Sometimes you just gotta have fun with it.
It's how you stay sane.
.
Kisara and Mokuba agreed on a great number of things, especially concerning the figurehead of the Kaiba Estate. They'd come to an agreement, rather early on, to be allies in the mission of protecting Seto; often, that meant a great many different, sometimes conflicting, things. But the thesis of their mission was always this:
If Seto was smiling, they were doing their job properly.
Contrary to the many, many myths surrounding Seto Kaiba's personal life, it wasn't very difficult to make him smile; nor did he only do it rarely.
Most columnists and tabloid writers who spoke at length on Seto's inability to express joy, apparently, hadn't worked out the fact that the reason Seto was so nasty and combative with them was because he didn't like them. Mokuba had been spending many years now trying to get them around to that realization and had had absolutely no success; Kisara didn't bother trying when random people with notepads and recorders started talking to her.
Instead, she took to giving more and more outlandish explanations whenever the subject of Seto's private moods came up. Kisara didn't know what the limits of absurdity for the twenty-four-hour news cycle was, in terms of what they would print, but she intended to find out.
"He cannot smile," she'd said once, "because of an awful and tragic accident in his youth. His lips are simply too brittle to allow for that sort of movement. If he smiles, his face will crack right open. The blood loss would kill him."
It didn't take long for Mokuba to catch on to Kisara's little game, and he joined in.
"Niisama does have fun," he would say. "It's just that Niisama's definition of fun isn't the same as ours. It's weird, but . . . you know, we can't discriminate against somebody just because they're different. Whenever Niisama's in a bad mood, I chop some onions and rub them in his eyes. He really likes that."
So far, though, Noa was the reigning champion; if for no better reason than he was religiously committed to the bit.
"My dear brother," Noa would say, "has determined that his mission to make a better world must take precedent over such paltry things as his own emotions. He has sacrificed them in the name of his good work. I, for one, think we should take inspiration from his example. The next time you smile, ask yourself what you could be doing instead. Who has time to smile when there is so much to be done? In the name of this great nation, and all the nations which depend on our grand example, I say misery is the way forward! Gnash your teeth! Cry! Sob into your pillows! Only in that way will you know virtue! Are we descended from Puritanical lunatics or aren't we?!"
The fact that Noa managed to get that whole speech, down to the word, published in a major newspaper was a testament to his talent. He'd had it framed and hung up on his wall. Kisara couldn't believe no one thought to question his sincerity.
Then again, considering her father's constituency, maybe she could.