Sunshine and Subterfuge
Arc II - Somewhere, Over the Rainbow
01. Familiar Faces
Renato decides to go to the mysterious meeting organized by the checker-faced stranger.
Of course she does.
One of these days, indulging my curiosity is going to bite me in the ass. She thinks with a wry half-smile as she ambles through an oceanfront city in Sicily, towards the restaurant that will host the first meeting of the so-called strongest seven. I prescelti sette, i prescelti sette. Those words have been circling in her thoughts since the invitation had been delivered.
It's a little before eleven in the morning. Though the air remains crisp, warm sunlight bathes the narrow, cobbled street. Renato closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath of air. The breeze carries a hint of the aroma of salt and fish. "Ah, well... If nothing else, this should be an interesting challenge."
If it's a trap, that's one thing. If that man was being honest? Working with a team of specialists would be a challenge of a different sort, as I've limited myself mostly to solo work.
Leon, perching on her shoulder, shifts in discomfort, and the dark green tail wrapped around the back of Renato's neck tightens its grip. I still say this is a bad idea.
"Perhaps. But I can't walk away. Not yet." I need to learn more about that man, at the very least. Someone with such a facility with illusions is definitely a threat.
If you say so. You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd think the checker-faced one has meddled with your thoughts to form this little obsession.
"I say so."
Be careful, Partner. I'd rather not dodge bullets today.
Cocky smirk firmly in place, Renato turns down a side street, prowling towards a nondescript hole-in-the-wall eatery. Preliminary reconnaissance has shown the place is known for being something of a neutral ground for meetings— both for those connected to the underground and not. The shabby exterior is largely designed to deter tourists.
She nods to the burly man tending the bar, "Good morning. Private room, rented under the name Dama?"
"Through the red door." The man rumbles, nodding towards the back of the main room. "Bit down the hallway, third door on the right. Menu is provided, but you'll have to send someone out to order. You're the first one to arrive."
Tilting her head in acknowledgement, she murmurs her thanks, and heads towards the aforementioned door. She finds the meeting room easily, stepping inside without any hesitation.
A lovely room, if a bit empty.
"Hm," is Renato's noncommittal reply.
There is a long, oval table at the center, seven chairs interspersed evenly. Identical cream Manilla folders, each labeled 'ARCOBALENO' in large, blocky letters, are placed on the table, with one resting in front of every chair.
Behind the table is a small cart, a stack of menus on top. Further still, a piano and its matching stool are pushed against the back wall. She briefly flips through the topmost menu before placing it back onto the stack, and then approaches the piano, fingers lightly dancing over the keys— a light, tinkling few notes. Nothing suspicious so far.
"Hm," she repeats, exploring a small decorative table also pushed against the rear wall. Its sole occupant is a radio, covered with a thin layer of dust. There is nothing in the small drawer below, and no wires besides the power cord leading to the radio. A more careful check, which necessitates briefly cracking open the casing of the little brown box, proves nothing suspicious inside. She flips the radio on and fiddles with the dial until a tango sashays through the room, the tune— playful and passionate— providing a little background noise. Perfect.
She still has forty to fifty minutes to kill, metaphorically speaking, before the other six prospective team members should start to arrive. I'll help check the vents, Leon offers, crawling down her right arm. She squats briefly to let the chameleon down, disguising it as a check under the table.
In the meantime, she continues scrutinizing every nook and cranny in the room, from the corners to the potted plants, looking for discreet monitoring devices and the like. She even flares her Flames, trying to distort any active illusions. There is nothing suspicious. There's not even a spider web.
It is fifteen minutes before she suspects the early birds should start to arrive when Renato finally retrieves Leon, picks an arbitrary chair, and takes a seat.
Another tango is on, though other music had played during the past hour: a piece with the melody carried by piano, this time. Renato sits, body language relaxed, hands folded in her lap, eyes half-lidded in pleasure, appearing generally unconcerned by the situation.
A very familiar figure enters the room, blue eyes brightening with joy when she notices the hitman. "Oh~! Renato, I'm glad you're here."
"Chaos. Always a pleasure to see you in person, Luce... But without your shadows?" Arching a brow, she flashes a mischievous grin, simultaneously teasing her friend and fishing for information, "I would have thought they wouldn't let you out of their sight, Lulu. It seems they're remiss in their duties... Should I spirit you away for a few days? Teach them a lesson?"
A soft smile, tainted with just a hint of embarrassment, "My... shadows, as you call them, are a little overprotective. I had a hard time convincing them to let me go to this meeting alone. No need for any mischief, really! And I should be safe enough here. At least— you'll watch out for me, right?"
"...Naturally. I could never leave a lady in distress."
They both know it's not strictly true; Renato is often enough the cause of said distress, but Luce laughs merrily nevertheless and takes a seat across from her friend, "Ren, I swear, you've gotten only more incorrigible as we age."
"Me? Incorrigible? I'm sure I don't know what you mean..." Then, expression turning more serious, she asks, "Are you going by your actual name or—?"
"Luce is fine; this face is pretty recognizable, you know?"
"Ah, a woman as beautiful as you is always recognizable." Renato wags her eyebrows theatrically.
"As memorable as Renato Sinclair is, hm?"
Renato tips her hat forward slightly in acknowledgement of the quip, chuckling, "Exactly so. On a completely different note, I don't suppose you know anything about this i prescelti sette nonsense?"
"I just saw that I had to be here. Although, I was pretty certain you would be here, too."
"Pity." The smirk fades slightly with the realization her former student is dodging the question. "I suppose I'll just have to wait and see. I trust that you wouldn't come here if there's any immediate danger."
Almost immediately after Luce settles in her seat, in comes a tall man in dark trousers, a green collared shirt, and a long, white coat— a lab coat, to be precise. It takes a few seconds to recognize the aristocratic face. Dante Lorenzo, acclaimed scientist and inventor, often called the second coming of Leonardo Da Vinci. An aloof man obsessed with research, and purported to be interested in little else. His alias in the underground is Verde; understandable, given the bright green hair.
The scientist assesses the room with a quick glance, and then steps to the side, letting the door shut behind him with a click. "Donna Giglio Nero, a pleasure." A graceful bow to the lady, then a nod acknowledging Renato's presence "And... Renato Sinclair."
"Verde. A pleasure to meet you face to face."
A Lightning—the lingering scent of ozone hints at it. Makes sense; there are rumors he's bloodline Bovino, somebody's embarrassingly successful bastard...
