Machiavelli woke up to the unusual sound of a truck directly below his bedroom window. He scrambled out of bed and immediately noticed the uncomfortable sensation of too tight pajamas. He swallowed as he got stuck inside his shirt as he was taking it off and must have made some noise of distress because a moment later, he heard his door click open and the shirt was tugged off sharply.
Nicholas Flamel looked at the Italian with some concern. "Is everything alright?" he asked in archaic French.
Machiavelli nodded, feeling embarrassed. "Slightly claustrophobic," he mumbled. He made a motion with his hands, trying to explain. "The shirt was stuck."
"Ah," was all Nicholas said, moving to look out the window.
Machiavelli wasn't sure if the immortal was really looking out the window or just giving him some privacy, but nonetheless he was glad the Frenchman didn't say much. He was still feeling very disoriented. "Why is there a truck in the backyard?" he asked, changing into a pair of purple shorts and a t-shirt with a motorcycle graphic on it.
"They're down there installing the appliances right now," Nicholas said, glancing furtively at the Italian and relaxing when he saw the boy was fully dressed. "And then, we have to put in the furniture."
"I forgot we were doing that today," Machiavelli said, joining Nicholas at the window. He stuck his head out the window and watched a muscled man wrestle a refrigerator through the front door of the smaller cabin.
"It has to be today," Nicholas reminded him. "The Germains are arriving this afternoon."
The Italian stood up rather suddenly and smacked his head hard against the window. He yelped and withdrew his head, rubbing at the sore spot. Backing up, he tripped over the puppy and crashed to the floor. He gave a piteous moan. "I didn't know they were coming today."
Nicholas pulled him to his feet. "What's the matter with that?" he asked in surprise. He pulled the door open, hearing a firm knock. Scathach came into the room.
"I heard a loud crash. What are you two doing, boxing?" She put her hands on her hips.
Nicholas glanced at her. "Niccolò just had a bit of a fall." He paused. "After I told him the Germains were coming today. I think he's a bit shy," he whispered to the Shadow.
"I can hear you," Machiavelli protested firmly. "I just don't think they'll like me," he admitted to the two adults. "It was only a couple of months ago that we were on opposite sides."
Nicholas thought about that for a moment. "We were on opposite sides not too long ago. Now I think that we have the potential to be great friends."
"Well that's true," Machiavelli agreed hesitantly.
"We hated each other for centuries," Scathach called, settling on the Italian's bed. "But we've gotten over it. I even forgave you for pushing me through that door," she said cheerfully.
Machiavelli nodded, sitting beside her on the bed. "Yes, you have a point. I do apologize for... wait a minute, you pushed me through the door!" he yelped.
Scathach laughed. "I was just testing you." She poked him in the stomach. "Francis and Joan aren't going to hate you. Nicholas told us all how important you and Billy both were to saving the people in San Francisco. That's got to count for something.
~MB~
"That must be them," Perenelle said, watching an SUV roar towards them on the road.
"He drives like a maniac," Black Hawk said, looking up from his whittling. The Native American grinned. "I like him already."
Moments later the dirty black SUV pulled in next to Billy's Thunderbird. The Comte waved happily at the Flamels seeing them at the front porch and began to make his way up the walkway, but Joan trailed her fingers appreciatively on the red convertible.
"Francis!" Perenelle called, rushing out to meet the Frenchman.
"Madame Flamel, it is awfully good to see you so well," Germain greeted her, enveloping her in a warm hug. He pulled Nicholas into the embrace. "It's good to see you too, old man."
"Old man?" Nicholas asked, offended.
Perenelle patted the Master of Fire affectionately on the arm. "I'm going to go see Joan. I haven't seen either of you in so long." Scathach followed her over to where the young woman was standing.
Germain pulled Nicholas in the direction of the cabin. "So where is he?" he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity. "Is he still stuck in a kid's body?"
"Billy and Niccolò just went to take a walk; they'll be back soon. And yes, the change is still in effect," Nicholas answered. "I wanted to talk to you before they get back. Machiavelli is very nervous about meeting you."
Germain furrowed his forehead. "Why? Surely he doesn't think we're going to attack him?" He snapped his fingers, sparks of fire coming off his fingertips. Realization dawned on his expression. "Oh!"
Nicholas smiled softly, but didn't say anything else on the topic. "Here, I want you to meet someone. This is Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak, but I think he prefers to be called Black Hawk."
Black Hawk shook the man's hand. "I do prefer it," he agreed. "Good to meet you."
"Nice to meet you. Here's my wife," Germain said, drawing her close to him.
Black Hawk bowed slightly to her. "If you're wondering where Billy and the Italian is, they're just coming back now." He pointed. "Here, I'm going to take your bags over to the other cabin."
"Do you need any help?" Germain called.
