"Full House."

"Straight Flush."

"Damn. Best two out of three?" Lal glared at the winning hand Daemon had lain upon the table, "I'll give you this one, but no Mist-tricks next time. We're fighting on pure skill."

"This one will leave then!" I interjected cheerfully, "Probability altering rings shouldn't factor into the outcome!"

Lal snorted, "I'll allow luck if that sea bunny doesn't Mist his cards. You can stay. Cards are a life skill, and you need to learn the rules before Oregano starts teaching you to count cards and Iemitsu starts waxing poetic about manliness."

"I take offense!" Daemon glared back at Lal, "I did not use any tricks. You were just far too terrible at judging your odds."

Oregano raised a judging eyebrow as she displayed her own hand, which included a nine of spades. There was a nine of spades on the table as part of Daemon's straight flush. "Narcissism much?" She asked.

I didn't actually hold much fondness for card games. Competitive games lose their luster when one spends all of one's hours participating in the mad scramble of villages and nations abroad, and the cooperative become either too boring or unpleasantly work-like after one has to balance the interests of Kiri's factions, birthed of Chigiri's remnants. Still, poker was as much an exercise in psychology as anything, and I Doubt It was basically the Academy's I Know You Are but What Am I (horrible name, I know, but it's stuck) so I settled down to watch.

Lal was closest to me. Clockwise sat Sir, Daemon, and then Oregano at Lal's other side. Turmeric was knitting something. Yellow, from pomegranate rind. Blue from woad, and a red that I did not recognize. I would have preferred watching him knit to watching the quartet at play, but alas, I can't knit, even if I'm quite good at crochet—having a brother who's weapon is a giant hook will do that to you, so I should probably try to learn something about cards rather than beat a dead horse.

"I hear you say a Five of Clubs!" Sir warbled cheerfully, "But I say thee nay, as Basil would say! Because, my dear man, I have a Five of Clubs!"

On second thought, I'd rather try learning knitting again. It'd be less embarrassing.


Of course, the life of a CEDEF employee was never peaceful for long. Massimo tried to come calling, now that the current bout of territory disputes and power plays was winding down and CEDEF wasn't busy at the edges of every conflict with blackmail and favors to invoke, but I had promised Bianchi to play music with her brother. So, in the tried-and-true art of conscientiously avoiding irritants, packing my child's violin and a hamper of baked goods, all of us piled into a car and drove to the Bianchi's family manor. That was easier done than said, given that we only numbered three adult-sized individuals, a toddler-sized adult, a six-year-old, and an incorporeal at will ghost. Of course, no one actually wanted Daemon to come, but as we couldn't exactly claim that there wasn't space in the car, he came.

Bianchi was as full of good cheer as ever, and greeted me with a hug and a plate of cookies. I gingerly took one from the edges, and risked a bite. To my surprise, it was delicious, moist, soft, and not overly sweet.

"I've been improving!" She grinned at my surprise, "These took me three tries to make, but they are absolutely safe to eat! I tested on father first!"

"Really?" I asked in awe, "Thou truly fed thy progenitor potentially poisoned provisions?"

She laughed, "That alliteration was cool, but yeah! I figured that if he wasn't going to let me stop cooking, he might as well suffer the consequences! Come on! Hayato's picked a few of his favorites, let's go look them over!"

I was then dragged at full speed up the stairs and into the children's wing, leaving my colleagues behind (but bringing my belongings with me), which was quite in order with the expected proceedings. When I went to Bianchi's, I got dragged away from icky grownups to have fun tea parties/brunch and talk about magical creatures and debate chemistry. When I went to Bel's, I got dragged away to spar and snuggle and talk about our lives. Neither involved adulting, which was a novel experience. I had never been a child in Chigiri, only a particularly small and inexperienced adult; on the other hand, I can't be a grownup now, so, hello again, childhood!

Plush carpets covered the floor, absorbing the pounding of Bianchi's footsteps. She threw open the door to the music room, revealing a floor hidden by pages upon pages of sheet music and a piano to the side. Hayato was sitting by a low table laden with those strange tiers of plates and elaborate crockery. I was happy to discover an array of savory concoctions along with the sweet, and scented the fragrance of an excellent Earl Grey as well as the barest hint of perfume from the flowers in the centerpiece.

"Basil!" Hayato waved, "Hello!"

"Salutations!" I greeted back, joining him on a cushion. Bianchi cleaned a path over to us and settled down as well. I carefully set my violin out of the way, then we unloaded the contents of my hamper onto the table. Tupperware joined fine china on the table in an incongruous combination.