The next person through the door Renato recognizes immediately. A man with distinctly Asian features, dressed in red. They've encountered each other several times over the past six or seven years, and have even worked together before. Still, they are at best friendly acquaintances, and she isn't entirely certain of his true name; the usual alias will have to do. "Fon. Whoever called us here seems to be collecting specialists."
"Renato Sinclair." The storm bows, a serene smile on his face. "Wonderful to see you again."
"Likewise."
A Storm. The best in the business, even; things are becoming a little more intriguing.
Given the team members so far... 'Arcobaleno' would make sense as a team name if they're gathering each of the Flame types. A bit tacky, however.
A further two people enter as the clock strikes noon, their appointed meeting time— a heavily cloaked individual, face shaded by a deep hood, and a blue-haired woman, dressed in grey slacks and a white blouse, an old but well-cared for military jacket slung over her shoulders.
The first is blatantly a Mist—a hint of Flame lingers, disguising— his? her?— their figure even more than the billowy folds of fabric that drift in an unnatural breeze that they exude. The person is difficult to focus on, but Renato recognizes the flavor of the Flames. The individual is a prodigal information specialist, placed two years below her at the Academy. They'd shared a few classes, but hadn't interacted face-to-face, and even then that person had been very androgynous...
"Viper," the figure declares in monotone in place of an introduction, and slides into the nearest empty seat. "Sinclair. Fon. I am unsurprised." They nod a greeting to Luce as well, "Giglio Nero," but ignore Verde entirely.
Renato smirks playfully, "From what I know, you are rarely surprised, Viper." After all, your network is at least as extensive as mine.
"A compliment? That's unlike you, Sinclair."
"You can't believe everything you hear."
The Mist does not bother to respond.
In the meantime, the blue-haired woman sits down without a word, stiff-backed and alert.
A Military background, judging by her posture. Renato analyzes. Could be she followed a father or much older brother into the service; the jacket's too old to be hers. Probably a hand-me-down, but one she chooses to wear, considering the quality of the rest of her clothes. She was likely forced out of the military due to her gender. Pity for them; she looks capable.
Hmm... A Rain, maybe? She doesn't act particularly friendly, and they tend to be relatively sociable people. Perhaps a Cloud. No, the latter aren't suited to following orders. Could be part of the reason she's not military anymore. Went in because of family loyalty, but was too independent? Became a tactical consultant or maybe a hitman in the underworld to support herself?
She'll just have to wait and see. And do some cursory snooping, of course. Renato could hardly trust a complete unknown at her back.
"Are you going to introduce yourself, Miss Blue?" This question, from a sweetly smiling Luce.
The woman in question quirks a brow, and mutters, "Blue will do."
Ha! At least she might have a sense of humor under the stony exterior.
As they wait for their last team member to arrive, Renato stays quiet, listening to the conversations that spring up with half an ear.
Arcobaleno, a team with each member having different Flame types... Is this is a gathering of potential guardians for a Sky? But the only Sky here is Luce, and she has guardians.
Curious.
The last of their number scrambles through the red door. It's a tense-looking teenager. Purple hair, purple eyes— exceptionally strong Could Flames, perhaps? Color changes have been known to happen on Activation when the individual has an exceptionally high Flame purity and poor control— and an eccentric style: piercings, makeup, and dressed in a full leather outfit in purple and black.
"You're late." Renato deadpans, eyes narrowed in distaste, none too pleased to have her time wasted. "To make amends, you can fetch our drinks later... Lackey." By now she's reasonably convinced that Blue is ex-military, so the teenager is the only one present she has absolutely no intelligence on. Regardless, she already has a low opinion of the brat.
"Ah, don't be so hard on him, Ren. This place is hard to find for anyone that hasn't been in the city before."
"Hm." That's no excuse not to do reconnaissance ahead of time. Eyes half-lidded, Renato hums thoughtfully, but eventually concedes, "If you say so, Luce."
Renato glances back to the jittery-looking kid— is he fidgeting? Seriously?— "Take a seat, Lackey."
At least the kid can follow directions. A lot of nervous energy. Maybe a Sun? I suppose they could have mistaken my Flame, but... Hm. Also doesn't seem easygoing enough to be a Rain. Then again, my Flame nature isn't matched to my temperament either. And it's not as if my eyes are a sunny yellow.
I suppose this could be an exercise in teamwork, after all... I wonder what that man needs a team of specialists for?
"Well, then. Since our new lackey here has finally graced us with his presence, let's find out what this meeting is about."
02. Competence
The third mission they accept turns into a complete clusterfuck.
By this time, each member of Team Arcobaleno has had the opportunity to showcase some of their talents. As a result, they treat each other with, at the very least, grudging respect, though the youngest of their number is often ignored. There is no easy feeling of camaraderie—not yet— but a sense of beginnings, of connection, of being part of a greater whole... that is starting to form.
Renato falls into the role of mission leader, much as she dislikes trying to corral such an eclectic mix of personalities. There is a reason hitmen are usually loners; she doesn't really have the patience to deal with the Arcobaleno for long. Unfortunately, they have already agreed to cohabitate for the duration of their alliance, setting up in a manor provided by Luce. Renato usually steps back and lets their Sky lead at headquarters, lets her mediate their petty squabbles. Although Luce isn't their Sky, not truly.
This mission is the first time they've had to cooperate in an outright combat situation, though the Arcobaleno have some idea of each other's capabilities in a fight. Fon and Stuntman both favor hand-to-hand over any kind of weapons, although the latter is more of a brawler than anything else. Renato and Blue are mid-to-long range fighters, preferring firearms— the hitman her trusty handgun, and Blue a short-barreled shotgun. Viper depends almost wholly on Flames, though Renato faintly recalls the Mist was known to be quite good with bladed weapons in the Academy. Still, the Mist's chosen style forces them to be discreet, disabling and confusing the enemy from long-distance, as they're not certain that Stuntman and Blue know about Flames. Verde attacks with whatever madcap inventions he has on hand, though many of them depend on his Lightning Flames... 'Modified Tasers' is his excuse for the Flame-blind civilians.
Regardless; this mission is rapidly turning into a disaster. Someone has tipped off their target, and instead of a quiet infiltration to retrieve a handful of incriminating photographs of their client, they find themselves in a standoff. Five Arcobaleno facing over three dozen opponents. Even if the latter are less skilled, one of the louts could always get a lucky shot in.
Renato feels some measure of relief that Luce is elsewhere. She'd managed to convince the younger woman to stay back at headquarters with Verde as her backup-slash-babysitter— though in truth the scientist is probably hiding in the basement, neck-deep in some kind of experiment. Luce's pregnancy is the only reason Renato won that argument.
