Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jouvente seemed like a much nicer city when Mirabelle wasn't worrying about the apocalypse.

To be fair, that sentiment went for most places she had visited with her family once their quest was over. It had been well over a year since they started travelling through Vauguarde, but this time around she could actually enjoy the sights her country had to offer without a supernatural curse nipping at her heels. And Mirabelle was more than ready to spend this visit doing nothing but relaxing, especially since it was their last stop before they left the country for Ka Bue. It felt fitting: Jouvente was the first sign of civilization she had stumbled into after escaping the House, the loneliest she had ever been, and it was going to be the final city she stayed in before she left, surrounded by her family.

A loud chime swept through the marketplace. Mirabelle startled as its vibrations rippled through her, and jumped away from the "pillar" she'd been leaning on. Closer inspection revealed it to be some type of miniature clock tower, with a smooth glass face and a bright rod swinging rhythmically, back and forth. She stammered apologies to the smiling merchant, before running to Nille, sidestepping at least a dozen other customers to reach her. The clock kept on ringing, but the noise was quickly swallowed by the hustle and bustle of the street. On one hand, it was a relief to see places moving, breathing and thriving again. It was what she had fought so hard for, after all! On the other…

"I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to the noise around here." Nille cringed, stealing the words right out of her mouth.

"I know right?" She laughed softly. "Big cities can be so much sometimes."

Nille said something back, or at least tried to, judging by the way her mouth was moving. But the noise around them drowned out her words. Mirabelle stepped closer.

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear -"

Someone shoved past her, and Mirabelle was unceremoniously pushed into her side. She could feel Nille's arm muscles tense, her breath hitch and could pinpoint the exact moment the other girl flinched away.

Mirabelle's brows furrowed. Quickly, she scanned the area, looking for somewhere less crowded. An alleyway to the left of the stall struck the perfect balance between empty and clean. She gestured towards it, and Nille looked pointedly at the half empty bag in her hands. Mirabelle only shrugged - there would always be more time to shop later, but her friend deserved to be comfortable now.

The pair beelined into the alley. Nille dragged a large calloused hand over her face, tension seeping out of her with a sigh. Her bags jostled on her spare arm, and she shook them down to hold them in her palm.

"…Thanks." She muttered, then cleared her throat. Her next words were much more lighthearted in tone. "Jeeze, I can see why the Big Guy's so loud now. You have to be if you want anyone round here to hear you."

Mirabelle's smile was equal parts amusement and relief. "I thought it was rude to talk about someone behind their back?"

"Not if you don't use their name!"

Her smile grew into a few short puffs of laughter. Nille moved to say something more, but something stopped her.

"Eh, doesn't matter either way." She turned away from Mirabelle, looking at something beyond her line of sight. "He's right there."

That was all the warning she got before Nille all but sprinted out of the alleyway. With a squeak - a shout. A perfectly mature and adult shout, thank you very much - Mirabelle picked up her skirt and chased after her. There was a stomach churning moment when she lost sight of the other girl completely in the ever shifting crowd, but a quick scan of the area showed Nille walking west, at a much slower pace, thank Change. After that, she caught up to her friend quickly.

Mirabelle looked up catching sight of Isabeau. He was shrugging on his darkless coat, and walking with an unusually unbalanced gait. Maybe his new jacket was throwing him off more than he cared to admit - Isabeau was still experimenting with weaving Craft into fabric, and from what Mirabelle could understand from his explanations, the method behind it seemed equal parts complex and fickle. Especially when he didn't have a proper workshop to use…

Even though they were only a few feet away, Isabeau still hadn't noticed them. Nille cleared her throat.

And cleared it again.

All he did was pick up the pace. Uh oh.

"Isabeau." Mirabelle said. His head moved a little, like he was trying to pinpoint the direction of the noise. "Wait, Isabeau!"

Finally, he turned around. His earrings shook silently from side to side as they were greeted with a familiar smile, as warm as ever.

"Oh, hey! How's it going?" He said with a slightly breathless voice.

"We're pretty good. Though we haven't had much luck for Siffrin's carving tools. Or Bonnie's knives…" She admitted, somewhat sheepishly. "But we managed to find a Kabuan tea brand!"

"Cool. Is it for Odile?"

"Who else?" She smiled.

"Speaking of," Petronille folded her arms. Isabeau startled slightly, as if he wasn't expecting her to speak. "Where is she, anyway? Weren't you poking around the clothing stores together?"

 "We, uh, got split up."

Split up?

"Oh no! What happened?"  Madame was perfectly capable of looking after herself, but Jouvente was a large city, and she was just one person! What if her back she was always complaining about gave out? What if a Sadness formed and there was no one to heal her - what if she choked on a free sample and there was nobody trained in first aid to pat her back!

"Nothing!" Isabeau chuckled, inadvertently interrupting her thought spiral. "She just wanted to check something out on her own, so I went to find you… guys."

Nille whistled, low and slow. "Wow. You steal the woman away from her 'secret quests' and the first thing you do is abandon her? Ice cold."

"Eh, I'm sure she'll be fine." He waved off her comment with a lazy flick of his hand. "Anyway, where are you guys heading?"

"We were going to meet up with the others. Do you want to join us? Or are you still busy shopping?" Mirabelle asked.

For some reason, he burst out laughing. "No, no," he chuckled, like the punchline to a joke she didn't tell, "I'll come with. Lead the way!"

They set off in amiable silence. Petronille and Mirabelle walked in front, and Isabeau trailed slightly behind. Every so often, Mirabelle would look over her shoulder, just to make sure her friend hadn't wandered off. Not once did he meet her gaze, only glanced around, eyes trailing from stall to stall. It made sense - this was his home, after all, and if she took the length of their quest into consideration, Isabeau hadn't seen it for more than two years. The nostalgia of returning home, tempered by the alienation caused by the ways it had changed… it was a bittersweet taste Mirabelle knew all too well.

Despite his musings, when Isabeau jogged up to talk to them, he spoke with an easy smile.

"So…" He started, hand on hips "How're you finding Jouvente so far?"

Nille snorted. "Damn knucklehead, how am I supposed to know? We've only been here for a day."

"And your first stop's Marché d’Aligre? Yeesh."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr-let's-go-shopping-after-a-month-on-the-road!" She said, eyes ablaze. Each word she said was punctuated with a poke to his forehead. There went her temper again - at least this time her outrage was performative. "You're the one who called this the best market in Jouvente. If it were up to me, I'd still be in bed!"

To his credit, he simply laughed in the face of her glare. It wasn't the worst scowl she'd ever graced them with, but a big sister's rage (even when it was teasing) was nothing to sneer at.

"I would say that, wouldn't I?" He muttered to himself, before perking up. "Don't worry. I'll make up for it - I'll take you guys to all the best places in the city, promise!"

"B-but this was fun!" And she wasn't just saying that to flatter him. Jouvente had such a large variety of products from all over the world, sights and smells she'd never experienced before - just getting to poke around them made their little venture worth it. "I like doing things like this, especially if I get to do it with all of you."

Petronille rolled her eyes, but smile tugging on her lips betrayed her true feelings. For his part, Isabeau just shrugged. The conversation faded into a comfortable silence as they walked on.

Mirabelle breathed in and out, in the steady rhythm Siffrin taught her. The air tasted like foreign spices, and familiar flavors.

They reached the town square. A large water fountain with impressive swoops of stone that circled around the spurts of water was surrounded by several benches. Bonnie and Siffrin sat one, side by side. They munched on the pretzels that the preteen - sorry, teenager - had whipped up the day before. Siffrin's cheeks bulged, the spitting image of a content hamster. Bonnie clearly saw them first, if the way they leapt out of their seat was any indication. When they ran up to them, arms outstretched and hands making small grabby motions towards the trio's bags, a smirk grew on Nille's face.

She dropped her bags onto the ground, swung her arms out and scooped up her little sibling in a bone crushing hug. Bonnie squawked.

"YOUR BAG YOU CRAB! I WAS ASKING FOR YOUR BAG!!" Despite their vocal protests, they melted into the hug, wrapping their arms around her (arms that were long enough to circle her torso, Change above) and squeezing.

Mirabelle covered her smile behind her hand. Bonnie may have gotten taller, but they hadn't gotten any less cuddly, especially not with their beloved sister.

Finally, Nille dropped them to the ground, releasing them from their sororal prison. Bonnie started talking, words flying so quickly she couldn't make them out, but she assumed they weren't that bad based on Nille's softened look. Her warm smile was always a wonder to behold in comparison to her gruff demeanour.

Mirabelle shared a smile with Isabeau - or at least, tried to. He had moved from her side a while ago, electing to sit sprawled out on the bench next to Siffrin. The rogue in question looked… awkward. They shifted away from him, face scrunched, before apparently deciding to forego the bench entirely. Mirabelle tilted her head in confusion as they walked up to her. Something was clearly wrong, but she couldn't for the life of her pinpoint what it was. She began to wring her hands.

"Hey Mira." They said with a surprisingly shuttered expression. "Who's your friend?"

...What?

"…What are you talking about Siffrin?"

He turned away from her slightly, and pointed at… Isabeau?

What?

"Oh, is this a set up for a joke?" Some kind of build up for a pun, or - Change forbid - some weird new form of flirting? That idea was way more unlikely than Siffrin pulling a prank, but who knows? Romance was weird.

"Real good commitment to the bit pipsqueak," Nille chimed in, "but if even Za's not laughing you know you've gotta workshop it."

Siffrin's eye narrowed. "I'm not joking. Who are you?"

"Oh c'mon." Bonnie scowled, their sour face almost identical to Nille's earlier frown, if with an extra hint of teenaged angst. "You can't tell me you forgot your own crabbing boyfriend. Stop playing dumb Frin."

Isabeau coughed, though it sounded a bit like choking. He hit his chest a few times before speaking. "T-that's a little harsh, don't you think? I'm sure he doesn't mean it, right Frin?"

Siffrin stepped closer, face cast in shadow.

"Who. Are. You." His hand rose slightly, shifting the folds of their cloak to show off the hilt of their dagger. "I won't ask again."

He didn't flinch. Didn't panic, or turn dark and giggly like he usually would. He just stood up, lurching out of the bench as a smarmy smirk marred his features. 'Isabeau' placed his hands on his hips and leaned forward, towering over Siffrin.

"I don't know, Siffrin." His voice was low, lower than Mirabelle had ever heard it. "Who do you think I am?"

With one swift movement, Mirabelle drew her rapier and pointed it at the… the stranger. Nille pulled Bonnie closer to her, shielding them from harm.

"What did you do with our friend?" she demanded, grip tightening. That smile, so strange on his face, only grew.

"Oh don't you worry a hair on your head. I've already dealt with him."

Her blood ran cold.

Siffrin's blank stare hardened into a glare. "If you did anything to hurt him…" they all but growled.

'Isabeau' laughed, a rotten, broken sound. "What'cha gonna do 'bout it, pipsqueak?"

Siffrin lurched forward, moments away from striking, when all of a sudden -

"YOU."

Mirabelle whipped her head around. She recognised that voice - sure, it was angrier and louder than she had heard it in over a year but… What the crab was happening?

"Ever shifting tides," 'Isabeau' muttered, before stepping away from Siffrin, hands held high in a mockery of a placating gesture. "Heya Brainiac! Fancy seeing you here."

That was all the warning she got before Isabeau was tackled by… himself?

"Hand it over you Once Changed sunova -"

One hand knocked into a jaw, slamming it shut.

"Hey - Hey - Cool it! Watch the merchandise man!"

Another hand slapped over someone's mouth. A brief look of anger flashed over their face before -

"Eaugh! What is wrong with you?!"

It's whisked away with a shout, flailing in the air as if burnt. The scowl was replaced with a smirk, which was rubbed off as an elbow was dug into his side.

She could only watch on in stunned silence as the pair grappled with each other. Around them, people started to clear away, casting judgmental side eyes on the way out, but honestly? Mirabelle didn't have the energy to care. She locked eyes with Siffrin, who had shuffled backwards to avoid the impromptu mosh pit that formed in front of them. He only shrugged.

Nille leaned over to her, eyebrows furrowed. "Alright, help a non-saviour sister out here. Is this another thing you conveniently forgot to explain? Like the cycles or whatever?"

"Loops," Mirabelle corrected, almost absentmindedly, before shaking her head so fast she could feel the breeze caused by her swaying bow. "And no. I'm… I'm just as lost as you are on this."

Their newest - or oldest? - arrival finished wrestling his coat from his shoulders, and shoved it on. 'Isabeau' (?) shivered in his dark tank top, and kissed his teeth.

"C'mon dude. There's easier ways of getting your clothes back. Like asking?"

"Uh huh, uh huh." 'Isabeau' (???) said, folding his arms. "Thanks for telling me! Couldn't care less. Take this and leave now please."

He pushed something into his arms.

"By the tides, my cane!" He hugged it like a long lost lover, then placed it on the ground, leaning his weight into it. A light wave design curled around it, with small oceanic animals dipping in and out of the swirly waters. Mirabelle swore that a whale flicked a tail towards her, but it could've been a trick of the light.

"Thanks man! I don't know how much longer I could've lasted without it - now I don't have to go back to find it!" He continued with a sigh of relief. Waves of tension rolled off his body, and he slouched forward. "You totally did me a solid."

Isabeau (she was pretty confident in calling him that now) clearly wasn't impressed by this show of good will. "Honestly, I should've left it. After the stunt you pulled it was the least you deserved, you flipping decapod."

"Earth to Za! The real Za."

Bonnie stomped angrily up to them, arms folded and cheeks puffed. Mirabelle was irrationally glad she wasn't on the receiving end of their ire.

"What the Crab is happening right now? Why are there two of you? You never told us you could do that!"

Isabe- ugh, the Coated One shook his head. "No Bonnie," he said fondly, if slightly tiredly. "This whole… situation isn't exactly something that I did."

"Then what's going on Knucklehead?" Nille chimed in, stepping closer to place a protective hand on Bonnie. They attempted to shrug it off, but her grip stayed firm.

"Sorry, sorry. Everyone, this is -"

"Heya! I'm Avann. He/him and Two 'n's, but the first one's silent." Isab- Avann, apparently - said, literally jumping in front of the other man.

"I'm Isabeau's bigger brother."

Somewhere in the midst of her surprise, Mirabelle managed to think how strange his phrasing was. It sounded clunky - did he mean older?

"Younger." Isabeau hissed, as if answering her question, "Younger. Step. Brother."

"Pretty sure I'm taller than you dude."

"You're -? That's not how age works?!"

Avann continued, wilfully oblivious. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, and it still kinda is, but if I knew the Braniac would take you to a 'mall'," (Mirabelle didn't recognise the language. Mdwu, perhaps?) "on your first day in Jouvente, I would've pulled this prank waayy earlier and taken you somewhere worth going."

Nille found her voice first. "Alright. Cool. Does anybody else feel like appearing to explain all of this," she gestured towards the pair, "in actual Vauguardian?"

"I could give it a go."

None other than Odile stepped out from behind the fountain, bangs slightly frizzy from the its humidity and hands flicking through her ever-present notebook.

"Madame?" Mirabelle felt her brain leak out of her ears. What was next? Was Siffrin's evil clone waiting for their cue to fall out of the sky? She pointed an accusatory finger at Avann. "He said you two got separated!"

"Did he now?" The woman in question snorted. "Was that the best story you could come up with? I'm almost disappointed."

"No better lie than the truth." Avann shrugged.

Odile turned to the group. "From what I understand, Avann here must have been using his uncanny likeness to our fighter to pose as him. That, and access to Isabeau's clothing helped to maintain the illusion."

"But how?" Mirabelle wondered aloud. "He'd never willingly part with his coat."

"Well, it sure wasn't given willingly Mira." Isabeau said with fake cheer. "Some Crab locked me in the boutique's changing rooms and stole it off the hangers."

"On that note," He continued, rounding on his brother, "Using your cane as a barricade - what were you thinking?! What if I broke it trying to get out - huh? What if your stupid crabbing plan actually worked and you had to walk all the way to our hotel without a mobility aid? It's an uphill walk Avann! Uphill!"

"Yeah, but it's not like any of that actually happened. Relax man!"

Isabeau held his head in his hands, letting out a noise not dissimilar to a boiling kettle.

"I second that question actually." Nille chimed in, finally releasing Bonnie from her hold. "What was the goal here? Cause honestly, I can't think of anything that makes any crabbing sense."

Avann sat back down, this time choosing to rest on the steps of the water fountain. His cane rested on his leg. As he spoke, he tugged a dark hair tie off his wrist, and pulled his short hair into a man-bun with a few strands falling loose, framing his face.

"Whaaaaat? Is it so wrong to wanna learn more about my baby brother's best friends??" He smiled. He looked far too similar to Isabeau when he was playing coy. Mirabelle shuddered slightly - were they sure they weren't twins? It would end their seemingly endless arguments over which brother was the oldest…

"There's better forms of ice-breakers than identity theft." Odile said dryly.

"I was trying to be nice!" He ignored Isabeau's indignant splutters, and unclipped his earrings from his lobe. Mirabelle watched with some morbid curiosity as he flipped them over to expose a lighter underbelly. He then seemed to bend them into hoops, and reattached them into his cartilage.

"For some odd reason," Avann said after he finished sorting out his piercings, "he haaaaates introducing me to people. Brainiac over here's so shy he'd probably stop us from meeting if he could. This way, I can find out about you lot, and he doesn't hafta worry 'bout me."

Shy? Isabeau? If Mirabelle didn't have ample evidence to the contrary, she'd be convinced he was talking about the wrong person.

"Besides, this was his idea first. He lets me do this."

"When we were seventeen -!" Isabeau began to shout, before catching himself. He pinched his nose, and took a few deep breaths. From the sounds of it, it looked like he really needed them. "Nevermind. Nevermind! You've had your introductions, right? Please leave now."

"Ok! One question though." Avann leaned over to Siffrin, and spoke with a conspiratorial air. "How'd you figure me out so quickly? No hard feelings - it was like, super impressive. Even Dad has a hard time telling us apart."

Siffrin looked a little awkward, all his previous bravado gone. His hand twitched upwards, as if about to pull a non-existent hat over his face, before he sank slightly into the collar of his cloak.

"You seemed too different."

Avann and Isabeau cocked their heads to the side in unified confusion.

"Is that… really it?" Isabeau asked. "Just seems like a bit of a leap in logic from, 'hey maybe he did something different with his hair today!' to 'evil clone', Sif."

"But there were too many details that seemed… wrong. You were acting weird. Your nicknames were weird, your earrings were too thin, and your eyes. They were the wrong shade." Siffrin shrugged. "Can't fake that."

…

"Huh. So when's the Bonding ceremony?"

"GOODBYE AVANN."

"I'm just saying I don't see any earrings on them -"

"BYE. ARRIVEDERCI. LEAVE."

"And I'll be pissed if I'm not invited to this one -"

"WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!?"

Avann finally stood up from his seat, and began to walk away. Not without fluffing up Isabeau's hair with his spare hand and a loud boisterous laugh. As he walked off, cane in tow, his cackles faded into the distance, mingling with the gentle sound of the fountain's flowing water.

For a good few seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Isabeau sighed, breaking the silence like a pebble dropped in a lake.

"Sorry about… all of that. In general." He dragged his hand over his face with a grimace. "Avann's not usually this bad, I swear! I guess he's just making up for lost time."

"It's alright." Siffrin reassured. His soft smile started to curl.

Uh oh.

"I don't know about the others…" he started, looking downright devious. "but I didn't find him too… brother-some!"

Isabeau chuckled, but it lacked his usual energy. Nillee stepped in before Siffrin could panic over their failed pun. "Hey, that one was relative-ly good!"

Mirabelle could feel her cheeks ache from frowning. Ugh. The day they discovered Petronille actually enjoyed their attempts at wordplay was the day any hope at escaping those stupid puns curled up and died. Or more accurately, rolled in its grave, as the hope died the second she invited Siffrin to join their party.

"Sorry guys. I just don't know if a pun right now is really… a-bro-priate!"

The trio burst into peals of (completely unearned) laughter. Bonnie and Odile rolled their eyes so hard they looked close to falling out of their heads and Mirabelle was tempted to join them. The only saving grace of their awful taste in humour was that it brought a familiar smile back to Isabeau's face.

He leaned back, placing his hands into his pockets, then stilled. He pulled something out of his pockets, and swore viciously under his breath, the exhaustion on his face coming back in full force.

"What's wrong?" Siffrin asked.

With a grimace, Isabeau placed the crumpled slip of paper into Siffrin's hands, unable to meet his gaze. Everyone crowded around the rogue to read its contents.

"Please join us for a…" Bonnie read out loud.

Nille finished off their sentence. "…family reunion? Bring a plus… is that a one or a four?"

Odile squinted. "I think it's a four scribbled over a one. From a certain angle."

They continued to talk, but Mirabelle couldn't focus on their conversation. Instead, she turned to her friend. For a man who was able to stare down a world ending tyrant with a smile, she had never seen him look so… defeated.

She walked up to him, took his hand, and squeezed. "We don't have to go if you don't want to." She whispered.

Though he was unable to meet her eye, Isabeau squeezed back.

"No, we do." He sighed. "At the very least, Avann'll never let me live it down if we don't show."

"So what?" Nille interjected. Seems like Mirabelle wasn't being as quiet as she assumed. "It doesn't matter how you're related: if you don't wanna be around these people then you don't have to go."

He shook his head. "It's not that. My family aren't bad or anything! It's just… this trip was supposed to be relaxing. A breather before Ka Bue, y'know? This," he waved his hand towards the paper, "is going to be the opposite of that with all my siblings there."

"Well, they can't all be as…" Odile searched for the right word, "lively, as your stepbrother."

"They… aren't." another hesitation. Just how bad were they? "They're just… a lot. Literally. There's a lot of them."

"How many is a lot?" she asked.

"Um… well, Zorenn's just had twins, and if we're counting Avann, then…

Eight."

Huh?

Chapter Text

Siffrin had been on the receiving end of hundreds of feeling talks by now.

Alright, that was a bit of an exaggeration, and an uncharitable one at that. A better way of phrasing it to accurately reflect the kindness of his family, (Family! What a word!) would be that Siffrin now talked about his feelings on a regular basis. Almost like a normal, regular person who didn't repress their emotions so hard they almost dragged the world down into their mental spiral.

In comparison, Siffrin could count the amount of times they had helped his friends with their problems on both hands. It wasn't as easy as it had been in the loops, when he was able to manufacture the perfect conditions for vulnerability. Gone were the days when he could puppeteer his friends into exposing their deepest secrets in order to earn their love - but that line of thinking was a breakdown waiting to happen. Let no one say he couldn't take Odile's advice! Besides, the moments of organic emotional connection they had - as few and far between as they may be - were miles better than anything he could cobble together in the loops. As much as they didn't blame their family for not wanting to burden him with more problems whilst he was still working through supernatural time loop trauma, he did miss feeling useful. Yes, yes, Siffrin knew that he didn't have to earn his place by their side, but there was nothing inherently wrong with wanting to help. To be there for their family instead of the other way around, for once.

So when he spotted Mira chewing her nails down to the fingerprint that evening, his first reaction was to let someone else know. Siffrin flicked through his mental checklist: Bonnie had banned them all from the kitchen on pain of death - apparently their 'totally secret dish' was supposed to be a surprise for the whole family, not just the newcomers; Odile dragged Nille out of the hotel door half an hour ago to post some type of travel documents to Ka Bue; and Isa…

Huh. Either his memory was acting up again, or Siffrin hadn't seen him all day. 

In any case, the only one left to talk to Mirabelle, by process of elimination, was… him.

Siffrin stood outside her door, gaze trailing up and down the dark swirling wood grains. Ebony, maybe? Impressive; the city hadn't pulled any punches to house the Saviours, much to Mirabelle's embarrassment. At least Odile had appreciated their charity. She'd encouraged them to enjoy the free handouts while they still had it, as apparently Ka Bue was bound to be much less altruistic towards some distant country's celebrities. But Siffrin would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to the anonymity of travelling.

He bounced on the spot, juggling the hair pick and gel between his hands. Siffrin wasn't…. excited, exactly, but there was an undeniable energy building up inside him. Maybe it was anticipation? Or anxiety? It would explain the shake in his hands as they inched towards the door. Instead of slamming it open like the crazy person their family loved to insist he wasn't, Siffrin knocked on the wood three times. For good luck.

It was quiet, for a moment, before Siffrin heard the sound of quickly approaching footsteps. The door swung open, Mirabelle's dark eye poked out of the gap, framed by thick, damp hair and a conspicuous lack of bows.

"Oh, hello Siffrin!" She opened the door fully to expose her brilliant smile. "How can I help you?"

I should be the one asking you that, Siffrin was smart enough not to say. Instead, he lifted the hair products up, directly into her line of sight.

"Oh. Oh!" Mirabelle's hand ran through her hair, and a few droplets of water fell on her nightgown. "That's so sweet of you! B-but I don’t want to impose… you're probably busy getting ready for tomorrow…"

He shook his head. "I'm the one offering, Mira."

"O-ok! But only if you're sure!" She stepped back, letting them into the room.

Siffrin looked down at his friend from his seat on her bed, hands already tangled in her hair. Mirabelle was sat on the floor, leaning back into the space between his legs. She was trying her best to lift her book up to her face - the first volume of a new book series she'd been attempting to get into after the concept of rereading the Cursing of Chateau Castle a fifth time in a row had lost its charm - to avoid moving her head too much.

Not for the first time, Siffrin wondered how he knew so much about protective hairstyles. It wasn't like his hair texture would benefit from it - no matter how tangled his curls could get, their hair was always too thin to hold a braid for more than ten seconds without a liberal amount of pins. But braiding cornrows into Mira's tight coils felt as natural as tying off an anchor, or carving a smile from wood. If he closed his eyes, they could feel the ghost of a loving touch twisting his hands into the right position otherwise the row won't be straight, sweetie. Now, try not to pull so hard Moonbeam, you'll hurt -

"Siffrin? Is everything ok?"

Right, Mirabelle! He focused on her smiling face, book forgotten on the floor.

"Were you zoning out again?"

"…a little bit. Sorry."

"No, no it's fine!" Mirabelle looked like she was about to shake her head, but stayed mercifully still. "Change knows how easy it is to lose yourself in the braiding process. Just earlier I got so frustrated doing my own hair I almost didn't notice your knocking!"

Siffrin chuckled at that, although his mind was still reeling; from the headache, and from the dawning realisation that he had no idea how to segue into the conversation he wanted to have. Odile would've launched straight into questioning, and Isabeau could've subtly manoeuvred his way into a heart-to-heart. But they didn't have Madame's boldness, or Isa's light touch: all he had to offer Mirabelle was himself. He could only hope that somehow, it would be enough.

As always, Mirabelle solved the problem for him.

"I was just asking how you were feeling about tomorrow. It's a big day for you and Isabeau, right?"

Siffrin's hands stilled, surprised. Sure, maybe it was big for Isa, but what did that have to do with them? "I guess there'll be a lot of people there." He tried to reason - they couldn't imagine growing up with eight siblings under one roof.

"Yes," Mirabelle said, getting more and more excited as she spoke, "but it's more than that! You're going to meet your in-laws!"

"In-Laws?" Siffrin stuttered around the Vauguardian. The phrase sounded familiar, but they couldn't quite place where they'd heard it before.

"Your partner's parents!" Mirabelle clasped her hands together, bursting with joy. Even from the awkward angle Siffrin could see the sparkle in her eyes. "A classic romance trope - every good sequel has at least five chapters dedicated to it! Where one half or one third of the main couple introduces their lover to their apprehensive and judgemental family, as they're put through a series of physically or emotionally taxing trials. They win over the parental head of the family not through wealth or looks, but through the passion in their heart and sometimes the blood in it too! D-depending on the genre, of course."

"And it all ends with you," She pointed up to Siffrin, finishing off with a flourish, "earning the right to the family heirloom ingots!"

Siffrin trailed the pick of comb down her scalp in one straight line. "Why would I do all that for a hunk of metal?"

