Author's Note : Alright, news for those of you who cared about it: the o-ring of my regulator were just not there anymore when it got serviced. They're replaced, and now it works fine again, but regular service for your octopus is a must. I have no idea where the o-ring I lost for that bottom valve of my second-stage went, it's probably at the bottom of the ocean now.

To be brutally, bluntly honest, I actually owe the whole Dying Will Flame rock data to two different reviewers. Shadowleaves came up with the initial method of how to do it, and WindRiver has helped me make up a full list of over two hundred and forty stones/minerals/jewels and their attributed Flame types/uses over the last two weeks.

Shower them in love, for had they not decided to contact me with their ideas and wonderings I'd still be guessing in the dark and probably writing myself in a corner.

Edited (4/29/2017) - Minor story and grammar corrections.

Edit (3/22/2018) - Final formatting and minor corrections.

Edited (9/8/2018) - Minor corrections.


Russian Roulette : Reloaded

Chapter 29


(Thursday the 7th of November, 1968. Zolotov Condo, Mafia Land.)

Sonya had sort of gotten to know Galina a little better over the past year than she had the entire time the Inverted Lightning was one of Tatiana's gang members. It wasn't a really warm relationship, more like the casual camaraderie between two people that shared a gender who worked together.

Getting a call from her wasn't exactly usual, but it wasn't exactly odd either. The subject matter this time, however…

"…are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No." The woman informed her bluntly over the phone, sounding sarcastic. "But it's what we're doing anyways. The information will be encoded, and do you know how much of a bitch it will be to do that?"

The thief's right wrist and fingers tingled in sympathy, and all she had to do was nothing. "Yes, I wrote it all down for you in the beginning. Several copies worth, and all the rest of you did was add in bits and bobs on the end."

The Zolotovs would be publishing Sonya's work in Dying Will Flames.

She didn't really know how she felt about that. It wasn't entirely her work anymore, so if the others were alright with it Sonya wouldn't be the one protesting. She didn't remotely think it was finished, or at any decent point of putting out a 'first edition' of. The thief was also pretty sure that a month or so after her clan did put the book out however it was they were doing it… a 'second edition' would be needed to cover the latest fallacy correction someone tripped over.

"Oh, that's right. And you did it all by hand. It was very quaint. I'm getting a typewriter to do up the master copy, myself."

"…you are a colossal bitch some days."

"Yes, I know. You adore and put up with me if only for my filing system. Dmitriy does, anyways. If that man could even find his own damn ass with both hands but without a map I'd be surprised."

Sonya made a deductive stab in the dark, especially since Galina didn't normally sound like this. "He's abandoned you to do it all yourself, didn't he?"

"The fucking jackass." The Lightning hissed out sourly in agreement from the Rain's office in Moscow. "I don't mind taking all the notes, his handwriting sucks ass all over the place. I do mind when I get lumped with all the damn paperwork."

"Then make him regret it, using it." Sighed out the thief, running a hand through her short blonde hair. "About this publishing thing… how the hell are we getting that around Omertà?"

"Hippy love shit. It'll obviously be one of these 'spiritual self-healing guides to inner peace and free love'. I'm getting hives just thinking about it."

"Um… is that going to work?"

"It should. Whoever reads it will either get a head full of free-love rainbow bull or will understand the colors represent Flame colors and can work it out from there."

"…okay."

"…is that it? I expected you to refuse on the basis 'it's not complete'."

"It isn't complete." Insisted the younger Russian shortly, because she was sure they were maybe a week to a month away from running into yet another brick wall and having to backtrack on something yet again. "But obviously someone, or some ones, don't care about that. If you and Dmitriy don't mind, and I don't think Tats will either, then I'm what? One out of four of the main researchers and or test subjects. Think I might be outvoted anyways."

"Your mind is a fascinating place. One day, I kind of want to live there. It sounds so simple, yet… not that simple." Galina huffed a prissy little snort down the line, giving a sigh of her own in the next second. "Sonya, you started it. We might have built off it, but it's your initial effort. Therefore, it's your intellectual property. Communists we may mainly be, but it's going under your name."

"Why my name?"

"Because I would not have had the patience to sit and read through children's stories to glean the basics stripped of the bull. Nor to be an impressionable child and look at the bulk of it then decide 'screw that 'have to be' shit, I'm going this way'. Dmitriy might be a decent teacher for Flame use, but he never would have bothered had you not dangled a bit of sapphire under his nose. He'd probably still be a mechanic right now instead. I followed your sister and would still do so happily if she wanted me even now, but Tatiana is not what one would call an intellectual that challenges the status quo of what everyone thinks. Also, if we didn't give you the credit for your work I think your mother will have us all messily murdered in our sleep."

Sonya blinked, took the phone away from her ear to give it a strange look she couldn't give the Lightning, and replaced it. "Galina?"

"You are entirely confused what point that had, aren't you?"

"…yes."

"Like I said, I want to live in your brain." She claimed seriously enough the thief wondered if she should be concerned about the woman actually trying to figure a way to do so. "Do you have any further corrections or additions I should know of before actually tackling encrypting this über mess of epic proportions?"

"I'll send you mine and Tats' master copies for Sun and Cloud and get her to write down anything she might be thinking of adding." The Storm-Cloud informed her slowly.

The Storm copy was already back in Moscow, since reaching the 'not entirely totally destructive anymore' point with her own Flames she was a little stumped on what else to do with it.

…well, there was Fong's little temperature trick, and she should probably detail out how to use less Storm Flames than what one instinctively did naturally.

"I need the Sun, to do after the bare minimum we have for Sky, fairly soon. The point of that was had you not started it, it wouldn't have been done at all." Galina pointed out in a flat tone, papers rustling on her end of the line. "The best I would have expected was a few people thinking about doing it, but never getting around to fleshing it all out and actually opening up new things to investigate."

"…okay."

"You still don't see my point, do you?"

"No. It's not done, I'm not the only one working on it anymore, and frankly I don't appreciate being given the credit for another's work." Sonya clarified shortly. "Your name had better be on the damn thing, even if only as 'edited by'."

"Sure." The now highly amused sounding Lightening promised.