The standoff quickly devolves into a messy fight, with the five Arcobaleno present splitting into three teams. Viper fades into the background, assisting their team mates discreetly. Renato keeps a sharp eye on the stuntman; to her, facing the disorganized crowd that is their enemies is like shooting fish in a barrel. Similarly, Blue chooses to take potshots at anyone that tries to strike while Fon's back is turned.
Things are going well; their opponents are even less skilled than Renato expected, and this is more a slaughter than a proper fight. Soon, all but five of their enemies are incapacitated or dead. Most are dead, courtesy of a bullet to the brain. Renato aims and– there are three. Blue takes another shot— two. Finally, none, as the last two standing are faced with their red-clad martial artist.
Renato's sharp eyes catch a glint of metal from a nearby roof— Sniper!
She dives without weighing the decision, dragging Skull to the ground with her. The bullet misses its intended target— the stuntman's chest. The meaty sound of a metal projectile impacting human flesh— a bloody mist, tiny droplets of red peppering the cement— a sharp inhale. The hitman staggers to her feet with a pained grimace, snarling, "Roof. Sniper, at least one."
A shitty shot, too— I would have been able to compensate for the sudden movement.
Viper melts from the shadows, eyeing the wounded Sun warily and commenting "I'll take care of it," before disappearing from the others' senses once again.
Lucky the bullet missed that cluster of nerves... Best heal it up enough to limit blood loss, and minimize the chances of losing range of motion. Extract the bullet later, she decides with a scar, at least, will not be from a stupid mistake. She glowers darkly at the purple-haired teenager, pressing a hand to her shoulder and focusing her Flames internally. It wouldn't do to inadvertently break omertà. "Next time, Lackey, don't get in the way."
He really doesn't belong in this world; what was that man thinking?
"Bu-but I—?" The purple-haired nuisance seems at a loss for words, for once. Then, noticing the hitman has been wounded, he flails, attracting Fon and Blue's attention. "Oh! Are you okay?!"
Honestly. While I know it's mostly feigned, must he yell and whine at that volume?
"Fine." Renato resists the urge to childishly roll her eyes, or shoot him. Rolling her shoulder carefully, she tests its current limits, assessing the damage. Not ideal, but it will do for a temporary fix. "Back to work," she proclaims, glare intensifying when the lackey tries to protest, "We still need to complete the mission."
Fon nods, though his eyes linger on Renato's bloody shoulder as he turns back towards the building that holds their goal. Blue frowns, expression hesitant. "You sure?"
"Hm. Viper 's likely already moving in from the top of the building; we'll be the distraction. Lackey and I will enter through the back. You two start at the front."
They don't meet much in the way of resistance inside, and the rest of the mission lacks any surprises, pleasant or otherwise.
Back at their headquarters, Renato seeks the privacy of her own room, after assuring the rest of the Arcobaleno she can handle her own wounds, and fending off a Luce that is determined to mother-hen her.
Closing the door behind her, she releases the mask of the invulnerable hitman with an inaudible sigh. Finally, some peace! Placing her fedora on her desk, she eases out of the ruined jacket, eyeing the patch of blood and prominent bullet hole with disdain. Next, she unbuckles and slides off her shoulder holster, leaving both holster and gun on her desk for later maintenance.
Leaning down, she slides a homemade first aid kit from under the desk with a grumble, and carries it over to a loveseat a few paces away, placing it beside her. Finally, she strips off the collared shirt, undershirt, and even more reluctantly, her binder, leaving herself bare from the waist up. "I hate shoulder wounds."
Then maybe you should avoid being a large, obvious target. Or playing meat-shield for your teammates. Whichever it was... Leon chastises from within the large glass structure that is his home— the monstrosity is a glass tank the size of a wardrobe, taking up one whole corner of the room. He pushes open a small, circular door, one of a dozen placed at different heights in the glass wall, and scampers out of the tank in order to inspect his human. Honestly, Ren. I take one afternoon off, and you get yourself shot?
"The latter." Renato takes a deep breath, preparing to extract the fragment of metal in her shoulder, "And yes, Leon, I simply can't survive without you. Best supervise me more carefully in the future." The room is silent as she works, the chameleon knowing she needs to concentrate. So he makes himself more comfortable, locating Renato's favorite hat and coiling his lithe green body within its brim. Renato just barely finishes extracting the bullet when the lackey barges into the room, door slamming shut behind him.
Unfortunately, the angle of her seat is such that Renato's true gender is impossible to disguise. Violet eyes widen in shock, "Holy shit, you're—"
Renato is halfway across the room, the gun she'd set aside immediately in her hand, barrel pointed at the intruder, "You are trespassing, Lackey." The door hadn't been locked; it rarely is, as nothing personal is stored in the room. Nevertheless, the private rooms belonging to each Arcobaleno are exactly that—private. Stuntman barging in without an invitation, without so much as a knock, is a breach of the agreements they'd made when the team was formed.
"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Hands raised in a placating manner, the stuntman starts tripping over his words, "I know, but— Look, I won't say anything, and you can take it out of my hide later, okay? I just... You're difficult to get alone, and—" Suddenly remembering Renato is half-dressed and very obviously female, he flushes a vibrant shade of red, and covers his face, "Oh God, I'm going to die! I'm going to die! ...Oh, but first, I—"
"Waste of a good bullet," Renato mutters under her breath, setting the handgun aside, and resumes working on her wounded shoulder. She listens closely to the babbling Cloud nevertheless, even as she eventually rises from her seat to retrieve some appropriate attire. Skull is surprisingly earnest as he tries to simultaneously apologize for the intrusion—"I'm such an idiot, I didn't even think to knock! I'm so, so very sorry!"— and thank the hitman for pushing him out of the way of the sniper's shot, all the while explaining that, really, the action was entirely unnecessary. Renato lets him blather on for a few minutes after she's done redressing. "So, what I really want to say is, thanks, Sinclair. It wasn't necessary, but—"
"Whatever." She waves away the thanks with a tired sigh. "Don't fret over it, kid." They're teammates. He's her junior, both in age and experience, and thus her responsibility. She'd been watching his six. It would have been a lethal shot. She didn't, and still doesn't, want to see the stuntman dead, even if she does find his attitude incredibly exhausting. As for the rest? The boy is smart enough to keep his mouth shut, or he'll be taking a short walk off a tall cliff in the immediate future. Or a nice, cold swim with cement shoes.
