knew Renato, or whoever he was becoming, was alright if just not here… unlike his old friends, who were all outright abandoned for the meantime.
…that is assuming the hitman was planning on picking up or reforging all his previous relationships later when he was 'safer'. Well, as safe as a Mafioso and contract killer could be in this life.
Rubbing the side of her neck as she wondered about that, the thief hesitated instead of continuing to wander her way up to the library to bury herself in more books. "Was there anything else?"
"Budgeting for meals isn't part of Maximillian's skill set." Cesare informed her leadingly, returning to his stuffed pasta shells and the ingredients to make more for the entire household's lunch.
"And you just so happen to know how to do it for Italy's markets?"
"I am a chef, with a somewhat checkered past, who worked in several medium to high-end restaurants before. Not to boast of past glories or anything." Sniffed the Mafioso faux arrogantly, throwing her a smirk as he finished systematically running through his freshly made pasta circles and herbed meat filling waiting to be pressed into them. "Not to mention, with your widespread nationalities represented in residence, perhaps a case might be made to set aside Wednesday or Thursday to make traditional foods of other cultures. Which would be only slightly more expensive, due to how difficult it might be to acquire the staples or spices more common in a particular slice of the world."
"Okay… not particularly objectionable." She knew full well he did it on request for breakfast, again depending on what ingredients he had on hand. "I take it you'd like to help manage your budget then?"
"Would not object if you wouldn't mind, but no. I am more angling for an acquisition budget, to buy up what might become available if I just so happen to find it."
That would be… four?
Four separate budgets for 'acquisitions'.
Adrik had one as part of the security setup, basically spending whatever he needed to ensure the basic of basic concerns were answered. Being a thief himself, he had a very damn good idea what was utterly crap verses what gave a professional a serious pause to encounter. Right now, he was getting a better than average idea of how much it all cost to have or get installed and doing the more obvious 'thieves here' signatures of residence that might not really apply this far from Moscow.
Hawk currently had her book budget looking for anything that even slightly seemed familiar to him in any bookstore he could find, and while it was a modest amount it was funds set aside for years for that exact or similar purpose it wasn't exactly unlimited nor with anything to replace what was spent. Now she had two books waiting to be published and marketed in European markets it was kind of slowly regenerating, fitfully and probably with no great rush but there was income fueling that.
Afanasii had one as the general handyman slash groundskeeper slash day-to-day gofer he was turning into. No real training or instruction in any job field aside factory work made it kind of sketchy to assign him a title, but the guy was generally filling in on inspecting any possible issue or ensuring the construction workers had the access they needed to finish up their work. Right as of now he was keeping an eye on the men installing an elevator at the back of the castle, between runs to the town to get fasteners or duct tape to ensure everything remained in working condition until professionals were called in.
Maximillian didn't really have one, but he had the entire household funds set aside for the castle to work with. He could squeeze something out of one of the accounts set up to handle bills or reasonable day to day expenses that might occur, but there wasn't a specific sum of money set aside for acquiring anything like household goods. Which… there probably should be, for cleaners and other cleaning goods for Ruslana's minding of the maids' efforts against dirt and dust in the castle.
"I would say 'fine, whatever' and hand you an entire pile of gemstones to pay for it, but I think Bjǫrn is about ready to actually swear at me for not using a currency he can track to pay you off."
Cesare tried, he really did, but the utterly delighted grin that snuck across his face kind of gave his thoughts on the matter away. "Oh… disappointing. I rather liked that charming habit of yours…"
Sonya considered it, because why not. She was the boss, and if she couldn't pay off her dues with a palmful of jewels then what kind of jewel thief was she?
…one not very apologetically murdered by her money man who was attempting to ensure this current lifestyle was sustainable without untraceable extras being poured into the cracks behind his back, so her godson had all the trappings he needed for his childhood living in a fucking castle. She could send her Lacky the gems to hawk and put into an account for Cesare, that would have to work.
She told her chef such, earning a wistful little sigh.
"I suppose that shall have to work, Lovely Bossy Dragoness." Allowed the man wryly, with a sly twitch of a movement dropping a tiny bit of extra meat to the floor which Alek immediately pounced upon and licked up. Ignoring that he did any such thing, he gathered up the freshly made ravioli to cook the rest of the way on the stove.
Guessing that was the end of that conversation, she padded on past the kitchens aiming for the staircases. Her sister was the next sudden interruption, which did allow enough time for her puppy to slink back to her side rather suspiciously licking his chops as nonchalantly as he could manage with slightly off-white fur advertising his presence so loudly.
"Nya!" With a slightly fixed grin to go with her cringe-inducing level of chipper-ness, the blonde obligingly waited to hear what slightly concerning thing the nurse had learned on her run around the local town. "Someone got murdered in the village."
Sonya blinked at her slowly but did at least follow along when she pulled her up the staircase away from probably eavesdropping maids. The redhead bounced over the banister aiming for the master bedroom the sisters were sharing, likely with the end goal of the shower in mind after speaking about whatever was on her mind.
"Not a crime of passion, either. Someone popped a middle-aged bachelor, in the dead of night, and there's almost no suspects to it from what the policeman I chatted up said. The Mirror Lady didn't spot it before it happened either."
"…well then, it probably wasn't a hitman." From her half-delirious eavesdropping on Renato lecturing Cherep about Catholic hitmen, 'innocents' would translate to some random man in the middle of nowhere who probably did nothing illegal in his life. If that held true beyond the next obvious step of background checks, then the culprit was more likely an assassin than one of the better Omertà enforcers. "Have… actually, I guess I'll talk with Anna later and ask if we had any visits by anyone from the Todd Famiglia the last few nights."
