I didn't necessarily go into this project with a plot in mind, but a theme came out in both of them and I think that's important to chase. The subject of family and its inherent messiness cropped up in both stories in "The Science of Things," as I call this little series.

Given the sorts of things that I've had to deal with as I've grown older, I don't think that's too much of a surprise.

.

"Something's the matter with you," Seto declared as he watched Kisara pace about the ground floor kitchen. "You've been growling to yourself all afternoon, in a language that none of us recognize. Which, in Noa's case, is actually quite remarkable. Also, the blender exploded when I tried to plug it in."

Kisara whirled around to face Seto; a sizzle of lightning escaped from one side of her mouth. She spent an inordinate amount of effort unclenching her jaw. "I . . . am sorry, my prince," she said, slowly. She stopped, wiped her hands on her pants, and shook her head violently; it was like she was trying to literally dislodge something from her brain in the hopes that it would fall out of her ears.

"So?" Seto crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "What is it?" He gestured. "You encouraged me to talk, the last time I was gearing up to commit a felony. Now it's your turn."

Kisara opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again. She eventually stalked silently over to Seto and held out something she'd been clutching in one fist. Seto took the offering, smoothed it out, and found that it was an envelope.

He opened it and retrieved its contents.

"A holiday card," Seto said, scanning quickly. He glanced up, eyebrows raised. "Your parents," he guessed; Kisara nodded briskly. He opened the card. "And they're inviting you to join them for Christmas back home."

More lightning from behind Kisara's teeth as she nodded again.

Seto grunted. "You don't want to go."

"I do not."

"Then don't."

Kisara's face seemed to crack. "I . . . that . . ." She cleared her throat. "I do not think that is an option, my prince."

Seto scowled; his brow furrowed. "You've frequently offered to eat people who speak to me too flippantly for your liking. You mean to tell me that this is what unmakes you?" He held up the card, waved it around.

Kisara held out her hands in a gesture that was something like pleading. "My prince, it . . . I . . . they are family. I cannot . . ."

Seto's expression softened. "I see," he said. He put the card back into its envelope and handed it back to Kisara. "All right. Walk me through the problem. Your family has asked you to visit them for the holidays, you wish to decline that invitation, but you worry about their reaction if you do."

"More or less. Yes."

"Would it help if you blamed me?" At Kisara's blank look, Seto went on: "I could 'insist' that you remain here." He made quotes with his fingers. "Christmas is a busy time for rich pricks like me. I can surely come up with some bullshit for you to do. I should have more than enough time to make it sound important, too."

Kisara grimaced. "I think . . . that would only serve to convince my parents that my career path is an unhealthy fit for me." She clenched and unclenched her fists; and her jaw. "They will insist that I find new work. That my father can surely find me work in his own offices. If I press upon them that this job is good for me, they will insist that no job is worth being kept from family during this season."

". . . I see," Seto said again.

"What . . . do I do?"

Seto rubbed his chin. "Hm," he said. "I have an idea."