Distracted, the stuntman puffs up like an offended cat, "I'm not a kid!"
"As long as you act like a bratty lackey, I'll treat you like one." Holding up a hand, she interrupts his blustering. "Stuntman." She doesn't go as far as revealing she knows his actual name; the show name he's yet to share with them will suffice. "Be quiet for a moment, Skull." You're not immortal, whatever you claim. "It's been a few months since we started working together. You do realize what you've gotten involved in, joining this team?"
"Kind of. I'm not stupid. You, and Luce, and—probably everyone else except for Blue and the Doc, but maybe them, too? You're Mafia; I'm not stupid."
"Hm." I didn't say you were. "So?"
"So... So you took a bullet for me, Sinclair, even if I act like a menace. That means something, right? And Luce is— you guys are— I love stunt work, really, but only my fans would notice if I cut back on performances."
Shit.
Forget Sky stuck, he's practically harmonized to Luce, even if she has a Cloud-natured guardian already. A secondary bond, maybe? She always was good at pulling people into her influence. Renato thinks ruefully; she'd helped the younger woman refine that skill.
A kid without any other ties?
Training, fighting, bleeding together...
He never had a chance.
"Hm. Even if we are somewhere private, don't embarrass yourself too much, Lackey." She allows the purple-haired teen another minute or two for dramatics before she interrupts again.
Sending a silent prayer up to heaven for patience, Renato offers, "...I suppose I could give you some tips, if only to keep you from acquiring any unnecessary bullet wounds." The implication being: bullet wounds not inflicted by Renato Sinclair.
"Really?! Senpai! You're the greatest!" Stuntman crows gleefully and practically throws himself at Renato, trying to pull the hitman into a tight hug.
She dodges, smacking the stuntman on the back of the head.
Leon laughs a chameleon laugh from his place on Renato's fedora.
There was a time you would have shot him for invading your privacy and been done with it.
Goddamn it, Renato, when did you get so soft?
03. Favor
Nine months into their alliance, the i prescelti sette are a team, blooded and tested. There are bonds of friendship, and even a fragile trust, carefully nursed to life through Luce's efforts.
That is the only reason Renato doesn't dismiss her request outright.
"Please, Ren?" Blue eyes widened slightly for emphasis, Luce stares hopefully at her mentor, one of her closest, dearest friends.
Renato appears unmoved, even as her thoughts race, weighing the possible consequences against the benefits. Hell, but it would make things obvious. Can I even call it a secret if this many people know? Then again, Skull already knows, has known for months. Does it matter? Renato Sinclair is infamous enough that even if it got out, nobody would believe the rumors. And even if they do; I'm still the best... it would be troublesome at worst, but no true hindrance.
"Hm. You'll owe me one, Lu." Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the stuntman startle in surprise, but quickly cover it up in his usual fashion.
The Arcobaleno Sky nods, smiling serenely. "Deal!"
Everyone else at the table, barring Viper who looks as apathetic as ever, appears various degrees of confused. Naturally, the room doesn't stay quiet for long.
"I'm so confused!" A loud whine from the usual suspect. If Renato didn't know better, didn't recognize the mask, she really would believe he's an idiot.
Renato smirks in response, and explains. "Infiltration is one of my specialties."
Luce takes pity on the teen and elaborates, "We already agreed having three teams discreetly infiltrate the party would be best. Couples would be less suspicious. I have to be excluded, for obvious reasons." She gestures to the very obvious swell of her stomach; Luce is less than a month from the delivery date. "That leaves Blue, which means we need two people to cross-dress."
"And you think Sinclair can pull that off." Verde arches a brow, expression skeptical. "No offense, but... you're not exactly feminine."
Ha! And again: Ha!
"You doubt my skill?" A dangerous glint in her coal-black eyes, Renato's lips gradually curl upwards, forming an absolutely wicked looking smirk. Sounds like a challenge. "Alright, then; I'll permit you to be my date for this party."
Verde chokes, glasses slipping down his nose.
The lackey leans back and practically howls with laughter— being the most obvious in his amusement. Luce giggles quietly into her hand, blue eyes glittering. When the laughter finally dies down, Viper nods to Renato and then looks to Luce, offering, "I suppose I can oblige as well. But you owe me a favor too."
"Perfect. Then the teams will be... Blue and Stuntman, Renato and Verde, Viper and Fon?"
Two days later, no one is laughing.
The hitman wears the face of a long-forgotten Renata when she steps into the conference room on the first floor, already occupied by the rest of the Arcobaleno. Her deceptively slight, slender frame is swathed in green silk, the fine cloth clinging to emphasize her feminine curves. The long skirt is loose enough that the holstered gun strapped to her leg goes unnoticed.
Complete and utter silence.
The wooden door closes behind her with a soft click. Inch-high black heels tap softly as she proceeds over the wooden floor to her seat at the table.
Renato's dark, curly hair has been grown to a more acceptable length through judicious use of Sun Flames, before being pinned into a stylish updo. Black eyes peek out from beneath long lashes, the slight slant emphasized with a thin line of black eyeliner.
She slides into her customary chair, lips decorated with just a touch of lipstick curl into a familiar, vicious smirk. Verde, Stuntman and Fon shudder as one. She hums thoughtfully, taking in their rapidly changing expressions— shocked, disturbed, then thoughtful— with undisguised glee, and decides to add fuel to the fire. Her voice is a smooth, melodic alto, just close enough to Renato's voice to give people chills. "I can still kill you just as easily in a dress and heels; don't think about taking any liberties." The words ruin what remains of the innocent image entirely.
"My eyes, my eyes! I'll never be able to remove this from my brain. Renato-senpai, don't kill me pleeease!" Stuntman wails, covering his face with his hands. He's definitely blushing, and more than a little traumatized at whatever thoughts are circling in his brain.
Verde shudders again, this time looking slightly nauseous. "I take it back, Renato. You are more than capable of masquerading as a woman."
"Hm. Oh, am I?" Renata acknowledges the scientist's loss with a slight tilt of her head. "Call this face Anna, if you would."
"Nice dress." Viper comments quietly from across the table.
"Thank you; I like yours as well. Blue suits your current appearance fantastically." The Mist is a svelte, grey-eyed, brown haired young woman, appearing to be somewhere in her early twenties. She's dressed in a lovely cerulean dress, cut to bare her shoulders and draw attention to the arch of her neck.
Arms folding in front of her chest, Renato smiles coyly at her teammates, "So. Does our plan require any last minute adjustments?"