Her sister paused in assembling everything she would need for her post-exercise shower, giving her a strange look over her barred and tattooed shoulder. "The who?"
"I bargained with Viper to get myself a couple dossiers on the groups around here. The Todds are basically hired killers, without the charm of actual Mafiosi hitmen." Of course, she was using the term 'charm' lightly here. "They're more west than north of us, but thereabouts."
They were basically a clan without the brotherhood, and almost unrecognizable in consequence. Networked, of course, and entirely willing to do another's dirty work for the right price… but more like one of those kiddy gangs between syndicates back home than a 'Vongola' typed famiglia with the structure to go with it.
All that considered, it wasn't unlikely someone was testing how firmly she wanted to hold onto this little seaside town. In fact, it was damn likely some guy just got popped because she was being tested.
…that was fucking horrible, actually. Poor guy.
Even more, she had to consider her previous arrangements with Tyr and keep in mind that one faction of assassins might not appreciate that she was dealing with more southern types probably attempting to horn in on their 'backyard'… and she was enabling it.
Plastering a hand over her face, Sonya blew out a sigh. "Shit… well, it was nice while it lasted."
"And so it begins." Tatiana agreed brightly, backtracking just long enough to give her a brief but kind of sweaty hug in sympathy. "It could be worse, they could've tried for the parents of the kids you have here."
It was debatable if Adrik's presence as a guard or his preparations had anything to do with discouraging anything, but maybe. This might or might not have anything to do with the invitation Verde got for some egg-head thing or been done with the intent of matching up 'disasters' to fluster her.
"It'll be good for old man Yaozu's business, at least." Allowed the younger thief wryly as she dropped her hand back to her side, then very nearly stepped on the so-far silent Alek attempting to sneak up behind her for whatever reason. "And his neighborhood watch thing, once he opens his doors."
"Is he still quibbling over whether or not to critique our Fut Gar styles?"
"Me? Hell no. You? He's wavering over." When her sister poked her head out of the bathroom to give her a frankly bewildered look, Sonya attempted for a smirk. She feared it rather fell flat. "You're a nurse. You heal."
Tatiana snickered as she disappeared behind the door again. "…that is adorable. How does someone that old remain that innocent?"
Given the shower in her frankly extravagant bathroom started up in the next second, any reply she might've made would've been lost to the noise of rushing water.
A bunch of murderous thugs poking at her could only really be answered one way, as just intimidation would not work unless a minor miracle happened. Disgusted or not with a completely unconnected murder being used to 'test her', the Storm-Cloud gave a second to be mildly irked there weren't any career killers free and near she could pass the bloody work off to.
Other than Cesare, but Cesare had work to do.
She might be a killer, but she didn't really want to be. Not that anyone, either here in Italy or even back home in Moscow, was willing to let her not be one.
…well, she could not. Then whatever happened to her residents would entirely be her fault for not getting on top of threats, if it wasn't something a bit of Sun Flames or a bit of violence could solve.
Her puppy decided to stare up at her in question, likely wondering why she was sighing into an empty room when there was nothing interesting going on anymore. Yet again the dratted animal was between her damn boots, which didn't really help her current preoccupation of trying not to step on her pet.
"I wonder if the two of you are somehow brain damaged. Marco will gleefully greet any old human, probably even one intending on snapping his neck. You seem to want to be stepped on today."
Her answer was a furiously wagging tail as he delighted in her attention per usual… which didn't really contradict anything she was wondering.
Checking her wristwatch, she sighed again and figured that was pretty much all the morning gone already. Shamal and Zinaida should be back from the Cavallone Famiglia ranch within the hour, and while she could read when the brat was home the kid would inevitably interrupt with some idea or another that he wanted her to do with him.
More likely, she should probably gather the things to hit the beach. It had been a few days, brat might just want a dip to cool off this afternoon and it would tire out the dogs nicely for this evening. She could bring a book too, so the whole day wouldn't be a complete loss.
(Tuesday the 4th of August, 1970. Sonya & Tatiana's Apartment, Mafia Land.)
"I," Bjǫrn insisted sourly as he sorted paperwork to include another two or three acquisition accounts and where he might pull the money to fill them from, "am fifteen. How did I become responsible for all of this?"
"You started it by following my ass, take responsibility." His Lady demanded blandly from the other end of the line, sounding honestly bored of talking to him already. It was one of those rare times when she reported in on the rare evenings Maximillian took off for his family, which meant they could discuss some more business-side related news. "Was there an actual reason you want me to hang on?"
Twitching slightly, usually Sonya's nonchalant attitude was usually easy to work with but it could be highly aggravating some handful of times. Mostly when actual fucking contracts were in hand. He slowly pulled the handful of papers over, so he could read off the information as she would probably ask for it. "Your book sold out."
"…what?"
"One of the books you had me publish for you, the 'bait book', sold out. As a matter of fact, Dama, there was a bidding war which drove up demand when other markets took notice. The bidders weren't exactly professionals as they accidently drove up the price by not keeping rumor to a minimum while bidding."
"What?"
"Between some buyer in America and one in the Asian markets, for the very first copy off the presses." Bjǫrn continued mercilessly, attempting to pull off her unbothered tones and probably failing a little bit. "You now have a legitimate income to tax because there's going to be a hastily done reprinting to satisfy demand, and with the contract we have with the publisher that means we get almost forty percent of the gross profit from it."
His boss opted to remain silent, if he knew her at all she was probably giving the phone receiver in her hand a strange look as she attempted to absorb what he was telling her.
"Furthermore someone, more than likely the publishing house we went through, let the news of the second volume leak. So there's been demand for that already… and said publisher would very much like to know when you will be sending that one in for them to print off."