"To craft new Bonding earrings, of course!"

Stars. He could feel his face growing warmer. "We aren't Bonded yet Mira."

"Yet?" She gasped. They both giggled at that, but Siffrin was glad she couldn't see the blush staining his cheeks.

"Alright," she said after they'd finished their laughing fit, "literature tends to exaggerate a bit. But a lot of people see meeting their partner's parents as a big step forward! Claude fretted over meeting Euphrasie's mother for weeks - and she made sure to remind me. Every. Single. Day."

She paused to let out a puff of disappointment. The more Siffrin learnt about her former roommate, the more… personality she seemed to have. "So! As your Feeling Buddy, I wanted to check on how you're doing? "

"I'm fine." How funny it was that Mirabelle could actually believe those words. How funny it was that they weren't lying! "It's kind of exciting but…"
 

"It's not a massive milestone?" Mirabelle laughed softly. The sound alone put a smile on his face. "That makes way more sense honestly - because it's weird, right? That books are so obsessed with it?"

Siffrin nodded their head so hard he got woozy, before realising belatedly that she couldn't see him. Oops. "Right! It's not like our relationship changed because I know what his step-brother looks like. Maybe if Isa made a big deal out of it, it'd seem more, I don't know, significant? But he doesn't seem too…"

What was the nicest way to put it?

"Enthusiastic." Trust Mirabelle to understand what he meant, even when he didn't. "About any of us meeting them." Her voice was strangely subdued.

And there it was - the perfect opening. It was now or never.

Siffrin took a deep breath in, then out.

"Are you worried about tomorrow Mira?"

She froze like an owl caught in daylight. "W-what?"

No backing out now. "You've seemed stressed since lunch. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I… It's ridiculous, really." Siffrin opened his mouth to object, but she beat him to the punch. "I mean, compared to Isabeau, I don't have the right to stress! Y-you'll think I'm being silly."

Siffrin let the strand of hair he'd been working on slip out of his hands, and rolled off the bed. Mirabelle jumped slightly as he landed beside her, but to her credit, she met his gaze head on. He took her hand in his, not thinking twice about the skin to skin contact without either of their gloves.

"Mira." He said, pulling her hand even closer. "If it's making you this upset, I'd never laugh at you for it. You're allowed to feel worried."

Mirabelle still looked hesitant, and Siffrin realised a few moments too late how pushy they were being. Stars, they needed to dial back the intensity.

"You don't have to tell me." Letting go of her hands, he climbed back onto the bed and reclaimed his position. His fingers curled back around the lock of hair. "Just know that I'm here to listen." Or hair to listen. With some effort, they bit back the pun - somehow, Siffrin doubted it would support their 'I won't tease you' argument well.

Mirabelle let out a heavy sounding sigh. "…Has Isabeau told you where we went this afternoon?"

Siffrin was about to shake their head (again), but then thought better of it. Darn evil scheme, actually forcing them to use blinding words to communicate - he was sick of it! "I haven't seen him at all today."

"Really? That's… Nevermind. Basically, he asked for my help with something…"

"You want me to come with you to the House? Like, a House in Jouvente or The House of Jouvente?"

Isabeau nodded, grinning widely. "The House of Jouvente, Mira. Biggest in the city! You in?"

"I-it's not like I wouldn't love to go!" Who would pass up that opportunity? Practically every Housemaiden across the country dreamed of ascending its famed heights during their pilgrimage! The historic landmark was the stuff of legends, with its gravity defying architecture stretching up to the sky - not that she was talking from experience. Last time she was in the city, Mirabelle didn't have the time to sightsee. "But for a trip this big, shouldn't we be bringing everyone?"

"Yeah, but we won't be going inside." Isabeau leaned on the door frame, folding his arms. "It's where I agreed to meet Avann. The House's spire's so tall even he couldn't get lost!"

"I guess that makes sense…" Wait, when did he find the time to talk to Avann about this? Mirabelle hadn't seen Isabeau leave the hotel, and she'd assumed they were too busy yesterday rabble rousing to have a proper conversation.

"It's not like a big get together or anything." He continued. "Like usual, Avann didn't bother putting any proper details about the get together on the invitation - no address or dress code in sight! So I'm just going to make sure we don't wind up waiting outside some random apartment in Rue de Ravioli the entire evening."

 "And you want me there for emotional support?" Mirabelle said, feeling a smile start to spread across her face.

"Going alone is too much for my delicate maiden heart!" he declared, a fake tear rolling down his cheek. "What if he stuffs me in a closet again - and there's no M'dame to get me out!"

 "Oh no! We can't have that!" Mirabelle giggled, clasping her hands. "When do we leave?"

In five minutes, apparently.

The weather that afternoon was mild, if slightly windy, and the sun was smothered behind clusters of lazy clouds. Not that Mirabelle took any notice of it: she was too busy gawking at the spiralling tower that formed the main House of Jouvente as it pierced the sky. Circles of iron swirled across its four sides, each component cast with intricate details. In one ring alone there was a masterful artistic interpretation of the classic egg metaphor; in another a brilliant carving of the Western version of the creation myth was placed in relief to the Southern tradition - and look! Was supposed to depict a crab? ON A HOUSE OF CHANGE?? Insanity, utter insanity.

Mirabelle needed to see it all.

But she couldn't leave her friend's side. No matter how hard it was, she had a duty to fulfil! A mission! With a heavy heart and a heavier sigh, Mirabelle tore her eyes away from the House, and looked at Isabeau. He had his arms folded over his chest, glancing at the crowd of tourists that surrounded them. Despite the sun choosing that moment to peak out from behind the clouds, Mirabelle shivered. The gesture was far too similar to Avann's.

"He should be here any moment." Isabeau said, leaning down to her level.

Then he stopped. He snapped to attention, shoulders back and eyes wide, like a neglected puppet being suddenly strung up for an encore performance. His hands jerked in front of his chest, as if guarding against an oncoming attack.

"Oh, Change Above." He hissed.

Frowning, Mirabelle scanned the area. The crowd continued to shift around them, and nothing in particular looked out of the ordinary - there wasn't even any sign of Avann. Her hand clutched her rapier's hilt. "Is something wrong?"

"Isabeau." A low voice drawled. "Why aren't I surprised you're late?"

Mirabelle followed her friend's startled gaze to the man strolling out of the House's doors as he stopped in front of the pair. His lopsided frown that looked creased into his face was decorated by a smattering of freckles, and his rolling eyes were framed by dark shadows. The man's slender frame was almost swallowed by his loose fitting blouse, so his hand had to travel halfway across his arm to clean his monocle with its rolled up sleeve. As the man balanced the lens on his nose with one smooth movement, Mirabelle noticed that he had the exact same shade of nails as Isabeau.

"Well that's a fun coincidence!" For all its cheer, Isabeau's voice sounded strangled. "Cause I sure was surprised."

For a moment, nobody spoke. Mirabelle nervously looked back and forth between the two. She was moments away from clearing her throat just to break the stifling silence when Isabeau cut her off with a sigh.

"What are you doing here? Where's Avann?"

"He's taking a second in there to rest." The man's head jerked backwards towards the House. "Some of us don't have the stamina to stand waiting around for hours. You're looking…" He trailed off, looking him up, and down.

"…Well."

"Really?" Was that supposed to be sarcasm? It sounded like Isabeau was asking a genuine question.

"Sure. You finally found a shirt that suits you. Congrats."

Mirabelle gasped, intent on objecting on behalf of her friend's honour and fashion sense, but -
 

"Wow. That was almost a compliment." Isabeau whispered underneath his breath. Almost being the operative word, Mirabelle thought, scowling. But if Isabeau was willing to let it go, who was she to kick up a fuss?

He continued to speak whilst she stewed, this time with a much louder voice. "Thanks Clem…ent. Clement! You're looking great - I'm loving the tapered curls!"

"Eh." He shrugged off the compliment. "No one in this family can pull off straight hair anyway."

Isabeau's smile fell. He ran a hand through his own hair, muttering 'of course.' Alright. Family or not, this Once-Changed Crab had scuttled its legs one step too far.

"Excuse you!" She snapped, stepping in front of her friend. "There's no need to be rude."

His frown grew. "What's wrong with not wanting to look like a rat's nest?" The man opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it abruptly. He blinked at Mirabelle, then turned to Isabeau, who had moved on to fiddling awkwardly with his sleeve.

"Who's this?" He asked, pointing in Mirabelle's face. She had to wonder if he was intentionally trying to get on her nerves, or if it was a natural talent.

"Oh cool. Now you want to do introductions. Maybe we should start with that next time?" The corners of Isabeau's smile twitched before he continued speaking.

"You already both know me, so Mirabelle, meet Clement. My older brother." He said in a subdued tone. But Isabeau perked up with his next words, puffing up his chest with pride. "Clement, meet Mirabelle Chevalier! Housemaiden, hero and certified Saviour of Vauguarde! And one of my bestest -estest friends ever - but that goes without saying."

Mirabelle could already feel her earlier annoyance fading, slowly replaced in her chest by a syrupy warmth. Nobody could lift her mood like her bestest -estest friend ever.

"Huh." Clement was stunned into silence for a moment - a moment that couldn't last long enough. "Thought you'd be bigger."

Mirabelle looked up at Isabeau, tilting up her chin and rising on the balls of her feet. She pointedly trailed her gaze down to settle on Clement before raising an eyebrow.

"Same here."

"OKAY!" Isabeau clapped his hands with a smiley desperation. "Is there nothing else you want to say to Mira? Nothing at all for THE Saviour of the country?"

"Nothing you haven't heard before, probably." He took off his monocle and started twirling it between his fingers. Upon a closer look, was it nail polish or oil stains that darkened his nails? "I'm sure Avann's already waxed lyrical about our family's collective thankfulness, right?"

Whatever face they were both making deepened Clement's permanent scowl. Without a word, he turned and stomped to the gates of the house. The pair he'd left behind exchanged a glance, then hurried after him.

Avann must've ended his step-brother mandated rest early, as he was waiting for them outside the massive iron doors, leaning on his cane. Yeah, that thing had to be crafted - Mirabelle swore she saw that painted turtle wink at her. He waved at the trio, but his easy going smile tightened somewhat when they were close enough for him to get a good look at Clement's expression.

"You said you'd spoken to them." Clement growled in lieu of a greeting.

"I definitely did!" he smirked, clicking his pointed fingers at them in a strange gesture. Ugh, Mirabelle was never going to get over how uncanny this stranger with her friend's face looked. 

"And you didn't thank them?"

"I… forgot?" At least Avann had the decency to look ashamed. "What, I was busy!"

Busy torturing his brother, but that was semantics.

"Avann!" Isabeau stepped in front of Clement's glare - not that his smile was any less pointed. His grin couldn't look any more fake if he'd handed Bonnie a paintbrush and told them to draw it on. "You didn't tell me you were bringing Clement along."

"Don't even start man, you brought someone too!"

"I didn't bring Clement though!"

"Flip off my fins, he brought himself!"

"Will you two grow up already?" Clement didn't yell, but he didn't have to: Isabeau wilted at his words. "The crabbing toddlers have more class than you lot."

"Frothing waves." Avann leaned over to Isabeau in a stage whisper. "He is such a scissors type."

Isabeau coughed into his hand to cover up his startled laugh.

"And you. "Like a carnivore smelling blood, Clement rounded on Avann. "You're the worst of the lot. All your stupid tricks - wanna know why I had to come baby sit you? Cause Dad was convinced you lied about Isabeau turning up. Were we supposed to believe he'd show up after three years of silence with four saviours just in time for a crabbing family get together?"

"Five actually!"

"Shut up. It sounded like a prank to make poor Zorenn cook extra servings for your roommates."

Avann was speechless for a few moments. And then:

"That's a great idea Clem! Tides, I wish I'd thought of that."

Isabeau waited patiently for Clement to stop growling before he spoke. Her friend looked small. Exhausted, like the last thread holding him up had snapped. "Just tell us where we're meeting up. I won't bother you any more after that."

Siffrin felt Mirabelle breath in, and out.

"And I…" She folded into herself, lowering her head. Siffrin had to stretch out his arms, following her descent to avoid pulling her hair. "I just can't shake the feeling he was embarrassed by me."

Their grip loosened. "Mira…"

"I know he hasn't actually said anything Siffrin! He wouldn't! He'd be too worried about hurting my feelings." She clasped her hands in frustration.  "But I'm not stupid. I can tell."

"From one bad conversation?"

Her bitten nails began to dig into her skin. "I shouted at his brother. On two different occasions! I insulted Clement to his face and -"

"He insulted you first." Siffrin let go of her hair fully, and reclaimed his place next to her. He could smell the plum scented conditioner in her half-braided curls.

"Doesn't change the fact we made a scene. And Isabeau was the one who had to cover for my mistakes, like always."

Stars, they had so many issues with that statement. But Mirabelle didn't let him get a word in, only kept talking faster and faster:

"He wouldn't even look me in the eyes after that Siffrin! H-he's probably so tired of me - that's why he didn't want to tell his family about us, because he didn't want me embarrassing him!" Her eyes filled with tears. "And don't tell me I'm being ridiculous, I know he's allowed to keep secrets, I know he's allowed not to tell us things I just -! Just -!"

"Mira."

Siffrin surged forward. Softly, he cupped her cheeks with his hands, using his thumbs to brush away her tears. They were warmer than he'd expected. Mirabelle's breath hitched as her dark eyes snapped onto him.

"I don't think you're silly, or stupid." This only made her cry more, her hot tears trickling down the back of their hands. "But you're not being fair to yourself if you don't allow yourself to talk about these feelings."

Mirabelle chuckled wetly. "I thought we were talking about it. Feelings Buddies, right?"

"Feelings Buddies." Siffrin couldn't stop himself from smiling. They let go of her face, and clasped her hands tightly. "But you should still talk to Isa."

"I couldn't!" Mirabelle jerked back, but Siffrin held firm. "It'd be so weird and awkward and awful and if he wasn't embarrassed by me before he'd definitely be after!"

Maybe it was time to change tactics. "Are you embarrassed by me whenever I ask if I've upset you?"

"…No." She said after some deliberation. "But that's different! You always have a good reason to be upset."

"Like that time I thought you were going to hate me because I couldn't finish the Cursing of Chateaux Castle's second volume?"

"Well -"

"Or when I thought you were leaving me behind when you got lost at the beach? Or when -"

"They weren't silly!" She shouted, gripping his hand tighter. At this point, it was unclear who his impromptu handholding was meant to comfort. "Sure, the problem seemed small in hindsight, but those feelings were real to you. And it's important for you to talk through them instead of stewing in your sadness!"

Siffrin only stared at her.

"Oh." Mirabelle sighed, tension leaking out of her like water draining out of a leaky cup. "Alright, alright I get it. Don't look so smug!"

"Sorry." They said, not feeling sorry at all. "And what do you always tell me when I ask if I've upset you?"

"That assuming the worst of us is unfair to all of us." She sighed with the same cadence that Bonnie would repeat 'wait a turn between using your strongest attacks if you want to avoid Craft-Sickness no matter how close you are to winning a battle' in. "And asking for our help will never annoy us."

"And who was the guy you stole that idea from?"

Mirabelle teasingly smacked their hand off of hers, and shooed them back onto the bed. Which was fair, honestly, even if the loss of contact stung slightly. Siffrin picked up the last strands of hair they'd been working on, and began twisting them into shape on her head.

He wanted to tell her that there was no way Isabeau could think that about any of them, let alone Mirabelle; or at least, think that and not be willing to talk it through. They were a family, and if the blood they'd shed protecting each other didn’t prove it, then the love they shared would have to be enough. But Siffrin doubted that type of talk would help Mirabelle feel any better. It'd sound like he was dismissing her worries entirely, and besides, he was confident enough in their bond to leave a few details unsaid.

There was still one more thing he wanted to say, though.

"I can't promise that nothing's wrong," he murmured, "but I can promise that Isa won't hold it against you if you ask him. And worst comes to worst, wouldn't it feel better to know for sure?"

."…It would, wouldn't it? Thank you, Siffrin." He saw Mirabelle's hand rise, and wipe something off her face. "I think… I think I really needed to hear that."

The conversation flowed after that, unburdened by heavy emotions. The pair chatted about what they were going to wear the next day, and Mirabelle asked Siffrin if they had anything special planned. She then proceeded to interrogate them on exactly WHY they didn't have anything special planned. The night ended with Mirabelle ironing out a bargain with them: if she talked to Isabeau before bedtime that evening Siffrin would be forced to give up the privilege of picking out his outfit for the party. Siffrin, who was already planning on asking for her help, agreed to those terms with a smile.

Siffrin tied off the last braid, and stood up, cracking their spine. Stars, who were they, Odile? He did not need another reminder how quickly their 30s were approaching. He said his final goodbyes and goodnights and don't let the bedbugs bites! to Mirabelle, only stopping to scoop up any loose curls of hair that littered the ground on his way out.

Siffrin closed the door softly behind them. He breathed in. And he breathed out.

They did it.

They did it!

They really did it!!

Their cheeks strained and their teeth ached and their lips cracked under the force of his smile, but Siffrin could care less. He did it!! He was still capable of helping his friends without a script to follow - of brightening their lives without a spotlight to dance under! Oh what a feeling - what a rush!

Siffrin practically danced back to his room. Their bouncy stride couldn't be stopped by anything -

- except for a familiar yet unexpected presence at the desk.

Huh. It looked like his night wasn't quite finished yet...

Chapter Text

Possibly for the first time in their journey Siffrin was glad that their group's hard earned status as 'saviours' had afforded them such high quality rooms. At least when the door shut behind him the hinges remained mercifully silent, and the other person in the room stayed undisturbed.

Siffrin took the opportunity to just… stare at Isabeau. For all his brains, the one area that his partner genuinely lacked in was spatial awareness - maybe because he refused to wear the glasses he so obviously needed. They could never understand his stubbornness on the topic. What was the point of being so particular with your appearance when you couldn't even see it?

Was it creepy, to stand unnoticed in the middle of the room looking at him? Maybe. Was it necessary to get his boyfriend to openly display any hint of a negative emotion?

Unfortunately.

His better half was nothing but a professional method actor. Although Isabeau had managed to let go of the airhead act, his relentless positivity was maintained on and offstage. And sure, most of that was probably his actual personality, but not even Siffrin could spot where the mask stopped and the man started. The transition was (he stifled a chuckle with a gloved hand lest he gave the game away too early) seamless, and even now, in this unexpected moment of vulnerability, Siffrin struggled to identify what emotion he was seeing on Isabeau's face.

It could be exhaustion that darkened his blotched eyes. Or was it frustration that wracked his hands, shaking across the papers that littered the table? Perhaps there was a hint of sadness in his frown?

Whatever it was, it seemed old, scored into the lines on his face. Like a weight he was used to bearing alone.

Well, not any longer.

Like a carnivore stalking its prey, Siffrin crept up to the chair that Isabeau was hunched over. Their arm snaked around his head, staying just out of sight before…

"Boop!" They flicked him on the nose.

Isabeau shrieked, not dissimilar to the noise that the doll Bonbon pretended not to still sleep next to would make. A blush bled to the tips of his ears as he jumped out of his stupor, almost at the same rate a smirk spread on Siffrin's face. To his credit, Isabeau didn't fluster as easily as he did at the beginning of their relationship, but Stars was it satisfying when Siffrin could pull it off.

Fully satiated, Siffrin threw out their arms and flopped backwards onto the bed, letting it creak underneath their weight. No point in staying quiet, because they were here on business. Serious talky-talk business.

Isabeau turned to face him. "Sif!"

Now this was a routine they could never get sick of. They turned towards him, still lying down. "Isa!!"

"Sif!!"

"Isa!"

"Aaand that's enough." Boo. "Gotta give my poor delicate heart some time to recover buddy!"

Isabeau leaned away from him, exhaling a big puff of air.  "Phew, you really got me. Careful - I can't handle many more surprises today!"

Siffrin chuckled at that, sitting up from their (very comfortable) position, but didn't say more in reply. They just watched as his face rearranged itself into a blinding smile. Siffrin was almost disturbed by how flawless it was: he gave their performance in the loops a run for its money.

Isabeau put his arm over the desk, letting his large sleeve flow over the papers he'd been working on. Siffrin caught a few printed words that read an awful lot like 'Defender's Summons' before they were fully shielded from view. Interesting…

"Am I in your way? I can clear off if you want to use the table."

Siffrin shook their head. "I just want to talk. Like, talk, talk."

"Oh. Of course." Isabeau's expression sobered somewhat, but his smile still remained. He settled into his chair, and looked Siffrin in the eyes. "About tomorrow. Makes sense - I mean, going to a family reunion must be hard on you. How are you feeling about it?"

That wasn't remotely what Siffrin had meant, but alright. Since they were about to demand emotional honesty it seemed only fair that he'd treat Isabeau's questions with the same weight.

"I mean… It's not fair. That I don't get to share -" His home. A childhood that slipped out of his fingers. A family he'd never recognise. "- something like this with you. All of you…" Even a version of themselves who didn't make it to their happy ending. Yet. Who didn't make it yet. They made a promise, they made a promise, they made a Blinding promise.

He took a deep breath in, then out, then continued.

"But I'm feeling a lot of things about tomorrow. I'm excited to try what Bonnie's making, and stressed about meeting Avann again. Mira thinks I should be nervous to meet your parents," and maybe they were? But jury was still out on that one, "and I'm definitely hopeful to make a good impression. There's so many other things to feel, that it doesn't feel as big, anymore. It hasn't gotten any smaller, but… I'll be fine."

And how wonderful it was. To say 'I'm fine' and finally mean it.

Isabeau visibly relaxed. "That's great, Sif! As long as you're feeling fine, then I'll be fine."

Huh. Future tense.

"How are… you feeling?"

Isabeau's voice caught in his throat. His eyes shifted off Siffrin's face.

After a moment's hesitation, he spoke in an unshaking voice. "Don't worry about me, Sif! You probably want to get ready for bed - I'll get out of your hair."

He still couldn't look at them.

Oh. Ooooooh, ok. They were doing this the hard way then. If there was one thing Siffrin had learnt through trial and error, it was his boyfriend's unending ability to talk himself into circles. Siffrin lurched away from the bed, and grabbed his sleeve. Wide, startled eyes snapped to their dark, determined ones.

Sometimes, the only way to get an answer out of him was brute force.

"I'm already worried Isa." Their voice was low and soft. "I haven't seen you all day. It's like you're -"

"Avoiding you?" Isabeau tipped backwards, landing on their bed. Siffrin followed suit, relinquishing his sleeve from their iron grip. "Crab."

So he already knew? Was it intentional?

Like he was answering their question, Isabeau sighed. "I'm sorry - it's not on purpose, I swear! Isolation's a bad habit, especially when things get rough. I thought I'd kicked it after my Change, but…" He played with the part of his shirt that Siffrin had grasped, straightening out the wrinkles. "You know what they say about bad habits! Hah!"

"Because of yesterday?" Siffrin leaned into his side, soaking up the contact, however small. "Or is it about this morning?"

"Ah. You talked to Mira." Siffrin could feel his partner's muscles tense next to him. "Saves me from having to explain it, I guess. Meeting up with my siblings is always… a lot, but with you guys there too it's sooooo…"

"Embarrassing?" Siffrin could feel a weight sink to their stomach. Not a tug, not a tug, please not a tug- But they were the one who pushed the question, they could handle whatever answer Isabeau was willing to give.

"YEAH! Exactly! Change, the whole debacle with Clement, not to mention with Avann! It was completely embarrassing, from start to finish."

"Oh." This time it was Siffrin's turn to lean away, to take deep and soothing breaths. Well, from a certain angle this was a good thing - how often was Isabeau comfortable with communicating such negative emotions so clearly? There was no need to punish him with their insecurities. If anything, they should celebrate this progress! He tried not to show the heartbreak on their face too clearly.

Just breathe.

In. Then out.

"I'm sorry." They fought to keep their voice level, spoke around the pit in their throat. "How can we make it up to you?"

"Huh? What are you talking abou-" Isabeau blinked. Then his eyes widened to a size that could've been humorous in any other context. "Oh Change, not by you, not by you! By them, by Avann, I - Stasis and Stagnation." He swore with surprising viciousness under his breath, before talking at a louder volume. "I'm so sorry!! I couldn't have worded that worse!!"

"It's alright -" Siffrin said, or at least tried to say, but was cut off by more of Isabeau's muttering.

"Back at home for one day and suddenly I've forgotten how talking works? Agh, it's like I'm trying to be as stupid as I look -!"

"Hey." For what Siffrin's voice lacked in volume, it more than made up for it with steel. "We both know that's not true."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." When the frown on Siffrin's face failed to lighten, Isabeau shook his head and gave a smile they couldn't believe in. "Sorry. Let me try rephrasing that. I'd never be ashamed of you - or of anyone in our family! I was talking about my siblings. Clement was so rude to poor Mira today, and don't even get me started on Avann. And this is like, tip of the iceberg behavior! You haven't even seen how bad they can get when they're all together. This was supposed to be a fun trip, and this whole mess will probably ruin it for you all."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" Isabeau shrugged. "It's nothing I'm not used to. I already know how to deal with it."

"But do you want to deal with it?"

Another hesitation for a beat too long. Siffrin leaned forward, softly cupping his face with their hands and Isabeau leaned into the touch, eyes closed. Siffrin hoped it was out comfort, not another form of avoidance.

"Nille's offers till stands, Isa. We could say that I got too anxious to go, if you want? That way nobody can blame you." They murmured. He could feel Isabeau's breath ghosting his palm.

"Aww, Sif!" He placed a hand on top of theirs, and pulled it away from him. "That's like, oddly sweet! But nah, I'm just being dramatic. They really aren't that bad."

Siffrin could feel their nose scrunching in confusion. Were they 'that bad' or weren't they? It was like he couldn't make up his mind.

Isabeau continued, leaning even further back. "It's not their fault that being around them feels like…" His grip of Siffrin's hands lightened, like a drowning man clutching a lifeline. "Like nothing's changed. Like I'm still that little kid who…"

He trailed off, before shaking his head. "But I know that's not true. It can't be whilst I've got you guys by my side!"

Awww, that was the most adorable form of deflection they had heard in a while! Siffrin let themselves be drawn into a tight hug, but didn't let go even after Isabeau's arms dropped to his sides. They could smell his cologne, a subtle earthy scent.

"…You'll tell someone, right?" They whispered, looking up at him. He could barely make out his expression from underneath his bangs. "The next time you're not doing fine?" Siffrin let go of him.

Isabeau couldn't look him in the eye.

They sighed. "It doesn't have to be me. Just… let someone know."

He was quiet for a second, seriously thinking it through - or at least, allowing Siffrin to see him think for once.

"…I'll try."

After a second, Isabeau suddenly slapped his hands on his knees, and pulled himself off the bed.

"WELP!" He exclaimed, hands placed firmly on his hips. "I'm gonna go find Mira - she's probably super stressed out now, right?" Siffrin nodded - unlike their boyfriend, he didn't have enough energy left to do much else. "Yeaaaah, I'll get that talk out of the way before I'm completely spent for the night, ha!"

He leaned down and - Oh! He placed a quick kiss on Siffrin's forehead. They flushed: it seemed like Siffrin wasn't the only one still capable of surprises.

"See ya later Sif!" With a cheeky smile and a blush of his own, Isabeau waved goodbye. "Love you!"

Siffrin waved back. He waited until Isabeau was out of the room before flopping backwards onto the bed.

Was it perfect? Perhaps not, but it was definitely better than before. And maybe that was all they could ask for.

In the corner of their eye, through the slit of the door where light was streaming though Siffrin could see tow figures standing side by side. Although they were too far away to make out any words, he was still able to catch the moment when the two silhouettes folded over each other in a hug.

Siffrin smiled.

Maybe they were getting the hang of these 'feeling talks', after all.

Chapter Text

Odile wasn't expecting company for at least a few hours.