"And on the Lightning category. Tat on the Sun, and Dmitriy on the Rain." She tacked on after getting over her slight surprise at the easy agreement. "As a matter of fact, there had better be a list of damn names in that book. Everyone we pulled information from."

"You realize to any civilians who might pick it up will think we're all hippies if I do, right? I'll ask if they want to be, but if they say no…" Galina suggested in a wry tone of voice, then got a bit more serious. "Even your brother?"

"…I'll ask him if he minds or not, but probably not." Cherep was a big boy, he could decide for himself. As a matter of fact, she should probably go ask Renato if he minded his name being put in too. "Or you can ask him, the circus he's with should be back by now. I might have another name, I'll figure it out before I send off the Cloud and Sun journals if so and tell you then."

"Fine."

"…Galina? Are you putting in the rock tests too?"

"No, it won't be done in time. Besides, anyone that wants the results can do their own damn work in figuring it out."

Fair enough. "Is that it then?"

The thief had expected maybe questions about Storm things when she picked up the phone and heard the Lighting on the other end, or maybe even news they finally had a new Cloud in. Even more rock related news, not 'you're getting published'.

She still didn't know how she felt about it. That was… pretty much par for the course with her and new things.

"How many copies do you want sent to you?"

"Erm… two for both me and Tats for sure." Sonya had to think about it for a moment, but eventually shrugged even if the other woman wasn't going to be able to see it. "Two more on top of that. You might not even have to send it, we'll be there at least this spring if not by mid-winter."

Renato did deserve something for pitching in with Tatiana, even if he seemed to rather loath actually spending time with his fellow Sun. He wrote things down and gave it to the nurse instead of actually talking with her, but since that seemed to work for the two Suns the thief hadn't exactly asked about why they did it that way.

She wasn't sure what she'd do with that last copy, but it would be helpful to have on hand if she needed another bribe for Nono Vongola or maybe even Fong if the man kept making himself useful.

…speaking of which…

"It's not going to take me that long, I have a format to encode with and most of the information in front of me right this moment. When I get your two journals for you and your sister's Flames I'll take less than half a month to write it all up with a sprinkle of hippy-love liberally smeared within. December, maybe."

"…I'll be in Italy at the end of December."

"I'll have one sent, just so you can see for yourself." Galina promised wickedly. "I'll talk to you later, Sonya. Congratulations, by the way."

"Erm… thanks?" For what was she being congratulated for?

The Lightning in Moscow hung up before the bewildered Storm-Cloud could ask.

Feeling confused and a little bit cheap, Sonya hung up her own end.

(ooo000ooo)

(Thursday the 7th of November, 1968 continued. Zolotov Condo, Mafia Land.)

Fong snatched a glittering thing pitched at his head out of the air, slowly allowing himself to recover his stance to the 'ready position' for Tongbeiquan katas he was ingraining into his muscle memory. Then he looked at what he had in his palm.

"Cinnamon Stone garnet." Sonya informed him flatly as she approached him. "My current match. See if it works for you."

"I thought you said-"

"I'm not going to sit around so you can test upwards of two hundred rocks for what you want." She snapped irritably, shooting the dojo's attendant that showed her in a suspicious glare for his hovering near them. "I have way too much to do as it is. I can toss a couple your way until you either find a bad match or you stop."

"Stop what?" He asked, rolling the little gem around his fingers.

"Stop trying to be helpful. I appreciate you found Tats something to do." The prickly Russian Storm-Cloud gifted him with a flat look. "However, I also understand that for her to have met you late one night on an island of this size means it is either a very convenient coincidence or a coincidence made to happen."

It really had been by chance, but he was mostly certain she wasn't going to believe him if he said so.

Instead of try defending himself, he turned his attention to the dark reddish-brown jewel.

The martial artist had little luck with her last one, the red tourmaline. He had been moderately surprised the jewel hadn't just crumbled into dust under the force of his own Flames like everything else had, but aside a rapid lightening of color where he prodded it the gem had proved to be mostly useless for him.

This one proved to be only slightly different, although with his new experience in holding back the full force of his Storm allowed him to actually see this jewel almost wick the bright red Flames into it.

It glowed momentarily with an inner fire borrowed from the Triad member, then a crack suddenly split the garnet into three pieces.

"…a really bad match then. Not quite." Sonya didn't sound surprised as Fong allowed the gem pieces to fall into his palm. "Ever try those Storm Flame rings?"

"Once." Actually… the garnet behaved just like that ring had, glowing for a split second before it too shattered. Not quite as cleanly as this one had. "Is this…?"

"Possibly. I don't know." The thief also didn't sound remotely interested either, but if she had asked in the first place that had to mean it was something she'd want to know. "Pity about that."

Fong ran the pad of his thumb along the new sharp edges and thoughtfully regarded her as she considered the jewel fragments he now had.

A nominally minimal range of physical expression meant he was generally guessing in the dark as to what she felt or really thought, and the woman was blunt enough to need some mental adjustment to get used to. A handful of meetings did not a good rapport make, nor did it give him enough experience to try figuring out what it was she was thinking about.

Two hostile, two semi-belligerent, and only one other occasion she had refrained from glaring at him meant this was still new ground for him when it came to her.

"Tatiana isn't defenseless." The Russian informed him after the long pause with a narrow look. "As a Sun, they have this thing called 'self-healing'. Trying to knock out or drug her will only irritate her, and I swear to high hell if you try… I don't care if I have to go through your entire Triad, I will kill you."

"Are you sure you can?" He asked after a pause, because female and a thief aside… she was still a Cloud.

Threats from one were entirely respectable things to take in consideration.

"I only have to kill if I fuck up a heist, Fong. And I've never had to kill to cover my tracks."

Sonya had also used that stealth against him once before when her temper snapped, and she ended up carving a furrow into the island almost using Fong himself as a shovel. He hadn't exactly fared too well against it, although they both had been tired by the time she thought to make use of her career given stealth.

She plucked the broken bits of her jewel out of his palm, a slightly wry cast to her lips that showed she was aware he let her do it without much trouble. "You're somewhat fascinating, if rather annoying. I'd be disappointed if I had to try my hand at assassin's work."

"I will try not to disappoint." At least, not until he was sure if she ever had a reason to try killing him he'd at least stand a chance of catching her before she knifed him in the ribs.