04. Fated Day
Months and missions pass quickly. Soon, the strongest seven are offered their seventh assignment. After over a year of living and working together, their teamwork is seamless, and the task sounds more tedious than challenging: hunting for treasure in an isolated mountain range. Still, the pay is good, as usual. And, loathe as Renato is to admit it, the company is— she's grown fond of them. That does not stop her from sending a few 'playful' shots at Stuntman when he jokes about this mission being lucky number seven. Their youngest needs dodging practice anyway, right?
All seven of them go; Luce insists on it, as there's no reason for the trip to be overly dangerous. "Besides," their Sky reasons, "You might need an extra pair of hands, or an extra set of eyes to find this place."
They spend days trekking through the wilderness, searching for the mountain path marked on the map that had been provided. The map that was, very obviously, completely inaccurate. The fact that they are being followed only adds to Renato's sour mood. Blue waves it off, mentioning she knows the identity of their little stalker. "He's mostly harmless. I'll introduce you when we get back. That is, after I beat his ass for being so obvious when following us around."
Finally, nearly two weeks into their little misadventure, they find the mountain in question. It is a long and arduous climb; often there is no path at all, just near-vertical cliffs for them to scale. They reach the summit tired, but flush with the feeling of victory.
To their confusion, nothing of note is present there, beyond a strangely flat area on the ground, marked with what looks like a chalk outline the shape of a giant pacifier. After taking a thorough look around, they converge at the center of the area.
A blinding flash— white fills Renato's vision, and she feels a wave of pressure, pushing downwards. Before she can step back, fight—anything!— there is a surge of pain, centered in Renato's chest, like her heart is being crushed by an unrelenting fist. What sort of trap is this?! The pain radiates outward, pulsing in synch with her heartbeat, until every inch of her is burning, pulsing, burning, pain. From the corner of her eye, she sees someone, likely their stalker, push Blue aside, out of the circle of light and pulsing Flames. Then the agony is too overwhelming to think of anything but trying to stay vertical, to keep her knees from buckling.
I will not surrender and die like a dog— not like this! She can feel Sun Flames flaring around her in response to her resolve, a familiar yellow blaze, swallowed up or drowned out by the white fights to stay awake, wanting to face whatever mess they've blundered into head on, biting back a scream— the high pitch she'd hit would permanently end all speculation regarding actual gender— but in the end, the agony is too much, and she succumbs to unconsciousness, slumping as if boneless to the ground.
She is the last of the eight figures to do so.
Goddamn. Everything hurts. The unrelenting pain she'd felt earlier seems to be fading faded, leaving behind a dull ache and an all-encompassing feeling of exhaustion. Renato forces herself to her feet regardless, through sheer force of will. She's the first of the newly-transformed Arcobaleno to wake.
It is only when the pain dulls enough for her to actually think that she notices the first discrepancy.
The ground is too close. She wriggles her toes; everything seems intact, and the sensation of pain indicates this is unlikely to be a dream. A Mist illusion to disorient me, maybe? No— what would be the point? I was unconscious. Then she notices the next discrepancy.
Bleary-eyed, she stares down at the hands she'd used to push herself to her feet. The movement had been automatic, but... Her mind struggles to cope with what she sees. Tiny, chubby hands. Hands that would fumble with a standard pistol, let alone anything larger, such as a machine gun or sniper rifle.
A child's hands, quickly curling into fists to hide the tremor of fear.
Her hands.
For a few brief seconds, her mind is blank with terror.
Renato hasn't felt this helpless in many, many years. She hasn't felt this shattered since her mother's death, over a decade ago.
A closer inspection proves that rest of her has seemingly shrunk to match— clothes included, thankfully. A quick check of the weapons that make up her standard kit proves that every item she had on her person remains proportional. That eases at least a little of her worry.
Summoning her Flames to double-check her physical status, she nearly flinches when the unfamiliar weight around her neck, a yellow pacifier, flares with eldritch light the exact shade of her power. She ignores the foreign object for now, continuing with her assessment.
Interesting.
Everything indicates she is healthy, if a little tired and sore.
A healthy toddler. Hell— three, maybe four, at best!
She sighs, and directs her attention back to her surroundings— her instincts indicate there is no immediate danger.
And I am not the only one; we have all been altered.
The young man that had pushed Blue out of the way is still out cold, as is Blue herself. The quasi-military style of dress, similar to the clothing Blue herself chooses to wear... he is her friend, if not her partner.
Their martial artist is up and meditating, not far from where he fell— no doubt trying to regain his equilibrium. Renato is thankful; a raging Storm, especially one of Fon's caliber, is exceptionally dangerous.
Verde and Viper are arguing, loudly about the possible causes of their transformation. Their stuntman is, just as loudly, freaking out, chubby hands fisted in the spiky mess he calls hair. Nobody seems to be paying him any attention at the moment.
And Luce is—just as tiny as the rest of us, and looks just as disoriented by the change.
"Ciaossu—" Renato drawls, intending to try and calm her compatriots, or at the very least distract them. Unfortunately, the sound of the childish voice she'd long ago left behind, complete with much-hated lisp that had plagued her early years, has her tempter slipping from its leash. "—fuck!" The litany of curses that comes forth in an eclectic mixture of English, Italian, Japanese, and even more esoteric languages, including what Viper recognizes as Quenya, has even Luce staring. Five minutes into her rant, Renato takes a deep breath, then a second one, and pushes her rage and frustration aside.
Now is not the time to indulge your temper. She chastises herself for the loss of control, and then, with a touch more humor, thinks— at least I've distracted them from this... whatever this is. And it seems all eight of them are now upright and somewhat recovered.
"Damn, that was impressive-kora." The blonde toddler in military fatigues forces a grin. Blue wordlessly wallops him on the back of the head.
"I didn't even know senpai had an actual temper!" Stuntman murmurs in astonishment, "His emotional range seemed to only include annoyed, sadistic and amused as well as combinations like sadistically amused..."
"Hm. My apologies; I was a little... startled." Dark eyes regard her teammates, all similarly changed. Each with a pacifier hung around their necks, tinted the color of their Flames. All but Blue; her pacifier is empty of color, and somehow— wrong. Cloudy. "Obviously, we seem to have walked into a very bizarre trap." This had better not be someone's sick idea of a joke.
She resists the urge to interrogate Luce immediately;— considering her long-standing suspicions that the younger woman has some manner of precognitive abilities, never mind her Sky intuition... She'd been nervous, climbing up the mountain. Did she see or sense something? Why didn't she say anything?
Now is not the time for that.