They were planning on leaving for the party that evening, a little later than Isabeau's brother - not Avann, but another one he'd apparently neglected to mention - had indicated to arrive. But after how his siblings had treated them all over the past three days, Odile would be Splintered if they were anything other than fashionably late.

She was looking forward to her solitude. The so-called 'Beauty Alliance' were bound to be too preoccupied with putting together their outfits to bother her, and Petronille had managed to weasel her way into the kitchen to aid her sibling's increasingly ambitious culinary project. Odile was almost tempted to stick her head through the door just to see what the pair was so busy creating. These days Boniface's meals were a feast for the eyes and stomach.

But Odile stopped herself. She didn't feel like drawing their ire just yet - their ragtag group had to present a united front, after all.

The only one who she could've expected to join her side was Siffrin. They usually abstained from elaborate preparation no matter how formal the occasion was supposed to be, and made a habit of quietly perching next to her as they both waited for the others to finish powdering their nose. Truthfully, she didn't mind him. Half the time he was so quiet she could forget they were there. But Mirabelle had spent the morning bragging to a certain silently seething Fighter about monopolising their time and wardrobe, so Odile could assume they wouldn't be darkening her doorstep any time soon.

In contrast, Odile's outfit didn't take long to arrange. It left her plenty of time to enjoy her own company. Her dark, high waisted trousers matched the dark blazer hanging off her shoulders. It was fastened over her collar by a bright, shining chain: the way it glittered in the flickering candlelight made it appear much more valuable than the total cost of its cheap materials. The accessory was a little gaudy for her tastes, but Odile wasn't planning on keeping it on for long - its real purpose was a stylish removal, to show off her sleeveless turtleneck. A seemingly simple shirt, sure, but she liked how the diamond cut out of its back was perfectly positioned to…

Well, it was enough to say that Avann wasn't the only one who could leave an impression. For how open and accepting Vauguardian culture was, there were still a few taboos left for Odile to break. And if Petronille's suspicions towards Isabeau's relatives held any water, she thought they were in need of some intimidating. She was more than prepared to suffer a little cultural alienation for the sake of her family.

Besides, their bug eyed reactions were bound to make her effort worth it.

Odile chuckled slightly, before continuing to flip through her binder, stuffed with paperwork. Her wry smile soured somewhat. She ought to have been more happy that Body Craft was becoming more accepted in Ka Bue's government: the fact that foreigners were allowed to openly display the Craft during their travels was an important step forward, she supposed. But did it have to be tied up in so much Shattering bureaucracy? The documents were just so tedious, and the Katakana lettering so intricate that it not only put her to sleep, but stopped her from being able to pawn the work off onto Isabeau. (A far more grievous crime.) Sure, he was picking up Kanji with a frankly surprising speed, but giving him entire pages of a different writing system to struggle through seemed cruel, even for her.

In increasing frustration, Odile tapped her steel tipped shoes on the hardwood floors. Maybe she should just smuggle Isabeau into the country, and hope the Craft Detectors were still as useless as they had been when she was twenty five. While she was at it, she could use the detour to sink those Gem Forsaken pages into the sea. Really maximise the value of the journey. If the law was so desperate to be followed, it shouldn't have made itself so inconvenient.

She was so busy fantasising about the various ways she could destroy the papers - in increasingly fiery fashion - that she almost didn't notice someone slinking into the room.

Almost.

Isabeau dragged a chair to the table, scraping its back legs on the ground before sitting down. Sighing, Odile leaned forward on the sofa she'd been resting on, closing the binder. She prepared herself for the inevitable bout of overenthusiastic greetings and excitable questions that… never came.

The man only slouched over his book, pencil in unmanicured hand. He was sketching something that she was too far away to see.

Behind her glasses, Odile's eyes narrowed. There was something off about him. The way he looked, hunched in his darklesss blouse and plain lightless trousers -

Wait. Plain?

Oh, of course. That's what he was missing! The patterns, the textures, the random accessories drudged up from bargain bins across the country was practically Isabeau's signature look. Just a few days ago, when they were shopping in the boutiques of Marché d’Aligre, Odile had to physically drag the man away from a striped and dotted skirt that threatened to fit him perfectly. Boniface would've had a field day with the sequinned monstrosity - and the only thing crueller than a preteen was a teenager. Thankfully the pair were in a different store when they had bumped into Avann. His step brother's teasing didn't need any more ammunition.

It was almost comical. There was a time during their journey to save Vauguarde when Odile would've rejoiced to see the Excessive One embrace a minimalist outfit, but now the uninterrupted blocks of shaded fabric filled her with nothing but dread.

What had he said? When Odile had shared her despair over their backpack space being wasted by yet another needless accessory?

"There's not much I can control these days, M'dame. But I can do something about my clothes! Vauguarde's a republic for a reason, and I'll be crabbed if I let some King ruin my outfit co-ordination."

Funny. One could face a nation-wide threat with an Expression's smile and a belt wrapped around your torso, but authenticity in front of biological family was a step too far for many.

Odile's mind floated to being stuffed in a haori as she was dragged to meet her father's brothers. To roles you were forced to play long after you'd outgrown them.

She sighed again, and rose from her seat. Odile shrugged off her coat as she walked up to him. 

"Isabeau." He hummed to acknowledge her presence, but his eyes remained glued to the paper. If it didn't fly in the face of everything she knew of him, Odile would've called it shy.

She continued. "I don't think my coat is… formal enough for this evening."

Finally, he turned to look at her, but stayed silent. Gems, is he really going to make her spell it out?

"You can help me pick out a more appropriate garment." She cleared her throat, and in a belated attempt at politeness added, "Please."

"That's… super-duper suspicious." He said seriously, before beaming. "BUT I AM NOTHING IF NOT GULLIBLE!! Lead the way!"

Yes, Odile had planned to spend the evening relaxing, to make the most of the calm before the oncoming storm. But standing over her luggage as Isabeau sifted through her clothes with increasing excitement, enthusiasm only growing as he darted out of the room to grab his own diamond patterned belt that 'matches your coat perfectly M'dame! Trust me!' was the calmest she had felt since she'd watched Avann waltz out of the store's changing rooms sans walking stick and brother. How strange. Maybe she was coming down with something.

When Isabeau returned, belt (blazer and matching necklace, somehow) bundled in his arms, he brought his uncharacteristic quietness back with him.

"Thanks M'dame." He murmured, a good few decibels quieter than she'd thought him capable of. "Even if you were just doing it to cheer me up."

Odile snorted. "I'd start to worry about your mental functioning if you didn't see through that honestly. Did it work?"

"…Yes."

"Good. That's my job done then." She leaned an arm on her suitcase to close it, and shook her other one in a dismissive gesture. "Now shoo. If you do your nails now they'll be dry by the time we arrive."

This time, the smile that split open his expression was unmistakably Isabeau. Odile was only glad he had turned to leave before he could spot hers.

The only good thing that Odile could say about their carriage ride to the reunion was that it ended with little fanfare. A welcome departure - literally - from the slow and bumpy ride that preceded it. She groaned as she lurched out of the seat that she'd been squished between Mirabelle, Boniface and Boniface's covered cake platter. She would never complain about hiking again.

Well. She'd try not to complain too loudly about hiking again.

"Wait." Isabeau stopped as he stepped out of the carriage, one foot still stuck on its wooden steps. "What are we doing here?"

"Is there something wrong?" Odile asked, frowning. She was not prepared to be stuffed back into coach for another hour trying to find the right address.

"No, it's just…" He turned suddenly, and rushed to the front of the carriage to grab the directions that Clement wrote for them from the coachman. After studying it intensely for a moment, he grimaced. "Why are we doing this here? Usually Dad likes to rent out a restaurant or somewhere nice for Changes' sake!"

Mirabelle walked up to him, her low hanging afro bun bobbing up and down as she moved. Odile had to admit that Siffrin did a great job with her cornrows. "I-Is there a problem with this place? Do you want to turn back?"

"It's…" He shook his head.  "I just wasn't expecting to come back to my old house any time… ever, really. Guess it's a surprise for all of us!"

Odile could feel her expression curdle. "How are you surprised if this was your home address? Why didn't you recognise it as soon as your brother gave you that paper?"

"Did you forget where you used to live?" Boniface bounced into the conversation, box secured in their bare arms. Their large waist coat would've looked much more formal if Petronille had managed to convince them to forgo the shorts, or at least wear a dress shirt underneath it. But really, Odile was the last person who could lecture them on appropriate attire.

"That's Frin's thing - they've got a monopoly on forgetting stuff, man." Boniface pronounced the word slowly, chewing out the syllables, and their eyes darted to Odile. She nodded in approval. Monopoly was just the word she would've used in that context - their vocabulary grew more impressive each day. "If you take it, what'll he have left? Uncombed hair?"

Siffrin's face scrunched up incredulously. "Objection?? It's been combed tonight."

"Yeah, by Belle. Doesn't count." Boniface's tone was dismissive. "Cheating."

"A-and!" Siffrin said, desperate to defend their honour. "I can remember the names of Isa's family." He turned to Isabeau, their trademark grin blooming over their face. Gems. "Care to help me… brush up on my knowledge?"

Ugh. Like clockwork, Isabeau burst into laughter. "You know I'm always hair to help!"

Boniface, blessed with a superior sense of humour, pretended to retch to the side as Odile forced her eyes to roll. It was always something with those two. She started to lead the group away from them, walking down the street in the direction that the coachman pointed to. Despite the sun having recently dipped below the horizon a few hours ago, the street lanterns that curled over them were bright enough to light their way. She kept an eye out for the numbers on the doors - apparently they were looking for number 12.

"I bet you can't even keep count of the parents, pipsqueak." Petronille's smirk sharpened with a competitive edge.

"Bet." Siffrin cleared their throat. "There's three. Mum, Dad and Step Mum."

Isabeau winced. Immediately, Nille's expression softened, and she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Oh. Was she that bad?"

"What?" His eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. "No, Zorenn's a delight! Best thing to happen to my Dad in years. But she's like… never tried to parent me. Which is fair! It'd be like calling M'dame a 'mum friend'."

Ugh. "Wrong on multiple levels?"

"So many levels!" The pair shared a laugh. "Don't get me wrong, she's great and I'd never say a word against her. But I've got an actual mum already and she's not that."

"Huh. So what about your actual parents?" Nille asked.

"What about them?"

Odile turned her head to address her question to him. "Does this high praise extend to them?"

"You two are getting off track. Don’t tell me you're trying to sabotage Sif!" Isabeau gasped dramatically, placing one hand to his chest and another flat on his forehead. "How unsportsmanlike!"

Siffrin shook their head disapprovingly. Odile looked back in front of her, if only to quell the urge to ruffle his hair. No point in ruining the intricate braids that laced their locks - Mirabelle had worked wonders on them.

"Siblings next. Oldest or youngest?"

Isabeau clicked his tongue, thinking it over. "Why don't you start with my oldest brother Sif?"

"How is Siffrin supposed to know which twin is older?" Mirabelle asked. Odile could almost hear the way she wrung her hands in her voice.

"Which twin…? Oh, right. Never mind that then. Start with whichever one you want Sif!"

"Ok. The one Mira met is Clement. And the other one is called Ange."

Mirabelle looked like she'd just bit into a slice of lemon, only to be served with the rest of the fruit on a silver platter. "There's another Clement?"

"Oh no! They're dizygotic -" At the confused look that Boniface shot him, Isabeau elaborated, dumbing down his language, "Non identical, Bonbon. They might be as close as two yolks in an egg, but they're both pretty different in personality and looks."

"Ah, that's good." Mirabelle was clearly trying not to look too relieved, only for her voice to betray her.

"I didn't say that."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry though! Ange is… friendlier than Clement. Gives great gifts! He's super nice when he talks about himself - and it's great to stick to your strengths!" Incredibly vague warning over, Isabeau turned back to his partner. "Anyway Sif, who's next?"

Siffrin chewed on their lip for a moment before inspiration struck. "Oh, then it's you."

Smiling, Isabeau gave them a high-five they had to jump to reach. "And theeeeen?"

"Avann."

"And we've all seen more than enough of him." Petronille smirked. "Next!"

The gap between the streetlights cast Siffrin's face temporarily into shadow. Odile had to squint to see the number plates on the doors - 20, 18, 16… 16.5 for some reason…

"Carmen."

"Correct!" Isabeau stepped out of the light. She could smell something warm and spiced in the air. "They're two or three years younger than me, depending on the month. Carmen's really sweet, but I recommend talking to them before they find the liquor cabinet."

"P-point taken!" Mirabelle said, wringing her hands. "With plenty of concern!"

Siffrin tapped on their chin. Their gloves looked lacier than usual. "The rest are your half siblings. Zorenn's children, right?"

"Yeah." When it became clear that Siffrin wasn't going to answer without help after a few moments of silence, Isabeau slowly prompted, "Maaaaarrriii…?"

"Marianne!"

"Mhm!" He confirmed. "Can't be any older than ten."

But Siffrin's victory streak couldn't last forever. "And the… uh… twins. Other twins."

Boniface barked out a laugh. They jerked sideways, as if to bump shoulders with their sister, before remembering the parcel in their hands and massively course correcting to the other side. Not that the movement was going to save their poor mystery parcel either way, but it was the thought that counted.

"I knew it!" Petronille exclaimed. "Pay up pipsqueak!"

Siffrin's face curled into a - frankly adorable - pout. "That's not fair, he never told me their names!"

"The twins are just babies, how was I supposed to know you'd need to learn what to call them?" Isabeau stopped walking to fold his arms in protest. "They're so similar at that age - nobody can tell them apart. Still, learning five out of seven's very impressive Sif!"

Mirabelle smiled, eyes shining. "It is! Great job!"

They both began to applaud Siffrin, as they tried their very best to sink into the collar of their tunic.

Odile opened her mouth, intending to clarify something when -

CRASH!

Two small blurs bashed into Isabeau. He swayed slightly against the impact, and probably could've stayed standing. But quickly, a massive dark shape that was panting and barking barrelled into him, knocking him over.

A door swung open, with a large beam of bright light being cast through its frames and pooling onto the pile of laughter and small, bashing fists. Odile could've sworn she'd seen a 2 inscribed somewhere on the door before it moved.

A silhouette entered the frame, like a moment staged in one of Siffrin's plays. 

"C'mon you two. Kids outside the house won't get pudding tonight."

"NOOO!" Two perfectly matching squeals rang out from on top of her family member. The kids stumbled over their words and each other's flailing limbs as they rushed to get back inside the house. Their dog quickly followed, not before gracing Isabeau's cheek with its tongue, slobbering over his face.

"Just babies, huh?" Odile drawled, helping Isabeau stand back up. He ignored her, just grimacing as he wiped off the saliva with a tissue she handed him.

The person stepped closer, pinching their nose. Without a blinding light behind them Odile could make out a faded apron, seashell necklace and a loosely tied ponytail flung over their broad shoulder.

"Shifting tides," they muttered in an increasingly familiar accent. "It's like they're competing with Avann to make me go bright."

Isabeau chuckled warmly, and stepped forward. "If your dark hair could survive him, it can survive anything Zorenn."

"Isabeau!" The pair hugged. She was shorter than him by half a head, but it was only because their fighter was unnecessarily tall. (And to think he wanted to be bigger in the future. The thought alone was enough to give Odile a migraine.)

"It's been too long, Mr Saviour of the country." She teased, pulling away. Her hands dusted off imaginary creases on his shoulders. "You've made us all very proud."

Isabeau gave his thanks, smiling widely. Odile exhaled, feeling some - not all - pressure drain from her body. At least there was one member of his family that he felt comfortable with.

Zorenn looked to the side, catching sight of her present company for the first time. "Sorry, Didn't see ya there. Evening." Though she still smiled, there was something cautious in her expression as she turned back to Isabeau. "Are these friends of yours?"

"Better! They're family."

Odile would've loved to mock the blush that bloomed on Siffrin's face, or the giddy grin that grew on Mirabelle's. There were so many condescending remarks to be made about the way that Boniface and Petronille managed to hop the exact same height off the ground three times in a row, but she missed her golden opportunity as she was trying to hide the humiliating smile on her own face behind her palm. Oh well - she could pay him back later.

"Oh." She said softly. Then Zorenn looked at them: really looked at them. Her gaze was piercing, almost analytical, and a jarring shift from her previous lighthearted demeanour. Even though she refused to shrink from her stare, Odile tried not to meet it with aggression. There were plenty of people to bare her own claws against tonight, she was sure of it, but Zorenn wasn't one of them.

And like a lit bonfire, the Expression of Coldness melted off her face. Zorenn smiled, just as warmly as her initial greeting. "And here I was worried you'd be lonely." She spoke so softly, Odile wasn't sure she was supposed to hear it. But her next words were much louder.

"It's great to meet you all. Let's do introductions inside, hmm? The night's not gettin' any warmer."

Chapter Text

As per usual, the adults were having a boring, pointless conversation that Bonnie couldn't be bothered to listen to. Why was nattering on about 'how has travelling suited you Isabeau?' or that 'the family's gotten up to so much since you've been gone. You're still into that Change stuff, aren't you? Then you'd love it 'round here.' suddenly considered age appropriate? They had to suffer through all of that whilst Nille just had to wait for when she thought they weren't listening to whisper something actually interesting to Dile. They squeezed their cake platter tighter, just shy of popping it open. It was an injustice! 

Bonnie looked around the house's first room. Maybe there were some embarrassing paintings of Tiny-Za hanging somewhere on the walls, ripe to be picked for blackmail. The perfect revenge for all the teasing he'd put them through back when the family had first poked around their old house in Bambouche - Bonnie had to choke back a giggle at the thought. But looking around, the place was plain, darkless, and worst of all, the walls were disappointingly bare. They couldn't spot any trinkets; no nicknacks; not even a single discarded toy. The only things that could pass for decorations in that pale, placid room were baffling polka dots spotted on the ceiling and a half-wilted bouquet of flowers drowning in a cracked pot.

Huh. Bonnie was sure that first rooms were supposed to be important. Weren't they meant to be reflections of each family member's personality, 'changed by the lives we have lived together' or some crab like that? A house with eight kids should've been bursting with personality! So what was this barren space trying to say - that weird pattern placement ran in the family?

Za's diamond encrusted belt caught a flicker of candlelight, shining a beam directly into their eyes. 

Alright, maybe it was accurate.

A high pitched scream echoed into the room from further inside the house. Zorenn paused, before swearing underneath her breath.

Nille cleared her throat. "Is that something you should -"

"No, no, don't you worry." Zorenn cut her off, smiling. "Their father should have it under control."

Another youthful screech bounced off the walls, followed by the dull thud of something that should stay upright falling over.

"Oh for the love of…" She sighed, pinching her nose.

"You've got a lot on your plate already, so don't let us keep you Zorenn. We'll be fine on our own." He said, stepping in with one of his classic 'let's try talking before we start screaming' smiles.

She didn't move. Za sucked in a sharp breath, before muttering, like he didn't want them to hear his next words, "I'll be fine."

"If you're sure." She patted his shoulder. " You've brought guests over, young man, so at least try to talk to everyone before food's served? Your bed's not big enough to hide six people under, anyway."

His stepmother reached up to ruffle his hair, then left, gracefully ignoring Za's squarks. Bonnie's eyes trailed after her as the door squeaked closed in her wake, before turning to face Za with a smirk.

"Wait, Za." They started, arms folded. "Did you actually hide under your -"

"SORRY, TOO BUSY TAKING OFF MY SHOES TO LISTEN. My Mum's a real stickler for that sort of stuff, haha, w-we should do that instead of talking!! For a bit!"

Dile smirked. "Oh yes. Untying shoelaces, the activity that so famously involves both of your ears."

Bonnie let themselves chuckle, if only to see Za squirm for a little longer, but eventually switched their focus to shrugging off their boots. Soon enough, there was a row of footwear of varying fancy-ness lining the shoe-rack, and Za led them all to the door. As he pushed it open, the smile stretched across his face fell.

"What do you want, Avann?"

STARS ABOVE?! With a groan, that - that blinding Za-knock-off swung into the room, hanging off the door frame with one hand.

"C'mon man! Why do you and your boyfriend keep ruining my fun?"

"Partner." Isabeau corrects. In the corner of their eye Bonnie could see Frin's expression melt with joy. Groooss. " Super sorry I stopped you from being suplexed!"

Behind him, Nille cracked her knuckles. Not even Crabs like Avann were immune to her Big Sister Aura - they thought they saw him gulp before he spoke up.

"Aight, aight. It was just a joke, guys! Relax yourselves. Unless you don't wanna see what I got you?" He drawled.

Za rightfully rolled his eyes, but still held out a single hand - only to panic as something surprisingly large was thrown into it. He fumbled with it slightly, trying to find his grip as Avann snickered. Ready to retaliate with crafts or fists respectively, Dile and Nille lurched forward in unison, but they stopped when Za let out an excited noise. Everyone leaned in to look at his hands, but from their angle Bonnie couldn’t make out anything except from shapes and shades. Crabbing Za and his crabbed up height…

Above the unfortunate teenager, Nille whistled and Dile hummed appreciatively.

"Nice!" Za smiled, and finally moved the thing to a place where Bonnie could see it properly. A bottle filled with some type of spirit sloshed in his hand. It looked expensive, with a shiny (if sloppily tied) ribbon wrapped around it.

"Give Zorenn my thanks, would you?" He continued.

"Wha - this was my idea?!"

"Yeah, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night." He literally waved Avann's spluttering away. "Can we go now? I need to tell Zorenn how great she is at finding apology gifts."

"Hey, why'd you hafta tell Mom about this? We're all… mostly adults here." Bonnie almost scowled at that, before remembering themselves. No point in giving away the game this early. "I was hoping that we could keep this between ourselves, if you catch my drift."

"Wait." Belle pursed her lips, making her lighter lipstick really pop. "You can't seriously be trying to bribe him?"

There was a teasing tilt to Odile's voice. "Buying his silence during your first conversation this evening. How bold."

"Apology accepted without question!"

"Isabeau!" Belle gasps. "We can't give in that quickly! Where's your integrity?"

"Integrity, beshme-grity Housemaiden. I'm not going to do this sober." 

"No going overboard, right?" There she went again. Nille had the scary older sister mode down to a fine art, even when talking to people older than her. When she got like that, there was no room for discussion - no matter how they were phrased, her words weren't a question, they were a statement. "You're going to be sensible about it in front of the younger ones, right?"

He gave a mini mock salute. "No more than two glasses, ma'am."

"You're all free to help him finish it!" Avann chimed in. "Well, the lil one should stick to milk, but for the rest of you the world's your oyster."

Think calming thoughts Bonnie. Like bashing this one's skull in with the wrong side of a wok.

Nille looked like she was considering his offer, but after one glance at Bonnie (HEY!) she shook her head. Belle and Frin just rejected it outright.

Dile placed a hand on Bonnie's shoulder.

"Now Young One, using drinking as an avoidance tactic for your problems is an extremely bad habit to get into. Alcohol consumption should be a choice, not an escape, got it? Don't be like us."

It wasn't the first time Bonnie had gotten a drinking safety talk, and they could guarantee it wouldn't be the last. If anyone else had tried lecturing them, they'd have just rolled their eyes - but since it was Dile, they tried to keep their sighs to a minimum.

"I get it, Dile. I get it." Then it clicked. "Wait… us?"

With one fluid movement, Dile swiped the bottle from his hands, uncorked the screw, and took a drink straight from its neck.

"How is it phrased in Vauguardian…?" She muttered underneath Belle's shrieks and several bursts of surprised laughter. "Do as I say, not as I do."

"Really gross, M'dame, but I don't have the energy to care!" Za took a swig too. Yuk! "Lead the way Avann!"

"Cool." He didn't move from where he was blocking the door frame. "So… are we cool?"

Isabeau rolled his eyes. "I won't take your bribe and then rat you out. Promise."

"Course you won't. But like…" He gestured back and forth between him and Za with a painted nail. "Are we cool?"

With what was quickly becoming a familiar sigh, Za nodded. "We are. Now let us out! They can't see anything from here - and the rest of the house is so window-full!"

A chorus of groans and eyerolls followed him as he left the room, snickering. Bonnie made sure that their scoffing drowned out Frin's soft laughter.

They all walked down the corridor, Za taking the lead and Bonnie trailing behind. The house, now set free from the stale pristine plastered over the front room exploded into a cacophony of noise, sights and smells. There was banging, shouting and clatters around every corner, and the warm smell of baked goods floated past their nose. Bonnie was picking up hints of cinnamon, ginger and even pumpkin, all wafting down from upstairs. A weird place for a kitchen to be, but they weren't going to complain! (Out loud!) The lighting, shining down in harsh beams through some type of Crafted glass bulb, only served to expose the clutter around the house. Bonnie could believe that there were eight kids in one place now; toys and bits and pieces - or in bits and pieces - were littered in every nook and cranny. Not that they were very useful: Bonnie couldn't tell what, if anything, belong to Za. There weren't any bundles of yarn or cast away dumbbells that caught their attention, and the fighter didn't react to any of the mess beyond pushing a few stray stuffed toys on the ground to the side of the corridor. Another blackmail opportunity… thwarted yet again…

Avann turned into a room where a loud cry went up the moment he stepped through the door. Thankfully, Za ducked into a different, quieter room, and everyone trickled in after him. Huddled over a wide wooden table that stretched from wall to wall was a short figure, with Za's hair shade.

Nille leaned over to Belle. "Place your bets now as to who this one is."

"Betting goes against my principles." She whispered back. "But I'll wager half my dessert that's Marianne."

Without looking at the other, they both shook hands.

"Hi Dad! How's it going?"

(Belle groaned as Nille fist bumped the air.)

There was nothing but a grunt in response.

Fiddling with his sleeve, Za coughed. "Uh… Dad? Can you hear me?"

"Marie's in the dining room Avann." Za's Dad didn't even turn around.

It was usually super easy to tell how Isabeau was feeling. His facial expressions were normally so big it looked like they were struggling to fit on his face - and it wasn't like he had a hat or weirdly foggy glasses to hide them behind, anyway. But in those moments of silence he just went… blank. Like someone pulled the plug on his emotions, and let it drain out of his body.

And then, like nothing had happened, he smiled as warmly as ever. Something about it made Bonnie shiver.

"It's Isabeau, Dad. I'm back in the city! Surprise!"

Za's Crab of an old man swivelled around in his chair towards them just long enough for Bonnie to make out a smattering of freckles underlining a pair of thick rimmed glasses. His eyes widened behind his cloudy frames as he scanned the group of people. And just like that, he spun back to some unseen task beeping away on the table.

He made another grunt.

The seconds trickled by like molasses. The platter weighed heavily in Bonnie's arms.

Then Dile broke the stalemate by clearing her throat.

"Apologies for interrupting, but can either of you point me to a coat rack? It's getting stuffy."

 "Wha- of course! There's one in this room actually, on the wall behind the table. Can you see it? You have to move the wrapping paper first… and the crafted speakers… and the… suitcases - actually, it'll be easier if I just do it for you!" Za laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand whilst reaching for her coat with the other.

"No, no." She smirked, stepping away. "I insist."

Slowly and deliberately, Dile sauntered around the table and up to the wall, pushing the various blocks, boxes and tubes resting in front of it to the ground. With her back facing the family, she peeled her coat off to reveal -

"TATTOOS?!?"

On Dile's exposed back, a snake curled around a skull, sliced into pieces. It was, without a doubt, one of the COOLEST drawings that Bonnie had ever seen - and she was just?? Walking around with it?? All of the time??

"And they're the real deal too - it's not just a crafted image." Nille shuddered, scratching her own back in solidarity. "That's hardcore, Boss."

"No matter how many times I see it, it never gets any less surprising. Such a permanent change…!" Belle said, fiddling with the strap of her off the shoulder dress.

"Don't they use needles to do it in Ka Bue? That must've really hurt." Za asked, cocking his head slightly.

With a huff, Dile turned around just in time for her eye roll to be seen by everyone.

"I can't imagine the pain's any worse than using Body Craft. Gems alive, Vauguardians really do get hung up on the strangest things. And you," she jabbed a finger at Za. "Don't have the right to be surprised. I've literally described them to you before."