"…how, the fuck, did that happen?" Demanded his Lady shortly, as with most new things getting immediately irritated when she didn't understand right away.
"You did spend a few weeks in America teaching a class, Dama. Then there was that tournament you participated in. Both of which were events you were not particularly quiet about." When his answer was only a judgmental sniff, Bjǫrn patiently continued. "And then, there were those two Balls in Italy. The interests from our side of the world leaked into the other… meaning a small but growing number of people now know your non-de plume."
She grumbled a bit indistinctly, then huffed in disgust. "I guess I am very much not anonymous anymore."
"No, Dama. You're not."
"…fuck. It wasn't supposed to be that popular. Just something to explain away a claim of 'author'."
He set aside the notes and letters their publishing house sent him. "It's not, if it's any consolation. It was just unusual interest that couldn't be explained adequately artificially inflating demand for a while. The contents and meaning hold next to no value against that."
"Yeah, thanks. Not really helping much, are you?" A sigh, some solid noise he wasn't putting past being a thump of a forehead against something like wood, and only after thinking for a couple seconds more did she continue. "Fuck, whatever. Maybe it'll go away if I ignore it long enough. I need you to arrange a few things for the next few weeks… or whenever I get around to it."
"…Dama?"
Sonya snorted softly before she continued. "You recall Hawk, right?"
Bjǫrn had to seriously think about it, and apparently was taking way too long trying to rack his mind for her.
"The guy I picked up from Viper."
"…ah?" The extra ticket, before the extras of an entire small family for young Larion the Rain? "I believe I know who you're speaking of."
"Right, him. I need something, not here, for him to do when I go back to work."
Her Lackey blanked out on anything remotely helpful to offer. "…doing what?"
"Anything else that means I don't have to have someone so unknown even he doesn't know what he's capable of behind me." She hummed a moment, forestalling his other question about how he was responsible for finding this man more or other work. "After I take him up to France for a day or two. I'm also going to need you for that one too, and anything you can think of to keep a former civilian law enforcement agent from actually finding something to hold against us if I have him search out Hawk's past history in his side of the world. Hawk can't find anything remotely familiar, Viper struck out well beforehand, so the last thing to do is forge him some identification that can stand up to anything that could happen in the future… like a bit of his past coming due."
"…okay, and-"
"And then, Verde's got some egghead convention to go to. He needs contracts to cover Omertà that other eggheads can respect and maybe a few to cover whatever people put scientists under contract for… and maybe a bodyguard. I'll be going, but who knows what kind of bullshit is being pulled here."
He pursed his lips, a small suspicion building. "And then-?"
"Then, I need another nom-de plume for the history text. Completely and totally divorced from my current aliases. And, as my sister is kind of retired from doing it and my mother definitely is, I might as well get a few alternate identifications crafted professionally until I can establish better ones myself. Which means I need you to set it up before the end of the month."
…point to his Lady. Passive-aggressive bitchiness was apparently something she could pull off a hell of a lot better than he could. Then again, she was the boss.
"Anything else?" Jolting down the entirety of other aims he now had to do, which was a semi-impressive monthly laundry list he would have to slightly scramble to start beginning with the end and working his way up it, he started mentally plotting out his next few days to get the long-term concerns started as quickly as possible.
"That old-timer. The guy you had deliver my traveler's cheques by. He still alive?"
Bjǫrn blinked blankly at his rather untidy desk, not really seeing his pad of note paper as he strained his memory to recall the incident and who he had sent to her. "I can find out."
He had the name and service number somewhere, he made specific note of it so it might be in the pile of paperwork in the desk's drawers… or wherever he emptied out his pockets that day.
"He'd know what to look for as one of Verde's bodyguards, so then he can teach Hawk in the moment instead of leaving everything up to Adrik to cram into his head before the event-thing." Sonya sounded rather pleased with knitting those two likely absent-minded thoughts together while he leafed through his old paperwork pending rewriting for archiving, which also heaped upon him a rather interesting set of meetings to get through to her expectations.
He had to be the one to convince the old-timer that the job was legit and wasn't intended to kill him first… while also protecting his Lady's interests enough the vet wouldn't be able to use anything he learned against her or them.
…perhaps he should remember what he could do in revenge to other clients were not things he could do to his patron in this lifestyle. Tyr the Sword Emperor was one thing, she was entirely different and up there with Viper in making him regret things deeply for even minor infractions.
"Garrett McCarthy." Bjǫrn read off from a scrap of paper that looked to come from the pad he kept in his breast suit pocket for scraps of information like this, earning himself a short stint of silence from her.
"…who?"
"The man you wanted me to speak with, Dama. The veteran around here we used before."
She hummed, somehow making it sound thoughtful instead of patronizing. "Then I guess you have a lot of paperwork to do."
Yes, yes he did.
(Thursday the 13th of August, 1970. Yaozu's Dojo, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
Cracking open the small crate liberally plastered with 'fragile!' warning decals using the crowbar he had brought down from the castle's store of random tools, Yaozu wrenched the wooden lid off to clatter to the floor with a sharp jerk of the metal and then delicately brushed some of the flattened straw padding the contents to the side. Revealing the top few of a set of fourteen hard to acquire mirrors he had liberally traded on Fēng's willingly given assistance to find.
Mingxia peered over his elbow, then glanced at him worriedly. "I don't get it, sifu. How are these to help?"
Plucking somewhat irritably at his strange western style 'shirt tails', he pulled a slight bit of slack in the sturdy cotton to polish one of the topmost mirrors. "Watch, little Ming."