"Does anyone have a safe house near here? I'd prefer to try and find a solution to this somewhere more secure, considering."
They eventually retreat to one of Renato's less-used properties to regroup and lick their wounds, figuratively speaking.
They arrive at the isolated cottage after a long and eye-opening three days of travel from the area where the incident occurred. Adjusting to their new size is challenging. Those first few days, all of them are unbelievably clumsy, constantly overestimating their reach and tripping over their own feet. Even Fon, who'd had almost supernatural control of his body manages to embarrass himself once or twice. They adjust as the days pass, but the feeling of exhaustion lingers, waning slowly—hopefully a temporary side-effect due to the change forced on their bodies.
Still, while their new bodies seem to tire more quickly, they prove just as durable as their adult forms had been. Their physical strength and reflexes remain as before— only their general constitution seems to have weakened. The sheer humiliation when Renato realizes she now needs to take a nap in the middle of the day...
Over a week after they've been transformed, Renato engineers a distraction for her other teammates in order to corner Luce. She drags the Sky to a secluded area on the grounds, intent on grilling her for information.
"What do you know."
Luce hesitates a moment, teeth worrying her lower lip, before admitting, "... I knew something would happen. Something that would change me, and the rest of the i prescelti sette."
Renato's expression darkens with fury, diminutive body tense as a bowstring, hands fisted by her side, "You knew? You knew we would be humiliated, crippled—" You knew, and you decided to say nothing?! At that moment, Renato's iron-clad will and the pair's longstanding friendship are all that stands between Luce and a bullet to the brain.
"Not exactly, no!" Luce shakes her head in denial, eyes glimmering with tears, "I didn't know we would be changed like this, Renato, I swear. It was just a nebulous feeling; it could have been a metaphorical change! And whatever would happen; it felt necessary!"
"Necessary." Renato echoes, forcing back the simmering rage enough that the can listen, so she can analyze the explanation later.
"I saw that whatever would happen to us was necessary for, for the stability of everything. I didn't try to look farther; seeing too much detail can change the likeliest could be, and it's rarely for the better." Luce sighs, and looks to the Sun Arcobaleno, blue eyes entreating, cheeks wet with tears. "Renato. Believe me, this was— it needed to happen. I'm sorry I didn't say anything but... Well, what could I say? What happens in the future, that's not up to me to decide."
Not your decision? Keeping quiet was your decision, Luce. You choose your own fate. Given your gifts this is true for you more than most. You're lying to yourself, Luce. Not only did you choose your fate, you chose the fate of the Arcobaleno as a whole.
A bitter smile. "Hm." I wonder— would I feel more or less betrayed had I harmonized with her when we first met? "I see. I suppose you don't know of a way to reverse this, then?" The smile slips away, and Renato gazes at her longtime friend with eyes as dark as the void, and just as empty. "Excuse me, Donna Giglio Nero... I think I require a nap."
"Renato—"
"Don't worry. I won't mention anything to the others." It's your secret; you decide who hears it. She turns away, aiming to head back to the house and find a quiet corner to think. "Just don't let it fester too long."
"Ren. Please. I—"
"Lu." The miniaturized hitman replies without turning back around to face her, shoulders stiff, back ramrod straight. "It's— give me time," she rasps, voice heavy with conflicting emotions. I trusted you, Luce. I trusted you. And maybe I can forgive you for the deception. But I can never forget that you are a person that is willing to sacrifice the team that fought and bled with you, your friends, for a nebulous vision of the future. That trust... it's like trying to fix a shattered mirror. "Leave me alone for a few days."
It is a testament to how unsettled the Arcobaleno are that it takes weeks for anyone to notice that Luce and Renato are avoiding each other. The two can rarely be found in the same room. The eight diminutive adults have long since returned to the Arcobaleno headquarters, though all eight are constantly in and out of the building— trying to salvage something from the scattered pieces of their lives.
It's the stuntman that notices the tension between the Sun and Sky first, and he is the only one to comment.
Renato is haunting one of the underground levels; specifically, the shooting range. Contrary to what one would expect, the hitman is systematically disassembling, cleaning, tuning, and then reassembling the entire collection of firearms present in their hideaway. Her thoughts are obviously elsewhere.
"What did you do?" Skull demands imperiously.
"Hm?" Renato's distracted answer.
"Luce is avoiding you... Sinclair, what did you do?"
That's none of your business, Lackey. "Nosy," she replies, but elaborates nevertheless; Renato gives her sometimes-student leeway, due to his age and lack of underworld connections. "We had a difference of opinion."
"You're best friends, Senpai. It must have been one hell of an argument. You should probably forgive her, whatever it is. We've all been high strung, since... you know."
"I don't need a therapist, Lackey."
"We all need therapy, Renato-senpai," the purple-haired toddler jokes. It falls flat. "Okay. On second thought, that's actually depressingly accurate. But if you didn't need someone to confide in, I doubt you'd be talking to the comic relief." He shrugs, flashing a self-deprecating smile, and adds, "You already know I can keep a secret."
I've already talked it out with Leon. She thinks, but doesn't reply, turning back to her self-appointed task of firearms maintenance. I just... need quiet.
Several weeks and an eternity later, Renato slides a cup of well-crafted, exquisitely dark espresso towards a sleep-addled Luce. It is only then the Arcobaleno Sky knows she is forgiven.
Renato Sinclair is twenty-eight when her life falls apart.
She is also three.
05. Apprentice, (Re)birth
The Sun Arcobaleno is still three and at the same time thirty when she finally acknowledges Renato Sinclair has to die. Of course, there are the usual difficulties with assuming a new identity, made more complicated by her apparent physical age, and only further compounded by the fact the Arcobaleno do not seem to be aging. And then there is Shamal, who she's raised for the past seven years.
The moody pre-teen is hardly enthused by Renato's need to cut ties.
"I'm not cutting myself out of your life permanently, Shamal. We can make contact publicly after you graduate," she assures him. That they could never afford to be seen together in public if he does not choose to stay in the underworld goes unsaid.
"That's not the point, Mom! It's just— it's unfair."
Carefully maintaining her neutral expression, Renato slowly arches a brow at the boy's inadvertent admission.
A tense silence.
Shamal twitches, looking as startled as a deer caught in a truck's headlights, expression slowly growing more mortified as the seconds tick by.
Taking pity on the teen, Renato reaches over to ruffle his brown hair. "It's fine, squirt." The nickname is especially hilarious considering her current appearance. "We're family. That is why I have to erase Renato's connections to... well, me." A sardonic smile, "It is much more difficult to go unnoticed in this body, and you cannot be tied to the World's Greatest Hitman." You're important to me; I don't want my enemies to come after you.