"I -uh… hey! You only mentioned the ones on the back of your head - and - and... I thought I made it up, okay!?" Za started wailing, crocodile tears streaming down his cheeks. Za's Dad flinched slightly at the noise from where he was sat, but couldn't seem to wrench his eyes away from Dile. "Aren't you the one who keeps telling me not to listen to Drunk Odile?!"

"Tch. Anyway," Dile slammed her hands on the table, disturbing the stacks of papers and Za's Dad. He flinched further into his chair. "Now that we've got your attention, I believe a few introductions are in order. Let's walk and talk."

Another boring adult talk. Bonnie tuned out the conversation as they were herded back out of the room and into the corridor.

As they approached the stairs, Bonnie couldn't stop looking at Dile's tattoos. There were just so detailed; the few tattoos they'd seen in person before had been small and restrained, stickers designed to be easily replaced and more often than not peeling at the edges. But this one took up her whoooole back with an elaborate illustration - it even had shading!

They hopped over a few steps to reach Dile's side. For some reason, she was breathing ragged breaths Frin-style, in and out in a steady rhythm. They knew she was old and all, but it was kinda worrying that she was finding a few stairs so difficult. Shifting the platter so they could hold it under one arm, Bonnie slipped their palm into her shaking hand and whispered, "You are o-fish-ially the coolest adult I know. Sorry Nille."

"And you're not getting a tattoo until you're twenty." Said their menace of an older sister.

"HEY!" Bonnie yanked their hand away from Dile to throw it in the air. "I said sorry!! You can still be the coolest sister I know."

Nille just chuckled. "Appreciate it Bug. Still no tattoo though."

At that Bonnie grumbled, but Dile reaching out to ruffle their hair AND tug them into a side hug made up for their disappointment in spades.

And to sweeten the deal, they saw that as soon as they reached the top of the stairs, the walls were covered in pictures! Weirdly realistic paintings without a single visible brushstroke, but hey! Blackmail didn't discriminate! They skipped in front of everyone to tug at Za's sleeve.

Bonnie pointed at a frame at random. It had a weird tear on the side, like a part of the painting was ripped out. "Is that you?"

Za opened his mouth to answer, but his Dad cut him off. "That's Ange's dance recital."

"Huh." They pointed to another one. "Is that one Za?"

"Carmen." The artist had set it on a beach, the light streaming in behind them. It looked cool - way better than the darkless voids most portraits were placed in.

Bonnie didn't bother to look at the next picture they chose. "What about this one?"

"…surprised your mother never took those down."

"Yeah." Za murmured. "Especially since she removed…"

Frowning, Bonnie finally looked at the picture properly and - It was clearly depicting a wedding, where a younger Za's Dad wearing even bigger glasses was holding hands with someone. They had a ponytail bigger than their body with a smile to match - and they CLEARLY weren't Zorenn.

CRAB.

"Uuhhh…" Bonnie looked around desperately, trying to find something to change the subject to. "W-why aren't you in any of these Za? Were you that bad at posing for paintings?"

"Paintings? Bonbon, these are -"

Za's Dad interrupted again. "Photos. Images from a portable crafted mirror. Made it myself."

"…Yeah. That." Za took a few more deep breaths. "I-I mean, I'm probably in the background for a few of them, heh."

"Well, now that I think about it, there was

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so while we were there I

huddled in the corner of                                                                                                               

the observ                 t   o    ry     dn't even                    realise I had

entered a star                                                                                                                                                    

charting competition?

 "…a won  and place second winning up ended It .ha ,hours lunch during s

                               pace the use me let d'they way only the was it an

                                                                                                     d long er stay to wan ted just I

Without warning, Bonnie felt a burst of hot air ghost above their ear. They jumped back and glared at Frin. Did they have to be so CRABBING QUIET?!

"Sorry, what was that Siffrin?" Dile asked, folding her arms. "Were you saying something?"

Frin didn't have the right to look so startled. "I-I just wanted to know what you won." They gestured towards Za.

"What I… won?"

"From the competition? That you entered on holiday when you were ten-ish? You… you said you came second place."

Za hummed. "…Sorry Sif, nothing comes to mind. I can't remember ever leaving Jouvente before - well, before meeting Mira!"
 

"Oh." Frin tried to sink into the collar of his tunic. "Nevermind then."

"That photo's probably of Clement anyway. Seems like the kind of impressive stuff he'd get up to - Change knows I was waayy too shy to even look twice at a competition back then!"

"Language." Za's Dad gestured vaguely towards Bonnie, who very kindly resisted giving him a stink eye in return. Za mumbled a sheepish apology, rubbing the back of his neck.

They kept walking, winding down the corridor. Behind them, Bonnie caught Za's Dad saying something to Frin in that monotone murmur.

"Keep it."

Frin blabbered something negative in response, but -

"Obalia's wanted to get rid of that photo for years. Should be fine for his partner to keep it."

Ugh. The amount of sugary sweet sappiness on display was enough to make Bonnie hurl. Luckily they had a perfect escape: the scent of pumpkin spices and baked pastries lay a thick trail to the kitchen's half open door. They nudged Nille, pointing to the kitchen, their platter, and back again. She nodded, and they shot off, moving as quickly as they could without disturbing the package in their arms. Bonnie smiled at the sight of stacked plates and bubbling pots on the stove - which quickly fell at the sight of who was also in the room.

"Heya kiddo." How did Avann even get there? Bonnie was sure he was supposed to be downstairs. "Whatcha got there? Looks tasty."

They tugged the platter closer to their chest. "It's a surprise."

"Looks heavy. Why don't I help you carry it?"

That was a funny way to pronounce eat. "I'll do it on my own, thanks."

"Oi, knock it off." Bonnie turned to look at the unfamiliar voice. A person wearing similar dress shirt and trousers as Za's Dad pulled at Avann's ear before he batted them away. In their free hand dangled an empty glass with a clouded rim.

"They're not one of your little siblings." They continued, before stopping themselves with a shake of their head. Their ponytail swung from side to side - a shade darker than Za's. "Well. Maybe Dad got bored again. Who do you belong to kid?"

Bonnie bit back a string of swears. You're so close - stick to the plan Bug! "Nobody."

"They're a part of Braniac's group, Carmen. The baby saviour." Avann grinned, like the Crab he was.

"Wait, what's he doing inviting a whole crowd of people to dinner? Mum said it was siblings only - none of us got any plus ones. Crabbing Bastard."

"I think saving the country should let you invite whoever you want to wherever." Bonnie said with a glare. Plan or no plan, the only snide comments allowed against Za were theirs.

"Whatever you say kid."

Take deep breaths now, Bug. Happy thoughts now, Bug. You can't get away with biting people in public spaces anymore now, Bug.

"Ugh, this family I swear." Carmen kept on talking, blissfully unaware of how close they were to losing a chunk of the hand they pinched the bridge of their nose with. "I need a drink."

"Haven't you had enough?" Avann asked, wearing Za's 'will-running-with-your-hands-behind-your-back-really-make-you-faster-Bonbon?' face, right down to the quirked eyebrow and the hands on hips.

Carmen didn't respond, only picking up a mug and filling it to the brim with something dark and heavy.

Avann sighed, and shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat Caramel. Just don't go overboard tonight - only the seabeds knows who much I hate being the responsible one."

With a dismissive wave, Carmen stumbled out of the kitchen. Alone together, Avann looked back at Bonnie - or more accurately, he looked down at the dish in Bonnie's arms.

"…Nah, but seriously kid, what's in that thing?"

They just smiled, mouth full of teeth and malice, and walked out the door.

"Oh, c'mon, you can tell me!"

Bonnie wandered through the corridors for a few minutes, following the voices of their family, until they  caught sight of everyone again. There was an unfamiliar person walking off into another room, but they were gone before Bonnie reached them. Oh well, they'd meet whoever that was during dinner anyway.

Nille spotted them first. "There you are, Bug. I was starting to get worried you got lost." She spotted the platter in their arms. "I thought you were going to put that in the kitchen?"

"Not secure enough. This is staying with me for pros-peri-ty's sake."

"I applaud your vocabulary and sense of responsibility Boniface." Dile smirked. They couldn't help but grin back.

Za looked awkward. He ought to have been more careful - his fists were bound to crease his jacket with how tightly he gripped the sleeves. "Can we please go to the dining room? I can't take another awkward introduction."

Now that was something Bonnie could agree with. They were starving! Sure, eating next to a bunch of strangers wouldn't be their first choice as to how they'd spend their evening, but as long as they were with their family, nothing could stand in their way.

***

Stars.

Bonnie squirmed in a chair that was two sizes too small, squished in between two screaming children. One toddler knocked over a drink, soaking themselves in pulpy apple juice, and like some infant hivemind the other started wailing.

Zorenn, to her credit, only shook her head. "Oh dear." She stood up, one wriggling child hoisted under each arm, "Let's get you cleaned up. Will you two be alright on your own?"

Bonnie glanced at the girl across the table, who promptly hid her face behind a battered notebook. They looked back at Zorenn, and nodded.

"I'll only be a moment. Come along, damp ones."

***

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M SAT ON THE KID'S TABLE?!"

"I'm sorry Bonbon, but there's nothing we can do! It's been that way since I was a kid - trust me, nothing I can say will change the rules."

"That's such Crab Za! You're a Saviour of Vauguarde, don't you get a say?"

Za looked away, that horrible blankness back in his expression. But Bonnie was too angry to care.

"I'm a teenager now!" They whined, stomping their feet. Man, that was way less satisfying to do without their boots. "Everyone here's been treating me like a baby all day - I'm sick of it! Don't start doing it too!"

Frin kneeled down to their eye level, and placed a hand on their shoulder. "We know it's unfair, Bonnie. And we're sorry. Isa's tried to convince them to change the rules for you, but -"

"It didn't work, did it." They muttered.

"I'm sorry." Frin repeated.

"Ugh." Bonnie could feel the anger building up behind their eyes cool down like a simmering pot being removed from the heat. "It's fine, I guess. It's not any of your faults that the rules are dumb."

Frin smiled softly. "We can sneak you into the room for extra desert if you'd like."

"You better." They pouted, totally not sniffling and definitely not wiping tears from their eyes. Not even a little bit.

Frin stood back up, leaning on Za's arm like the sappy crab he was.

"Good job at calming down Bug." Nille said, ruffling their hair. "Just hold on a lil longer, okay? You're doing great."

Frowning slightly, Belle wrung her hands. "It's… really surprising that you're encouraging them like this."

"Huh? You trynna imply something Little Bow-Peep?"

"NO! It’s a good thing!! J-just surprising."

"Cause it sounds like you're saying I can't be a good influence on my little sibling."

"I'm saying you told them to judo-flip the last person who was rude to them on the playground last week."

"People change Housemaiden. Or do you think they can't?"

"HOW DARE -"

Za leaned down slightly towards Bonnie. He whispered in their ear as the two girls bickered. "You won't miss much, Bonbon. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous! You'll be having way better time than us."

***

Yeah right.

Bonnie wiped down the juice stain off the table with a scowl. The only good thing about this situation is that they didn't get anything on their waistcoat - Za was talking total Crab.

"Um…" Bonnie looked up. The girl had put down her book, exposing her freckled face and choppy bangs to the world for the first time since the start of dinner. "..Did you… did you really travel with the saviours?"

"Course I did!" They puffed out their chest with pride. "I even fought the King himself." (Just before duelling a Wish-Craft Powered Time Loop Crazy Frin, but she didn't need to know that.)

"Oh…" The girl - Marianne, Zorenn had introduced her as - wasn't as impressed as Bonnie thought she'd be. "So you… must know them pretty well…"

Then they got an idea. An awful idea. Bonnie had a wonderful, awful idea.

They leaned over the table, cupping their hand to their mouth in a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you wanna meet the saviours?"

Marianne nodded her head so hard she must have gotten nauseous. Her glasses fell of her face, the little stones hanging off of them clattering on the table.

Bonnie offered a hand to her, which she took shyly, and led her out of the room. Snaking through the seemingly unending corridors together, they reached the dining room. A slither of light poured out of the ajar door, and they both poked an eye through the crack. It sounded loud, and chaotic, and everything that Bonnie was worried they were missing out on.

They opened their mouth to point out each family member to a jaw-dropped Marianne, only to be interrupted by -

CRASH!

The unmistakable sound of shattered glass.

Chapter Text

Petronille wasn't really one for nostalgia.

She'd invested her energy into the future, so you'd have to forgive her for not wallowing in the past. Why waste valuable time wading through memories when you could be building new ones? There weren't that many worth keeping regardless.

That was why standing in the Moineau's first room was just so unsettling.

Everything, from the untouched furniture to the blank walls and suffocated flowers, felt like walking through a memory: a living relic, each furnishing an artifact of a time better left behind her. Well, the polka dot ceiling was new. Nille dragged her thumb across the table, catching a streak of dust that you missed again, you stupid brat. Do you want the whole world to think we live in filth?! Huh? Answer me!

Just focus on the dots Nille. Just count the stupid little dots.

In the corner of her eye, Odile coughed conspicuously into a closed fist, clearly vying for her attention. Nille pretended not to see Bonnie grumble in front of them as she stepped backwards, trailing behind the group to they could conspire without interrupting Isabeau's small talk.

"What's up Doc?" Nille's question earnt her one of Odile's patented old-lady-eyerolls.

"I realise I should have asked this before we left, but did you remember the…?"

Petronille tapped the breast pocket of her waistcoat, feeling the keys jangle more than she heard it. "Don't worry, it's safe and sound." She said, watching Odile relax at the news. "According to the coachman, our plan B should be parked next to house number 16.5. Craft powered, roomy and all ours until eleven thirty - just how you ordered it."

"Good. I don't feel like learning how to drive a horse-drawn carriage in an evening," Odile smiled, a thin, wiry thing. "Unless you're offering?"

"In your dreams."

They chuckled together, but a sudden thought made Nille pause.

"Did you run this by Isabeau yesterday? Or like, at all?" She asked.

"I prefer to ask for forgiveness rather than permission." That was a no then.

"Won't he…" Ugh, the wobble in Nille's voice made her sound like a Once-Changed child. She cleared her throat and tried to speak in a steadier tone. "Are you sure he's not going to be mad at us?"

Because it was slightly insulting, wasn't it? There was an implication present, the idea that Isabeau wasn't strong enough to fight his own battles. That they were waiting for something to go wrong.

"I'm not convinced he knows how to be," She scoffed, before whatever expression Nille's face contorted into made her reconsider her words. Odile's tone softened - soft by her standards, anyway. "But on the off chance he isn't happy with the arrangement, feel free to pin the blame on me."

It wasn't as if Petronille didn't appreciate the effort, but… "Dunno if he'll buy that, Ma'am."

"Why not? After all, this is mostly for my benefit."

Nille's eyebrows made a valiant leap for her choppy bangs. "It is?"

"I can never relax at events like this unless I know for a fact I have a way out. There's nothing worse than feeling trapped with one's relatives - a reliable method of escape is the best coping mechanism I've found for that specific… anxiety." Odile shifted her gaze away from her, and the vulnerability in her downturned lips had the same gravitas as a reclining lioness exposing its underbelly. "At this point it's a force of habit."

Nille wiped the dust off her thumb with a trembling palm. She cleared her throat, intent on speaking when -

A high pitched scream pierced their conversation.

"Is that something you should…"

That being said, there was one highlight on Nille's itinerary for Memory Lane.

Each and every memory of Bonnie was precious, perfect, and needed to be protected.

At.

All.

Costs.

It was a tragic reality, but they wouldn't be a child forever - Change, in Bon's opinion they weren't a child at all - so every youthful moment deserved to be documented, each adorable action carefully preserved.

Case in point, Nille wanted to keep the feeling of Bon's hatless bundle of hair nudging into her shoulder forever, and to bask in the sparkles of the puppy eyes staring up at her to her very last breath. Loath as she was to admit it, Bonnie was getting taller by the day: who knew how long she had before they would looked down at her instead? Crab, she wanted to squeeze her sibling until those wide eyes popped out of their head.

The teen in question fidgeted with the platter in their arm, clearly eager to follow the path that their other hand was pointing out. Rather than give in to her cuteness aggression, Nille simply nodded. Bonnie shot off, making sure to thoroughly jostle the package in their arms as they ran. And - Oh! Would you look at that? Isabeau was starting to say something to his dad, a clear indicator that it was time for Nille to tune back into the conversation.

"Are you leaving already?" he asked, arms folded.

His father shrugged. "Gotta go set up for dinner."

"Oh, ok! Do… you want us to help with anything? I can grab the cutlery or lay out the plates -"

"Don't bother."

Then Mr Moineau just? Walked away?? Swerved on his heel without so much as a nod and walked off - was he allowed to do that? Nille turned to Isabeau to check, but the only feeling she could make out on his face was relief. She watched his slight slouch with a furrowed brow and a sour taste in her mouth.

"There you are!" A low voice drawled.

A figure twirled towards the family, shrugging off their faux fur coat (which they were wearing indoors??) and putting on a lopsided smile. Their slender frame only seemed thinner in their skin tight turtleneck, and their hair bounced above their shoulders in tight curls.

Beside her, Mirabelle flinched. Was this one Clement then? It was hard to believe they shared any blood with Isabeau: the only thing they had in common with their resident knucklehead was their volume.

"Awww, look at you darling!!" They cooed, reaching up to cup Isabeau's face in their palms. "It's like you get bigger every year!"

Isabeau tried to reply, but his words were obscured by those gloved hands pinching his cheeks with an iron grip. Nille winced in solidarity - he'd be lucky if they didn't bruise.

"Oh, you would not BELIEVE the buzz your name is creating for me. It's like everyone wants a piece of the Saviour's big brother: these days my schedule is jam packed." They finally let go the poor man in favour of placing a hand on their forehead, feigning a swoon. "I couldn't expect you to understand. But!! It's all because of little old you."

And just like that, the temperature in the room dropped. You could pinpoint the moment that her family's curiosity soured into spite.

"He can understand that." Mirabelle stepped forward first, pursing her lips. "It's easy to understand. Fame is a simple concept that Isabeau is more than capable of understanding…!"

Call her an instigator all you like, but Nille couldn't not open her mouth to ask, "Are you sure?"

"YES! Very!!"

"I mean, all he did was travel for months, save the country and become a household name." Nille smirked. "You could hardly call that 'fame' - I don't think he even has an action figure yet."

Her rival huffed, but the tension leaking out of her posture betrayed her true feelings. "Can't you ever just say that you agree with me and leave it at that?"

"Nope."

"And who are you supposed to be little buddy?" The Annoying One suddenly chirped. They bounced over to a startled Mirabelle: it was truly impressive how condescending they managed to sound, crouching down with hands placed on bended knees despite being the same height as the Housemaiden.

Odile stepped between them. A blessing in disguise, really: said Housemaiden's hands were twitching dangerously close to her rapier.

"You're currently looking at Mirabelle, commonly known as the first Saviour of Vauguarde, alleged chosen one, etc, etc. Unfortunately you just missed the only minor in our party, Boniface. As for the rest," She began pointing out each member of the family, "Siffrin, Petronille, you already know Isabeau, and me. Odile. There, everyone's met everyone and we can all move on."

"I could've handled that if you didn't want to, M'dame." Isabeau muttered, still rubbing at his cheeks.  

Odile rounded on him. "Let this be your warning Young One. If I have to sit through another fifteen minute list of accolades - no matter how glowing - I will not be held responsible for my actions."

With the wide eyes of cornered prey, Isabeau frantically nodded.

During the exchange Nille watched with ever-growing amusement as the newcomer's jaw dropped, eyes racing all over Odile's exposed back and by extension, tattoos. Not that she blamed them: the twisting ink was truly a sight to behold.

"That wasn't targeted at you, Sir." She smirked. "Feel free to introduce yourself in your own time."

Now, Odile wasn't in the habit of making mistakes. But Isabeau's brother (Ange C. P. Moineau, he/him, thirty-one years old and Scissors Craft as written on the crabbing business cards he handed out) took her half-joking words as an open invitation to wax lyrical about the last year of his life. In the span of a minute, Nille learnt more about his three wives, thriving career as an opera singer and the exact path he took from his studio apartment to his childhood home than she ever wanted to know. The cards went straight in the bin. He didn't notice.

"Oh!" Ange cried, clogging the flow of his word vomit. "How could I forget - I need to give you all the gifts I bought to mark the occasion!"

He dropped to the floor, picking his discarded fur coat back up, and shook out five extra slips of paper. On them was printed -

"The Vaugaurdian adaptation of Plutown!" Siffrin exclaimed, in that bright voice they reserved for all things theatre. "Well, it's an adaptation of an adaptation really, since the play's based on the Poterian myth, and the opera's based on the play…" They trailed off, seemingly realising all the attention on them for the first time.

Poor Siffrin tried to sink into their tunic's sheer collar, to little success. "…I've heard good things about the production, that's all."

"Probably because I'm performing the starring role!!" Ange flicked his hair. "One of my best, if I do say so myself."

For some reason, Siffrin looked sceptical at his declaration. "…Is Dylan Grove your stage name?"

"Uh -"

"Or are you playing Euridice? Hades? Persephone?"

Ange flinched backwards as they leaned towards him, clutching his arm in an eerily recognisable nervous tick. "Well, I -"

"It's just, I haven't seen your name on the cast list before. Or any posters. Or anywhere." Siffrin finally eased backwards, giving him some space to breathe, albeit in an exaggerated motion. "But I might have forgotten it. I don't know."

"No, I - uh…" Ange grimaced, looking away. "I'm usually just ensemble. BUT! But, but, but I'm definitely scheduled to understudy that night!" Nille had to hand it to him, he recovered remarkably quickly, continuing to speak in that same insufferable sing-song tone. "And everyone is soooo excited to perform for the Saviours themselves!"

Ah. The Saviours.

Not including her, of course. Who'd care about the irrelevant older sister, only useful for freezing in her sibling's place? Just another reminder that she'd never truly - 

"So sorry I couldn't get you one Isabeau. But don't you worry! I've saved the best present for last."

Huh?

"What?"

"Excuse me??"

"We're not?? Going without him??" Mirabelle spluttered, clutching her hands in confusion.

Ange just laughed, a light, mocking thing. "I'm sure he wouldn't want to intrude, right Isabeau?"

"We're not going without him."

Siffrin's words brought goosebumps to Nille's skin. Not to mention that darkened glare…

"Well. Um." Ange audibly gulped. "I suppose I can dredge up an extra ticket somehow. Star power, and all that. But who knows! I have a feeling he'll be too busy to attend, hehe!"

"Shouldn't you be the judge of that?" Nille turned to Isabeau, who looked surprised at the direct address if his slight jump was anything to go off of. "It's your call Big Guy: 'cause if you won't go, none of us will."

"I, uh…" He looked back and forth between Nille and Ange frantically, gears turning. "…want Sif to ease up on my arm? A little? Sorry, sorry, it's just that it's getting all tingly."

Siffrin muttered an apology, and moved from a vice grip around Isabeau's forearm to pre-bonding handholding. In public? Scandalous!!

Petronille frowned, about to remind him that you didn't actually answer my question when Ange interrupted her with a gasp, spinning to the Housemaiden. "I almost forgot!! I have to go set up an extra chair at the kids table now, don't I? Extra numbers and all that."

"I'M NOT A CHILD!!"

"Not you Darling," he twittered, waving off Mirabelle's furious gaze. Oh well, it was his funeral. "Something-face or whatever their name was. Goodness knows we can't have any Young Ones near the main action of the night."

Well, that sounded like the kind of arrangement you'd discuss with Something-face's guardians before they came to your crabbing dinner, but what would she know? All she did was raise the rugrat. "Why not? Bonnie's not a kid anymore, they're thirteen."

"Thirteen isn't eighteen, I'm afraid."

Oh ok. So it was like that, was it?

"Yeah, and it isn't crabbing nine either." Petronille hissed, almost snarling. "They faced down the King," not that she was happy about that little tidbit when they first told her, but this stagnant piece of work didn't need to know that, "so give me one good reason why they can't handle a meal?"

Isabeau chimed in, smiling. "C'mon Ange, Bonnie's great, you'll love them! They've been on their best behaviour all day, don't deny them the chance to watch the reactions to… whatever dessert they made! I'm not sure what it is! But it'll be great!!"

Ange only sighed.

"Do it for me? Please? I can forget about the tickets; this one exception to the rule will be more than enough to make up for it."

"This is for you. You know that already." It was unsettling, how level and grounded Ange's voice sounded. No jokes or frills, just a man, his little brother, and quiet disappointment. "The one thing we do right by these kids is keeping them from cleaning up our messes. I won't compromise on that."

"…I know."

With a smile stretching the freckles on his face, Ange leaned over to pinch Isabeau's cheek. Again. Jeeze, that had to hurt. "That's what I thought! Send Bobbie down the corridor when you run into them again, and give them my love for the treats. I can't wait to see what dessert they came up with! Tata for now~!"

And he was off, all but skipping away into another room. The corridor itself sagged in relief. Nille looked up to see a welcome figure coming closer and closer to them, and felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards.

"There you are, Bug. I was starting to get worried you got lost."

Change, Nille wished she was in Bonnie's oversized shoes right now.

Which really meant sitting pretty in the best inn money didn't need to buy; neatly placed on carpets so fluffy you could brush them like hair; and halfway across the city. Was that so much to ask?

Since their little band had entered the dining room sans a little sibling, Petronille had experienced enough chaos to last her five generations worth of Moineau family gatherings.

Par exemple: the seating arrangements. 

There was a tacit agreement across the board that Mr and Ms Moineau (both halves of the ex-couple had kept the last name, apparently) couldn't be sat together. Which was fair. But it was easily complicated by the demands of the various siblings. Carmen didn't want to sit next to Avann or their father, whilst Ange and Clement needed to be side by side like some kind of mismatched set. Ange loudly claimed it was because 'twins should never be separated for long', but Carme Clement, right, it wasn't her fault there were too many siblings in this crabbed up family Clement looked a good chunk older than his alleged other half.

Nille could make an educated guess as to why that was the case, though.

A certain tyrant's craft affected far more than just the cursed.

After far too long, Nille finally thought that the debate was over. Everyone took their places around the table - a circle table even, could you get any more stereotypically Vauguardian? - ready to sit down next to the person(s) of their choice. And then they realised that there was a chair missing.

Ha. Ha!

Petronille was about to rip out her own piercings.

Odile, the gift that kept on giving, ended up sacrificing her seat. Or more accurately, she dragged a short, sturdy-looking and vaguely mechanical box to the corner of the room, resting it by the side of the kitchen cabinet whilst muttering that she'd take backpain over more bickering. Several people around the table opened their mouths to object, but clearly thought better than to question the decisions of the scariest Saviour - what if her tattoos were contagious!? Nille chuckled at the thought, collapsing in a chair next to Mirabelle.

At least their researcher seemed happy on her makeshift seat: which probably had something to do with the large dog resting its head on her lap, tail wagging back and forth. Lucky devil. Only the sight of the Housemaiden's smile and hands twitching underneath the table stopped Nille from dying of jealousy.

Luckily, conversation got lighter after the first little squabble died down. Even fun, in a way? Although the bits and pieces of discussion bouncing off each (metaphorical) corner of the table felt slightly overwhelming, as long as their words were punctuated by laughter and smiles Nille found she could cope with the noise. Who knew? Maybe that would be the last of tonight's arguments…

Avann wouldn't stop poking at Siffrin, trying to guess their craft type to 'calculate their compatibility with protectors'. The rogue looked fit to sink into the ground.

During the battle of the in-laws Carmen, already on their third glass of something dark, snapped at Ms Moineau when she tried to take it away. Nille shared a chuckle with Odile when their mother kissed their forehead and bounced into the kitchen, which escalated into a full on cackle at the lipstick marring their face. Who could blame her? Especially when Carmen's sloppy attempt at rubbing the stain off ruined their previously pristine darkless sleeve - and their uncoordinated efforts still left a smudge ghosting their skin.

