Sometimes, the prompt shapes the theme of the scene.
Sometimes, I work the word into a line of dialogue and call it good.
This … is one of the latter cases.
.
"On the one hand, it is . . . wild . . . to see Kisara looking like this," Noa murmured, such that only Mokuba could hear him. "On the other, Aniki really looks like he's in his element, doesn't he?"
Mokuba offered his brother a self-assured little smirk. "Niisama's been telling off toxic families ever since he took over Kaiba-Corp. I think it's one of the only things he actually likes about his job. I'm pretty sure he's thrilled to be here right now. This is gonna be the highlight of the year for him."
The Kaibas walked up a pristine concrete walkway up to a two-story farmhouse, having already passed by the literal white picket fence that ran along the outer border of the trimmed, segmented yard. Bright lights of alternating red and green were woven at the edges of the roof, and a huge wreath was hanging on the front door.
Noa couldn't be sure if he was biased by just how petrified Kisara looked, but he was pretty sure he'd never seen a more depressingly clean house in his life. The place felt deeply, deeply cursed. Haunted. It reminded him none too pleasantly of his father's greatest allies, the people he tended to call friends, and how Noa would have to shake hands and smile at them and pretend he respected them, so as to facilitate this deal or that.
"If Kisara's mom is a blonde with a reverse bob haircut, I am going to throw up," Mokuba muttered.
Noa bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Seto had opted to dress down for this meeting, without his usual flare. He wore a suit but forewent a tie in favor of unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He wore cufflinks, but they were simple and unadorned. He wore his hair in a different style. No cloak, no custom-tailored coat specially cut to look like it was billowing in the wind. No steel bracers, no dramatic heels, no extra belts. He looked, honestly, like a mid-level manager at the company he owned.
Noa's suit was white, and instead of a shirt he wore a cream-colored turtleneck.
Mokuba had picked out his best jeans and a simple, one-tone, long-sleeved shirt. The only ornament he wore was his locket.
Kisara was wearing a blue dress that matched her eyes, and she did not look happy about it.
They looked for all the world like a moderately well-to-do, Middle America sort of family.
The only thing that betrayed the trap was the gleam in Seto's eyes.
"Understand," Seto said to Kisara, "that I will be as diplomatic as I can afford to be. I'll not allow anyone to insult my family." He paused, making sure his companion was looking at him. "For the purposes of this meeting, that includes you. I am fully prepared to walk out of this house at any moment. I am here for your benefit, but you must remember something: setting boundaries with people who are unused to them can easily read, to them, like aggression. You follow me?"
"Yes," Kisara said with a curt nod.
"The only reason I ask that you be here right now is to ensure that your family knows: I speak on your behalf, with your permission. Otherwise, I would get you a hotel room and handle this myself."
"I know." Kisara smiled. She put a gentle hand on Seto's arm. "Thank you, my prince."
"Noa," said Seto, "you're on deck. Watch for anything and everything. You see a moment to cut through any defenses, take it."
"Aye-aye, Aniki."
"Mokuba?"
"Yes, Niisama?"
"Rainbow Road."
Mokuba grinned like the devil. "Yes, sir," he said.
"What . . . does that mean?" Kisara asked, bewildered.
"Mokuba's job today is to be as sickeningly sweet, naïve, and oblivious as possible. He's driven men to tears with this. All you have to do is follow our lead. And remember: no matter what anyone says in there . . . you are a dragon."