"How has it been?" Bianchi asked, "You haven't really replied to my letters for a while, I was wondering if something was wrong."

"Work." I grumbled, pouring myself tea, "You know how complicated the last few months were, and this one was stuck in the middle of it."

"How so?" Bianchi asked, "I mean, I ran a few minor missions with Turmeric, but they were so minor that even mother couldn't say anything."

"Better." I corrected cheerfully, "Boredom is the greatest enemy!"

"But Bianchi's missions were already thrilling!" Hayato objected, "How can yours be more so?"

"Higher stakes, for one." Was I supposed to soften the tale? Reduce the bloodshed? Hayato was almost civilian! I nodded at Bianchi, "Thou acted as courier for a briefcase of banknotes, this one remembers."

"Yeah." She confirmed, "Knocked into Turmeric, bait-and-switch with the fake one in the bookbag, then took the bus for two stops to the station, got spotted by the bad guys, retreated to the fast food stalls and hit them with hot oil. Evaded, got on the train at the last second, hunkered down in the food car, and got the package to the drop-off point."

"Sis turned mashed potatoes into a Slime!" Hayato interjected, "She said that it was closer to the Type II than the Type IV, but I think the level of sentience means it was a Type I!"

I hastily chose the caviar-on-bread snack instead of the potato sandwich.

Bianchi blushed, "I used the CEDEF Flame Infusion Management technique as inspiration for how I made Blanche. I didn't get to test it out though, since I made it on the food car and there weren't any enemies after." She ate the potato sandwich sadly, "And Blanche wasn't contagious or self-repairing, so it couldn't keep long and got mold afterwards."

The contagion aspect of our paperwork management technique was another closely guarded secret, so Bianchi figuring anything out was worthy of praise, especially since the Varia had failed to comprehend them in any capacity, save for Tyr. "This one is certain that future works shall be greater yet!" I encouraged, "This one has also couriered, both secrets and tangible items, yet though money, if discovered, arouses great suspicion, it is not illegal to bear great sums about. Firearms, however, are. Though for the most part, this one's missions include a great number of incidents in which this one stole information to incriminate enemies, which did bear the risk of discovery, violence, blood and death."

"What was the weirdest incident?"

I grimaced, "This one was once nearly killed over tobacco, of all things."

"Tobacco?" Hayato asked. He, unlike us, hadn't been taught the dull and dreary realities of the smuggling business. Firearms, yes. Drugs, occasionally, though Vongola preferred to keep its hands clean. Alcohol, tobacco, caviar—even sugar—paid acceptably well and drew far less attention from law enforcement agencies.

Bianchi explained. I ate a cracker topped with foie gras. I missed the actual chunks of liver at home, the texture wasn't close to the same.

I then summarized that particular adventure, which began with me coloring with crayons at a table and ended with me in a red wig being chased through a butcher's after planting doctored product in three shipments as well as nicking choice Cuban cigars for bribery purposes. Drugged product, to be exact. Remember what I said about drugs drawing attention? That meant my targets would receive far harsher scrutiny. And treatment.

Both siblings were wide-eyed at the end of it. "Unfortunately, there weren't any UMAs." I concluded. "That there is a portrait of Daemon Spade in the Iron Fort which is believed to be possessed, this one offers as an alternative."

"A ghost?" Bianchi asked me, "Or a demon?"

Hayato chimed in with the multiple classifications of ghosts and demons. "Professor Ghostre Born reclassified posthumous apparitions into poltergeists, ghasts, geists, spirits, shades, shadows, wraiths, phantoms and specters, but he only gave three classifications of demon: Demon, Nareto, and Archdemon. If the portrait's possessed, then it should be a Demon or a shade, phantom, or specter, but I don't know which and there isn't much information available on identifying different types of hauntings, because most of the literature is virtually indistinguishable from Victorian era horror and a lot of it is disguised as fiction which makes sleuthing very difficult!"

And this lively discussion was slightly complicated by the fact that I had noticed at least one of Reborn's paper-thin aliases in his monologue, so I was rather more aware of the potential ulterior motives of the authors Hayato referenced. Not to mention Nareto. That sounded far like the orange friend-making demon of my past life. And it was an anagram of Renato. But half of that was classified, and I wasn't certain the other half, if revealed, would change Hayato's opinion at all—Reborn was such a legend that he could probably claim to be the foremost authority in crystal healing and be believed. Not to mention the fact that the spirit in question was currently lurking about the building.