Ange tried to set up an impromptu karaoke session, which his twin thankfully shut down with an long-suffering chuckle. But Nille's gratitude was undermined by Clement immediately moving on to argue with Mirabelle; their religious debate over the cultural significance of Jouvente's Main House for agnostics outside of the Change belief - fascinating and baffling as it was - got cut short by Ms Moineau bouncing back through the doors with the evening's main course.

And through it all, Isabeau remained silent.

No quips, no carefully constructed wordplay, not even a single smile shared at the chaos surrounding him. All he did whilst resting his chin in his hand was swirl an untouched drink in the other. Petronille didn't even see him blink.

Ms 'Call-Me-Obalia-Dearie' Moineau placed a bowl of soup in front of her during her musing, jewellery jangling. Nille flashed her a tight smile in thanks, and nudged her spoon in the thick, viscous cream of mushroom, wincing at the lump of half-mashed garlic lurking under its surface. Isabeau hated mushrooms, didn't he? Nille paused for a second, half expecting someone to start saying grace, but when everyone began to tuck into their food without delay she figured that there wasn't any harm in taking advantage of the lull in conversation to check on him.

She leaned behind Mirabelle to tap Isabeau on the shoulder. He didn't even flinch.

Frowning, she snapped her fingers next to his face. Once, then twice -

"What is it Nille?"

"Dude," She felt her frown grow deeper at his tone. "You good?"

Isabeau only shrugged, and gave a smile so fake it would've been booed offstage.

Nille twisted in her chair, grabbing its backrest for support as she leaned further back. "My offer still stands man. I can get us a free ticket out of here - just say the word and we're gone."

Her words must have broken him out of his heavy-lidded stupor, because Isabeau startled into a real smile. Thank goodness. Just looking at his usual sparkly expression was enough to ease some of the tension building between her brows. "And that's still so sweet of you! Don't worry about me, Nille, I'll be fine!"

It was like the air was sucked out of the room in one united breath. Suddenly, dozens of eyes locked onto Isabeau, and the seconds trickled by like the soup dripping down Nille's spoon.

Obalia sighed.

"Oh Sweetheart. These outbursts are so unlike you, I don't think I'll ever get used to them."

Faintly beneath the sound of her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, Petronille could hear low-pitched chuckles and barely concealed snorts from the other sides of the table. She whipped her head back around to face them, familiar tension pulled back onto her face like the drawstring of a bow. Teeth bared. Ready to bite.

"What are you talking about?" Odile's lips curled.

"That was a perfectly regular volume?? E-excuse me -"

"It's all good guys!" Isabeau laughed, chuckling along with the rest of the room like nothing happened. "Sorry Mum."

Nille barely restrained herself from slamming the table, settling for clutching her spoon so tightly it bent out of shape. "What for? You aren't the one who should be apologising."

"It's fine!!" he squeaked. The responsible course of action was to cool it with her glare, but when Obalia's second sigh made Isabeau deflate into his chair Nille couldn't bring herself to care. "Can we please just move on?"

Siffrin's own glare narrowed. "Just. This. Once."

Nille shoved a tasteless spoonful of soup into her mouth, not trusting herself to speak.

Apparently the attention was now on Isabeau, for once - there was a first time for everything, Nille supposed. Carmen leaned forward, and with droopy eyes slurred;

"So… Ibabeau… When do you think you'll have another kid with your girlfriend?" They pointed a shaking finger right at…

Petronille??

WHAT. HUH? WRONG. WRONG ON SO MANY LEVELS.

She opened her mouth to protest - and immediately choked on that blinded chunk of garlic. Nille was left spluttering as Mirabelle frantically jabbed at the small of her back. Instead of helping her suffering friend physically or psychologically, Odile the traitor she was burst into peals of delighted laughter rivalling Bonnie in terms of pure, youthful mischief, ruffling the fur on the dog's back. A familiar cackle quickly accompanied her. Nille squinted at Isabeau with eyes filled with betrayal and tears, only to realise it was coming from the opposite end of the table. Rather than helping clear up the truth, Avann was practically howling with joy.

Siffrin, bless him, was left to explain everything. Alone.

"B-bonnie isn't… I mean Nille's not… uh…" They looked to their actual boyfriend for assistance, who was unfortunately too busy sinking his head into his hands to help. He struggled on valiantly. "I'm uh… The partner. Isabeau's partner. Not Nille."

"Definitely not me." She managed to choke out of a burning throat.

"Oh… but the kid looks just like you…?"

"Because that teenager is her sibling." Isabeau hissed in a surprisingly bitter tone. "Which you would know if you were capable of paying attention right now, Carmen."

Mr Moineau cleared his throat. The little fight Isabeau had managed to muster up leaked from his body in one long sigh, and he sank back down into his palm with another muttered apology.

"They're probably distracted by your beard. Goatee. Thingy." Clement added in a bizarre non-sequitur. 

"Hey." Nille snapped. "Watch yourself."

"What? I'm just wondering about the thought process there. It's not like the rest of us have facial hair. Was it an intentional thing or did you lose your razor travelling? Just asking."

"Don't ask! It's an incredibly thoughtless thing to ask!!" Mirabelle exclaimed, wringing her hands.

Clement blinked. "Is it? Oh… Oh yeah it is. Sorry."

"What? I- Uh." Isabeau looked stunned for a moment, "Apology… accepted?" He said carefully, leaning slightly away from his brother as if he was laying out some type of verbal trap. Clement just nodded, and returned to drinking his soup.

"Since we're doing questions," Avann trilled with a mischievous smile. He didn't even have to finish his statement for Isabeau to start groaning. "How much do you earn as a capital 's' Saviour?"

"We're not taking questions."

"But I wanna knowwww! How else am I supposed to decide whether or not to join the nearest heroes' party when the next freak attacks the country? I need to make sure adventuring is financially viable."

"Avann. That's enough dear." Call-Me-Obalia admonished him, before moving on to Isabeau, "And move that bottle away from the edge Sweetheart, it's making me nervous."

Nille stared at him as he picked up the bottle, trying to catch any cracks in his expression. Or any expression. At all. Isabeau's face was blank, vacant, like his brain had left the building and forgot to turn the lights off on its way out. He handed the booze over to a thankful Carmen in one stiff movement, as if puppeteered by unseen strings.

That same uncanniness leaked into his voice, sending a chill up Nille's neck. "Ange. You haven't talked about yourself in half an hour. Don't you want to fix that."

Oh, that was what felt so wrong - the total lack of Change in his words! Nille had never heard such an empty monotone come from Isabeau's usually smiling mouth.

"My goodness, you're so right! Thank you sooooo much for noticing!"

The Crab actually had the nerve to stand up, clinging his spoon against the glass in his hand and splattering its rim with soup.

"I think it's high time that I made my announcement!" Ange paused for a bout of half-hearted applause, before continuing with his little speech.

"When a little birdie told me that our resident hero was returning to Jouvente, I knew I had to mark the occasion with something BIG. But how was I to top Avann's surprise weekend in Poteria? Not to mention refurbishing the spare twin's bedroom when they first arrived. But! I believe this time, I have truly outdone myself." He reached under the table, slightly muffling his next words. (Not that Petronille minded.) "I hope you'll find these gifts… tailor made to suit you, hehe!"

Ange's spindly arms struggled to lift the weight of a massive bag, and dropped it on the table with a large thud. What? That couldn't have been there the whole time - it was the size of his torso!

"Oh…?" Isabeau took a soft looking package out of the bag, weighing the wrapped fabric gingerly in his hands. Well, wrapped was an exaggeration: it was more like a tight bundle of bows.

"Oh!" He said, placing it on the table. "Wow, Ange, I really wasn't expecting this! This is…"

Isabeau trailed off as he unwrapped the gift, smile stuttering on his face.

Petronille and Mirabelle leaned forward in unison to see a neatly folded… uniform?

"W-what is this?"

Ange puffed up with pride. "Your promotion!"

What.

"I was lucky enough to run into one of your little Defender friends during an inspiration run yesterday," he said, blowing up even further with hot air, "and she told me something reaaaally interesting. She said that the Defenders had actually kept your position open all these years, ready to give you a heroes' welcome. And I get why you said no. My little brother's a Saviour of an entire country, I told her, why would he lower himself back into an entry level position? You lot will have to do better than that."

"I took the liberty of bargaining for you, Mr Deputy Chief!" Ange continued, with that same crabbing smirk. "You're welcome."

Carmen whistled, clearly impressed. His mother chirped out a 'that's so thoughtful!' with clasped hands. Nille felt her jaw scraping the floor.

"Don't worry, I've organised everything - and I mean everything." He waltzed over to a frigid Isabeau, and began lifting more items out of the bag into the air for everyone to see.

"The deposit on your old apartment," Ange said, lifting up a frilly set of keys.

"Transport for your old adventuring buddies to have a safe trip out of the city," he had the gall to fling a handful of tickets to Odile. She didn't bother reaching for them, just let them drift down to the ground like miserable counterfeit confetti with an icy glare.

"AND! Some entertainment!" He placed a deck of cards and a dumbbell he could hardly lift next to the clothes.

Apparently he still wasn't done, as Ange kept on talking, "You'll especially want these for your welcoming afterparty tonight." He cupped his mouth with his hand in a stage whisper. "All of your best friends are invited. Tille, Dorienne, Iwai, Basil, and don't forget little K.D! Oh, it must feel like a second family reunion~"

Finally, finally, it was silent. Ange stepped back with a painfully punchable smirk stretching his freckled cheeks. Nille breathed in, then out. Slowly. Focusing on the smoky scent of burnt candles instead of the clump of emotions churning in her gut. The thumping of the dog's tail, head still resting on a speechless Odile's lap, slowed to a halt. And then -

Avann screamed with laughter, doubling over in his seat until his head was almost banging against the table. "OH! Oh, Ever Shifting Tides that's - that's absolutely priceless!!"

Ange's cheeks darkened as his laughter continued. "Muuuuum," he whined, "Avann's swearing at me in a language I can't speak!"

"Avann, don't tease. I think it's a lovely gift, dear."

"Lovely??" Avann quirked his head to the side with folded arms, a gesture far too reminiscent of his brother. "The man invites Beau's exes over for dinner and we're calling it lovely? Man, man, man you twins are too much - always coming up with the most insane pranks."

Eyes wide, Nille whipped her head around to Isabeau. She meant to say something, anything, but the words shrivelled up and died in her throat. The only thing she could manage was to open her palm, and shove her hand past an open-mouthed Mirabelle to hold it in Isabeau's face.

FIVE.

"NO." He shook his head frantically, holding out his own palms like he was defending himself physically, not just verbally. "Nonononono, listen!! Listen. Tille was only ever just a friend and Dorienne was my superior - do you really think I'm dumb enough to date my boss??"

Oh, her mistake. That explained everything!

Nille shoved three fingers in his face.

He grimaced. "…Maybe he's thinking of the wrong Iwai?"

"Whaaa? I can't believe that's not your first partner." Carmen pointed at Siffrin, who flinched away from the attention.

"I can't believe you told Avann before us." Clement folded his arms, "Avann?? Of all people?"

"C'mon, this is old news. It's not like it's some kind of massive secret."

Isabeau just groaned.

Ange screamed into the palms of his hands, before slamming them down onto the table in determined fists. The glasses rattled. "WHATEVER. Whatever! You can't change the past, Isabeau, and the Defenders can't change their arrangements. Your reunion is scheduled in 45 minutes come hell or high water - it's on YOU to be mature enough to take advantage of an opportunity of a lifetime. Don't embarrass me."

"Ange."

Nille, who was about to protest this ultimatum with the rest of her family, forced herself to sit back at the sound of Isabeau's voice. She was more than ready to fight on his behalf, but if he wanted to take this battle on himself then so be it.

"Did the Defenders tell you why I didn't come back?" Isabeau's face was blank, empty even, but his tone seemed light enough. At least someone was able to keep a level head: despite her best efforts Nille's mouth was still knotted into a snarl.

"That has nothing to do with anything -"

He cut him off. "I want to know what to thank you for. Either you asked them for an explanation, and you genuinely think that I'm willing to rejoin a group of spineless cowards who wouldn't know a backbone if you stabbed them with one," this earned a few gasps around the table. Isabeau paid no heed to them, "or you didn't even bother to do me that one singular kindness, and the only thing you know about me is my job."

He stood from his chair with a deafening screech, inching closer and closer to Ange with every pointed word.

"But I guess I should be happy, right? That you went behind my back to make a major life decision for me, right? That's sooooo thoughtful of you, Ange!"

Isabeau was looming over him now, clutching the bag in his shaking fist. As he smiled, his shadow cast over his brother, Nille distantly registered with a dry mouth how much larger he'd crafted himself to be than his relatives.

"You can take everything in this bag, and give it right back to those pieces of shit."

"That's enough." Mr Moineau's voice was quiet, but firm. "Isabeau, apologise."

Isabeau stepped back. There was a bitterness in his face that twisted his features almost unnaturally, but he remained silent.

There was no stagnating way that Nille was going to let that slide. "For what?" She hissed, "He's allowed to hate his crabby gift."

"He's making his brother cry when he knows full well that Ange was just trying to be nice." Ms Moineau felt the need to add in an irritating whine.

"Just trying to be -!" The rage clogged Nille's throat.

"Oh please," Odile scoffed, "Isabeau laid out his issues with his brother's present more than clearly. The only apology needed is Ange returning the receipt."

Ange started crying even harder.

"For crying out loud," Surprisingly, it was Clement who spoke up next, massaging his temples with an ink stained hand, "will you stop acting like such a child?"

As if the Universe itself intervened to punctuate his point, twin childish screams from down the hallway pierced his words in a dissonant echo. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"I have been embarrassed!" Ange wailed, "I put so much work into this only to be humiliated!!"

The dog perked up at the sound of the twins, tail wagging ferociously in response to their cries. Odile moved her hand away from its panting head and let it rush away from her. 

Clement stood from his chair, and stepped towards his brother. He cocked his head to the side, as if the different angle would rearrange the view before him. "…What has gotten into you lately?"

"What's gotten into you?!" Ange accompanied his shriek with a stomped foot. "You're the ONE person who's supposed to be on my side!!"

"When you're acting like this? I can barely look at you."

Apparently it was Carmen's turn to give their two silvers, lurching out of their chair. "Don't start acting high and mighty now your majesty." 

In the background, Avann cackled. 

"You two have been acting like that for years, what's the problem with it now?" They spat, literally, in Clement's face. Bleh. 

"Wha- No, that's ridiculous." Clement spluttered. It was like his face wasn't built for flustering, with the way it crinkled in confusion looking downright uncanny. "I wouldn't pull a stunt like this."

"Soooooo you didn't spend the entirety of my graduation making fun of my makeup?"

"And you didn't toss my trainers the day before my triathlon?" Avann hollered from his seat, grin turning cheeky.

"Because they looked like trash -" Clement said, or began to say before catching himself. "Oh."

"Nah, it's tight. The replacements you got me were a perfect ten."

The dog streaked past the table, bashing its side against its legs.

"I don't wanna hear aaanything out of you ya hypocrite." Carmen slurred. Clement batted their finger out of his face. "Either treat us like crab, or pretend to be nice, but don't act like you've changed." 

"Crab off." Clement growled, pulling his face into a much more familiar expression. "You know nothing about me." 

"I've been in this Once-Changed house long enough to know eeeverything about you, Clemmie~ I know you're just as bad as the rest of us -"

"Carmen." Obalia tutted, "Swearing on Change is just unnecessary. We have a Housemaiden with us!"

That's the hill she was willing to die on? Really? 

Every bowl rattled with the hound's movement, soup splattering and candle sticks shaking. Hot wax spilled onto the wooden floorboards. 

"But at least ya used to have the… the self-respect to not hide that crabbiness behind over-priced gifts." 

Ange started sobbing again.

"For the love of -" Clement's hands curled into claws as he whipped around to face his twin. "You weren't even mentioned!"

"It was IMPLIED."

The bottle teetered dangerously on the edge- 

"Just shut up!!"

"You're one to talk-!"

Tipped forward - 

"Quiet down-!"

Spent a moment suspended in air - 

"You're always like this-!!"

And there it was. 

The unmistakable sound of shattered glass.

***************

Petronille wasn't one for nostalgia. And yet she was drowning in it.

She couldn't breathe. Her hands trembled, her mouth dried and she couldn't breathe. Her tongue sat swollen in her mouth it wouldn't stop touching the roof of her mouth they wouldn't stop touching her vision went spotty dark and clouded around the edges her heart pounded her blood roared like a caged animal in her ears she was caged trapped dying was she losing it her hands shook she was outside of herself and 

she

couldn't

breathe

she 

needed

to
she 
needed 
to 
needed
to - 

"I'm gonna hold your hand now Nille, ok? Can you show me if that's ok?"

She

Nodded. 

There was a hand, carefully slipped into hers. Larger than expected, but still dwarfed by her palm. 

"Breathe with me? Frin style?"

She could hear a deep breath in, followed by a loooooong exhale out a few seconds later. 

In… out. In………. Out. 

"I'm right here with you Nille. We're safe - you're safe. C'mon Nille, you can do it, I know you can."

In…

…Out. 

The spots cleared from her eyes, and the world slowly blinked back into view.

In……..

……….Out. 

Petronille spent a moment to just.. look at Bonnie. Her little sibling. The one light shining through her darkest memories, or some other cliché like that - she was too crabbing exhausted to come up with something more original. On each breath in, their cheeks puffed up with air, just like a - 

"Heh. Stuffed hamster."

Bonnie's cheeks only grew bigger and rounder as they fought to keep in an outraged scream.

"NO." They hissed in a whisper that could be heard in a crowd, clenching their little fists, "No I'm not you - ugh. Stop talking and start drinking already!"

Nille took the glass that had been placed next to her, and realised for the first time that she was sat on the corridor floor. Distinctly outside of the dining room. Huh. The glass felt cool against her fingertips. She rubbed her thumb against the rim. "Drinking? On an almost empty stomach? How risqué ~!"

"It's water, crab face. Cold, so it'll help you calm down."

Not for the first time, Nille wondered what she did to deserve such an amazing kid by her side. They didn't get it from her side of the family, that's for sure. 

"Thank you Bug. You're… thank you." They beamed. The entire night was worth their smile alone. 

"I'll have to sip back and relax then."

She chuckled, more at Bonnie's vocal laments than her weak wordplay. 

Wait.

Why was her kid by her side? Weren't they supposed to be at Ange's blinding kid's table? 

Eh, that was a question for a fully hydrated Petronille. For now, she let the cool drink trickle down her throat in an unbroken stream, and slammed it down on the ground to little more than a dull thud. So unsatisfying - was there a no-joy-allowed policy in this household? 

She looked at the door, swinging slightly ajar to catch sight of her family.

There was Mirabelle, Odile, Siffrin and…

"Bonnie. Where did Isabeau go?"

Chapter Text

Everything was fine.

Everything would be fine.

Everything was going to be fine, he would make sure of it.

The bottle breaking, as unfortunate as the permanent loss of an escape from reality was, gave him a resource more precious in that thrice damned house than water.

Silence.

A respite, no matter how brief, from the questions and the prodding and the insults and the endless endless fighting to just. Think. To plan, with the only tether to the world outside his head being Petronille's stuttering breaths.

He just had to swallow down his bitterness. There was no point in feeling betrayed by Ange - it could only come from those you trusted, right? It was his fault really, going around thinking that someone who doesn't even believe in Change was capable of such a thing - practically blasphemy. He should have known better than to get his hopes up, even for a minute.

He should have known better.

Carmen started to stumble closer to the shards, the tips of their socks dangerously close to the broken glass.

Look at you, wasting valuable thinking time - somehow managing to fail at being pathetic. Focus!

The two most vulnerable people in the room were Petronille and Carmen, if the latter's swaying was any indication. Bonnie wasn't available to help Nille through her panic attack, so there was a risk that she could lash out at anyone else trying to aid her, or Change forbid, touch her. Maybe Sif? Worst comes to worst they had the strength to detain her, but he didn't want to test their durability after spending so long craft exhausted. Not to mention how gross it felt to pit two of the most important people in his life against each other.

As for the glass itself… well, there was no point in asking any of his siblings to help clear it: even if he were able to stomach looking at Ange, he had a feeling that none of them would respond well to his directions. And Avann would just make things worse for his own entertainment. So who would be better to ask for help? Mira had healing craft, sure, but Odile was the priority to misdirect - she had the same glint in her eyes as a shark smelling blood, relentless in her pursuit of the truth.

It was disgusting to admit this, even in the (relative) comfort of his own mind, but sometimes, only sometimes, the people around him felt like pieces on a chessboard. Their complex emotions condensed into kings, queens and other outdated relics of a monarchy Vauguarde had overthrown in bloody revolution centuries ago, crafted to fit snugly between his pointer and thumb; designed not to be experienced, but predicted. And his role? Manipulating the pieces across the checkered board. He nudged their feelings this way and that with a smile here and a well-placed suggestion there to keep everyone comfortable, but always from a safe distance. Because Change forbid he just asked for things directly.

Sometimes, he looked at his family and saw only letters and numbers.

Only sometimes.

Bonnie took the opportunity to swing the door open. Marianne was huddled behind them, doing her best to stay out of view even if her pigtails poked out.

Stars above, he didn't have the time to be mulling over ethics whilst there was still a disaster to prevent! Bonnie needed to get to Nille, so he should move Sif to Bonnie and push them both forward. Odile to glass, advance Nille and Bonnie to the corridor, protect Odile from his siblings with Mira.

1. e4 e6
2. d4 d5
3. Nc3 Bb4

And that was everyone accounted for! Everyone he could stand to exist near, anyway.

Carmen lurched forward, fist pressed over their mouth and moments away from dry heaving.

He'd have to improvise with them!!

Alright. Thinking time over: he had a job to do.

It was a shame, really, that he couldn't describe how the total disconnection between his body and his mind felt, especially to his family. His atomisation of comfort was almost elegant. If only Odile weren't bound to get caught up in 'how worrying your unhealthy coping mechanisms are': he reckoned M'dame would've loved to pick apart the mechanics of this untethered feeling.

Well. Not 'feeling' exactly.

Not-feeling was the whole point, after all.

He couldn't feel the slight sting of his palms as he clapped them together, or his heart hammering in his chest as all the eyes in the room turned to face him. Words left his mouth without him feeling his lips move - he didn't even know what he said to Bonnie, apart from it making them laugh. But he did let himself hear the teen's chuckle, echoing in his ears. See Sif! Those were the actions of a man perfectly capable of letting himself have nice things.

He had it down to a science, crafting a comforting atmosphere around him with the same ease as a shield in battle. Just keep your voice soft and most importantly, keep calm.

Odile to glass (Why don't I do it? M'dame, don't tell me all that talk about being the 'only responsible adult here' was just for show!) advance Nille and Bonnie to the corridor (They can find their way on their own, Mum. But if it's that much of a worry, I'm sure Sif wouldn't mind stepping in, right?) and protect Odile with Mira.

"You're the best at healing craft!"

Up your register. Lift your lips. Keep your fists behind your back and pray to a god too lethargic to respond that no one else can see them shake.

e4 e6 d4 d5 Nc3 and…

There was a pressure on his arm. But he hadn't moved his hands yet, had he? He turned to see Sif grabbing at his sleeve, brows furrowed and shoulders hunched. It was only that unexpected contact, and the effort it took not to flinch away that let him catch their next words.

"Are you sure you're ok with this?"

What misplaced empathy. There was no point fussing over someone who didn't need it when Nille and Bonbon were right there.

Whatever he said in response must not have been good enough, because Sif's frown just deepened.

"You don't have to do this for them, you know." They murmured. "Whatever you want to do, we'll support it. No questions asked."

Whatever he wanted…

He wanted to pick Ange's accursed bag off the floor where he'd abandoned it and rip it to shreds with his bare hands.

He wanted to hide under the covers and smother his tears in a pillow until everything went away.

He wanted to go home.

Not this cadaver of a childhood house, or the spare room at Zorenn's place or the blinded apartment Ange had wasted a warranty on. Not the inn either: posh and plush and perfectly identical to every other high-end watering hole the titles of Saviour had bought them a stay at.

It was somewhere where time wasn't marked with screams; the backstage area of his everlasting promenade performance; a place he had never known.

He just… wanted to be alone.

"Awww, you're gonna make me blush if you keep being so sweet! Seriously, you don't have to worry about me Sif."

He had to do this. Little concerns like what he wanted didn't matter.

Isabeau could do this.

Isabeau didn't feel the need to scream until his voice gave out.

After all, 'Isabeau' was built for this. A miserable child's dream role. An idealised death mask of a walking corpse. Wax and plaster and sinew, cast in a smile.

"I can handle it!"

Considering they had watched him cuss out his brother in front of almost every adult in his extended family, it wasn't a surprise that Sif didn't believe him. They opened their mouth to protest, but Isabeau interrupted with a smile.

Sif never truly understood how to properly fake a smile. Not that he blamed them - it was difficult to pull off even with the right body craft. Their problem was that they focused too much on the mouth, when in reality it was all about the eyes. The poets got it wrong in their overdone metaphors, describing them as 'windows to the soul' when all they were was just another organ. You only needed to contract your orbicularis oculi, and even the smallest smile could seem real.

Par exemple, Isabeau's lips barely twitched before Siffrin visibly relaxed.

"I'm fine, I promise."

From a certain angle, it wasn't a lie. Everything was going to be fine: 'Isabeau' would have made everything fine by now, so all he was doing was playing catch up.

Sif nodded, lifting the pressure off his arm to make his way to Bonnie and Nille.

Bb4.

A clean opening. He'd always favoured the Vauguardian Defense.

After some deliberation that he definitely didn't have the time to indulge in, Isabeau decided to cut out the middle man and sort out Carmen himself. The longer his younger sibling was left to their own devices the worse their trigger temper was bound to get, so he slung their arm over his shoulder, hooked his hand across their side to hoist them up and pretended to feel any of it.

He faked a flinch away from what was probably liquor stained breath and forced a chuckle with Avann over how bad it was supposed to smell. He pretended to sway under their body weight leaning on him - no point in bringing any attention to his strength! To any of the Changes he'd made to that weak little child; wouldn't want to risk making anyone uncomfortable, now would he? It was so easy to lose himself in the movement of his body, lifting them both out of the door and up the stairs whilst leaving his thoughts behind.

If only Isabeau could be this brainless all the time. A sweet, smiling, inanimate husk of a man with its mind completely discarded. Honestly, why did he even need to have feelings? Or emotions? Or worst of all, opinions?? That mess of rage and stress and sorrow tangled in his throat - what was the point in keeping any of it? If it was only hurting him then maybe it would've had sentimental value, but there was no justification for the effect it had on those around him.

'Isabeau' would be perfect without emotions, he thought, gripping the staircase's handrail tighter. (Not tight enough to break it or anything too attention seeking, but it was a near thing.) Although perfection came across as uncanny, didn't it? He was supposed to be comforting, approachable. Fit for all ages!

It was all so complicated… and Isabeau was meant to be simple. A comic relief, a supporting role, a one size fits all barrier protecting his family from all the world's ills. There was no use in a shield that could cry.

'Isabeau' was all he had. And he'd be damned if this house took that away from him too.

"Stop pretending to be him." Carmen slurred from where they hung off his shoulder. "You're just… wasting our time."

His breath hitched. They came to an abrupt stop in front of Carmen's door - when did he get there? - and took a deep breath in.

And out.

"Uuuugh, you're giving me vertigo. Put me down already."

Well, they were literally asking for it. Isabeau lifted his arms up, and felt no satisfaction when they collapsed down to the ground.

None at all.

Isabeau pushed the door open to let Carmen crawl through it, and decided to give his sibling some dignity by looking around the space rather than watching them wriggle. Their room was plainer than he remembered. Usually it was filled with overgrown flowers, each one sprawling out of its decorated pot, but now it was stripped bare, years of their life stuffed into cardboard boxes with little holes poked out on the side. At least their bedroom was also free of the stacks of empty prescription bottles that used to serve as decorations. Then again, they hadn't needed any medication for years.