He was pretty sure learning to fight blind would help in that respect. If the woman was a little less stubbornly standoffish, he might have rather banked on the idea of befriending her to the point she wouldn't try murdering him for any offense.

He was just as stubborn, however. While he wouldn't rely on any overtures of comradeship to net him results, he was still going to try if only to see which of them was worse in that respect.


(Monday the 11th of November, 1968. Bordeaux, French Republic.)

"…de Mort?"

The thief blinked in surprise, since she had only used that name in conjunction with the Großes Volksfest or her private investigator. It was France, Bjǫrn hadn't managed to find her another one or two contracts in the general area in time so she had a decent amount of time to kill and had been wasting it by looking around a port city built on the Garonne River.

…what the hell was his name again?

"Detective." Sonya temporized instead of admitting she didn't recall the man's name, glancing to the side instead of the shop window display she had been considering. "Hello."

The Frenchman gave her a wry grin, scratching a bit at the stubble on his chin. "Didn't expect to see you here. In Bordeaux, I mean. It wasn't too long ago I talked to you last."

"Well… kind of here for work, but mainly to follow up on the information you gave me." She admitted, her attention returning to the display.

High heels just looked like a bad idea. Who the hell put stilts on their heels and wandered around in them?

She couldn't decide if she wanted to actually try a pair out and see if it snapped her ankle or not.

"And doing a bit of shopping on the side?" The man asked with audible amusement as he got close enough to see what she was pondering.

"I have a company party to attend in a month, so unfortunately."

"Ah… so… where is your husband?"

Sonya jerked slightly, then peered over at the PI in bewilderment. "My what?"

"Skull de Mort?"

"…is my brother."

Sartre, she finally recalled the name, suddenly looked a little surprised himself. "Oh! Oh well… that, I see."

From the look he gave her, she doubted it.

"We're foster siblings. We were raised as such, not biologically." The Russian informed him dryly when his glances to her hair became a bit more than obvious. "Bit of a fan?"

"I've caught a few of his shows, when he was just starting out." Admitted the detective without an ounce of shame, a rather charmingly boyish grin on his face as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "He's really good."

"I'll have to take your word for it, I worry too much to actually watch one all the way through."

"Well, little sister. I can understand that."

She gave the man a sideways look. "Did you just stop to say hello, and for a possible chance to meet my brother?"

"Slightly." Sartre shrugged with another wry grin, not ashamed at getting caught out by her. "I will admit to possible ulterior motives behind talking to you, but now that I know… would you like to get some coffee?"

"Aren't you in the middle of something?" She asked with a touch of confusion, because she knew his office was based in a different city.

"Ah! …shit." The man swore, looking around and more intently down the street. Almost taking a step away from her but pausing and turning back quickly. "About that coffee?"

"Maybe, if you find me again before I leave the city." Sonya agreed in bemusement, wondering what the hell he wanted from her if he now knew her brother wasn't around.

"I can do that, de Mort." Sartre agreed quickly, sticking a hand out but kissing the back of hers instead of shaking it. "Until later."

The thief stared after him, then looked at her hand. She didn't know people still did things like that. She hadn't thought she was that far back, honestly.

With a sigh, she gave one final glance at the store display then entered the damn shoe store.

The worst that would happen is twisting her ankle, and she was not only a slightly rusty ballerina but also a circus trained acrobat. Stilts shouldn't be that hard, right?

…right?

(ooo000ooo)

(Monday the 11th of November, 1968 continued. Bordeaux, French Republic.)

Apparently, the trick was not to walk on your heels when wearing high heels but more on the ball of the foot and rest on the heels when needed. Sonya still couldn't decide if she liked them or not.

Strappy little black heels aside…

Bordeaux was, again, a river-side port city on the western side of France. Wine country, old-style architecture reaching as far back as the eighth century, lots of bridges, and oddly planned out streets that didn't so much as intersect as cross over one another at angles.

She got lost in Bordeaux very easily. When a city block wasn't a square but more triangle in shape following a curve of a river, she confused her counts of what side of the block she was on and her orientation of what direction she was going in a lot.

She could deal with curving roads, dead ends, and roundabouts. Those were all easily accommodated or navigated around. Angled streets just screwed with her, and she had started to suspect it was a very insidious kind of tourist trap mechanic.

Still a very pretty city to get lost in, but when your intent was to find where you were going and not sightsee… it got irritating fast.

When she ended up on the Pont-de-Pierre Bridge for the third time in as little as an hour, the thief was about ready to give up and ask around for directions.

"Lost, de Mort?"

"I do not have the greatest sense of direction, but I suspect this city was made this way to entrap those used to more solidly square-shaped urban areas." Sonya admitted to the private investigator with full honesty, folding up her map and giving the Frenchman a considering look. "Help?"

Sartre had found time for a shave and a change of coat at least, before he tracked her down again. "Of course, where to?"

"Rue Fondaudège. I can find my way from there."

"…that's up near Notre-Dame." He informed her wryly, jerking his thumb down the street that led straight away from the bridge she was standing next to. "Down until the street comes to an end, a right on up until you see the cathedral."

"I know that much." Admitted the thief sourly, glaring down the main road she was coming to hate. "It's just the kinks in that road throw me off, and I end up going in circles or doubling back along the wrong angle-road because I think I missed it."

Nominally because she was concentrating more on not tripping in heels than counting streets or watching what angled street she was wandering down.

"Why not hire a taxi to get you there correctly?"

…because if Cherep ever heard she had to resort to that he'd never let her forget it. She sighed, packing away her map and giving up on making her own damn way. "I suppose that would be the best idea."

"Can you do coffee today, or must I take a rain check?"

"I am running behind, this was only supposed to be a quick stop for familiarization and a large order for French wine." She admitted sourly. "Another time, Rèmy."

She had to dig through her wallet for his business card in order to recall what his first name was.

"I will hold you to that, Sonya." The man gave her a grin, another kiss to the back of the hand, then walked off.

…that was flirting, right?

It was more like what Renato did when he wanted to charm such-and-such out of their pants.

Sonya considered it but shrugged the whole thing off when she felt no desire to escalate that into anything, even if it would cause her elder sister to facepalm.

He was still prior law enforcement. It wasn't like that could go anywhere.