The mirrors were very much unremarkable circles of reflective bronze to all appearances, that was the point of them. It was only when they reflected did they turn into something less ordinary than simple polished metal circles, an old trick he had nearly forgotten about until the question of how to suitably hide his knowledge so his students could find it if need be was raised.
"These," he informed the young Rain pointedly as he aimed the surprisingly detailed reflection to hit the polished wooden floor they had finished last week, "are t'ou kuand ching. I know you do not know much of our history, Ming, so I do not fault you for not knowing of them. They were used to signal to one another safe places for various aims, from the worship of Christianity when it was banned in Japan to even for noble use in displays of wealth in the steppes of Mongolia. For a long time, the secret of crafting these mirrors were recorded in a book that was long lost to us."
Reflecting off the highly polished mirror he was holding was the slightly blurry image of a tongue of fire and the traditional Chinese characters spelling out 'Lightning'. A signal that he was aware of Lightning Flames, that was both hidden and obvious if he needed it at the right… or wrong, moment.
Yaozu might be forced to obey a code of silence not his own for his own protection, but that did not mean he had to be equally as oblique when the rule of 'hidden' was satisfied. Miss Bazanova had seemed skeptical of the mirrors' purposes but uninterested in preventing his acquisition when he proposed this way to signal his involvement in the use of Dying Will Flame use, only suggesting he also acquire the 'of Earth' set of designs to go with.
That she could not answer what types the of Earth Flames were did slightly upset those plans, but he had been satisfied when she offered to inform him as soon as she knew. As he didn't know much beyond just 'Earth', he had opted for just two sets of the 'Sky' mirrors for the time being.
"…if the art was lost, then how do you possess these?"
"A western scientist eventually unlocked the secret of etching in even what seems to be an unblemished surface and returned the technique to us." For a bare handful of decades, then the current troubles started and all those that knew how to reproduce the 'magic mirrors' stopped advertising that they could do so.
He was lucky enough to recall an old fellow student to his third-to-last master who had eventually left the life of a martial artist behind to pursue a life as a craftsman instead, who proved not entirely hostile to her brother's inquiries about if he could make the mirrors for him. Yaozu was not going to ask how that interaction had gone, merely trusting his former student would not embarrass him.
Or if he had, then trusting that he had a good reason to embarrass him so.
Mingxia sat back, flicking red eyes from the unmarred mirror's surface to the distinct glowing reflection gleaming on the floorboards and then up to his own. "Sifu… is this safe?"
Yaozu knew why she worried, and that helped him not take offense to her questioning him in this matter. He was equally as concerned to avoid coming to the attention of apparently even more supernatural enforcers of a code of silence policing a fraction of man able to use some supernatural abilities of their own.
"It will depend on who young Usov and Miss Anna allow through enough to see them." He wasn't quite as comforted by the thought as she was, he had less reason to trust in the 'Mists' than he did in a Cloud's strength of arm or stilted charisma. "But I spoke with Miss Bazanova, and she said nothing against the use of these mirrors."
"They are very clever." Mused the equally young Rain, peering into the opened crate at his far side and the thirteen other mirrors waiting to be pulled out and hung up. "Do you think these will work in place of a wall of mirrors?"
"I will be getting one, the installation will be this weekend once the glass order arrives. However one wall will only show one side of a situation, these will not only signal to students needing more than I can admit to but also be placed in blind spots around this floor." Fishing a ball of twine from the shopping bag the girl had brought with her before meeting with him, he settled in to craft a thin rope strong enough to support the heavy metal mirrors for later placement along the walls.
Yaozu was intending to place them either upon the front wall or close to it as he could, that way they would only reveal their hidden images when the late afternoon sun struck the yet to be installed mirror wall and reflected strong enough light back to the mirrors to show the etchings. Until such possibly rare times, he had to wait to see how well the positions worked and if he would move them only once it was tested, they would be obviously just for him to spot any mischief or bad posture among any students.
Indeed, they would be also as useful for that aim as the one he originally approached this idea with.
The spool of rough string was taken from him as soon as he had a decent length, the young teenager confidently copying him in creating a netting to hold the bronze mirrors up. They worked silently for most of the morning, a familiar chore in an unfamiliar land providing what he hoped was a small sense of home for them both. Several nights were spent together with him teaching her how to mend a few things that could be found around a household.
"I am glad you seem to be feeling more settled, sifu. It is not healthy to remain indoors all day for weeks."
The elderly man had more than enough self-control to not grimace at the reminder of the last few months upon moving to this part of the world. "I believe I look forward to the times Miss Bazanova is not in residence. Then Master Assassins will likely not visit for some time."
Mingxia coughed sheepishly, winding clever fingers into the twine aimlessly and ruining the last ten minutes of work she had gotten through. "I believe he might be moving in either at the end of the western calendar or the start of the New Year. Across the mountainside, with his… group. Of likeminded… agents."
He glanced at her and sighed when nothing teasing was given away by her avoidance of his gaze. "…as long as they stay out of my dojo, I will not mind. Much."
Picking up the bronzed mirror from his lap, he wove the net of twine around the hidden catch edges to hold the weight aloft as he needed them to.
"Do you feel better about this, at least?" Inquired Mingxia softly, slowly and methodically mending the damage she did in a moment of inattention instead of getting flustered with the mistake and making it worse with haste. "I know this was not what you planned on… especially not even speaking to big brother."
"No one knows what the future holds for anyone, much less for themselves." He informed her pointedly, knotting the twine to hold everything together and not fall once hung up. "As you could likely not have claimed to always be aware you would follow a westerner outside of China's borders to seek your dreams on your own terms, I cannot say I expected to end up here… but I am and therefore I will make the best of it."
She selected one of the plain bronzed mirrors to secure with her netting, frowning faintly. "It cannot be easy to leave one's homeland at the end of your life."