"Uuuuuuuuugh," Carmen groaned, flopping onto their back. "Crab this family."

"Uh huh." Isabeau knelt down by their side to nudge them into a fetal position. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for them choking on their own vomit.

"Crab this house and crab everyone inside it. Can't wait to… to never set foot in this consortium again. Post exam freedom is going to be peeeeeeerfect."

Sure. Let them boast about how desperate they were to escape. Because the Moineau golden child knew exactly what they were talking about.

"What was that?"

Stars. So the only bad habit he was allowed to keep was muttering? Way to go Isabeau. Carmen had the right idea - after all, they weren't the one having this conversation sober.

"Speak up, would ya?" With some effort, they propped themselves up on their elbows to pin him with a glare. "Aren't you supposta be loud now?"

There's no point getting angry, Isabeau. Not at a valid piece of criticism. "It's nothing. Look, you should be getting to bed. It's late."

"Nah, cause it sounds like you got somethin' to say."

"Don't worry about it -"

"Say it with your chest man, don't be shy."

"I'm telling you-" Suddenly Carmen swung their leg into his heel, knocking him off balance. Isabeau landed right on his tailbone. At least he could feel things now! Even if it was the painful throbbing of his spinal cord. "FINE! Fine. I… I don't think we've got it that bad."

"What."

"I-I mean, in the grand scheme of things… l-like a big picture perspective, our family's pretty… not… the worst?"

Carmen spluttered for upwards of a minute, sitting up fully to flail their arms around. "NOT THE- not the worst???" Were the first coherent words Isabeau could make out from their shrieks. "Where have you been tonight - Crab, where have you been for the last fifteen years?!"

"Look, I know we're not perfect," He said carefully, "but things aren't too bad right now."

"For the love of…"

"All three of our parents are on speaking terms with each other - with us! That's huge progress, when's the last time you can remember that happening?" Stop talking. "Or maybe it has happened before, and I just wasn't there to see it? Who knows? I wouldn't! Possibilities are endless, haha," stop talking stop talking stop talking, "Maybe things will keep getting better. Maybe it's just a matter of, um, waiting?" STOP TALKING STOP TALKING STOP TALKING "B-but there are so many people who would kill for a relationship with their parents, we shouldn't just let that go to waste."

He thought about the parents Mira never mentioned, about the ones Sif could never know.

The tremble in Nille's hands over one shattered glass.

"We were always safe." He whispered in a voice that couldn't even convince himself. "Clothed, fed, never hurt…"

"Yeah, and there's starving children in Poteria," Carmen scoffed. "Do you hear yourself right now?"

"It counts for something!" It had to. If it didn't…

Carmen leaned forward and - yup! He was smelling the booze breath now. "Why are you defending them? You! Of all people??"

What a gold plated question, Carmen. But he was in too deep to stop now. "They love us. They -"

"Oh, and that's supposed to fix everything, is it?"

Of course it didn't!

"…Nevermind."

Just to add to the mortification, Carmen started to tear up, moisture pooling in the corner of their eyes. "You're the one person who's supposed to… to get it. Why don't you?"

Crab. What was he saying? Just backtrack already - there had to be a way to fix this! "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invalidate your feelings. I -"

"Shut up. Shut your stagnating mouth." They swore, swiping his extended hand out of their face. "You're worse than them."

At least they weren't crying anymore?

"I'm sorry."

"You think you're sooooo much better than me, don't you? Huh, Mr Saviour? Go ahead," and Carmen shoved him, attempting to push him away, "And say it already. Do it! DO IT!"

Isabeau shifted backwards, "That's not what I was -"

"But that doesn't matter, does it? Cause it never happened. The divorce, the fights, the drinking, it was aaaalll just a bad dream from my hospital bed." They cackled, their laughter turning manic at the edges. "I didn't even get sick in the first place! It was just in my head!!"

"No Carmen. I…"

Need a reason to love them. One single reason to justify my irrational refusal to leave any of you behind.

"I just…"

Know I should leave you. Know that I need to. Wish that I could.

"I…"

Can't bring myself to forgive anyone.

So why can't I let go?

Carmen slumped forward, their earlier hysteria having took its toll. "Just leave us behind." They sneered, quiet but bitter. "You have the entire country to show your perfect new family off to, so what do you need us for? We were fine without you. None of us want a hypocritical Housemaiden dropout here anyway. So stop pretending like you care about me and leave us behind."

...

Ha.

He should thank Carmen, always making everything a little bit easier. There was no point in feeling betrayed by someone who never knew you.

Insults didn't hurt when they weren't accurate.

"Change," Isabeau yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "The floor's super uncomfy, isn't it?"

"The crab are you on about?"

He continued, not before feeling a satisfying crack from his back, "Dunno about you, but the carpet only helps so much - my leg's more sleepy than a hypnotised sloth!"

"What does that even mean??"

As he stood, Isabeau scooped his sibling into his arms. If he ignored the string of swears pouring into his ears and the way they squirmed in his hold, it was almost familiar…
 

"You should get to bed, Carmen. It's way past your-" He hummed, tilting his head. "Wait. Does Mum still make you have a bedtime?" They were too busy struggling to respond. Eh, knowing her the chances were 50/50.

"You're insufferable." They hissed, tugging at his earrings with a hold that was unfairly strong considering they were too drunk to walk. "You two-faced piece of crabmeat…!"

"Aren't you tired of having conversations you won't remember tomorrow morning? Thought you'd had enough of that hopped up on sleeping pills as a kid - or maybe you're feeling nostalgic?"

Carmen's mouth hung open, but no noise came out. They held still for long enough that Isabeau could deposit them onto the bed. He was almost tempted to tuck them in, for old times' sake, but he didn't push his luck.

Silence was a precious resource.

"Sweet dreams!"

The door screeched closed behind him.

His next steps should have been obvious: go downstairs, put on his most suitable smile and deal with… everything.

And he'd planned on doing exactly that! Had walked halfway down the corridor and everything.

But.

Um.

He heard shouting. Again.

Maybe 'heard' was the wrong term. Isabeau wasn't listening to the words themselves; he felt the voices crash against each other below his feet, the tremors in the walls and in his hands. Not an issue - he already knew what they were saying. Hard not to when it was practically the soundtrack to his entire childhood, ha!

What difference did it make if it was Clement being snapped at for talking back to his elders (and then continuing to give them lip like it would do any good) or Ange getting chewed out for sneaking out? The only distinction between the two scenarios was which twin lashed out with an acidic tongue or crocodile tears. He didn't care to know if Dad came home from work late for the hundredth time, or if Carmen's treatments weren't working and Mum needed someone tangible to blame or that money was tight and the prescription was wrong and for the love of all things sacred I shouldn't have to tell you lot to clean up after yourselves -!

He couldn't do it.

Isabeau stood in the corridor, trailing his hand across the rivets in the wall, unable to feel the familiar residue of peeling paint on his fingertips. Hey, at least something had changed!

Surely nobody would mind if he took a little more time to… collect himself. Nobody would notice regardless.

Nobody ever did.

"There you are! Is Carmen alright? It's past their bedtime, poor thing, but they left Blanky in my room."

Isabeau didn't look at her - he couldn't - but he didn't step away from her either as she inched closer.

" Did you hear what I said…?"

He nodded. The corners of his eyes started to burn, and his vision went blurry. His mother reached forward to cup his face, and with hands softer than he remembered, wiped a tear off his face.

"Oh Sweetheart…" her voice was a whispered lullaby, "Come here."

Her arms wrapped around him, curls draping over his shoulders as he bent down to reach her. It didn't feel like home, exactly, but it was nice to close his eyes and pretend.

"Aww… look at you. You're almost too big for a hug now, but you're just as small as ever on the inside."

Isabeau flinched, and she took that as an opportunity to pull him closer, reaching her hand out to smooth down his hair. He grit his teeth as her fingers dragged along his scalp, the ghost of a middle part starting to show.

He was sure she'd braid it into two perfect pigtails if given the chance.

"That's my baby. I almost didn't recognise you under all that muscle," she giggled. Her arms started to feel claustrophobic, like he'd been caught in the hold of a boa constrictor. Funny how these things could turn from soft to suffocating in an instant. "I'll always be here for you when this happens. You know that, don't you Sweetheart?"

When.

Not if, no, he clearly wasn't afforded the luxury of possibility, but when. A breakdown so inevitable that you could quantify it - Change, she should ask Dad to build a clock crafted to mark 'Isabeau's little outbursts' down to the hour! You know, just to streamline the process for everyone. If he started now, maybe it'd be done in time for his next visit!

"Isabeau." He murmured into her shoulder. His mother tightened her grip slightly.

"What was that Sweetheart?"

"Isabeau." He cut her off, pulling away from her in the same breath. "My name is Isabeau."

Obalia laughed slightly, an awkward, stilted thing. "It… certainly is!"

"Then use it."

"I don't like your tone Young One." She warned, eyes narrowing.

Isabeau gripped his arms, shrinking in on himself like the body he'd worked so hard on was a secret to be hidden from view. No point in displaying the family embarrassment, after all!

"I'm sorry, Mum. I…"

Don't know why this is so difficult for you.

Wish you would just look at me, not through me, for once.

Can't understand you at all.

He swallowed the words down to the pit of his stomach where they belonged. "I'm sorry."

The phrase left a bitter aftertaste.

"What has gotten into you?" She questioned, folding her arms.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm trying to be understanding, dear. But these things take time."

He knew exactly how to get out of this conversation. Keep nodding, keep agreeing, keep apologising and eventually his mother would get bored and move on to the next disaster in the house. But…

"It's just my name Mum."

"Sweetheart -"

"Isabeau." Too loud, he was being too loud what was he doing - "I don't think it's that hard."

"It's hard on all of us." She snipped. "You have to think about how it affects the family."

Change above.

"Don't swear at your mother!"

Of all the habits… "It's been how many years?" Isabeau laughed. Slightly less pathetic than crying, he supposed, and who knows? Maybe someone up there found this cluster crab funny too. "I'm not asking for a body craft manual here - it's the bare minimum."

"Hey." There it was! His mother's booming voice crashed against the walls, though she didn't usually remember his existence for long enough to direct it towards him. He almost appreciated the novelty.

"I have always accepted your Change." Really? He never would have guessed. "But we'd been waiting for a daughter for a decade, Young One. I loved you just the way you were, and now…"

If his mother looked at him during her pause for breath, he was too busy looking at the flaked off patches of paint to notice it. How many years had it been since he set foot in this house, and they still couldn't find the time to repaint the walls?

"Now we don't even look related. It's like I've lost another child."

Isabeau's eyes snapped back to focus, centring on the faux concern smeared on her face.

"We never raised any of you to believe in Change. And I'm fine with it," she insisted, raising her hands in a defensive position, "but I was never prepared to… for anything to actually…"

Her breath stuttered. "You need to let me grieve."

Greive what? A miserable, lonely child? The only thing she'd ever noticed about her was her absence. Obalia ought to have been happy - he'd put that blight out of its misery.

"But I'm still alive Mum."

He snuck a hand under his sleeve, wrapped his fingers (too big, too much too -) around his wrist and felt for his pulse. Still beating, still breathing.

Still here.

"I'm still here. And I wouldn't be if I hadn't Changed. And I'm…" He couldn't bring himself to apologise. Not for this. "…I can't compromise on that."

Obalia looked at him. Really looked at him. He steadied himself for more screams and sharp words. Whatever it was, he could take it.

"What are you talking about?" She cocked her head to the side in confusion. Not anger, or disappointment or anything so personal. Just pure, honest confusion.

"Sure you were a little quiet, but you were fine back then, weren't you?"

...

Hah. Ha!

Why was he surprised?

It was never safe to share in this house: library books, borrowed toys or hearts, it'd all be ripped out of your hands if you weren't holding onto them tightly enough. Better hope you didn't give something you couldn't replace, because they only way you'll get it back was in pieces.

This entire conversation was an unnecessary risk anyway. He shouldn't have pushed her so hard, shouldn't have been so direct with such unpalatable feelings. If he'd just done what he knew would've appeased her, he could've been downstairs within a minute. How could he forget? Nod, agree and apologise - that was how you survived.

Why poke an open wound and cry when it bleeds?

"I think you should go."

Obalia blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"Carmen wasn't looking very well last time I saw them. You should check up on the kid."

Close your eyes, twitch your lips and make the smile look real.

Not that she could tell the difference.

"I think they said something about vertigo…?" He hummed, pretending to be searching for a thought by drumming his fingers on his chin.

"If you say so…" Obalia started to walk away, before abruptly turning to face him again. "Sweetheart, you know I love you, right?"

His dry mouth curled into a smile. "Yeah, I know."

If only it weren't mutual.

Obalia reached forward, as if to hug or touch him, but what was the point?

He wouldn't be able to feel it either way.

His mother said something he pretended to hear. He only listened for the creaking of the floorboards to fade into the distance, and for the door's hinges to screech closed.

Chin up Isabeau! You got what you wanted, didn't you? Two more pieces taken off the board - a few more moves and it'd practically be a checkmate. Any other coward would be proud.

…What a shitty game. 

Chapter Text

"What do you mean we 'lost him'? He's six-foot-something wearing a sparkly jacket - how hard is that to keep track of?!"

"His sequins don't help when he's in a different room, Mirabelle. I hate to break it to you, but none of us are able to see through walls."

"Wait, wait, wait." Petronille waved a slightly shaky hand around to grab the three bickering adult's attention. "Can we rewind to the beginning of this conversation real quick? I'm feeling lost."

Bonnie nodded as they re-entered the dining room, sister in tow. "Yeah, what the Crab are we talking about?"

"Isa's missing."

Odile rolled her eyes at the sibling's matching gasps. "Isabeau hasn't come back to the dining room yet, and these two are working themselves into a stupor over it."

"In the time it took me to calm down?" Petronille asked, incredulous. "How the Crab did we manage that?!"

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" Mirabelle wrung her hands in a nervous tick. Her nails inched closer to her mouth as she continued to fret, "Oooh, I knew I should have insisted on staying in the room with him! 'The best at healing craft'? Agh! Can't believe I was tricked by such a flimsy excuse…!"

"Calm down." Odile tutted. "It's too late to worry about that now, isn't it?"

Mirabelle deflated. She started gnawing at her nails properly before Siffrin guided her hands away from her mouth with a gentle touch.

"I…" Awkwardly, Odile cleared her throat. Now was the perfect time for a certain Ex-Defender to show up and streamline the conversation: this is what happened when one tried to leave the comforting to her. "I didn't say that to dismiss you Mirabelle. I only meant that… you shouldn't blame yourself for something outside of your control. We all could have done more, now all we can do is move forward."

Bonnie softly nudged Mirabelle's arm when this failed to cheer her up.

"Don't worry Belle! Za's like, the King of healthy coping mechanisms. No matter what happened in here, I'm sure he'll be fine."

In the moment of silence that followed their bold declaration, each adult realised that Bonnie had no clue what just happened. This was quickly followed by the unanimous decision to let someone else fill the teen in, I don't have the time and/or energy.

"That… might be pushing it slightly, but Boniface has a point." Odile said. "I'm more concerned about his oncoming co-workers than any impending mental breakdown - Isabeau is a lot more emotionally intelligent than he gives himself credit for. And last I saw him he didn't appear too rattled by this evening's events ."

"Exactly!!" Mirabelle whisper-shouted, attempting to keep her voice down. "He was too calm! That's the problem!!"

"It's normal to get a little upset after tonight's fiasco, and it's normal, if not entirely healthy long term, to want to move on quickly." Odile insisted. "If something was truly wrong, he'd come to us first."

Surprisingly, Siffrin spoke up. "Would he? He didn't say anything yesterday."

"That's right!" Mirabelle gasped, perking up. "When we ran into Clement - it's!! A long story!! - I was convinced I'd somehow embarrassed him. Isabeau disappeared for hours afterwards, and the only reason why we got the misunderstanding cleared up was because Siffrin had pointed it out."

Siffrin nodded slightly, "Isa mentioned self-isolation before. Called it a bad habit…"

"See!" Mirabelle exclaimed, "We can't leave him to deal with this alone! Especially after tonight."

"What happened whilst I was gone?" Bonnie whispered.

"That's an even longer story Bug." Nille whispered back.

"Alright, alright," Odile gave another long suffering sigh, her exhalation a tribute to the Expression of Exhaustion and Fondness in equal measure. "Do we have a plan or are going to run around randomly like free-forming crystals?"

"M-maybe we should split up?" Mirabelle suggested, "That way we're covering the most ground."

Siffrin nodded. "This house does have an annoying amount of floors…"

"And risk you disappearing on us next Pipsqueak?" Petronille scoffed. "No way."

Something down the hallway took the opportunity to explode.

The muffled bang was followed by a scream, which was cut off in turn by a coughing fit.

"Actually, that's a great idea Fluffhead!! Bonnie and I will start in the kitchen!"

Bonnie began to tug her out of the room, "KID'S TABLE! Meet you back here in five!!"

"-TEEN!" Petronille stuck her head back through the doorway, just long enough to add: "See you in fifteen!"

The siblings fled the room in a flurry of giggles. All Mirabelle could do was shake her head at the ground and mumble.

"Should've known they'd be up to something. Nille would never encourage Bonnie to be that docile with no ulterior motive."

Odile chuckled, startling Mirabelle as she looked up at her. "After the night we've had, I don't think any of us objects to a little rabble rousing, do we?"

"…Maybe a little is ok. Only if!! They!! Deserve it!!"

"Good to know Mira." Siffrin said with a soft smile, before fixing their expression into something a little more serious. "So what's the plan?"

…

Bonnie and Petronille skidded into the room, practically tripping over each other in a mad rush to reach the kids' table first. Their efforts were rewarded with a glorious sight: Ange, folded over Bonnie's open (and EMPTY!) dish, completely covered with crumbs. His fur coat was clogged with flour, and his lips, freckles and eyebrows were all hidden underneath his face's new crumb coat.

All in all, a massive improvement.

Petronille managed not to laugh, clasping her hand over her mouth in an imitation of stunned silence. But her sibling wasn't as kind. Bonnie cackled - only laughing harder when Ange opened his mouth to protest this treatment, and promptly spat out the powder that fell on his tongue.

Drawn by the commotion, Mr Moineau stumbled through the door as if a force had pushed him into the room. He looked at his crumb-covered son, then at the pair of mismatched siblings, frozen in place as if the King's Curse had returned to the land, then back at his child, still spluttering. An unspoken question pulled his lips into a frown.

What the Crab was going on?

For a moment, Nille panicked. If Mr Moineau was willing to side with Ange over Isabeau, what hope did they have at winning him over? They were practically strangers!

But before Ange could get a single word out of his flour-dusted mouth, Bonnie burst into tears.

"MY FOOD!!" They wailed, fat tears trailing down puffed cheeks, "YOU ATE ALL MY FOOD!!!"

Ange stammered and stuttered, but it was all drowned out as the kid collapsed into Nille's arms. On instinct, she wrapped her hands around their shaking frame, securing them in place.

"I baked it and sautéed it and fried-ed it and poacheditanddecoratedit all by myself -" and here Bonnie paused for breath, "YOU! ATE!! IT!!!"

Petronille picked up what her sibling was putting down very quickly, and cradled them in her arms.

"How could you!" She spat, with a very dignified head wiggle. "I'll have you know they worked on that for hours - and now no one can appreciate the fruits of their labour. I hope you're happy with yourself."

Bonnie gave another sob, and buried themselves in her arms. Which had the fortunate side effect of smothering their growing laughter.

Nille continued her tirade. "What a tragedy, what cruelty to do onto a poor, defenceless, chi -!"

Said 'poor, defenceless child' pinched her in the ribs with all the childlike softness of a Fiddler Crab. She bit her tongue to keep from yelping, and squeezed the little terror tighter.

"H-hear that?" She declared over their muffled giggles, "That's the sound of abject misery."

Mr Moineau's expression seemed to gain an extra wrinkle as he muttered, "Ange."

"NO!" Ange exploded. He stomped on the ground with such force it rattled the few plates left on the kid's table. "I didn't do anything!! That stupid Crabbin' box exploded the second I touched it, I swear!"

His father's voice was steely. "And why were you touching this child's possession in the first place?"

Yet again, he was stunned into silence. Change, it was such a satisfying sound - or at least the absence of it. Nille was sure to make the most of this golden opportunity, rocking Bonnie back and forth whilst asking in an overdramatic tone:

"Can you imagine that? All that hard work, wasted in an instant."

Bonnie turned their face to their captive audience, a single tear pouring from their eye. "I never even got to taste it."

"Dad!"

Petronille let go of Bonnie, keeping one hand wrapped around their trembling shoulders and another splayed across her own chest in concern faker than Ange's fur. Her eyebrows were drawn together, tight, and when she spoke, it was with the force of a thousand painful parent's evenings. Every single 'I just don't think Boniface is applying themselves in the classroom' or 'are you really equipped to raise a child at your age Dear?' she had suffered through trained her for this moment. 

It was time for the pièce de résistance.

"I think it would be best for everyone if Ange here took some time out. I mean, making an innocent kid cry when he knows full well that Bonnie was just trying to be nice - after they had brought such a lovely gift too! If he doesn't, well, I'm afraid he'll continue to embarrass himself, wouldn't he?"

She looked the man dead in his eyes. "And we wouldn't want that. Would we?"

Ange spluttered out a few more meaningless protests, but Mr Moineau had heard enough. He placed a single, wrinkled hand on Ange's shoulder, drying up the flow of nonsense dribbling out of his mouth, and started to push him out the door.

Petronille fought a smile off her face. "Thank you, Mr Moineau."

"Please," He said, not turning to face her. "Call me Pierre."

Pierre all but dragged Ange out of the room, and closed the door behind them with a menacing click.

The pair looked at each other, then at the door. Then turned slowly back to face their sibling, before bursting into delighted laughter.

Their prank had been pulled off to perfection.

Yesterday they'd spent hours plotting, thinking up every trick in the book to mess with Za's Crabby family. Cause Avann was enough of a Coconut Crab to deserve getting his face re-arranged, and according to Za, he wasn't even the worst one! There had to be a reason (or several) why his confidence was so severely docked just talking about them. Why he couldn't even laugh at Frin or Nille's stupid puns. Why he had never ever mentioned them.

Clearly, somebody had to pay.

In the end (although you couldn't pay Bonnie to admit it) the idea was sparked by another juvenile pun. (Juvenile, that was good - Bonnie would have to repeat that out loud to Dile later, she'd appreciate it.) Nille had blown a fistful of flour into Bonnie's face in the middle of what-was-supposed-to-be ingredient prep-work and was quickly turning into a rant, saying that 'sometimes, bio-families can be crumb-y'. Bonnie squealed VERY MATURELY TUTTED in response, only stopping when the idea had dawned on them, clear as day.

If his family were going to act crumby, they deserved to be crumby.

The (Completely and Utterly Secret) plan went as follows:

1. Spend the night tempting some poor sucker into opening Bonnie's 'Super Secret Dessert Box'
2. Fill the container with nothing but flour, crumbs and pressure.
3. Sit back and watch the fireworks.

"That was brilliant Bug!" Nille exclaimed, sweeping them up in a proper hug that didn't have to squash the sound out of them. "Since when can you cry on demand?"

Bonnie giggled, wiping the last of their crocodile tears off their face. "Za showed me. You gotta yawn with your mouth closed, and think of depressing stuff like reading Dile's books."

"I knew you were asking about her library for a reason." Nille smirked, placing them carefully on the ground. No sibling of hers would actively choose to read books with pages in the triple digits, after all.

"Can't believe that Avann didn't take the bait. I was shoving it in his face all night!"

"Yeah, crazy that he didn't bite." Petronille agreed. Maybe the guy had more patience than they'd given him credit for? "All's well that ends well, I guess."

An over dramatic gasp squeezed through the closed door, followed by muffled voices that got louder and louder in each passing moment.

"I guess…" Bonnie trailed off, rubbing their arms in a self-soothing motion. "I feel kinda bad though. I laid the whole 'woe is me! I'm a sad lil baby' thing on a little thick there -"

"And you needed to do it to cover our tracks." Nille shrugged, "Crab happens. It's fine."

"Yeah… but I don't wanna get some random guy in too much trouble, you know? It sounds like he's really going through it."

Some random guy, huh? "Nah, Ange totally deserves it. He's the one that got you stuck on the kid's table."

"Oh, ok then. Crab him."

Nille cackled at that, throwing her hands in the air. "Crab him! He made Isabeau mad!!"

That made Bonnie pause, staring at her with disbelieving eyes. "Like, actual mad? Mad mad?" She nodded, but they still weren't satisfied with her answer. "On a scale of pretending to be pissed to set up a pun to that time those creeps wouldn't leave Belle alone, how angry was he?"

She thought for a second, tapping her finger on her chin before answering.

"Odile on Mother's Day Parade mad."

"Seriously, what the Crab happened whilst I was out?!"

Someone shouted outside, and pounded on the walls, making the picture frames in the room shudder and shake.

"I'll fill you in later." Petronille said, taking three long strides to the other side of the room. She gestured to the door. "Wanna listen in to the rest of the conversation first?"

Instead of answering, Bonnie ran to jam their ear to the corner of the door frame. Frankly, Nille deserved to be applauded - not squeezing the life out of her adorable baby sibling was a feat of self-control. She settled for simply tussling their hair, before leaning in.

"Well, the house has three levels." Odile cast a meaningful glance at her two companions. "Whoever checks the ground floor should make sure to look outside too: even if Isabeau isn't hiding somewhere in the garden, it'd still be helpful to identify viable exits that aren't the front door."

Mirabelle didn't pay much mind to the sky as a rule, but Change did she wish she could bring back the sun from wherever it had the gall to disappear off to. Everything was rendered indistinct in the dark: each wind-tussled bush looked like her friend, and she was one step away from embracing a poorly pruned tree.

The door creaked open behind her, and a tall shadow cast a chill over Mirabelle's shoulder. She turned, about to greet Isabeau -

"Oh." Her smile twitched as the figure stepped into view. "Hi Clement."

He didn't grace her with a response, not even a commemorative grunt. Clement just kept on walking - straight into her shoulder, in fact, and shoving her out of the way. A half emptied wine glass swirled in his hand.

"…How could people say Change is so perfect?" He slurred under his breath, before switching his tone to a louder sing-song, "You should be thankful that your life's a once changed mess. Glory to the Change God for ruining everything!"

Mirabelle grit her teeth. "You know I can hear you, right?"

"And?" That Stagnant Crab didn't even turn around. "Spare me the lecture, I already know what you're going to say. Change is important Clement. Change is Sacred!"

He hunched over himself, his spare hand clutching his sleeve with a force that made Mirabelle flinch. His voice softened. "You should love Change, even when it means you can't recognise your twin brother's face. I should be happy that my childhood home feels like a stranger's. I should be…"

"Those are awful Changes."

He whipped his entire body around to face her, mouth knotted into a snarl. "Yeah, that's what I -"

Finally, it looked like the contents of his ears registered with his brain.

"What?"

Mirabelle swallowed, only then realising how dry her mouth felt. But there was no backing out now. "Those are awful, painful Changes, and I'm sorry you had to go through them."

"What would you know about that?"

Before she could remember that she'd left her sword in her room, Mirabelle's right arm drifted to her belt. In lieu of cutting a dear friend's brother into pieces, she decided to pay more attention to his open and earnest tone when choosing her next words. Strange as it was, it looked like Clement was asking a …genuine question? His arms were crossed (or as crossed as they could be as he nursed his drink) and his head was tilted to the side: the resemblance was weak, but she couldn't help but think of Isabeau.

"P-plenty! As Housemaidens we're taught that Change is the one thing in life meant to stay the same," Clement's eyes began to glaze over, and Mirabelle almost tripped over her words to get to the point, "Not that it's always good. Or wanted."

Surprisingly, Clement snorted. "That's sacrilegious. And from the Change God's Chosen One, no less."

"NO! No it's not - it's a perfectly common doctrine in the Northen Denomination!!"