The thief still had to order Mafia Land a shipment of wine, steal a recipe, and do a little breaking-and-entering of a private residence left to do. Right now, her main concern should be figuring out where the hell a recipe for Absinthe was.

…and not breaking an ankle on her two-inch heels.

Impulse buying was a nasty, horrible thing.


(Tuesday the 12th of November, 1968. Bordeaux, French Republic.)

Wine ordered, and a likely location figured out, Sonya turned her attention to the ancestral home of a three-century dead Arcobaleno.

Private residence security hadn't gotten any better over the years and unfortunately the Carpentier family had sold and moved from the childhood home of Pierre-Antoine, former Arcobaleno of the Storm. The original house had also been condemned, torn down, and a new house built over the ruins of the old over three hundred years.

The Russian thief's intent wasn't to steal anything from the family that lived in the house built on top of the location of Pierre-Antoine's former residence, but to poke around to see if the Arcobaleno had left anything behind on the lot.

It was the basement that netted her something, the ancient stone mason had either made or repurposed a small cache behind a corner brick that lined the walls. Five hours of poking around the back garden and four of actually searching the house's ancient foundations later.

She knew it had to be Pierre-Antoine, not very many would identify themselves with 'la tourmente'. It was embellished into a plate on the box of lacquered wood she withdrew from the niche behind the basement wall.

Unfortunately, it also wasn't well preserved.

Part of the box crumbled to dusty wood fragments in her hand, the half-corroded metal plate that held the French word for tempest falling out and hitting the brickwork under her knees. The papers inside had weathered the centuries about as well as the rest of the container. That was to say… badly. Some of it was fragmented, others damaged by water, and a few just had blotchy patches of faded ink instead of words.

Scoping it all up and packing it away carefully in one of the resident family's freshly washed sheets, the thief put it into her backpack and snuck her way out of the slowly waking house.

She'd take a look at it all later and figure out how much was useless to her and what might help. All she needed were more names. However, she also had a recipe to steal and no real good excuse for remaining in Bordeaux after her 'business' was finished and her wine shipped.

…instead of stealing the damn recipe, she was going to take a picture and a handwritten copy of it.

A break-in was much less suspicious than a theft.


(Saturday the 21st of December, 1968. The Iron Fort, Italian Republic.)

Less than a month of working on it, and Sonya still didn't really like her high-heels much.

They weren't bad, but they could hurt if you wore them long enough. She decided heels were only for special occasions, because she was sure as hell not going to wear them into a fight or anyplace she might be doing a lot of walking again.

Getting lost might have been the cause, but blisters on one's feet were still not fun regardless of reasons.

One more night, then she could kick them off and ignore she had them… for most of a year until and or if she attended Vongola's next Christmas Ball.

Tatiana bemoaned the fact the thief's feet were so small, it meant the nurse couldn't steal her little sister's shoes. Her fashionable, French shoes.

Sonya was still bemused by the entire thing when the sisters split up, one heading for Soviet Russia and the other to Italy.

They were little torture devices attached to the heel, why did the Sun want to wear them so badly?

Sonya was a little surprised to get a personal greeting from a bouncy baby Mist brat at the Iron Fort's door again. Given she had rather recently seen the kid, she hadn't expected a personal reception.

"Miss Sonya! You came!"

"I said I would, brat." The thief informed him blandly, eying the kid beaming up at her.

Shamal was now up to her upper abs in height, which she could've sworn the brat had been waist high to her only two months ago. He also wasn't tugging on her to get picked up, which she supposed was a good thing. While she could pick him up, it would look a bit odd to do so with a kid more than half her size.

Taking off her brace of weaponry proved easier with the left arm chains, the doorman's twitch when he realized there had been a reason she was taking off her bracelet was mildly amusing.

"But that was before Mister Renato made you mad." Shamal informed her like she hadn't known that, fisting a hand into her calf-length skirt. "I… was a little worried."

"Don't be. Yeah, Renato's an asshole sometimes but that's not your fault. And you were the one to ask me to attend this thing first." She dug her slightly crooked right fingers into Shamal's wavy brown hair, ruffling it lightly. "Technically… I suppose I'm your date."

"Ho? Am I being stood up?"

She shot the hitman descending the staircase a dry look and a smirk. "Tiny bit, I don't think Shamal's going to be able to stay up that late."

"I can too!" The baby… well, she supposed he wasn't a baby anymore, bratty Mist insisted loudly in excitement.

"Let's not and say we did, I don't want you stunting your growth." The thief informed him with another ruffle to already messy hair.

"Aww…"

"Sonya, do you need the doorman for anything else or are you remaining there to make a point?" Renato asked archly as he practically sauntered down the last few steps.

"Oh, right." She looked to the man, who was still eyeing her collection of sharp/pointed/blunt weapons in disbelief. "I'm expecting a package from Moscow. They really should have gotten it to me before now, but I suppose something delayed them a bit. It will likely be transported by a vor, which I would not recommend you answer the door for. They might just decide to break a bone to see if you flinch or not. I'd suggest you send a Mafioso to deal with them instead."

"…very good, Miss Nikishina." The man managed, after a moment of paling at what was probably the idea of random Russians breaking his bones out of banal curiosity. "Would you like to be informed when or if such an individual arrives?"

"They probably won't relinquish the package without me there to take it, so yes."

"Of… course…" He glanced to the tray that held her weapons, to the door he finally shut behind her, and then at the thief herself. "Excuse me, I will have the maids take your luggage to your suite in a moment."

"What package?" Renato inquired shortly, giving her a semi-suspicious look.

Sonya gave him a flat stare in return. "A book package."

"Why am I not sur-" He cut himself off to yank his shin away from bratty Mist's kick. "The hell, Shamal?"

"Be nice until she's not mad anymore." The kid demanded quickly, grumpily scowling up at his guardian and fisting his other hand into the thief's skirt so he had a two-handed grip on her. "I want her to stay."

"I can't exactly live here, brat." The thief quipped blandly, knuckling his head a little just because it was within her reach. "Speaking of book package, I never did manage to ask if you wanted your name included before the deadline the editor demanded. They temporized and put in your initials instead."

"My…?" Repeated the hitman blankly, then suddenly blinked and looked at her thoughtfully as he probably lifted the details out of her head. "…really."

She arched an eyebrow at him in silent demand.