"I can defend myself!" The young Mist bristles with indignation.
Click. Quick as lightning, Leon, in the form of a green pistol, is in her hand. The barrel of said gun is aimed at the center of Shamal's forehead. "No whining."
"I remember, I remember!" At those words, the gun is replaced by the chameleon once more. Lips twisting into a grimace, shoulders slumping, Shamal tries to explain. "I just don't—"
Renato needs no explanation, so she interrupts, "Squirt." And then, a touch more serious, though her tone remains soft, "Shamal." You're mine. "We'll stay in contact. You know where a few of my dead drops are. You even know my personal phone number." Both were meant for emergencies, but this is fine as well. "You'll be busy at the Academy most of year anyway. And it's not like we'll never see each other again. And don't think I won't know if you let your grades slip," she warns, obsidian eyes gleaming with malice.
Paling, Shamal waves hands in front of his chest, placating, "N-no. I won't slack off! Geez... You're such a slave driver, Re—" He stumbles over the name, not knowing what to call her now, but recovers quickly, "Reborn."
A toothy smirk, "Reborn, hm? An apt enough name; I think I'll keep it." Her ward smiles at these words, an honest if tremulous thing, looking like the lost five year old she'd rescued instead of the nearly-eleven he actually is.
I know you can take care of yourself, squirt. You've never needed me hovering over your shoulder.
She returns flashes small smile of her own, proclaiming— "The Sun Arcobaleno Reborn, The World's Greatest Hitman."
My name will help you remember the truth, even as Renato dies to protect the people he cares about.
06. Binding
Reborn is three, and also forty-four.
The condition they now refer to as the Arcobaleno Curse, that she is trapped in this small, weakened form, complete with embarrassing lisp and squeaky voice... It long ago became a fact of life. She takes advantage of it when she can, and works around the limitations of her body when necessary.
It is necessary annoyingly often.
Sometimes she nearly laughs at the irony: her unchanging body in contrast to her partner's new gift for changing size and shape. Laughing is better than giving in to the rage that lingers beneath the surface, better than tears that long ago dried up. At least she and Leon share the apparent longevity. But forever young does not mean immortal— Luce is proof of that. She's gone. Gone forever without as much as a goodbye, her pacifier passed on to a sixteen year old Aria. Considering they literally cannot leave their pacifiers behind... Luce is dead.
Still, none of this is on Reborn's mind at the moment.
Sitting cross-legged in a sinfully comfortable leather chair, likely chosen to put visitors at ease to their own detriment, she stares at Teo across the expanse of his meticulously organized desk. The man staring back at her is a middle-aged Timoteo di Vongola— an accomplished leader, outwardly benevolent but known to be just as merciless as his contemporaries... and a largely absentee father to four sons.
Just when did you change from a fumbling boy-child into such a spider, Teo?
Hell, when did you age so much?
They've been friends for over three decades now. Timoteo knows many of her faces: Ren the person, Renato the aspiring hitman, and Reborn, World's Greatest Hitman and Sun Arcobaleno.
When did you become more Mafia Don than Teo? More disquieting, did I miss this change in you or willfully ignore it? Does this curse have an insidious effect? Is my mind slowly creeping towards childhood, destined to eventually mirror my physical age?
Eyes as black and emotionless as a void meet Timoteo's warmer honey-brown. "You want me to what." She states more than asks, lips turning downward in a mild scowl.
"I want you to be my son's godfather." The older-looking man repeats with an innocuous smile. "Xanxus needs a good role model, and I think you two would get along."
Failing coerce me to join your Varia, you would try to tie me to the Vongola a little more personally?
I'm not sure if I should be impressed or insulted.
"...That's what I thought you said." Standing on the chair brings Reborn to just below eye level with the sitting Boss. She leans forward slightly, planting her hands flat on the surface of the desk with a thump. The pile of paperwork at the edge of the desk teeters dangerously for a few seconds, but ultimately fails to fall. "Have you taken complete leave of all of your senses, Timoteo?! I'm a hitman, not a nanny. Surely you have people lining up at the door for the opportunity."
"Come now, that's hardly an excuse; you and I both know you don't take hits on Vongola personnel." That you know of. She amends within the privacy of her own mind; outwardly, there's not as much as a , allied famiglia request a less benign agent in the Vongola disappear, quietly and discreetly. And Reborn is a professional.
"And I would rather trust him to your care should something happen to me."
So you're still an idiot, talking to me about trust— just a more manipulative one.
She shrugs, feigning relaxation as she settles back into a sitting position on the, for her, oversized leather chair. "Maybe so, but that's no reason to ask a contract killer to be godparent to a Vongola heir, fourth in line or not. Which reminds me; where did you even find him? Teo, anyone with eyes can tell—" that the boy's not your blood directly.
"Nonsense. Xanxus is a Sky. And in terms of appearance, he's practically the Secondo reborn." Timoteo retorts, ever the unruffled Don.
Don't try to bullshit me, Timoteo. "And his mother?"
"Has disappeared. She is of no consequence."
Reborn's face smooths into the expressionless mask she uses when she is more hitman than human being. It's not really my place to chastise you, but as nobody else seems to be... "Family should not be only about politics, Timoteo." I thought the Ottava taught you that much.
Don Vongola ignores her obvious disapproval, still smiling. "Ah. But isn't everything in this world of our about family politics to some degree?"
"We have known each other for a long time," Reborn scrutinizes her old friend, trying to puzzle out any other changes she might have overlooked. "You know what will happen if I do as you ask." My allegiance will shift to Xanxus over you. A bond like that would supersede the one of friendship between us.
"Like I said; I trust you to watch over him."
Because you know of that particular weakness, even if you haven't used it against me before? And—
you aren't willing to commit the time to raise the child yourself, are you? I suppose I could do this favor for you, if only to honor the person you were before being Don Vongola took precedence over being Timoteo.
"Very well," she nods her acceptance.
"You'll do it?" Timoteo seems pleased, if a little surprised at the easy victory, "I half expected a written contract and a list of demands."
"I will take responsibility for Xanxus di Vongola." The rest, we can discuss after I meet with him. Turning away, Reborn vaults over the arm of the chair to the floor, her landing silent enough to make a cat envious. "I'll go inform the boy myself. Have a nice evening, Vongola Nono."
Timoteo never will realize exactly when and why their relationship shifted from a close friendship to an alliance, with Renato's rare visits focusing on business only.