"Sure." He chuckled for a moment, before sobering. "…Then why bother?"

Mirabelle blinked. "Bother with what?"

"With Change? If it can be so awful why worship it in the first place?"

"W-well, I can't talk for everyone…" Something emboldened within her as Clement rolled his eyes. Just because she had a personality that was easy to tease didn't mean she was going to take it lying down! "But I think that the Change Belief is at its best when it helps you deal with unwanted Changes. Things will never stay the same forever, no matter what you believe. That's just life. But it's wonderful to have a way to understand it, even when it hurts."

"Being able to 'understand' it doesn’t magically make it stop hurting, Housemaiden."

"Of course it doesn't!" Mirabelle snapped. "It'll never be easy, watching the House you loved warp into something unrecognisable; forgetting the faces of the friends you used to know."

She took a shuddering breath, then continued with a choked voice. "And the worst part is that you can't tell if they're truly different from how you remember them, or if you're the one that's…"

She trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

Clement cleared his throat. "…Yeah."

You've got to breathe Mira. In and out, just like Sif does! In…

..and out.

"But the Change Belief gives me the tools to start processing that pain. I don't have to worry if I'm the problem or if they are: I can say that I'm upset that my relationship to them has Changed either way, and it's painful that it was completely outside of my control. That way, I can spend the time I would've agonised over what went wrong to make things right. Maybe my old friends could get to know the new me! Or maybe it's just a case of learning to move on… Either way, I've got options! Solutions!!"

In and out, Mirabelle. In and out.

"…I just think it's a nice way of looking at the world." She said softly.

There was a moment of silence, where the two stood side by side, lost in their own worlds. Somehow, Mirabelle could tell that Clement wouldn't want to be looked at during this lull in the conversation, so she cast her gaze to the sky. The moon was propped up by clusters of little glowing dots, lighting up the night like usual.

Except… that wasn't quite right, was it? Siffrin had mentioned it before, in a rushed whisper, that the moon grew and shrank each month, waxing and waning in an ever shifting dance. She had found it beautiful, that every part of nature was capable of Change: even something as untouchable as the sky.

Why had she dismissed it all so easily? She couldn't recall.

"I'm still not joining a House."

Mirabelle startled at the interruption, jumping to face him. "I wasn't!! T-that's not what I -"

Clement burst out laughing, shoulders shaking, and after a few difficult attempts at holding onto her composure Mirabelle couldn't help but to join along.

"Thank you." He said after the worst of their giggles had subsided. He wiped the tear trailing down his cheek.

"Oh, it's no problem! I wouldn't be a Housemaiden if I didn't enjoy talking about Change." No matter how challenging the conversation is, she very graciously didn't add.

"Uh, no."

No? NO?? That wasn't a statement you were supposed to say no to.

"I mean, thank you for defeating the King and saving the country." He clarified, as if pointing out the most obvious thing in the world instead of going down a complete non-sequitur.

"Oh! Um, you're welcome?" She stuttered. Seriously, where the CRAB did that come from?? "It wasn't just me but… yeah!"

There was an awkward silence, where Clement tried not to look at Mirabelle and Mirabelle tried not to sink into the floor in shame.

"…Yeah." He said eventually, before shrugging. "Welp, that's over and done with. Hopefully the kids won't chew me out for a 'half-baked thanks' this time around."

Arguably that little parentheses undercut his gratitude, but Mirabelle's curiosity won over her scepticism.

"Kids?"

"Mhm. Three of 'em." Clement smiled, a thing so small his face didn't know it was there. "Met the little terrors when the Curse locked me out of the city for five months. The kids broke into my apartment and I couldn't be bothered to kick them out again."

This was the part of the conversation where Mirabelle was expected to speak, but since she was too busy smothering her squeals over how adorable, precious and just-like-the-eighth-volume-of-the-Cursing-of-Chateaux-Castle it all was, Clement kept on talking instead.

"You know," He said, fingers drumming on his arms, "The damn King finally caught up to us in the middle of their arguments. I would've had to listen to Martin bickering for eternity of you hadn't iced the crab so…"

"Thanks."

Now that was a thank you she could get behind. Mirabelle beamed, mouth stretching so wide the corners began to ache.

"You're welcome!" She giggled.

"Don't mention it."

The pair occupied a comfortable silence, the wind rattling between them. And yet again, Clement broke it.

"I… am glad I got to talk through all this Change stuff with someone. Kinda starved for choice around here."

Mirabelle blinked. "Oh, I'm sure Isabeau would be happy to -"

"Are you kidding me?" Clement scoffed. This time around, his eye roll seemed a lot less endearing. "The kid clams up the second you look at him funny. I wouldn't be able to hold a conversation with him long enough to get a decent answer."

HOW. DARE.

"You'll find that Isabeau's a lot more talkative when he's comfortable." She hissed. "No wonder he's so quiet around you! You all spent the entire dinner making him miserable - and that's if you weren't flat out ignoring him! Try acting civil towards him for five minutes: maybe that'll get you a little further."

Clement closed his eyes as he seemed to genuinely mull over her words.

"…I'll keep that in mind."

 For Mirabelle's part, she wasn't in a rush to interrupt or comfort him. Just because Isabeau was incapable of confronting his Crabby family didn't make the feeling mutual: She had no qualms about letting him stew.

…Wait.

"OH CHANGE ABOVE!!" She screeched, jumping in the air.

Clement winced and rubbed his forehead with two fingers.

"Isabeau! I FORGOT ABOUT ISABEAU!!" Wringing her hands in panic, Mirabelle whipped her head around the garden, as if the man himself had materialised whilst they were talking. "I'm supposed to be looking for him right now AND I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT HIM!!"

Clement frowned. "He's not with you lot? Weird…"

"He's not!!"

"And he's not in his usual hiding spot?"

"He's -" Wait, what? "Sorry, usual hiding spot…?"

"Siffrin, you can check the rooms here."

Siffrin's face scrunched up, incredulous. "But Nille and Bonbon are already doing this floor??"

Odile just arched a single eyebrow. Even Mirabelle stopped wringing her hands to shoot him a sceptical look.

"…Fine."

Siffrin paced up and down the corridor. And went around again, making sure there wasn't a door that slipped through his sieve of a brain. Then paced a little more, for good measure. Who knows, maybe he could out run his thoughts! You're starting to think that your cousin is avoiding you on purpose. There's no reason for her not to be backstage a whole five minutes before the beginning of the Prize Giving Ceremony - if you weren't planning on completely dousing her in glitter, you'd be offended.

They'd already checked every room on that blinded floor, and yet he had found nothing. Nothing! No sign of Isa anywhere - so much for open communication. Siffrin sighed, and leaned against the wall in defeat. The bumpy texture You traced the sign on the wall, enjoying the little dots and lines rising and falling underneath your fingertips. The only thing more satisfying than writing in the mock constellations of your native tongue was feeling them.poked through
the back of his tunic.
Winning the 'Bi-annual Star Charting Competition' was quite a feat, sure to glow on any application to the Observatory. You were proud of Adastra. Genuinely! Despite all your teasing that she had to beat up a random Vauguardian child to get first place. Adastra was the best older not-really-your-sister one could ask for: always looking out for you, always explaining equations to you, always refusing to do your homework for you. Who cared about 'academic integrity' these days? The blinding worksheets were due tomorrow!!

His hands twitched, desperate for something to do, anything to make themselves useful. They were almost tempted to tear a piece of crumbling brick Absentmindedly, you tore a piece of crumbling brick off the wall. When your little sister's born (and in the way that eleven year olds often are, you were certain that your [******]'s baby would be and would stay a little sister) you'd punch anyone in the face if they dared to compare the two of you just to make her feel small, even if they were an adult. You'd give her all the answers to her homework - and you'd actually know them cause you'd be a genius by then. You'd be so tall you'd be able to lift her up, up, up into the night sky and fit her snugly between the constellations, where no one could hurt her. Maybe you'd fit her in the cranny between Ursa Major and Minor… they'd keep her safe…
off the wall, but he threw that childish impulse away. You flicked the granite chunk away. You'd be the best really-real-older sibling ever, you decided, rubbing the gritty dust into your palm. Finally, something you could do better than Adastra!

Siffrin rushed to the room that Bonbon and Nille were cooped up in, but all he could hear was muffled laughter. So it was coming from another person… he ran down the corridor (barely registering that they had shoved Mr Moineau out of the way to do so) and stopped only when the whimpers got louder.

They threw open the dining room door.

Face unobscured by glasses, Hunched over and hugging their knees, the kid was huddled into the corner of the room, freckled face curtained by thick bangs. which allowed Siffrin to see exactly how close she was to full on tears, sat Isabeau's baby sister.

"…Hi."Good start, good start. But you can't just leave it there! Siffrin said, slowly and carefully. And then, because they weren't going to just leave a near-crying child alone, "That looks nice."

"It's not!" Marianne hissed, scattering the paper across the table with a tiny, trembling fist. "It's bulky and ugly and looks nothing like Saviour Odile's!!"

"I wanna make it myself!" She insisted, moisture beginning to pool in her eyes.

STARS OH STARS OH STARS -

"I wanted to show her some of my art, but her glasses look so much better in person and I'll just be embarrassing myself and when I tried to fix them it got too heavy and fell of the chain and- and- and -!""I wish I hadn't won anything." They insisted, somehow shrinking even smaller. "I wish I'd never even entered. Now everyone's going to stare at me, and laugh, and - and!"

"If gluing the paper together doesn't work, why don't you just fold it?" "…What if no one stares at you?"

"It's a, uh… Kabuan paper art. Thingy. Here." Since words had apparently failed him, Siffrin took one of the discarded pieces of paper and folded it in a few, slick movements.

"…I don't know how to do Origami." "I-I can't wear that." They protested, smiling. She said slowly, entranced.

That's what it was called!

Still, Siffrin hesitated. Every moment spent here was a moment that he could have been helping Isa - that he should be helping Isa. But… they all had a plan, didn't they? There certainly was no sign of Isa on this floor of the house, and it was still far too soon to start poking around the other levels and risk interrupting one of his family members. As annoyed as the insinuation made him, they were right to worry that he'd wander off and get lost: until everyone came back, there was nothing he could do.

Nothing… except this.

Marianne nodded so fast that her pigtails flew back and forth in a shaded blur. When she beamed up at him, all tooth gaps and rosy cheeks, they couldn't help giving her a soft smile in return. Siffrin thought back to the photograph nestled away in one of his pockets.

Big glasses. Super neat braids. Always knows the answer to any question the teacher has. Always getting perfect grades.

And, um, I didn't really like myself.

They mouthed the words to a long discarded script, running its burnt-sugar-sweetness across his tongue. Did Isa ever look at his sister and see only a mirror? Or maybe the better question was if he was ever able to look at his reflection and recognise the child standing in its shadow.

It's not their fault that being around them feels like nothing's changed.

…

Wait, what was he thinking about?

A completed paper diamond suddenly weighed down his hand.

"Can you show me the last few steps again?" Marianne asked shyly. "Y-you went too fast for me to follow."

Ah! "Sorry."

Gingerly, Siffrin unfolded the paper and redid the diamond again, taking special care to go slow enough for the kid to follow. Marianne didn't smile this time, face folded in concentration, but Siffrin could see the sparkles glowing in her eyes.

"Good job! Your glasses look just like Mira," They remembered that she might not know who 'Mira' was supposed to be a second too late, "…belle's."

The point got across either way. The kid gasped, her outrage the loudest she'd been all evening.

"NO! She doesn't even have glasses!! IT'S ODILE'S!! ODILE'S!!!"

Her puffed out cheeks made her look like an offended hamster. Siffrin fought back a chuckle.

"You really like Odile, huh?"

Marianne grew shy, hiding behind her pigtails bashfully. "I-I mean, all the Saviours are cool…"

"…But?" Siffrin could feel their smile soften.

She leaned forward, cupping her little mouth with both hands as she whispered, "But Odile's half Vauguardian."

Oh!

"Oh."

"At first it was only a guess of mine cause she has the same hair as me." She said, hands flapping as she got more and more excited. (Siffrin had to hold onto the paper diamonds to make sure their hard work didn't fly off the table.) "And no one has the same hair as me - not even Vanvann! But it was confirmed by Odile herself when I read this!!"

She reached into… somewhere? and pulled out a research-y paper. It looked well loved, and far too technical for an eleven-year old to be reading.

"Page six of her study of FirstHandAccountsoftheCulturalEffectsofTimeCraft -" Marianne stopped to take a massive breath in, face going as dark as her freckles, "She lists the nationalities of all the people she talked to, including the Saviours. To help with her a-naly-sis of the different accounts but LOOK! LOOK!!"

Siffrin had to lean back to read the page she had shoved right in his face. On the paper was circled Sachiko Odile Aiuchi: Kabuan Vauguardian.

Oh. Now Siffrin recognised that paper - not from reading it, of course, but from watching Odile write it.

She'd been surly for over a week before Siffrin had gotten sick of tiptoeing around eggshells and confronted her. In the back of a the seedy bar she'd rotted in for the past few evenings, Odile had spelled her internal crisis out: should she expose her true origins to the world for the sake of academic integrity, or should she continue to hide her true origins?

Would anybody even care?

In the end, Siffrin had come to a compromise with her. They'd support her no matter what she chose to do, but if she did end up putting her full nationality in the paper then she should do the same for him. Before that, Odile was simply planning on anonymising Siffrin's account for his privacy: after much debate Siffrin's nationality was listed as 'the Forgotten Island'.

On the night, Siffrin had shrugged, saying that it was unlikely that people would notice. Odile shot back that the statement wasn't half the comfort he thought it was.

"She's just like me! Odile's the coolest, but she's also half Vauguardian, like me! And she does Creative Craft like me, and has hair like me!! And!! AND -!" Marianne's words devolved into incoherent screeching.

"And has glasses like you?" Siffrin teased, smiling.

She stopped her tirade to give them a side eye.

"…They're not Mirabelle glasses." She insisted, her itty bitty face pinched and serious.

Siffrin leaned down until their nose was pressed against the table, pretending to inspect her glasses with a low hum. Marianne hurriedly followed them, cheek bumping into Siffrin's shoulder.

"Well…" (Pause for dramatic effect!)

"They're the real O-Deal!"

Instead of groans or eye rolls, Marianne burst into peals of laughter. SUCCESS!! They could die happy now.

Siffrin leaned back, satisfied, but their reverie was interrupted by some footsteps above his head. Familiar voices rumbled above, before a distant door's creak drowned them out.

They had to trust in their family, he decided, settling into his chair. Trust them to help each other in the same way that they helped him.

"…You'll tell someone, right? The next time you're not doing fine? It doesn't have to be me. Just… let someone know."

Someone around here ought to keep their promises.

Mind made up, Siffrin turned to the kid to return her smile tenfold.

"Would you like to have a hairstyle like Odile's too?"

Marianne beamed.

-------

"Will you be alright going upstairs Madame?" Mirabelle asked. "That stool must not have been kind to your back or knees…"

Odile stretched backwards, several cracks breaking from her spine that made Siffrin wince. "My joints will hate me regardless. Might as well make the most of it."

Siffrin nodded. "See you all in fifteen?"

Another screech echoed through the corridor.

"…Better make that twenty."

Chapter Text

"Isabeau? Are you there?"

Odile knocked on the attic door above her with a sharp rap. No answer. It was to be expected: Isabeau had done his best not to be found.

"Well, I'm coming up. If you don't want me to enter, just shout." She smirked, even though he couldn't see it. "Although I may not listen."

Still no response. She shrugged, thumbed the latch open and climbed through.

Standing up in the attic took a lot more energy than Odile cared to admit and -OH GEMS DON’T LOOK DOWN DON'T LOOK DOWN- she was forced to bend down again to slam the door closed. Bones she didn't know were in her spine cracked as she straightened her back. That ladder she was told to pull up after her would just have to wait.

Odile looked around, eyes adjusting to the dusty shadows. Towers of ring-bound books balanced in the corner of the room. Notebooks, perhaps? Dairies? Odile didn't have the time to flip through them, but she made a note to ask later. A towel covered a wardrobe mirror, and sheet music covered one of the slanted walls, dog eared and creased. Interestingly, each song seemed to be written for a different instrument: Not Your Seed's first violin was layered on top of The Ballad of Jane Doe's second fiddle.

A long dead plant withered on a tiny windowsill. Its label read 'Happy Beairthday X! Lo

                                                                                                                                       ve Carmen!'

Odile chuckled, then chocked on the cloud of dust her breaths stirred up from the glass.

She could safely add 'neglected' to her observations then.

Odile cast another glance across the room, then sighed. She dropped to one knee to check underneath -

"I'm not under the crabbing bed M'dame."

Ah. Mystery solved.

With only a little hesitation Odile hoisted herself up with the bunkbed's ladder, and fixed her gaze to the shadowed corners of the top bunk. Obscured by the darkness of a slanted roof (and the lion's share of pillows) sat Isabeau.

"Well, it's not like you were advertising your location."

No response to that, it seemed. Isabeau just curled into himself further, hugging his knees closer to his chest. The gesture made him look even younger than his years, like the child who once lived in this bedroom. It wasn't a good look.

Her first instinct was to jump right in with questioning, to pick apart the mystery that her loved one's crumpled face presented, but she bit them back. Odile knew from experience interrogation would do more harm than good.

And you're so tense. Like you're about to snap.... Siffrin... I was worried before, but now I'm VERY worried. W-what's happening? What's wrong? How can I --

Dragging a sturdy looking chair underneath her feet, she stood up to meet Isabeau's eyeline, and rested her arms on the bunkbed's railings.

"Is this a…" she faltered, trying to treat this conversation with the subtlety it deserved. In her experience, that meant starting with banal small talk. "Common childhood haunt for you?"

His reply was curt. "No. It wasn't."

"Really?" Odile never knew how to drop a subject before it started to crumble in her hands. "Since this used to be your room I'd assumed-"

"I was too cowardly to touch anything that wasn't mine. But now I'm an adult; an adult who can sit wherever he damn pleases." He hissed, before dropping his voice to a soft murmur. "It doesn't matter who yells at me for it."

"…Ah."

Isabeau's face sank behind his knees. "Sorry."

Now this was something she was equipped to deal with. She fixed her face into a sardonic smile. "Don't be. You and Mirabelle both act as if apologies are a form of currency. Believe it or not, displaying a single negative emotion isn't a crime."

"W-what? No, nononono, I'm not - I wasn't -"

"In the middle of a breakdown?" Odile arched an eyebrow.

Isabeau flinched. "Don't worry about me M'dame. I'm a big boy who can handle himself!" He started to shift off the bed, moving pillows this way and that, "Hey, when do you think the Defenders are going to arrive? Shouldn't we -"

"Isabeau." He stopped moving, staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes. "It's too late to tell us not to worry - we've been worried for days. I don't need you to pretend to be happy, I need you to be honest."

Silence clogged the air. Isabeau was still, stiller than if he'd been frozen. Odile knew from experience. Gems, she was the wrong person for this conversation. It needed a softer touch, someone more comforting than she knew how to be.

"Look. Right now, everyone's looking for you on each floor of the house." She noticed his panicked look a little late, and moved to add, "Everyone in our family, not your biological one."

"Thank Change."

"Point is, if you tell me who you want to talk to I can send them your way."

Isabeau turned to her with a sheepish grin. "I can't talk to you?"

"I don't know why you'd want to." She said, before realising how flippant she sounded. Oops. "Uh, not that I'm unwilling. Just. You have options. Arguably better options."

Isabeau perked up, relaxing back into his role and the pillows around him with a trademark grin. "You're a great option M'dame! Don't discount yourself so quickly - you've gotten so much better at feelings talky-talks! Besides," He drawled, flicking his hand in the air, "the others are too emotionally ticklish."

"Flattery will get you nowhere Young One. Stop deflecting and -" She clocked what he just said. "I'm sorry. Emotionally ticklish?"

"You know!"

"I really don't."

"Emotionally ticklish!!" He giggled. "Some people are so… gentle with your feelings. Instead of saying what they actually think, they just go with what you're supposed to say. You might tell them 'I'm really sad!' and they'll say 'It's ok, take time to process your emotions!' and you have to stop yourself from laughing cause that's so sweet! And because you know exactly which psychology pamphlet they're quoting, but mostly cause it's sweet!"

He continued, pointing to Odile. "But with you it's like 'I'm really sad!' and you'll be like 'You just stubbed your toe. Go sit down, put some ice on it, you're not going to die." Odile rolled her eyes at the pitchy impression. She'd literally heard him do better ones; perhaps that particular skill was locked behind bar crawls.

"Even though you might not say the 'right thing' all the time it almost feels nicer? Because it's not…" He struggled to find the word.

"Ticklish?"

"Exactly!" He snapped his fingers. "It's easier to believe cause I know you're saying what you really think, not what you think you should say."

Odile hummed. "Interesting." Why was Isabeau so resistant to open displays of support when it was the exact type of support he often offered? She'd have to unpack that later.

"But I've let you distract me long enough - don't think I didn't notice your ploy young man," she added when he wilted, "if you want to talk to me then talk."

"…Okay. Okay!" Isabeau slapped his face twice, then straightened his back. "So. Dinner. Kind of blew my cool there. I thought I had a handle on the whole situation, but then Ange's whole gift fiasco happened…"

"Ah." Odile nodded. "The Defenders?"

"Not… exactly? I'm not that mad at them."

"At the pieces of shit?"

"M'DAME!" He exclaimed, half laughing.

Odile shrugged. "Your words, not mine."

"Phht, alright, alright. I stand by everything that I said and I regret none of it." He admitted, still chuckling. "But I'm not 'never show your face around me again' mad yet, you know? I could be civil if I had to be."

Odile had her doubts, but she let it slide. "So something else about the gift upset you."

"It just felt so… thoughtless. Obviously getting me a promotion and a uniform and a whole apartment must have taken a lot of time or whatever, but he didn't spend a single second considering if I'd actually want it!" Isabeau exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Like, just think about it: if I wanted to be a Defender again, why did it take a year to come back to Jouvente? Change, why would I come back to Jouvente in the first place?! Do you know the amount of job offers I've received since we left Bambouche?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't. You've never mentioned it before."

"My partner has world-ending abandonment issues. Why would I mention it?"

"Fair." Odile could practically hear the shape of Siffrin's emotional spiral.

"I didn't need any grand gestures. I would've been happy with…" He puffed his cheeks out as he thought, "A rose."

"A rose?" Odile couldn't stop herself from snickering. "A singular rose, specifically?"

"No, not specifically!" He pretended to whine, arms folded in a full on strop. "He could've gotten me a gift card to a nice boutique, or a voucher for a museum gift shop or something!"

"Or a rose." She teased.

"It's not about the rose!" Isabeau protested with a wide smile on his face, before allowing his expression and voice to drop into something more serious. "It's about a gift I'd actually like. Something to prove that Ange knows more about me than my old job. That he cares."

"Do you often worry that your family doesn't care about you?"

Isabeau didn't answer. His smile and his arms dropped, swinging by his sides, limp.

"I know they love me." He whispered eventually.

"That wasn't what I asked, and you know it. Do you think they care?"

His next words sounded rehearsed, well worn. "They're busy people, you know. Nine kids running around the place, one's bound to fall through the cracks. I can't expect to have everyone's attention all of the time."

Nine?

Odile saved that thought for later. "Even after saving the country?"

"Hey," His voice dripped with false cheer, "it's not like I can put it on my portfolio!"

"You understand how sad that sounds, right?"

He did nothing but shrug, and turn his gaze away. Say what you will, but Odile was prepared to honour a conversational dead end when she actually recognised one.

She shifted in place, trying (mostly in vain) to find a comfortable position on her makeshift stool. "Is there nothing else you want to tell me? Nothing at all?"

"…I guess my talk with Carmen earlier didn't go very well?" Isabeau's voice got high pitched and scratchy. "It doesn't really matter - not like they're going to remember it tomorrow. But it was kind of my bad. I'm the older brother, I should've handled it better."

Letting her arms drape over the railing, Odile leaned in closer to watch him sweat. "And nothing else happened?"

"Not that I can think of!"

"So you didn't run into your mother."

The change was instantaneous: Isabeau went from the picture of innocence to swearing underneath his breath in surprise. Odile tried not to feel too gratified by the utter shock that filled his Expression. After all, she reminded herself, this was one of her dearest companions, and ultimately all this was for his benefit. Oh, but there was something so satisfying with trapping someone in a lie - she imagined it was the same rush a hunter had ensnaring a specimen, cruel and bloodthirsty.

Old habits, and all that.

"I, um," Isabeau stuttered, trying to rally himself. "What do you mean M'dame?" His voice hitched into a falsetto.

"I was looking downstairs for you when I ran into Ms Moineau." And straight into the most exhausting conversation in recent memory, but that particular detail wasn't appropriate to include. "She informed me that you were likely to be in your room, where you always went after an argument."

"Of course that's what she calls it," he muttered, distinctly bitter.

"She didn't go into much detail, but for you an argument is the equivalent of coming to blows. Compounded with the way you conveniently avoided mentioning the interaction, and your reaction to me bringing it up, I think it's safe to assume that it's the real reason why you're so out of sorts." Tapping the rail with her nails, Odile rested her chin on her palm. "Or am I wrong?"

Isabeau threw up his hands as if in self-defence. "I-it's nothing, I was getting upset over nothing-!"

"It can't be 'nothing' if it upset you this badly." Odile insisted, leaning forward.

"It's so small, it'll just bore you! Really!"

"I'll be the judge of that."

"It's fine!"

"Gems, can you stop deflecting for five minutes?!"

There was a beat of silence. It was almost like the life drained out of Isabeau's body: he went slack on the bed, no longer cowering or panicked, just… empty. A doll would've been more expressive.

"I'm sorry." The words sounded forced, a dull monotone.

She really was the wrong person for this conversation.

"No, no, I shouldn't have lashed out." She shook her head. "My apologies. I don't have the right to yell at you, no matter how good my points are."

Isabeau chuckled at that, softly, like his own mouth was surprised it was making the noise. "It's ok, M'dame."

"It's just…" Reminiscent of Siffrin's rhythmic breaths, she took a deep breath in, then out. "Hard. Watching you hurt yourself like this. I fully understand a need for privacy, but the last time we stood idly by as someone went through a crisis they ended up in a timeloop."

Now he full on snorted. "Change, can you imagine? Being stuck in a loop today, of all days."

"Truly nightmarish," she agreed, shuddering at the thought. "I'd rather unfreeze the King and face him alone than relive this evening even once."

"Agreed. I'm staying faaar away from the city's favour trees, believe you me."

Don't be tempted by the concept of multiple favour trees Odile. You're on a mission, Odile. Stay focused, Odile!

"Or you could cut out the middle man and talk."

"Oh. We're still on that topic." All the joy that had been building up in him leaked out in one long exhale. "Greeaaaaat."

"Prevention's better than a cure, Young One." She made a 'go on' motion with the hand that wasn't holding her up.

"I… I'm trying, M'dame. I really am. A-and I know it's irrational, and silly and stupid but I can't let myself be a burden. Not again."

"How, exactly, are you a burden?" Odile asked, eyebrows furrowed. "If anything you're usually responsible for the majority of our emotional labour. I doubt you'd call Siffrin a burden in these same circumstances," he shook his head with a dejected air, "then why is it so hard to extend the same grace to you?"

Isabeau shrugged, looking even more miserable than before.

Right. This approach clearly wasn't working. What else could she do…?

Hooking her fingers around the ladder's dusty bars, and taking special care not to look down, Odile climbed onto the top bunk. Isabeau unconsciously shifted his weight to accommodate her, giving her enough space to settle next to him.

It took Odile a second to catch her breath - of all her skills, she never claimed to be athletic, especially not in her old age. "Would this be easier if I… gave you prompts?"

"Prompts?" He echoed.

"Look. Vulnerability sucks."

Her deadpan statement shocked a laugh out of him. "Y-you can't say that! It's important for emotional development!!"