"…thank you for not putting my name in a hippy book, aside whatever other things it may be." He drawled after a moment, placing his right hand on the crown of his hat and concealing any facial expression behind the brim that might have told her what he really thought about it.

"You're welcome." She informed him flatly, slightly irritated that he was going to be of no help in sorting out what she thought of having her name on a hippy book.

Again, aside whatever else it might really be.

Shamal glanced between them suspiciously but didn't see a reason to try assaulting Renato again in the end.

Sonya huffed at them both, disentangling his hands from her skirt. "Now, where the hell am I staying for the next two nights?"


(Monday the 23rd of December, 1968. The Iron Fort, Italian Republic.)

Renato very carefully arranged the situation the moment he heard a Russian male of likely criminal origins reached and passed the port of Catanzaro and was headed rather determinedly south.

The stage, a library room Sonya was known to frequent when a resident of the Iron Fort. The cast was himself, the woman in question, a bratty Mist, and various other maids as well as Visconti looking up some tidbit of recent history.

He had maybe less than half an hour to draw a certain thief into a leading conversation where someone of Nono's could overhear and understand the relevant information.

"…published, though?"

The thief gave him a considering look over Shamal's head, who was rather intently powering through a few Cyrillic alphabet exercises she had given him. "Yeah, it surprised me too. I didn't actually think about it myself."

"You did all that work for nothing?" Renato prompted, maybe a touch half-heartedly.

If she didn't go into detail, or ended up unwilling to talk about it, he'd stop pressing.

He liked Timoteo, and he'd try to help the Don in return for stepping in when the hitman's troubles got over his head. Sonya was equally as valuable if on a more personal level, however.

…and he was on thin ice with her already.

"Not for nothing. If it helped my foster family, then I did something." She sunk her fingers into Shamal's hair again, that was turning into a habit, which earned her a beaming smile before bratty Mist returned to puzzling out her native language's written system. "I made what I had available to my clan since we had several Flame users popping up like daisies, and I guess it all snowballed from there to… this. Remember, I helped another Mist before this brat with his own Flames. That was kind of part of it."

The hitman got the mental impression of another Mist child that liked to touch the thief a bit too much out of her head, a half-recalled impression rather than actually formed thought. "So, did they jump over your head with publishing your work on Flames or what?"

"Not quite. I'm no longer the only one contributing to that anymore." She batted that thought away absently, stretching her legs out under the table Shamal was still hard at work on. "There's four main… um, test subjects? We're not really researchers, but more like… the ones that deal with it more, who add in more information as we expand the pool of Flame users we know of. I wouldn't have published it myself, it's not even remotely near complete since we have yet to find a Sky we can use for it, but… I wasn't the one in charge of that."

"It still sounds as if they went over your head."

"…do you think so?" She questioned curiously, her attention more inward than out which enabled Visconti to discreetly slip out of the library without her knowing.

…or possibly she didn't care what her fellow Cloud was up to. Renato wasn't betting on it though, he had already tripped one of her hot buttons and this was as far as he'd go to warn or tip off Timoteo about what his thief associate was up to.

Don Vongola was a Don and powerful in his own right. Sonya was practically Shamal's mother-figure just because Renato asked for a bit of help from her.

"How much of this book is going to be pulled purely from your own effort?"

"I think… Galina said the forward is about word-for-word my views on the basics of Flame user personalities, and the fallacies inherent in that. Why it is everyone seems to assume Clouds are violent and aggressive normally when they're really just a bit judgmental, Mists being entirely deceptive in Flame user terms and really just as powerful as their imagination can stretch, those sorts of things. Bits from other Flame users on their personalities are going into that, so not entirely me." The Russian Storm-Cloud puzzled over it a bit more, either too distracted or ignoring she had not only Shamal's attention but several other of the lesser Mafiosi that had been hanging about as well. "The seven chapters on each Flame has the beginning pulled from what I sifted through about thirty children's story plots to condense, but that's about a quarter of the whole thing. Most of the Sky chapter, though."

"So… almost half of it is still purely your own work with a couple add-ins from others." Renato summed up for her, earning a blank blink for his trouble.

When the hell did she start that thing?

She was only eighteen, about to be nineteen, according to the records Mafia Land kept on her. She had been what, sixteen when she admitted she knew how another Flame's beginners behaved and could help Shamal for him?

A Flame type that, historically, she was supposed to dislike on sight?

The thief had known of her own Flames before the age of twelve and could use them at will. Possibly half a decade of effort at least, upwards to a full decade at most if she had a very early start like the hitman himself.

He wasn't really surprised to hear she had finally gotten her work published but was a little bemused that she seemed to not think much of it. Then again, he was only hearing about the tail-end of that little situation, the details were a bit more than murky from where he sat.

"It's not really all my work, though." Sonya protested, both weakly and irritated that her defense was so weak. "There are others and, since I only have two usable Flame types and one last one I never got the hang of pulling on, the rest of that information is something I would never have gotten on my own."

That sounded like someone else already had this argument with her already. She didn't think of that last Flame type, which was a bit of a pity.

"First come first serve." Renato tried instead.

Whatever it was she would have responded with was interrupted by a maid hesitantly poking her head into the library and almost tripping over herself when she spotted the thief. "Miss Nikishina, a vor is here to see you."

Sonya hauled herself upright in a smooth movement, using the couch the hitman was sprawled out on while she taught Shamal how to read and write basic Cyrillic words. "Did he give a name?"

"He said his name was Arseniy-"

"Oh!" The Russian suddenly bolted, from standing still to flat out running in less than a second. Twisting deftly around the surprised maid in the doorway on her way out without another word to anyone else, even the brat.

Keenly curious, Renato unfolded himself as well and stalked after her. Shamal scrambled to follow, clutching his little worksheet and just as curious. Maybe a touch jealous of whoever it was that stole the thief's attention from him so thoroughly.

The hitman had to hide a smirk at the pout on the brat's face he caught sight of in one of the various look-around corner mirrors on the way to the Iron Fort's foyer.

He came to a stop at the top of the staircase Sonya flat out ignored and simply leapt over. Just in time to see her all but throw herself into the arms of an unknown man coming through the doors after shooting Tyr a suspicious look.

…who the fuck was that?