"Equally, it cannot be easy to leave all you know before you can really live."
Mingxia blinked back at him reprovingly as she knotted off her mirror. "I am not an old man long since set in my ways."
He sniffed, but the truth just was and so he didn't take offense. He merely started unwinding another length of twine to secure another mirror. "I am not a young girl seeking my own way in life somewhere I do not know."
The teenager, and it was not entirely hard to forget how young she really was sometimes, sniffed imperiously she had very obviously learned from the fiery Tatiana Primakova. "When do you think you will open the dojo, sifu?"
"In time. There is no rush." He could afford to wait until everything was done, unlike how he had to open his first school in his father's backyard before he could acquire the sum to purchase his own building. "Likely before the end of the month, if not sooner. So then, little Ming, are you doing better now as well?"
She nodded slowly, pursing her lips and giving his question serious enough thought. "There were a few days there I didn't know what possessed me to ask Miss Sonya to help me. Russia wasn't particularly hard, I had you and her family was very understanding… but here was completely different."
"There were others from our homeland in Moscow, you and I were still one of a few handfuls there." He pointed out bluntly, but not unkindly. "Here we only have one another, unless my wayward student designs to visit us."
"It will happen more often than you think… as soon as big brother gains the permission somehow out of Miss Sonya." The wry little smirk on her face now spoke exactly how she expected her elder to gain an open invitation to another's home.
Likely, by being as much of an annoying brat as he had been way back when he was just another hotheaded angry young man newly saddled with responsibility to a baby sister he did not know how to care for. Fēng, or Fong as the young man insisted on being addressed as, had a particular talent developed over a hard childhood to be as annoying and as pleasant as humanly possible at the same time.
A talent which he had honed on him irritatingly enough, and equally as irritatingly seemed entirely unaware of how aggravating another might see his behavior.
Yaozu didn't feel particularly bad that bad habit of his former student would be centered on their host, the woman wasn't an innocent in much however she was in his currently muddled feelings over the secrets that had been kept from him.
Better her than him.
He finished netting his second mirror, only to watch with amusement as Mingxia fumbled retrieving her second and the metal clanked to the floorboards noisily.
The clumsiness that came with puberty was expected, he had guided several hundred students through this point in their lives as their reach and balance developed, and thankfully these mirrors were made of solid metal rather than the westerner glass affairs that might've harmed his ward when dropped.
As it was, all the mirror did was put a dent into his dojo's floors rather than cut the girl's fingers up when she snapped out a hand in an unwise attempt to catch a heavy disk of pure bronze.
(ooo000ooo)
(Thursday the 13th of August, 1970. De Mort Castle, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
"I am not entirely sure if that satisfies our obligation to upholding Omertà."
Sonya plastered a hand over her face, a something that was turning into a habit the more of these little 'minion' things she acquired. "Don't tell me that now, Tyr. I think old man Yaozu is entirely too wedded to the idea to be parted from it easily."
The assassin, annoyingly enough, just blinked at her.
She gave up trying to be remotely productive, because fuck knew she was being piss poor at it this summer. Alek gave a startled yelp to be suddenly hauled up off his paws and into her lap, but her dog eventually got the idea she needed a distraction at hand to fiddle with more than he needed to sniff around the new back patio furniture.
They could only stay out here now that the elevator work was done for the day, and talk frankly because all the civilians were out of the castle. Sonya herself had finally figured out she was entirely too jittery to stick to one project, belatedly catching on to the fact she had been somewhat erratically bouncing from idea to problem to distraction without really making any progress on anything.
Sitting outside seemed to help the rebuilding restlessness that had her running from peak to peak last month, if only a little. The young canine in her lap didn't very often, if only because Alek needed regular walks and exercise to go with regular feeding and bathroom breaks. Basically, he was just more distractions from what she wanted to do and then there was Shamal and Marco who tended to just compound that problem.
If it wasn't for her godson, and the safety of everyone involved, she'd seriously start thinking about heading back to Mafia Land to get on top of her other responsibilities already. She was bored, and almost itching to do more than mere domestic tasks.
It wasn't really the longest she had gone doing nothing productive, but certainty the longest she spent at 'home' without at least planning on a job or some way around her contracts to have more get done with minimal effort. There were things done, and things started, but notably she had just been giving orders and not doing it herself.
"…okay, wait. When I swore to Omertà, it was to keep my work and lifestyle from law enforcement." She ticked off a finger to help illustrate her point, then waggled two at him. "Then there were the Vindice Laws, but those are more 'no government' than 'no civilians'."
"As did I, however I am not the one you must convince."
"It should be a non-issue." Sonya insisted, only for the damn assassin she had asked to verify there wouldn't be any major problems with the old Chinese man's plans to be completely unhelpful yet again. "The civilians aren't the ones we're hiding from."
"The civilians are not stupid." Tyr insisted back as pointedly from his seat across the little glass patio table. "All it takes is one to speak unwisely to cause an incident you may be required to clean up to keep your elderly martial arts master."
"Yaozu's an old Chinese man, a 'mystic master of martial arts' to boot, and it's a half natural weather phenomenon slash half rainbow motif." She countered equally as pointedly, running the fingers of her left hand through the canine's ruff and earning herself a pleased huff. "Pretty sure 'secret criminal fire-based spiritual ability' will not be anyone's, much less anyone that believes themselves to be logical like most 'detectives', will believe."
Her guest hesitated at that, looking distinctly puzzled for a moment. "You know… I never really thought about it like that."
Shooting him an exasperated look, the thief waved a hand in the air between them. "Tyr, you can literally light a fire with your mind. You collect assassins out of a group of people able to burst into a rainbow of colors at will. How did you miss exactly how ridiculous our abilities really are?"