Reborn watches an irate nine year old pace around a sizeable bedroom. The boy is skinny as a stick, but healthy-looking otherwise. His most distinctive features, beyond the scrawny stature, are his wild bird's nest of dark hair and crimson eyes. And the Sky Flames, occasionally flaring a red-tinted orange around his hands: Flames of Wrath.
What exactly has the child so agitated is uncertain, until he begins to rant out loud, speech liberally peppered with curse words. An independent street rat. Damn, Timoteo, you're not even vaguely respecting his boundaries, are you? It seems the boy's new guardian saw fit to replace his wardrobe, including his favorite jacket, disposing one of the child's few personal possessions.
She backtracks out of the small air vent she'd been using to spy, and then makes her way to the hallway that leads to the boy's private rooms.
The environment in the manor probably doesn't help. Being spoiled silly and then arbitrarily scolded for his behavior; no wonder the kid's acting out. And being an acknowledged bastard is nearly as bad as being a woman in the mafia.
...Renata, at least, had one dedicated and loving parent. Xanxus of the Vongola has the retired Ottava.
And now me.
The door to the child's bedroom is ajar, wide enough for Reborn to enter without touching anything. And yet... A soft knock on the door frame forces a pause in the boy's furious diatribe. "Ciaossu." The kid whirls around, and wine-red eyes level on Reborn's diminutive form, standing in the doorway. Reborn can sense the second she's dismissed as a nuisance.
"What y'want, trash?"
A small, dangerous-looking smile. "From life? Quite a few things. But that is not the question you should be asking right now." Leon, anticipating her intent, slips down into her hand fluidly, and— Bang! The nine year old newly-discovered Vongola flinches violently, a bullet hole suddenly present in the wall, placed less than a half a centimeter from his cheek. "Holy Fu—!" Bang, Bang! A second and third bullet hole appears, this time in the carpeted floor by the boy's feet.
"To start with, Xanxus di Vongola, I want your attention while I introduce myself. May I come in?"
"Whatever," is the distracted reply. The child watches her with guarded eyes, figure relaxed, despite the fact he's ready to bolt or attack. He seems a little surprised by the request.
A pause, as Reborn considers her new godson. "Good." She intones, stepping over the threshold into the room, "You already know it's easier to counter an attack if your body is relaxed and ready to move." The dark green gun disappears, replaced by a chameleon that skitters back up to her shoulder. "I am called Reborn."
Xanxus' eyes widen, and his shoulders curl inwards, his body language becoming distinctly more defensive, "Reborn?! Shit, that Reborn?"
Hm. Not even a few months living here and he's heard of the Arcobaleno? He has to have, if he's not asking about my height. Or are there connections with the underworld through his mother?
He has potential either way.
"Aren't you supposed to be friends with the old man?"
The last question has her pushing those speculations about Xanxus away for later deliberation. "Hm. Something like that. It's of no matter. More importantly, as of now, I am your godfather." More accurately, I suppose, your godmother. Regardless. That takes priority over my ties with the leader of Vongola.
Reborn savors Xanxus' completely poleaxed expression for a few seconds before continuing, "Accordingly, we should get to know each other. Have you learned to shoot a gun yet?"
He hasn't. Luckily, this is far from the first time Reborn is visiting Vongola Headquarters. She leads the scrappy little Vongola heir to one of the private firing ranges on the property. After walking him through the appropriate safety measures, Reborn drills Xanxus in the basics. They spend several hours together and, by the end of the session, Reborn manages to squeeze a few ounces of grudging respect from the youth, and vice versa.
"Not bad, for a beginner." She pronounces after declaring the lesson over. Certainly better than Timoteo was at twice your age. "If you are interested, I will be glad to continue teaching you. Although, if you slack off..." Click.
A snort. "Yeah, whatever, tra—" Bang! "...Sir." Bright kid; he learns quickly.
Black eyes glint with sadistic humor as an eerie grin slowly unfurls. "Calling me Reborn is acceptable, considering," she offers casually.
"Reborn, then." The scrawny brat, hands fisted by his sides, grits out the concession from between his teeth as the pair amble slowly back towards the main Vongola Manor.
"What does your day to day schedule look like, Xanxus?" Reborn ignores the child's frustration entirely.
"Ugh. Whatever the old man's trashy minions want it to? D'pends on how pissed off they are."
"I would set aside at least a half hour a day for practice, for now. I'll make sure someone on staff will be available to go with you." I'll threaten someone reasonably competent into agreeing if convincing is needed, that is. Eyes glittering with humor, she adds, "If nothing else, it should be excellent stress relief after having to deal with morons like Sawada..." Reborn had met the boisterous young man, a member of CEDEF, and found his attitude grating on her nerves.
Xanxus cracks a smile, "Iemitsu? Yeah, he's friends with m'older brothers. Noisy as fuck."
"Mm. I would prefer to supervise you myself. Unfortunately, given the nature of my work, I am not always in Italy, let alone nearby. So— I'll provide you with my contact information." She retrieves a pen and completely blank business card from a pocket, and scribbles down a series of numbers, leaving it unlabeled. "Call if you like, but do not share this number with anyone else. I don't need Vongola minions clogging up my personal line."
A tired Xanxus looks a little dazed at that final barrage of words, retrieving the offered card and muttering a quiet "...kay."
As you all know, I don't have a beta, so do feel free to point out any typos. ;)
For those of you obsessive enough to try and follow the timeline— yes, I've adjusted several characters' ages a little for the sake of plot.
In this edition: a whirlwind tour of Renato's initial impressions of the Arcobaleno, a few snapshots showing how they grow closer, the Fated Day, and a little of the fallout. Is anyone else amused by Renato's sheer inability to stop being a tutor in all but name? She just can't help taking people under her wing.
This was originally going to include an introduction to Dino, but Xanxus demanded screen time. Speaking of the latter, did anyone else melt a little on the inside at the thought of a surly kid!Xanxus with a (secretly outrageously overprotective) Reborn as his uncle/father figure? I imagine Reborn would be a fantastic (if utterly terrifying) father figure. (Mother figure?) I'm kind of confused what rock the Godparent!Reborn idea crawled out from under, though... Oh well! It should make things interesting in the future, I guess? (Maybe I'll try to incorporate that idea into a Xanxus-centric retelling of KHR sometime.)
Oh, and for those of you that actually read that ridiculously long author's note: I'll write a oneshot gift (your choice of topic/idea/prompt) for the first person to guess why Renato's alter ego introduces herself as Anna.