I compromised. "Flames are involved, so there may be more to it. This one could put thee in contact with one who may be more of an expert on this subject, if thou willst more over this subject matter learn. As of now, should we not begin picking a piece to perform?"

Bianchi let out a giggle, "You did it again with the Ps! Hayato? Is that okay?"

"Another expert?" He asked seriously, "What have they published?"

"Age restrictions bar him from submitting any papers." I explained apologetically.

Hayato nodded slowly. "Then I'll see. What do you want to play?"

"This one would suggest something evocative of what we have just discussed, if thou art willing." I offered.

"Spooky music?" Hayato frowned and drew a finger down a list of titles, "We can do a requiem! It's the end of another war, so it's—maybe—thematically appropriate?"

"But that's too depressing." Bianchi traced a pattern through a splash of spilled tea, "Grownups won't like it if you do something slow and gloomy, especially when father really wants to have people see your special playing. I think you should do something flashier."

"Pity it isn't Halloween." I leaned over to look at the list. I only recognized a handful of the selection. "This one will bow to your judgment in this matter."


When we finally decided on something, one of the strings of my violin broke. Of course it did. Unfortunately for my Ring, I had made contingencies, so I restrung it under the curious gaze of my fellow musician, demonstrated the use of resin, and then began to practice with him.

After another broken string, a snapped peg, and Bianchi almost corrupting the poor, abused wood of my instrument, Hayato and I managed to get the shape of the song down and were in the process of refining the details. Naturally, that was when half the flowers in the centerpiece wilted.

"Dad's coming." Bianchi warned. Which meant that she had managed to create a warning system using Poison Cooking and whatever Turmeric was teaching her.

Hayato immediately changed his playing, fingers blurring across the keys and shifting the rhythm. I was hard-pressed to keep up and fell to playing second fiddle. Bianchi brushed her fingers over the plate of biscuits closest to him, turning them poisonous purple and steaming with infernal vapors.

"Good afternoon, children!" He greeted, throwing open the door and stepping inside, ignoring the papers underfoot. "How is your practice going?"

"As well as can be expected, father." Bianchi answered as I set down my bow and Hayato feigned a stomachache.

"Excellent!" He smiled widely, "Then let's have you practice a bit more, then show our guests what you have accomplished!"

"Yes father." Hayato coughed out, covering his mouth to hide the lack of blood.

I bowed shallowly, "This one would be honored."

I raised my violin again. Hayato turned back to the piano. Bianchi slipped a tart into her hand as she followed her father to the door, dropping the now-living food down behind him before shutting it with forced lightness. We created frenzied cacophonies of sound until she nodded and gave us the all clear.

"I hate him!" She hissed vehemently.

"How old art thou?" I inquired, carefully detached.

"Thirteen." She snarled darkly, pacing the empty edges of the room. Old enough to inherit, "I'm still too young to get anyone to listen to me! And they wouldn't do so anyway!" Not old enough for the mafia.

As if summoned by her helpless fury, Daemon appeared in my field of vision. "Fear not, little heir." He drawled at my glare, "I remain unseen by the others."

I ignored him. "Would it be possible to enlist thy mother's aid?"

"No!" She shook her head violently, "She won't mind doing away with father, but then she'll get rid of Hayato too! She hates him!" Bianchi clenched her hands into fists. Forced them flat and gestured wildly to empty air. Continued pacing, hair whirling about her face at each turn.

"Would you say," I asked both siblings, "That thy parents have both forsaken their duties as thy parents?"

"Yes!" Bianchi was incandescent in her fury, barest hints of Flame licking at her hair.

"Hayato?" I asked carefully.

He shook his head, "I don't know! Mother is—" He caught himself, "I love father but Bianchi—he makes Bianchi give me the—I want to—but—"

He burst into tears. Half furious, half confusion, tinged with grief and betrayal both. "Then would you say," I continued, gentling my tone, "That you are released from your obligations as their heirs?"

"Definitely." Bianchi confirmed darkly.

Hayato nodded, pressing his eyes into a napkin.

Daemon leaned forward, vicious hunger in his eyes. "Then let this house be destroyed, little heir. It is unworthy of its children."

"Then." I smiled sharply, "Will you allow this one to act purely in your interests, even when they come in conflict with those of your family?"


And so, parricide was planned in children's playrooms, driven by an elder sibling's fierce love, the respect it had earned from a vengeful shade, and of course, as always, lingering in the background, my young master's interests, acted upon by me.


Currently, given the COVID-19 situation, I'm slightly disappointed by the dearth of no crowding memes. Listen to Hibari, herbivores!