The older man snorted, managing to make the sound dignified instead of rude. "Overfamiliarity, more than likely. Flames have been part of my life for decades."
"I've still got at least a decade less than you." Rolling her eyes, Sonya slouched slightly to make more lap space for Alek to occupy. Who was a little big to be sitting pretty in her lap now, a bit bewildering since barely a month and a half ago he could almost fit into both hands comfortably.
She blamed Cesare.
The dog kibble only lasted approximately three days before the temperamental assassin-chef tossed the lot out claiming the 'mass produced dross' offended every one of his sensibilities to serve even if it was to two dogs that would eat spoiled scraps dug out of the trash just as eagerly. For a solid month now, the canines had been eating just as well if not better than the human residents of the castle and probably a bit more in scraps everyone seemed entirely unable to stop feeding the greedy beasts.
It showed, especially as both had quadrupled in size and were working on yet another few inches to go with another stone or so of weight.
Which then also reminded her that Alek and Marco needed new collars, once they had grown out of the puppy ones bought on the day of their arrival neither she nor Shamal bothered collaring either.
"You are a pain in the ass." Sonya informed her dog, who gazed up at her with innocent doggy trust that all she spoke were sweet nothings he probably wanted to hear more than what she really said. "I need to get you vaccinated and licensed, before the end of the month. Otherwise you'll be keeping your littermate and my godson company this year instead of coming with me."
The dratted thing decided whacking both knees with his whippy banner of a tail was a brilliant idea as his butt hung over one thigh and left the appendage to originally dangle between them, and to be brutally honest it started to hurt after ten or so times.
"What are you going to do about your master martial artist, then?" Tyr inquired politely enough, pretending more interest in refreshing the coffee Cesare had made him even if the man utterly refused to drink any of it.
She held the suspicion he was boiling it off with judicious use of Flames on the sly, just so there was something to refresh. "Nothing."
When he shot her a sharp look, the thief rolled her eyes.
"I have Mists. Yaozu can do whatever he feels is necessary, they'll take care of the rest."
He saluted her or her idea with his coffee cup, sitting back and not entirely managing to covertly give the contents a dubious look. "Why ask me?"
"…well, I would've asked D'Attilio… if the damn man remembered I existed." Alek nosed under a hand, insistent in being rewarded for patiently occupying her lap as she wanted. Absently scratching behind his fluffy ears, she tried not to think about how she would've asked Renato had he still been around. "As it is, Fiorella has… hesitations regarding our secrecy so asking Mrs. Silvery-White isn't exactly easy."
The assassin keeping her company this afternoon set down his cup with a slight clink of china against glass. "In wishing to keep up with your investigations of disembodied Mist threats, I did look into Instructor D'Attilio's present duties. As I had theorized, he is currently involved with cleaning up a minor incident between three famiglias and a disputed Cloud foundling."
Sonya raised an eyebrow but had to give the Mafia School instructor his dues for getting entangled in that mess. "Better him than me."
Shamal, after noisily banging the back doors against the brickwork behind them, puffed hard from his probable running down staircases and glared at them both. "Now my room is clean, mamma."
"Mmhmm… did you clean Luigi's cage? Should I check now?"
Her brat glared, grumbled something indistinct she probably should let go without asking about, and snagged the door in his Flames to slam close behind him before his poor puppy could manage to sneak out to join them.
Tyr glanced over at her curiously, and she just had to smirk. "Eventually he'll recall he's a Mist and can do this all instantly if there's really something that damn important pending… but for now he's expecting me to take him for gelato for helping the maids clean his bathroom after Marco had a bit of an accident last night. He was rather put out I checked his room earlier before you showed up, and then he was very shocked I poked into the corners and under his bed when you showed up as I asked."
"Specifically flustering your godson?"
"Flustering a person makes them react stupidly and with unseemly haste. Especially if you can be entirely innocent when pulling it off. Not even Flame users are immune to that facet of human nature. Hence why he's not thought of using his Flames to do whatever it is he had against me speaking to adult men." Alek whined pitifully when she stopped petting him, slithering down to the bricks of the patio obediently when she pulled herself upright and he lost his seat. He shook out his fur as he adjusted being back on his paws while she picked pale strands of fur off her jeans. "The more experience he has with it, the less he might do something stupid he will regret later."
He blinked at her slowly, then a confusingly wry little smirk crossed his face. "I see…"
"He will make me uphold my end of that, so I will need to leave shortly. I'm running out of things to tag onto 'clean your room'."
The master assassin inclined his head, rising to his feet. "I have already tarried overly longer than I meant to, myself. As per usual, speaking with you is equally informative and interesting. I thank you for the time you've spared me."
"Thank you for checking into that situation for me, even if that just meant the precautions I had ready were necessary." Sonya returned obediently to the formula of social niceties, a tiny touch confused as the man didn't often bother with saying goodbye. "Have a good day, Master Tyr."
Alek very pointedly skirted around the man, quivering his nose as the assassin she could now positively identify as a Sky even with his almost paranoid caution against using his Flames openly passed him.
Then the animal sneezed loudly, giving her an unreadable look through his blue eye.
"Fuck you, I'll keep whatever company I want." Her dog looked adorably confused when she stuck her tongue out at him to punctuate the statement, more than likely wondering what that might mean coming from her.
Asshole, he stuck out his tongue at her almost every day.
Shamal, apparently having utterly enough of being run around like a farm fowl that had been recently beheaded, jumped out of a second story window and bounced off the fencing around the garden plot to a stop next to her. "I'm really done now, mamma… what are you doing?"