Black Hawk turned around. "I guess I could use some help from somebody big and strong and muscled." He turned to Scathach. "Here, you take this." The two immortals disappeared into the cabin. Those that were left on the porch could hear the two of them bickering.
Joan turned around. "Is that them?" she asked in French. They watched as the two immortals came into view. Billy waved in greeting, but Machiavelli hid slightly behind the American when it became clear that their guests had arrived. Billy looked down and wrapped an arm around the Italian's shoulders.
"Howdy," he said happily. He wiped his hand on his jeans and shook hands with both of them.
"Hello," Joan said, venturing forward. "Perenelle told me that's your Thunderbird over there."
"Yeah. You like it?" Billy grinned. "Did she tell you too that she stole it from me?"
Francis settled with Nicholas on the swing, watching the interaction with some interest. Joan looked over at the older Frenchwoman. "She did." Perenelle smiled blithely, settling in between the two Frenchmen. "I love old cars," Joan explained. "You're lucky yours came out fine. My Citroen was totally destroyed in Paris."
"Oh, yeah, I heard about that." He turned to Machiavelli. "Wasn't that kind of your fault?"
Machiavelli peeked out from behind the American and ducked back behind him. "Nice to meet you again. Sorry about your car," he mumbled shyly.
"It's alright," Joan said. She tugged the boy out from behind the American. Machiavelli came out from behind Billy, but settled up against him. "You're awfully cute," she said, trying to put the boy at ease.
"Thank you," Machiavelli said awkwardly. He smiled nervously.
Germain clapped his hands together. "We brought something for you. As we're going to be friends now."
Machiavelli started to object, but closed his mouth again. He knew that the Comte came from a time similar to his, back when gift giving was seen as an art form. "Thank you," he said again, accepting the parcel from the Frenchman. He looked up again. "Are these-?"
"Paintball guns," Francis puffed out happily. "It seemed like something that both of you would enjoy." He indicated both Billy and Machiavelli.
~MB~
"Are you sure that this Billy won't mind what Germain's doing?" Joan asked the Flamels. The three immortals ducked as a balled up pair of socks flew through the air and landed in the sink.
"Trust me," Perenelle patted the young woman's hand, "we're quite sure."
"Besides, he's out there in this mess right now, isn't he?" Nicholas queried, finishing the rest of the thought.
"Well if you're sure..." Joan trailed off looking at the warzone around them. The coffee table and side tables were turned on their sides, building a makeshift fortress. Currently, Germain, Black Hawk, Scathach, Machiavelli and Billy were holed up somewhere in the cabin, although precisely where they were, none of them were sure. She shook her head. "I can't believe he tore up somebody else's house the first night we got here."
Nicholas was about to say something but got cut off by the outlaw, who leaned over the balcony, shouted "die, you scurvy swine!", and threw a stack of underwear over the balcony baluster. Black Hawk got a face full. Nicholas closed his mouth again.
Joan looked up in wonderment. "Oh, yeah, he's just Francis's type."
Scathach scurried across the living room, covering her head with one of the cushions from the couch. She lunged towards the table and ended up sitting in Nicholas's lap before correcting her mistake and moving into the chair next to the Frenchman. Without commenting on what had just happened, she began to question Joan. "So how do you like them?"
The petite woman smiled. "Neither of them are as expected. Especially Machiavelli. I never thought he'd be this shy."
"He's not normally," Nicholas said leaning in. He checked the progress of the battle before them and quietly explained how afraid Machiavelli was of how they would feel towards him.
"I don't think we have to worry about the boy anymore," Perenelle said thoughtfully.
"Why?" her husband asked, surprised.
Perenelle pointed. Machiavelli had pinned Germain to the ground. The Comte was laughing hysterically. The elegant woman covered her mouth. "I think," she said softly. "I think they've become friends."
"This is sickeningly cute," Scathach mumbled. She checked her watch. "Billy! It's past midnight."
Billy poked his head out. "Oh, that's true." He snapped his fingers at the Italian. "Time for bed, Mac." Machiavelli reluctantly came out from beneath the armchair. "I'll be up in a minute. I just want to put the room in some semblance of order."
"Night, squirt," Scathach called, punching him on the shoulder. Similarly, Black Hawk clapped him on the back before heading for the other cabin.
"I'll help you clean up," Germain called. He rolled his sleeves up and let his aura flare. The scent of burnt leaves filled the room. Furniture began jumping back into place.
"Wish we had you here the past couple of days," Billy said, watching the man work with clear admiration.
"Cool, huh. I think I was the original inspiration for La Belle et la Bête."
"Show off," Joan chided, rubbing her husband's shoulders. The young woman stopped the Italian before he started up the stairs. "Goodnight," she told him, kissing him on the nose. The Italian blushed slightly and stammered a 'buonanotte' before climbing the rest of the way up.