One of the many things I had been forced to acclimate myself to in my short half-year in the mafia's employ was the shocking rudeness towards women. To many others too, but women were the relevant group at the moment.

Turmeric was warily transposing himself between Bianchi and our guest, although to whose benefit was uncertain. I was present as moral support. Shamal hadn't noticed me. Typical.

"This the big sis?" He asked Turmeric, then tossed Bianchi a wink, "I would have helped a lady as pretty of you even without lovely Lavina's memory. Give your new daddy a kiss?"

Bianchi pursed her lips, tense as a bowstring. She didn't want to, obviously, but antagonizing Shamal was unwise. I laid a supportive hand on hers. She narrowed her eyes, "In your nightmares, Trident."

"Oooh, you're a spitfire." Shamal grinned, "You'll have to leave the beating boys off to me—otherwise they'll just come back for more." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Bianchi made a face.

"Enough, Shamal." Turmeric interrupted, "We're here to negotiate your responsibilities in the event of premature parent death."

Shamal shrugged, "You said as much in your letter, CEDEF. But I'd only be responsible for Lavina's boy. Miss Bianchi, no matter how good-looking she is, isn't my business, so don't think I haven't noticed that she's here while little Hayato isn't." He rested his chin on his interlaced fingers, "Now, own up, what do you really want?"

"That's classified, I'm afraid." Turmeric replied, "All we need from you is your cooperation in properly defining your duties as Hayato's godfather."

The lecher groaned at his tone, "Come on, it was just one time! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to poach your girl and you gave me Frostbite Disease for it—honestly, let it go!"

"You still haven't worked out who you should be apologizing to." Turmeric smiled affably, "But I agree that we are wasting time. Let us move back on topic. Tea? It's one of the siblings' favorite blends."

"Hell no." Shamal shuddered, "I'm not accepting anything from your side of the table. Your concoctions are enough, rumor has it that Miss Bianchi is a Poison Cooker too."

"I am." Bianchi crossed her arms, "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Nope." He held his hands up, conciliatory, "No objections here, but I'm not letting you cook for me."

"Lucky you, I'm not going to live with you anyway." Bianchi shoved the contract at him, "Take care of my little brother, teach him how to fight, don't risk his life or health, and don't use him for womanizing."

Shamal raised an eyebrow as he read. "Monthly reports? I hate paperwork. Receipt-based reimbursement? You do know that the cosa nostra doesn't like leaving a paper trail, do you? Oooh, mental health, physical health, complete medical records—congrats on including mental health, girl, and sorry, but you're pretty much assimilated into the paper-pushing brigade if you have Opinions on your little brother not going cray-cray. Also, I'm hurt. You do know that I'm probably going to use a few of my top-secret mosquitos on your little brother and that you're trying to make me reveal them? Why can't you be a nice young lady and just tell me to discharge my duty as Hayato's godfather? Why contracts?"

"Given regrettable past incidents, I feel the need for more assurance than your word." Turmeric offered Shamal a pen tip-first, while smiling warmly. Was that the equivalent of pointing a knife at someone? The warmth was his default state—he always excluded an air of homeliness—so I ignored the dissonance. "This is what I believe to be the least objectionable option. Of course, if you feel differently, we are willing to be accommodating."

"Projecting, aren't we?" Shamal asked, ignoring the pen, "Just because the Young Lion has a questionable sense of…well, everything, doesn't mean we all do. And what is this more objectionable option?"

"Shishou keeps his word to the letter!" I hissed at him furiously.

Gratifyingly, he leapt backwards, a mosquito capsule already open. I flared Rain Flames over my skin in defense as I watched for the deadly vector. The Trident snapped the capsule back shut, once again containing the insect. He watched me warily as he scooted back to the table.

"You're the new bite sized demon, I take it? —calm down kid, I'm not insulting Papa Lion—if you're here, probably as a witness, then let me guess—it's a kiss isn't it? A kiss to seal the deal. Can we do that? A kiss from a pretty lady like Bianchi here's definitely less of a nightmare than CEDEF contracts."

"Tough luck." Bianchi leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest.

Shamal groaned, "And I really don't want to kiss Wormwood here, and demon is a kid, so fine."

"You could give me what remains of your name, Shamal." Turmeric observed mildly.

The freelancer recoiled in horror, "Fuck no! Wait a second—can you actually do that? Nevermind, hand that pen over, let's get on with it."