"Nothing." Pushing up to her boots, Sonya snagged her purse from the patio table and hooked it over a shoulder. "Let's go then. Bring Marco, we need to get them new collars."
(Saturday the 15th of August, 1970. De Mort Castle, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
Scruffy examined the molded metal tray that was the result of three days' worth of engineering calculations and beating on said metal plate with a hammer only to get bitched out when he hammered something a micro measure too much, then started clamping it down to the heat-resistant surface he was 'renting'. "Well, here goes nothing then."
Verde looked highly unimpressed with his blasé comment. "Apologies for attempting to reduce the waste glass that results from cutting the scales."
"I did not say anything against you, Verde. There was little else to do while we worked out the kinks in the next glass mix recipe, so the effort is entirely appreciated." Especially if they were to meet the scientist's self-imposed goal of sending Sonya off this month with a complete set of arm and leg guards.
Cutting the fiddly drips of glass was a pain in his ass, and this would at least have things in the right general shape before he pressed them against a grinding table to finish the glass armor scales.
At least now they had more than enough of the spider silk string to be doubly sure that everything would hold together even if the glass cracked a handful of false jewels again.
Taking the protective gear off the nearby brand-new work bench, basically a pair of padded heavy leather gloves and a welding mask, the Sun pulled everything on and the blacksmith's apron hanging from a hook before carefully opening the ominously glowering glass forge.
The Lightning standing by to observe how well their makeshift form tray worked handed him the tongs he then used to carefully pull the crucible of molten glass out of the forge. Three steps back, two to the side, and he equally as carefully poured a tiny bit of the glowing hot mix into the waiting divots in the metal tray until the heavy ceramic canister was as empty as it would get.
There were a couple waste drops, Scruffy was only human and under this much leather and padding even a Sun could start sweating enough to foul any grip and blind oneself. A few overspills that might be cut away with a sacrificial pair of wire cutters once things cooled down enough ruined his attempt at pouring uniformed measures into each depression, but there were now thirty pebble-sized and roughly shaped teardrop beads of the molten yellow glowing glass.
…they would only find out what color this batch was when it finally cooled enough. Given their proposed light purple/Cloud mix had turned out sea-green, there was no real way to tell even from the chemical composition. However, now that they were approximately uniform in size the glass dollops should all be cool enough to work with at the same time.
"Think this will work?" He inquired from his lab-mate once he peeled off the heaviest parts of his heat protection.
"I refuse to speculate." Scoffed the Frenchman sourly, giving him a dirty look before stalking off to his corner of the first basement level laboratory he had paid to be built.
Scruffy sighed, absently stripping off his gloves and frowning at the burned thumb.
These were a new pair…
…and there was a burn hole in the thumb. That went all the way through.
Checking his hands next, he hesitantly brushed the smudge of ash off a thumbnail. "…Verde?"
"What?"
"…are Flame users immune to heat?"
The scientist's glasses flashed under the fluorescent glare of the lab lights as he glanced over a shoulder. "Of course we are. Otherwise it would not be possible to hold a palm full of one's Flames in a hand."
"Any heat sources?" He pressed uneasily, relieved he hadn't burned his left thumb to the point of disfigurement but unsure if he fully understood the ramifications of not needing protective gear to handle something approaching almost two thousand degrees Celsius.
Easily three thousand in Fahrenheit.
"…Scruffy, may I point out to you that you are a fair-skinned man." Verde suddenly started jarringly off-topic pointedly, turning back to his own work with restless movements. "Who had been held in bondage for some measure of time approaching, by your own educated guess, a decade in an environment often described as a tropical or intertropical climate. How then did you not burn red to the point of being leathery brown, and instead remain mainly undamaged from excessive sun exposure with just a deep tan that is fading even now?"
He turned around to aim a pointed frown at his lab mate's back. "Can I handle molten glass with my bare hands?"
"Theoretically."
"…not so theoretically now, Verde. Part of the gloves charred away, and something hit my thumbnail… but there's no damage."
Suddenly abandoning whatever he had going with the culture dishes and specimen cages set up over there, the green-haired man swiftly had Scruffy's hands placed on his work bench. A few feet from the cooling glass drips, but still clearly displayed to inspect for any heat warping in flesh.
The scientist blinked at the tanned skin, nonplussed at the smear of ash on one thumb that was all that was shown. "…intriguing."
"I'm not reaching in there and scraping out the waste glass with my bare hands."
"Of course not. That would be hasty and ill-thought out, when we can systematically approach testing this immunity to find the extreme edges of tolerance instead." Smirking somehow evilly, he released Scruffy's hands and wandered back to his side of the lab in aims of writing materials given which pile of supplies he was generally aiming for. "As a matter of fact, we could outsource this particular experiment if you feel unsettled by it."
"I… didn't say that."
"Nonsense." Dismissed the younger man swiftly, writing something out in his cramped handwriting for badgering someone later with. "Your glancing brush with losing your hands have obviously rattled your nerves. It would be the least I can arrange to assist you as part of my equipment failed to protect you as required by safety regulations."
…he had the sinking suspicion Verde had multiple, evil, scientific plans for this discovery. He was also pretty sure he didn't want to get involved, as the other man was very obviously angling for.
Scruffy reluctantly concluded it wasn't his business. Very reluctantly.
It had nothing to do with how his lab partner started snickering evilly to himself as he wrote whatever out, and the wide if somewhat razor thin smirk on the younger man's face. Mostly, it had to do with remembering Cesare had caved and stocked some beer somewhere for the Russian fathers and wanting a few bottles of that before getting on with his work down here.
(ooo000ooo)
(Saturday the 15th of August, 1970 continued. De Mort Castle, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
"Can I ask a question?"