"Arseniy! I didn't know you were coming!" The thief chattered in rapid fire Russian, still not letting the man go and seemingly perfectly happy when he hugged her back.

Completely unaware or uncaring of the fact the very act of doing so seemed to have crashed the mental processing power of everyone that had become curious over yet another Russian criminal's impending arrival.

Mostly to see if Sonya was just that unusual or not.

Seriously, who was that?

The thief barely put up with her own sister touching her, and yet this…?

"I volunteered." The much older Russian rumbled back in the same language in a voice barely loud enough to carry, casting a grim look over her blonde head at everyone gaping at the Storm-Cloud's behavior as his arms dropped from around her. "Wanted to see what you were blowing us off to do."

"I'm not blowing you all off, it's just…" Sonya frowned slightly, finally letting the man go and switching back to Italian. "Hey, Shamal! Come down here."

His first impulse was to say no, but tetchy Mist brat was already past him and tripping his own more moderate pace down the stairs to the thief. Reluctantly, the hitman followed. If only to figure out what kind of relationship the two Russians had.

Sonya wouldn't risk Shamal anyways, if the man was a threat she wouldn't have called for him.

He wasn't particularly happy with that thought, but he knew it was true.

She could probably break the 'vor' in half if he tried anything she didn't like. If she didn't like it.

That also wasn't a thought he was very content with.

"Shamal, this is Arseniy Pavlovich Bazanov." Renato almost missed a step as he recalled that was the name she had been going by in Mafia Land. "My foster father."

…not quite what he expected.

The hitman recovered his balance before anyone could notice he lost it for a second, strolling up to the tiny group lingering in the doorway in his brat's wake.

Apparently blocking the door was a Russian habit, because the vor didn't look too bothered to budge. The poor doorman was torn between asking the heavily muscled and tattooed Russian and his Storm-Cloud daughter to move or keeping his mouth firmly shut to not draw possibly hostile attention.

Shamal was a bit too occupied himself to notice anything strange going on, staring up at the man his adored Miss Sonya claimed as father. The older Russian male was peering back down at him in a scrutinizing manner.

As for the thief herself, she glanced between the two of them looking mildly expectant.

"You're really big. How do I get that big?" Tetchy Mist brat blurted out without an ounce of shame, still gaping.

Arseniy gave a slow blink, then huffed and answered in a voice that sounded like he gargled gravel, gasoline, and a few rusty chainsaws for the hell of it every morning. "By drinking your damn milk."

Shamal apparently interpreted any Russian's bland stare or tepid response as either an invitation to cuddle or a promise of guaranteed safety, because the brat fearlessly went up to give the Russian bear of a man's thigh a hug. "Hi, can I call you grandpa?"

"No." He gave his daughter a semi-irritated, slightly narrow look, but the most she did was all but beam back at him expectantly.

"Please?"

"You're no long my favorite." Arseniy grunted out at her in their native language, patting Shamal on the head once and switching back to his heavily accented Italian. "Hello brat, and no."

"I will always be your favorite, until Valera actually has a personality and can do more than mess his diaper and toddle about." Sonya claimed pleasantly to him in Russian with a shrug. "After that he'll be your favorite, so I should milk my current position for everything I can while I can."

The expression that crossed the vor's face was a mix of exasperation and grudging agreement of that opinion.

Bratty Mist slyly peered around the trunk of a leg he was hugging to his chest like a treasured stuffed animal. "Can I call you mamma then, Miss Sonya?"

"…here, I suppose you can. Just not anywhere else." Sonya agreed flatly, after a moment of staring at the kid's mainly hopeful and slightly devious face.

Renato was a little disappointed he had picked a spot far enough away he couldn't get what she really thought of that request out of her head, but he also didn't want to attract her father's attention before he was damn well ready to.

…the man almost about Tyr's height, and the master assassin was taller than the hitman by a few inches. The vor was also about a few inches wider than either Italian was, more than most of that was pure muscle.

Little Russian Storm-Cloud also seemed perfectly willing to heed to him regardless of what orders he might just give.

That might just be the more disturbing fact about the little scene going on.

Sonya missed the memo of his desire to remain at least somewhat unnoticed for a time, she gestured straight to him to attract the vor's attention. "Arseniy that is Renato Sinclair. Shamal's… godfather, and my hitman friend."

The Russian vor shot the Italian Mafioso a considering look, then grinned darkly.

Renato played off his lingering a bit far away as giving the little family unit some privacy even if he was still part of the traffic pile of people that had either been there from the start or heard and came running to gape. Arseniy stuck out a hand, and he took it with only a slight hesitation.

The reason the older man was happy to meet him was because he now had what he looked like and a name. If the creepy stalker of his youngest daughter ever did anything to hurt her, he would have less trouble hunting him down to skin alive… like how the vor had hunted down Sonya's biological father to castrate for hurting and abandoning her as a little girl.

…he was torn between being insulted, admiring that kind of dedication to his family, highly amused the man was only slightly against letting Shamal call him grandfather, and… being slightly wary of this Russian.

As well as a little disgruntled her brother Cherep happily sold him out as the creepy stalker of his sister to their foster father.

Renato would dearly love to have words with the stuntman, but the thief wasn't exactly happy with him at the moment so that would have to be delayed a bit.

"Nice to meet you." He drawled out wryly instead of anything else he might have wanted to say.

Like the fact he wasn't a creepy stalker of women.

"Likewise." Grunted Arseniy, then looked at his daughter. "Have a moment?"

"As long as I get my…" Sonya snatched the book-shaped package the vor produced from his inner coat pocket. "Yes."

(ooo000ooo)

(Monday the 23rd of December, 1968. The Iron Fort, Italian Republic.)

Even if it was masquerading as hippy spirit mumbo-jumbo, Sonya was always adequately distracted with her nose in a book. It gave Arseniy a bit of time to take a few impressions in while she was mostly ignoring everything else.

Lisa had offered the opinion that little Italian Shamal their youngest foster child was so hung up on might be a child either in a situation similar or relatable to her earlier years before them. That was why their notoriously prickly and standoffish youngest foster daughter would go out of her way for the little brat.

The vor couldn't see it, now that he finally met everyone involved.