Coffee break coincided neatly with Iruka's lunchtime. Bianchi wanted to see my fabled dolphin, and Turmeric was obliged to keep an eye on her. As a result, our whole group headed to Iruka's pool, which now included sand, corals, and sponges. Some were contributions by fellow CEDEF agents (honestly, tending to our resident mascot had become group stress relief at this point), but some had just appeared, quite inexplicably.

Daemon was already at the edge, feeding Iruka from a bucket and occasionally animating one of the fish. Shock from our guest. "Who's that?"

"Salt." Lal had been sitting by the pool as well. "Once, he was worth his weight in gold, nowadays he's just cheap white powder."

Daemon opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again, "Seriously?"

Shamal continued to stare. "Do you know what happens when you expose an animal to too much flames?"

Daemon stretched lazily, emptying the bucket into the water and adding a few extra with his Flames besides, "Of course I do. You use Mist-fed mosquitos to carry diseases, Cavallone horses never buck a rightful rider, Reborn's rumored to have beetle surveillance devices. The more altered the food, the more Flame replaces flesh. Unlike those dumb creatures the rest of the mafia tend though, Iruka's intelligent enough that he can become Active himself with just a little help."

"There's a reason Flame Animal Husbandry doesn't deal with smarter species!" Shamal shot back, "A dolphin—you do know that they're sex maniacs?"

"Look at who's talking, Pot." Lal snorted. "Is the contract signed yet? I'm the one sealing it and I don't have the time to waste waiting around."

"Aww, not Oregano?" Shamal asked, apparently falling back on sleazing to hide his panic, "Y'know, I came so quickly because I wanted to kiss the legend. Copper for a kiss—c'mon, I'm owed that for all the hassle you're going to put me through!"

Turmeric jerked Bianchi out of the way. I dove into the pool. Daemon was looming in front of Shamal, Flame hazing the air about him and Killing Intent palpable in the air. "I am curious," He hissed, lifting the other man by the neck, "Do you think these jokes amusing, or are you even denser than that?"

"[Boneless-Food-Giver] is scary." Iruka commented with a series of clicks and whistles.

I agreed. On land, Shamal was scrabbling at his throat, struggling to breath.

Turmeric intervened, "Salt, let him down."

Daemon turned towards him, his face hazy the way it went right before transforming into some sort of eldritch horror.

"He can't answer you like that." Turmeric reminded Daemon calmly.

Daemon made a contemptuous noise, but threw his victim onto the floor. He looked down, "Well, your answer?"

"Sorry!" Shamal coughed from his bruised throat, "Didn't mean to offend you. It's force of habit."

A flash of disgust crossed Turmeric's face.

Daemon pressed down onto the doctor's groin with a boot-tip. Just, why? "I suggest you unlearn that habit then, Trident Shamal. If you cannot comprehend why you should, then let this suffice: failure to do so independently will be understood as an invitation for me to see whether an old dog can learn new tricks."

Whirling on his other heel, our resident ghost gave Turmeric a brisk nod, "You have my respect for not killing him. Call me if he's still on the premises in ten minutes."

He then bowed to Bianchi—a courtly bow at that, "If you feel yourself wishing for a palate cleanser, may I suggest the recreational library? It has quite a selection of classics in various languages—there is a translation of the Count of Monte Cristo that is my particular favorite. It is my hope that it might prove to be of value to you as well, Miss Bianchi."

"I'll look into it later, thanks."

Salt's intervention did speed everything up. Shamal signed, then wobbled out the door, letting out pained noises every other step, "The worst thing is, I'd be seriously up for it if Salt was…" The shadows darkened menacingly, "Not so pantswettinglyterrifyingbye!" He squeaked.

"I want to grow up to be Salt." Bianchi sighed dreamily, "And have boys look up at me with fear in their eyes."

"With or without the BDSM aspect?" I asked.

Bianchi sighed, "I'm not sure yet."

"Take your time." Turmeric advised.

The other joke is that Daemon is a ghost, ergo bodiless=weightless, so Lal can also be interpreted as saying that he was originally worthless, and has improved to become very cheap instead.

Also, Turmeric has a reputation for lying around, ladies consider him the ideal one-night-stand partner. Sometimes uses this reputation as a cover to get drunk partygoers home safe.