"You just did, pipsqueak. However, as I am a magnanimous man, you certainly may ask another if you wish." The disgusted crinkle of a nose was not nearly as satisfying as the darkly disgusted look Renato would've pinned him with for that, but Cesare would take it.
The child very obviously rethought asking him his question, but eventually he gave a petulant sigh before posing it. "Why a chef?"
Pausing, both hands still dug into the meat mix he had made up to make meatballs with, he gave the little Mist at his side a questioning look. "Why so interested?"
Shamal nibbled on a baguette slice to buy himself a few seconds, likely to order his thoughts much like his godfather would if he asked a moment before being utterly sure of which questions he could afford to ask.
The resemblance, even if it was not based in any physical feature, hurt less and less the more Cesare saw of this child unconsciously copying a habit of a Mafioso that had a strong presence in his life up to a few short weeks ago.
Less, but still a sore happening.
"Mister Renato is… was, a hitman because he didn't like how scruffy detectives looked." Glowering as he forcibly corrected himself, the child restlessly tore a bit of his bread off to feed his hulking young canine a tiny bit of crust so he didn't have to show if he teared up any or not. "Mamma is a thief, and she likes to read so she also writes a few books. Zia likes to heal, but she's Sunny like that. Zio is a 'adrenaline junky' so he shows off… according to mamma."
…did Renato really claim that?
Stubbornly pressing his mouth flat against a highly amused smirk as he slowly rolled a palmful of meat around to shape them into balls Cesare started methodically working through his bowl of breadcrumbs, seasoned raw ground meat, and one fresh egg. "Well… I didn't start cooking because I enjoyed it."
They all had been burned a few too many times to feel comfortable about talking of their early years, even the smallest details needed to properly tell a story might reveal a habit of one of the others so it was just easier to deny and lie instead when asked. Shamal was asking about his history, and the only other one that might be impacted by sharing was already gone as it was…
"You realize your godfather was a beast of a Sun, yes?" Checked the Mafioso first, smirking tiredly at the pointedly irked look he got drilled into the underside of his jaw in return. "Recall how much your zia eats to sooth Lady Vongola every night, child. Then put that together with 'not even a quarter' of the Sun he was."
Shamal frowned as he obediently thought, then the little crease between his brows got deeper as he wondered.
"We weren't… exactly rolling in excess funds." Cesare allowed, only a tiny bit bitterly for how many years had passed since then had dulled the indignity. "Some nights, we were lucky to eat at all. Renato's abilities, when he sourly consented to use his glittery gold Flames, kept us mostly in one general piece but we didn't really understand the price until… well, he stretched it a bit too far one particularly messy afternoon."
The Mist squinted at him, ignoring that his pet was trying to snag the rest of the bread out of his hands and only being foiled because the scrap of baguette wavered in and out of reality as needed. "Suns need to eat to heal."
"I understand that now, yes." That Tatiana felt no hesitation asking him for more to eat when she felt the need was a credit to how well she was raised, or for how well she was informed. Almost absently placing the last meatball in place on the pan, he discarded the bowl into the sink on his side of the kitchen and turned on the water to wash not only the glass bowl but his hands. "We didn't at the time."
Cesare always did kind of wonder if Renato's disinclination to heal others was based more in half remembered stomach pangs of slowly starving himself to death rather than just being more suited to killing instead of healing. Passing out from said starvation after preventing a rather agonizing death from happening might not have helped much either.
"I started to cook because it was practical. Stretched out our supplies just a tiny bit more to cover those 'small expenditures of energy'." Then it also let him ensure Renato actually fucking ate enough for a Sun Flame user since the brat would only steal what he needed from the others' plates if there was enough to go around.
He resorted to forcing on the baby hitman raw tomatoes garnished with salt more than he was comfortable admitting to, if only because stealing a few tomatoes from a backyard or rooftop garden and getting salt from the sea was simple enough if you knew how to go about it. At least the Mafioso had developed a taste for them instead of hating the very sight, although an Italian that didn't like tomatoes would be a very pitiful one indeed.
"So… to be useful?"
The assassin barked a laugh, grinning as he turned to the child with clean hands to flick water at him. "I was already useful, rapscallion. Renato had ideas about what kind of man he would be, getting Lando and the others to follow like the little charismatic bastard he really was. I, and Natalia, had less… morals or lofty expectations for life. We'd take any job, the others followed Mafiosi laws to the very letter. Together we just… had a little more than the average gutter rat might at the end of the night."
Shamal gave him a decidedly unimpressed look for the assault of water droplets, reaching out and getting a whole globe of water to nestle in his palm with a pointedly arched look of expectation.
Cesare reached an entire hand into the sink and cupped the dishwater in his mixing bowl with a challenging arch of an eyebrow and a wide grin.
The child considered it but gave in with a rude sound as he splashed the water into the dogs' water bowl instead of at the Mafioso.
"Because it was needed, and I could fit the need." He allowed when the child looked to be ready to slip off for the day. Earning himself a faintly skeptical look. "Why I started cooking, child. I was the only one who knew anything about how to cook, so I started making everything we ate. Taught most of the others, as well."
Slowly nodding, the young Mist glanced up a touch wetly. "Mister Renato made good lasagna."
"He did. The asshole never did tell me which spices he put into it. And after I taught him to make it, too."
Shamal thought hard for a second, slowly reseating himself at the kitchen island counter instead of scampering off for a free afternoon of summer vacation. "I think he taught mamma how he made it. She only burnt a corner, but it was just as good as his."
"Oh ho?" That little tidbit was priceless. Cesare needed to speak with his 'not-friend's' godchild more often. "Do you think she remembers the spices he uses?"