The kid did end up transplanted into a criminal lifestyle due to losing his real father, and Mafioso Sinclair actually showed some honor in taking him in. That was about it for any parallels.

Shamal was perfectly happy with his life and how it was going, not nearly scared out of his wits and repressing anything remotely vulnerable hard enough to ice over, especially with Sonya and the Italian hitman ensuring he had a life to be happy about.

He was also perfectly happy sitting in the thief's lap as she read, occasionally interrupting her reading with a question of how to read such-and-such Cyrillic word. Shamal also got away with doing it.

Arseniy, who had literally watched her raise hell for Tatiana even dislodging her bookmark from its place once, was entirely fascinated by the sight.

Not exactly happy with it himself, though.

Why was she saddling herself with a kid this early?

Furthermore, if she had to have a kid why pick one that came attached with an Italian Mafioso?

He would've preferred it if she got herself involved with one of her generation's upcoming vory if she had to, rather than some foreigner he didn't know and couldn't reach easily.

Since the vor was sure Sonya attaching herself to the Shamal kid wasn't pity or sympathy related, he figured it was probably Flame related and not something he'd be able to understand without a bit of help.

One of the best sources for any Flame related issues they had also probably wouldn't be able to see herself clearly enough to figure out why she was so attached to a kid totally different than her in both situation and personality. His younger foster daughter also had a strange little blind spot when it came to herself, like she wasn't or couldn't be affected by whatever was going on unless she was aware or chose to let it.

Which, to be fair, she rarely was wrong in that. Digging past that little coat of ice around her had taken him and Lisa three years to get through so she could at least understand they were not going to hurt or discard her as easily as her biological parents had. Tatiana had taken five to reach her little sister on a level they both understood was sisterly then several more years so they were both comfortable in it.

The only exception had been Cherep, and now this little Shamal brat. Both she had met when they were young Flame users, and both somehow gained one vicious champion/fussy guardian angel in her.

Again, Arseniy didn't like it. However, he knew his entirely stubborn daughter wouldn't give up something she liked easily or without a massive fight. Sonya liked Shamal, so she would not be giving him up either.

However, maybe he could get her more interested in the vory back home before she brought home some foreign man. Like the hitman lurking in the corner keeping most of his eye on his ward and the other half on his damn foster daughter. "Dmitriy got arrested."

Humming absently, she placed a finger on the text and looked up at him. "I was wondering how he managed to duck Galina for a month or two long project. How long has he been putting that off?"

He snorted at her dry observation, smirking at the familiar wit he hadn't heard in nearly a year. "You should've heard her bitch about it. Three year sentence, battery and attempted murder. Which was bullshit because there was no intent to murder, he was merely shaking up one of our debtors and allowed himself to get caught an hour later. He should've gone in a few years ago, but he was needed where he was."

"Who's in charge now he's out for prison time? Galina?"

"I am, because it is technically a training course." The vor corrected her with a shrug. "I'm leaving it up to her, because I still don't understand this fucking fire shit you do. You might want to go pitch in a little bit when you make it home next year."

"I will-"

Sonya cut herself off when Shamal placed his hands flat on the pages he had been puzzling at and nearly clocked her in the jaw with the top of his head when it shot up in alarm. "But you have to make it back for my birthday, mamma!"

"I will do that too, brat, calm down." Shifting her book so the kid's hands fell off, the thief huffed at him as he sank back down on her lap with a rather impressive pout. "It shouldn't take me that long, Dmitriy's not stupid. He would've left his plans for the Flame users he was teaching Galina and I can follow somewhere obvious."

"She found them." Arseniy informed her, eyeing the kid in her lap and the mulish expression there. "Why don't you bring the brat up to meet the rest of the family?"

Lisa would be endlessly amused at her bringing yet another stray home with her, so long as it wasn't her own blood kid before she hit twenty. 'Grandmother' wasn't a title his lover was going to accept, however. Maybe he could get out of being considered as 'grandpa' at the same time.

Fuck, he wasn't that old just yet.

"I would, if someone wasn't so god damn paranoid over his safety." She claimed, shooting the so far silent Italian Mafioso a look.

Sinclair simply shrugged that off, tilting his head to the side to peer at the younger Russian from under the brim of his hat. "Other than you, I have no good contacts in Soviet Russia. I don't even understand how the Soviet underworld works. If something happens to you when Shamal's there, the brat would be more than a little exposed."

"Your faith in me is astounding." She huffed dryly, returning to her reading.

"I have plenty of faith in your fighting skills, I've seen a bit of it." The hitman drawled out sardonically. "Cloud you may be, but even you would have some difficulty against enough numbers."

"I've not pissed anyone off to earn a great number of people trying to kill me." Refuted the thief, allowing something to distract her from her reading yet again. "Frankly, outside of our clan, I'm not exactly well known."

"You are now." Arseniy interrupted the two, nodding to the book in his foster daughter's hands. "A thief is all well and good, we're a clan of them. No matter how good you are, you're just one more in a sea of them. An expert on Dying Will Flames of the Sky? Different as night is to day. There's been some noise back home of a few people wanting to meet the Cloud of the Zolotov Thieves Clan."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. I am no expert." Sonya practically spat the word, an affronted look on her face.

"Try telling them that." He offered idly, mildly amused.

"…maybe I will."

"So…" Shamal twisted himself to actually be able to see Sonya's face instead of just sulk in her lap. "…can I go see where you grew up, mamma?"

"Still up to Renato."

The kid peered over at the Mafioso.

Sinclair huffed, glanced between the thief and the vor, and heaved a sigh. "Maybe. Depends. This summer at the earliest, but it might not happen at all. Don't get your hopes up."

The child looked back up to Sonya, who rolled her eyes at him. "Brat, there was an invasion up north in Czechoslovakia. We'd have to pass near that to get to Russia, and if Renato doesn't want to risk you anywhere close to that mess then that's his right."

"Aww…"

Snorting, Arseniy got to his feet now his curiosity was satisfied and she had her delivery. "Your siblings are home, hurry it up girl."

"I'm going to be the last one in for the next couple years, from brat's demand for me to be here for Christmas." She informed him without an ounce of shame, giving a wry little smirk instead. "May as well get used to it."


(Monday the 23rd of December, 1968 continued. Arseniy & Lisa's home, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

"So… say I'd want to bring a friend home for Christmas. Not this one, next one."

"A girl friend?"

Cherep paused in his repetitive and mind-numbing motions, wondering how to phrase 'nope, a gender-ambiguous friend that likes to switch a lot' in a way that wouldn't cause Lisa to smack him for being crass, rude, or just for the crime of attempting to confuse her. "Err… something like that. A friend of mine, who I'm not even sure has family of their own."

"And you care enough about this friend to want to drag them all the way out here?" Tatiana asked from his right side, hands submerged in soapy dishwater to scrub clean the dishes he was rinsing.

It was a bit odd to not have Sonya on his other side collecting the plates and such to put away, but the stuntman had unfortunately become rather accustomed to not having his baby sister around. Lisa had taken the empty spot and was just as deft as the youngest girl sibling in catching what he might have dropped in his absent-minded wool gathering moments.

…like right then. Damn it, tools were so much more durable.

Their foster mother heaved a sigh, setting the glass he nearly dropped on the counter to give him a stern look with her hands planted on her hips. "If it's that important to you, bring them around so we can meet this person you're being very vague about the gender of. I make no promises, because unless this person is someone you are really interested in? We will not play nice for them."

"I'm pretty certain my friend wouldn't care at all, think Sonya-level of irrelevance paired with a very inventive sense of humor."

"…please for the love of everything holy, tell me this person isn't as dense as our baby sis." Begged his older sister, staring up over the roofline visible from the window over Lisa's kitchen sink. "I don't think I can take another romantically thick person."

Hello opportunity. "That bad?"

"Sonya finally blew up," the nurse informed them as if that wasn't at all concerning, "like completely lost it to the point there were footprints in the roads she took to get away from people. Carved a great stretch of the island's headway forest up and everything. In other news, as long as Sonya likes someone she won't hold a bitter grudge against them."

Lisa and Cherep exchanged a look, then turned back to the Sun Flame user.

"Sonya did? What happened?" The older Russian woman asked, enough concern in her tone Valera's attention was snagged and he babbled out near-toddler-but-still-baby-talk noises at her either in demand for more food or for reassurance she freely gave him.

"I still haven't gotten the whole story. From what I do know tall, dark, and snarky got a bit of information on either me or Cherep using Sonya herself somehow. Our ever so vicious little sister snapped, did previously mentioned emergency landscaping anger management, and Sinclair practically had to beg for her forgiveness." Tatiana paused, handing off the last plate to the stuntman to rinse and dry then flicking the soapy water from her hands in an absent manner. "On her way to bust up some trees, she ran into Tasty Muscles. You'd know him as Fong, Cherep."

Yeah, he remembered him. The Chinese man with the impossible name that cause his fellow Cloud user a month and a half long disappearance after trying to delay her in Shanghai. "And that's relevant why?"

"She arranged to spar against him, for her conditioning since pure workouts don't exactly benefit her very much anymore, in return for a bit of Flame related help. Muscles volunteered to be a Storm-Cloud's punching-bag. From what injuries they had afterwards, he gave as good as he got but was still flagging a bit behind Sonya when I caught up to them. I'm not exactly sure who would've won if they fought it out to the end, and I don't think they know either."

Cherep wasn't surprised when Lisa whisked the last bit of pottery out of his hands before he fumbled another bit, merely handing over the hand towel before she snagged that too.

…he wasn't quite the same as Sonya was, but he was still a Cloud. The stuntman also had never been truly angry before either. Would he have temper issues when pressed too hard as well?

How the hell was he going to figure that one out before he did something violent and Classically Cloud-like?

The closest he ever got was mildly irritated, and that had been with Sonya herself way back in the day when he had still been living out of that nasty flophouse.

"So that's hottie number two, and I'm pretty sure she's got yet another Italian stud hidden away somewhere else."

"…wait, what?"

Lisa leaned around his bewildered form, giving the Sun a mildly reproving look. "Really, Tatiana?"

"Lisa, you haven't met them yet. I kid you not, they are hot." She defended herself, actually sounding slightly exasperated over it. "And I am pretty damn sure they both want her, but she does not realize it. Or if she does, she explains it away as something else. She only thinks of Sinclair as a friend who might just flirt because she's female and flirt is what he does, or that Fong just wants her Flames for his own reasons."

Actually… from what little the stuntman knew of both… "…isn't that true, though?"

"Well… yes. But they both check her out and everything."

Cherep tapped his chin, tentatively deciding he didn't really need to be too alarmed over either just yet. His little sister might just require a thick two-by-four to the head to realize anything was going on, well before anything concerning happened with them. "So, who's this last Italian you think Sonya knows?"

"I don't think, I know. Tyr the Sword Emperor. She talked to him on the phone in France, and she sounded downright friendly." She pulled a slight face, half disbelief and half bemused. "Might have been because she was talking to the baby Italian brat as well, though."

"The Sword Emperor? …Vongola's head assassin?"

The stuntman twitched violently at that bit of news and gifted their foster mother with a wide-eyed look. "Please tell me you're joking, Lisa."

"Sorry Cherep. I have heard of him, and Tyr is an assassin."

An Italian Mafioso hitman, or an equally Italian assassin, or a member of the Chinese Triads?

Cherep really hoped he wouldn't get anyone like them for a brother-in-law. It probably wasn't really likely Sonya would settle for a civilian man, because she rarely if at all interacted with any for very long, but he could hope.

brothers-in-law.

Turning to the redheaded sister in question, the stuntman gave her a semi-joking hard look. "You know, I can't help but feel suspicious all this talk of Sonya's non-existent love life is meant to distract us from yours. Bite the bullet, big sis."

"We already heard Cherep may or may not be gay, and Sonya's not even here to defend herself against your accusations she's amassing a harem." Lisa agreed pleasantly, ignoring the Cloud's squawk of offended dignity and the Sun's suddenly wary look. "Spill."

"…I'm taking a break from men, actually." She claimed, sourly enough he was actually tempted to believe her at her word.

"…I am not gay." He defended himself to their foster mother in the next second.

"Of course you're not." Lisa agreed pleasantly again, slapping his cheek a bit harder than what could be called gentle. "Next year, write home more often or I will do worse than embarrass you in front of your siblings where they can carry tall-tales to others."

"…yes ma'am."