"Yes, according to your psychology pamphlets. Hush." She rolled her eyes before continuing. "Vulnerability sucks, so we're not going to be vulnerable. Instead, you're going to answer my prompts and fulfil my academic curiosity."

Isabeau gasped, and with sparkles in his eyes shouted, "ISABEAUOLOGY~!"

"HUSH." Breathe, Odile, just breathe. "If this is going to work, you'll need to answer my questions accurately, or you'll…" Gems, was she already running out of justifications for this framing device? "Skew my data. And no detail is wasted, so there'll be no question of 'burdening' me with your feelings."

"Technically speaking, if you're collecting quantitative data, any anomalies would actually skew the results so you'd be better off being selective with what you receive -"

She interrupted him with a clipped voice. "Isabeau, I just want to you to stop lying to me. And if the only way to make you comfortable enough to share the truth is to reframe this 'feelings talk' as something that makes you feel useful, I'll do it."

Isabeau stared at her for a second, an unreadable Expression laying claim to his face, before it released its hold to expose something much softer underneath. "That's kinda sweet, M'dame. Only you could use ulterior motives to make me feel better."

"Fine, yes, whatever." Odile turned her head in an effort to hide her embarrassment. From the way Isabeau giggled, it was unsuccessful. "Are we doing this, or not?"

"No, we are. We are." He shook his head, trying to pump himself up similar to the beginning of a battle. "We are! Alright!! Hit me."

"Who's your eldest brother?"

Now Odile had no qualms about enjoying Isabeau's dumbfounded reaction. He mouthed soundlessly for a few seconds, before managing to squeak, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Honestly? Not much." She admitted. "But I wasn't lying when I said this was a way to satisfy my curiosity. So. What's his name?"

Isabeau folded his arms, leaning away from her slightly. "Uh, I already told you I don't know if Clement or Ange is the older twin, M'dame."

"And I already told you once before that's not what I'm asking." Odile blinked, then backed off, relaxing back into the abundance of pillows behind her. This was an interview, not an interrogation. "That being said, I understand if you don't want to tell me."

"No! No, that's not what I was… It's just…" He flailed for a few moments, before sighing into the palms of his hands. "How did you…?"

Usually, Odile would gloss over her reasoning to maintain her hard-won mystique, but just this once she could oblige him with a complete explanation. How many prey had the honour of examining the hunter's net?

"The number of your siblings keeps changing, for starters. When we ran into Ange you had eight, which dropped down to seven when we quizzed Siffrin on their names - a change only made after Mirabelle asked for clarification on the twin's birth order. Now, that could be explained if you were including yourself in that count, but just now you clearly said there were 'nine of us'.

"So that left me with a few options. Either you don't know how many siblings there are in your family," a possibility that was looking more and more unlikely, given the multiple splashes of intellect she'd been privy to that evening alone, "or you're hiding one from us. Perhaps it's the same sibling your mother has reportedly cut out of photos, or even the person who used to live in this very room."

She traced a line of dust off the bed's frame with one finger, flicking it in the air. " This bunkbed seems older than Boniface, so you must have grown up sharing it - and yet each of your mother's children has their own room. Or should I say, the ones that I've met."

"M-maybe this was Avann's room?" Isabeau stuttered, without conviction.

"Maybe," She shrugged, then leaned in (literally) for the kill. "But I have one more piece of evidence."

Odile grinned a shark's smile. She should know - a younger Sachiko got really creative without access to official body craft manuals.

"I watched you dance around Siffrin for months. What makes you think I wouldn't be able to tell when you're hiding something?"

Isbaeau jumped backwards, collapsing into the long-suffering pillows.

She allowed herself one triumphant chuckle, before getting back to business. "All that being said, I won't push. I'm sure you have your reasons for concealment, and if it's truly too painful to recall, I'm satisfied enough with my findings to leave some things unsaid. I only thought it might serve as a decent palate cleanser."

Isabeau remained quiet for so long that soon, she genuinely began to think that he wasn't going to answer. Odile was seconds away from giving another apology, before he cleared his throat.

"Xander. His name was Xander."

You honestly didn't mean to hide under the bed. It was just a coincidence that you were already sort of underneath it, swiping your arm around the darkness to find the other pair of your perpetually mismatched sock when you heard that bang behind you. From that perspective it was perfectly understandable for you to duck below the bunkbed's slats, cowering in the shadows.

"I swear to - Ange, nobody cares how many times you pretend to run away, so stop leaving your cra… crafted suitcase where Mum can trip over it-!" Someone grabs you by the hand, dragging you into the harsh light of day. Or as much 'light of day' that can make it into an attic. Trying to cough up dust away from fae's face, you squint at the quickly softening glare of your oldest brother. "Oh. It's you."

He drops you to your feet, and you stumble slightly. The only thing that stops you from falling and embarrassing yourself further is clutching your moth-bitten sock for emotional support. Hey, you found it!

Xander stares at you for a moment, before hissing in an accusatory tone, "You're not supposed to leave until Tuesday."

"The house, um… a room opened up. In the hou- House! House." The words come tumbling out as you try to splice together a functional sentence. "They said I could go early."

Wow, six words in a row. A new record! Kep that up and you might be able to show your face (a different face, a better face) in public!

Sighing, Xander starts pacing across the room, rearranging it as he goes. "Mum's not in a state to take you," he grumbles, slotting a toppled book neatly back in its shelf, "Clem's still boarding," fae smooths out the sheet music on the wall, "and Angie isn't a functional adult yet," he says as he grabs a half empty water bottle and tips the remains into the flower pot. The soil starts to float, "so I'll have to take you. Greeaaaaat."

"I-I'll go on my own."

"With what money?" He straightens the ever expanding pile of sketchbooks in the corner, before turning to face you. "I'm pretty sure you're not old enough to order a carriage yet."

"I'll walk."

"Alone?" Fae scoffs. "Through southern Jouvente?"

You don't answer. What's there to say? Fae's right, as usual - you know full well you're useless as you are, incapable, but you had hoped to start as you meant to go on. To step into your new identity with a confident stride - how naïve! As long as you were like this, trapped in this body, in this skin, you were hopeless.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Xander says as you fail to respond. "Grab your shi- stuff, we'll leave in fifteen."

Below your feet, a scream that sounded suspiciously like Ange shuddered the floorboards.

"Better make that thirty."

***

Out of all your siblings, Xander had always been the easiest to be around. Not the best, by any means: you were closer with Carmen, if the evenings spent coaxing your sibling through their maths homework by their hospital bed counted as companionship; you often had more fun with Ange, belting arias together an octave higher than either of you could sing or tagging along to impromptu window shopping trips and Clement… was Clement.

But being near Xander is easy.

With him there's on tripping through conversations or trailing behind friendship groups like the human equivalent of a hangnail. Just silence. Easy, simple silence. Xander likes you - as much as anyone could like someone like you - because you're quiet. A reprieve from your sibling's chaos. A breath of fresh air, fae called you once, which you thought was a funny way of saying boring.

For a while, your trip to the livery stables seems like it'll be just as quiet. Xander's heels click against the bricks in quick, confident strides too fast for you to keep up with, but he always slows down whenever he notices that you're lagging a little too far behind. The only sound you need to make is a slight chuckle when fae reads out the bakery sign, twisting and turning in the wind.

"Buy Our Pastries: We Knead the Dough!" You aren't surprised to see Xander write down its address, dragging the ink pen he always keeps in his shirt's side seam pocket across the skin of his arm.

What will he talk to you about, you wonder, when you're no longer his quiet little sister?

Fae answers your unspoken question.

"Out of all of us, I never thought that you'd be the one turning Housemaiden."

You splutter, "Oh, I-I'm not -"

"Always figured it'd be Angie." He shrugged. "Seems like the kind of stunt he'd pull, right?"

When you speak, it's with a conviction that shocks you. You always thought you needed to Change before you found out your back had a bone somewhere. "It's not a stunt."

Xander doesn't falter at your tone. "Good. You know how annoying it'd be if Mum was driven to drink again over a joke?"

You step back, breathless. Something sinks down to the bottom of your stomach: you'd feel less winded if fae had just punched you there.

"What?"

He continues on, flippant. "What, did you think those bottles in the kitchen were just for decoration? Mum can't decorate for shi- uh, her life. Dad was the one who always…"

Xander's voice fades into the background as you turn on your heel, running back towards the way you came.

"Hey."

Curse you and your stupid legs, could you run any slower [*****]? Why did they have to give out on you now, of all times?

"Hey."

Faster [*****], faster! You had to fix this, you had to -!

"Hey!"

Someone fills your tearful vision, an indistinct cluster of moving shades. He grabs you by the shoulders, grounding you. Xander.

"Hey. Talk to me kid." He speaks in a gentle tone, like if he handled you any rougher than one would pick up a bubble you'd pop. Typical. "What's wrong?"

Your breath stutters. "I-I have to apologise! I can't just leave Mum when she's - She's -!"

"Hey." Fae's voice is harsher now. He speaks with a gravitas that clogs your throat and stills your babble. "Look at me."

You open your eyes. In the future, when you'll waste idle moments wondering about your brother, this is how you'll remember him. Framed by a cloudy sky, illuminated by flickering street lamps: it might not have been the last time you ever saw him, but it’s the first image that comes to your mind. The freckles on his face, the eyebags beneath fae's glasses, the truly unruly head of hair bursting out of his ponytail that he refuses to cut, it all seems so vivid. No matter how much older you get, your brother will always tower over you - even if he never grew taller than your dad.

"Do you regret Changing?"

"…Huh?"

"It's a yes or no question, man." He repeats himself, slowly, chewing out the syllables in each word. "Do you regret Changing?"

For once, you don't need to think through your answer. The words slip through your teeth like particles of oxygen, breaths of fresh air. Is this what it's like for everyone else? Concepts and feelings and messy crabbing emotions simplified into words like a solved equation - rendered almost idiotic in its simplicity?

"Of course not."

Idiotic, huh?

You could get used to that.

To this day, you still can't tell what emotion flicked through Xander's face. Amusement? Irritation …Jealousy? Whatever it was, fae let go of your shoulders, and turned away.

"Then hurry up, would you? Stop wasting my fucking time."

"Well, his full name was Alexander, but we never really called fae that unless we were mad at him. It's Poterian, which is funny cause the only Poterian thing about him was the swears fae picked up from there. Oh yeah, pronouns! It was, uh, complicated? Xander always used he/him, but he liked to alternate a second set: fae/faer was the most common alternative.

"I don't think he switched things up because of Change reasons, he didn't really believe in it, but just for fun." Isabeau chuckled, a little sadly. "Used to drive Dad mad - closest Xander ever got to teenage rebellion."

Odile grimaced. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Bafflingly, Isabeau shot her a confused look.

"Wha…?" Then something clicked. "Oh, nonononono, he's not dead or anything! We're just estranged."

"Oh." Odile didn’t sigh in relief, and definitely didn't bite back an inappropriate 'good.' Not at all. No way.

"I mean, logically speaking," He said with a pensive look, "I don't know whether he's still alive? It's been almost a decade since fae cut us off, so anything could've…"

Isabeau trailed off when he noticed her horrified face. "Uh, hypothetically."

"Gems alive man."

"Sorry! Sorry." He exclaimed. "I mean, Xander's only in his mid-thirties, so what are the chances that anything could've, you know!"

"Sure." Odile couldn't wipe the grimace off her face, but she owed it to him to at least try to be comforting. "And you'd be contacted if anything were to happen to fae, right?"

"…"

"Right?"

Shattered shrines.

"So! Funny story," (Odile was starting to believe that Isabeau didn't know what 'funny' meant, but she didn't interrupt him.) "The Yuletide after I Changed, a solid five months and a bit after I left Jouvente's Southern House, Mum hosted another siblings-only celebration in the tackiest restaurant this side of the river. I'd brought some licenced sheet music to give to Xander - fae could play any instrument like a professional, I swear - and poor Zorenn had to pull me aside to stop me from asking my parents where I should put his gift. She was the one who told me that he wasn't coming. That he was never going to…"

"You must have been shattered." Odile's voice sounded shaky, even to herself.

"Oh, come on, it's kind of hilarious!"

"In what way."

Isabeau's face kept that infuriatingly calm expression as he spoke. "I've got more members of my immediate family than I know what to do with, and the only one who could be bothered to tell me that my own brother cut contact with us was Zorenn. Zorenn!! Fae hated Zorenn!" He folded his arms. "Which was super unfair to her in hindsight, but the irony is unmatched."

Odile was speechless.

"Like, the only reason why she waited so long to tell me was because she thought that Dad already did. You just gotta laugh at something like that M'dame!" His next words were so quiet she would've missed them if he wasn't sat right next to her. "Change knows I'm not allowed to cry."

"Says. Who."

Isabeau jumped at her tone. "I-it's just!! Obvious!!" He held out his palms in a motion of surrender, but it did nothing to soften her glare. "We were never that close. He knew what House I was staying at: if he wanted me to know when he left fae could've told me himself. Or sent a letter or something, but clearly I wasn't a priority."

His smile soured slightly. "I never was. Fae's attention was always on Angie, or Clem, and everyone knows that Caramel is his favourite. Was, knew - whatever. They were heartbroken when he left: if anyone has the right to be upset-"

"It's you. Nobody has the right to decide your grief for you but you. You deserve to move on because you want to, not because your family's turned abandonment into a crabbing competition."

Lightheaded, Odile took a shaky breath. In, then out.

Isabeau looked at her - looked through her, more accurately. Odile couldn't bring herself to hold his gaze.

Any second now, he was going to ask. Which was well within his right to do so, considering how badly she'd grilled him that evening.

"You don't have to tell me."

Odile hated how relieved she felt. "It's unfair to demand honesty from you and not return the favour myself."

"Opening up isn't a system of favours, M'dame." Isabeau's voice was soft. "It's fine if you're not prepared to share something with me."

Yes, that's how people with a shred of empathy was supposed to act, wasn't it? Odile moved to apologise -

Only for Isabeau to cut her off. "And no, you don't have to apologise for pushing me to open up either. This was… long overdue. We both know if you didn't push I wouldn't tell."

Even if his words couldn't relieve her guilt, it did lift a weight off her shoulders.

"Still. I'm happy to share this much with you: you're allowed to grieve." Odile forced herself to look him in his eyes. "Yes, even if it's been years. Even if you weren't close, even if Alexander left because of you or if he didn't think of you at all, you still have the right to mourn."

He looked exhausted. "One day… I hope I can believe you, M'dame."

Odile let the comment hang in the air between them, as they sat in uneasy silence. That empty expression was back on Isabeau's face, emotions completely shuttered from the world.

"So," she said, folding her arms.

"So," he replied, mirroring her action.

"Your mother."

"My mother."

"Isabeau." She warned.

"Odile." He smirked.

"Isabeau Moineau."

"Meee~!"

Odile groaned. "Are you going to tell me what got you so upset in the first place, or will we keep talking in circles?"

Isabeau glanced to the side, losing his playful demeanour. Copying Siffrin's breathing, he inhaled, slowly.

"Mum… wouldn't stop calling me sweetheart."

Huh.

That was… smaller, than she was expecting. Still, if it could elicit a reaction like this in who she used to consider as the most emotionally stable member of their party, it was worth taking seriously. "I can see how that could be emasculating -"

Isabeau shook his head. "Mum never gives us nicknames. The furthest she ever goes is 'my dear'. She always says that if she wanted to call us by a different name, she'd have named us differently. Before I Changed, I was always just -" He cut himself off with a sharp breath. "Called by my name."

Clutching his arms, Isabeau took a second to centre himself, before continuing. "You know, I can count on one hand the amount of times she's called me Isabeau. It's been almost a decade and she still can't bring herself to do it. I know it sounds insane to complain about it - oh, boohoo, my mother's given me a pet name, what a tragedy! Most of our family don’t have parents," Odile had to suppress a flinch, "and I can't handle a crabbing term of endearment?

"But it's not just that. It's… everything."

"Everything?" She asked.

"Every bit of kindness feels like another way to hurt me." As he spoke, his grip grew tighter, and tighter, until his knuckles blanched under the strain. "She only compliments my hair when I forget to cut it, tells me how cute my freckles used to look when she was the one who hid them with her shitty foundation, and the one time I wore a skirt where she could see it she asked me if I was planning on Changing back soon!"

Odile felt her eyebrows furrow. "That sounds awful."

"No, she's perfectly nice." The cheer in his voice was uncanny, a bright and airy sing-song. "And caring, and crabbing attentive but it's all for her." Her? The word, strangely accentuated, was dripping with loathing.

"Why now? Why couldn't she say any of it when I needed to hear it? I mean seriously, what was her plan?" Isabeau's laugh leaked through his teeth as a self-defeated whimper. "You spend years ignoring your daughter, and the minute she Changes into someone better now's the time to pretend like she wasn't worthless?"

Oh.

Oh.

"You aren't -" Odile said, or at least tried to say.

"I'm not anymore." He falsely corrected. "I had to rip that girl apart and build someone I could be proud of with the pieces. She's dead, and no amount of backhanded compliments will be enough to bring her back.

"She's dead," he whispered, "and she deserved to die knowing that she'd be missed."

Gems.

What was she supposed to say to that? Where was she even going to start? Not for the first time that evening, not for the first time in that conversation, Odile wished, fully knowing the risks of such a craft, that someone else were in her place.

It went unanswered, as usual. The vaguely divine mechanism Siffrin defined as the Universe wasn't in the habit of responding to pure desperation.

Since a deus ex machina failed to save her from this conversation, Odile supposed she might as well start with the easiest can of worms to open. "You aren't overreacting."

Isabeau startled, as if he'd forgotten she was shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Oh, you don't have to say that M'dame. I know I'm kicking a massive fuss over nothing -"

"These are small but constant acts of cruelty aimed to shame you for your religion and identity, it is your every right to feel upset. And…" She was never going to phrase this perfectly, was she? But Odile had to trust that he was smart enough to read between the lines, to hear what words could never say.

"I can't pretend to have known you before your change. But based on basic moral principles that every human being deserves to be cared for in some capacity…" She shifted around the mattress to sit face to face with him, "and based on my own sentimentality… I'm sorry your family made you feel unlovable."

Isabeau just stared at her. Expression still unidentifiable, but his eyes seemed to trail over her face, like he was searching for something. Odile didn't crack. Just let him look, jaw set and eyes firm.

Finally, he broke eye contact, chuckling with a humourless laugh, "Well, what can you do?"

"Plenty." Odile responded, fully aware he was posing a rhetorical question. "Start by reevaluating your relationship with each relative, and act accordingly."

Isabeau stared at her blankly. Gems, he really was going to make her spell it out, wasn't he?

"You need to go low contact."

"I couldn't!" He exclaimed, banging his fists against his thighs in a panic. "I know my family's not the best, Change, they're not even that good, but I can't just cut them off! I know it's stupid, but I still want to try and preserve our relationship."

Without thinking, Odile scoffed. "What relationship? There's nothing there to preserve."

Isabeau went very, very quiet. He closed his eyes, clenching and relaxing his hands to the rhythm of his slowed breaths.

"Odile," His voice low, measured and under any other context she'd have called it calm, "I'm sure you're trying to make a good point here. So I'm going to give you a chance to rephrase what you just said before I respond."

How patronising. It was one thing to treat Odile like a child, as if their entire conflict could be resolved by sitting her in time-out for five minutes, but it was another matter entirely to treat her like one of his siblings. Yet again, Isabeau swallowed down his anger for someone else's comfort - one of these days he was sure to choke.

The responsible course of action would be to apologise. Apologise again, backtrack again, dance around their feelings in a never ending waltz until their feet fell off again and again and again, but what was the point? There was no audience to impress, just a friend keeping up the performance offstage.

If comforting him wasn't working…

Maybe she could make him drop the act.

"I'll spell it out for you. You haven't talked to your family in two years. The only letter I've seen you send since the King's defeat was to Petronille. You never mention your relatives even in passing conversation: most of us genuinely believed you were an only child before meeting Avann." She threw up her hands, exasperated, "Gems, I know more about your ex-partners than your siblings - what about any of this screams a healthy relationship?"

"And that's my fault?!" All the snide comments, all the irritation, all the pent up rage that had been festering inside of Isabeau exploded. "The entirety of Vauguarde knew that we had travelled to Dormont - if they wanted to contact me, they could've! We don't 'keep in touch' in this family. I was a carriage ride away when I Changed and they still found a way to ignore me!"

He slammed his hands into the pillows, accentuating each sentence with a dull thud. "I'm the one who shows up to every part. I'm the one who comes to every crabbing get together - you don't get to tell me that I'm not the one putting in the effort!"

Odile didn't back down. She wouldn’t. If she wasn't able to provide comfort, then she could at least do was let him be honest, warts and all. What did she have to fear from a child's temper tantrum, justified or not?

"Parties that you hate attending. Parties that you spend disassociating." Isabeau flinched, but she kept pushing forward. "Parties are not how you maintain a familial relationship, Isabeau."

"Then what am I supposed to do?! I can't just leave like…"

Silence lapsed between them.

Odile sighed. "I'm not forcing you to cut ties completely. But these relationships are hurting you, Isabeau. If you truly want to maintain them, something has to change."

Isabeau didn't respond. All the fight left his body, and his head dropped forward, limp, into his hands.

"There is a distinction between low contact and no contact, you know. Excuse me for sounding clinical, but setting boundaries with your family is important." She clicked her tongue. "Actively setting boundaries, not just waiting around and hoping things will get better with time. Trust me, if you do nothing, nothing will improve."

Still no response. Unless one counted Isabeau's hands beginning to tug at his hair as a response.

"Even if you distance yourself from one person doesn't mean you have to let go of everyone. You can still speak with Avann even if you don't want to see…" Odile hesitated for a moment, before collecting herself, "your father, for example."

Isabeau gave a wet sniffle of a laugh.

"And you guys give Sif crab for forgetting names."

Odile swatted him away with a sweep of her hand. "Not my fault your family has too many brats."

Isabeau chuckled, a soft, stuttering sound. Odile let his tangent pass by without remark; no point punishing such a sincere display of joy.

Still, there were plenty of elephants left in the room to herd.

"I'm not going to make this decision for you," she said, straightening her back, "but it does need to be made."

"What, now?" he asked with a ghost of a smile.

"Not right now, obviously. But sometime."

"So on a scale of a week to a month…?" Isabeau's smile began to rise from the grave, shifting the metaphorical soil above it.

"Come up with your own timeline." Odile deadpanned, before adding in a more sombre tone, "You can't live in this limbo forever."

Isabeau groaned a little too theatrically for her tastes. "I know, I know! It's just, where do you even start with something like that?"

"One thing."

"You don't have to keep answering my rhetorical questions, M'dame."

She ignored him. "Tell me one thing you want to do. It can be as insignificant as you'd like, but it has to be something."

Isabeau paused, clearly thinking the question through. Or at least, he let himself be seen thinking.

"I.." He breathed in, then out, in that familiar refrain. "I really hate this house. Like, really hate it. I haven't been invited back since I Changed, and I didn't realise how… bad it was going to be.

"I thought I could tough it out for a few hours, but being here makes me feel like nothing's Changed. Like I'm still that lonely little kid who's going to be ignored, or mocked, or both somehow!

"Truth is…" In, then out. "I'd be more than happy if I never came back here again."

"Consider it done."

"J-just like that?" The tilt in his voice was going for playful, but the change in pitch only made him sound scared.

"Just like that." She repeated, reaching over blankets and discomfort to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Ok. Okay! Sounds completely fake, but okay."

Despite herself, Odile barked out a laugh.

"I mean, it can't be that easy. No way I can just make a decision and," he snapped his fingers for dramatic effect, "that's it! Familial boundary set!!"

"It literally does work like that, yes."

"Yeah right." His tone was mirthful, but his eyes were panicked. "They've found a new hosting location. One of these days I'll get another invite here and I'll have to say no and then I'll never hear the end of it -"

"And then we'll deal with it."

"You don't understand, Ange ribbed me for missing his second wedding at his third engagement speech - they're not going to let this go."

"And then we'll deal with it." She insisted, not resisting the urge to shake him slightly. "The operative word being we. You're not an isolated child anymore Isabeau - you have us."

He didn't have anything to say to that.

Odile released him from her grasp, and reclined into the pillows and half-folded blankets, letting her eyes slowly close. They relaxed, for a little while, resting together in comfortable silence, only broken by the occasional bump and distant door slam downstairs.

Eventually, Isabeau cleared his throat.

"Thank you." He murmured. "And sorry for shouting - for real this time. I know you were baiting me into it, and all, but I should've been mature enough to respond without yelling."

She opened one eye. "Did it work?"

"…Yes."

"Good." She let her eyes fall closed again. "Gems know you needed the catharsis - and my other ideas wouldn't have worked nearly as well. Somehow I doubt you'd agree to fist fight your siblings."

Isabeau spluttered, and before he could jump into a spirited rebuttal they were interrupted by a sharp knock.

"…Maybe they'll leave if we're quiet?" he whispered in a hopeful tone. The door began to creak open. "Crab!"

"Stay hidden." Odile began to climb out of the bunk bed down the ladder, cursing her aging joints.

"If it's my siblings -"

"You aren't here."

"If it's my parents -"

"You were never here."

She stepped down to the ground, and strode to the attic's exit in three long steps. But before she could crouch down to open it, the door creaked open, revealing -

"Siffrin?"

A shock of darkless hair popped out of the attic door, and the rest of Siffrin soon followed, propping himself up by the elbows.

"Odile?" A confused look scrambled their Expression. "Wait, where's -"

"Sif!" One second Isabeau was on the top bunk, cowering under the covers, the next he was standing next to Odile, eyes sparkling. She was reasonably sure it was the fastest she'd ever seen him move.

"ISA!"

"SIF!!"

Before they could continue their mind numbing routine, Siffrin was unceremoniously shoved onto the floor by an unseen hand.

"Isabeau!!" Mirabelle leaned on top of Siffrin, who lay flat on the ground. "Oh thank Change we found you! Before Siffrin spotted that ladder I was starting to think that Clement lied to uh-!"

"Is Za here?"

Interrupting her was Boniface, clambering onto Mirabelle's back in an impromptu piggy back. "We could hear you yelling but we couldn't see you anywhere!! Who do I need to punch?"

"Is it Ange? Please say it's Ange." Odile could just about make out the shades of Petronille's arm, beginning to reach through the door.

Alright, it was time to pull the curtain on their little comedy act.

Odile clapped her hands. Everyone startled, and four and half pairs of eyes snapped to her.

"If you're going to enter the room, do it properly. Poor Siffrin will be flattened if any more children climb on him."

"I'm… used… to… it." The rogue croaked out.

Twin shrieks of OH NO!! echoed through the attic, paired with an undertone of I'M NOT A CRABBING KID!!!

Eventually the room shook with movement that wasn't located on Siffrin's back. Mirabelle flitted between helping Petronille squeeze through the attic door, and stopping Boniface from ransacking Isabeau's belongings. One of these tasks proved more fruitful than the other.

Siffrin remained on the floorboards, little more than a pancake with braids. Isabeau, ever at their side, kneeled down to offer them a hand.

Propped up by their partner, Siffrin wobbled to their feet, but they didn't let go of his hand when he moved to step away. Instead, he reached over to grab the other, turning Isabeau to stand face to face.

"Is everything okay?" They asked.

"I'm…"

The movement in the room crawled to a halt.

His smile froze. Isabeau's eyes flicked over to Odile, for some inexplicable reason. Support? Permission? The specifics were between him and his god. In Odile's opinion she was hilariously underqualified to handle such vulnerability - tonight had proved that ten times over - but that wasn't going to stop her from trying.

Hopefully whatever he made out of her curt nod and hard stare would be enough.

Isabeau sighed, and dropped his weight onto Siffrin's steady shoulder like a discarded marionette.

"I'm… bad."

Siffrin wrapped their arms around him. They were quickly joined on each side by Boniface and Mirabelle, with Petronille sweeping her arms around the entire family.

"I'm feeling really bad."

And if Odile snuck a hand in to ruffle his hair, that was between her and the Expressions.

Chapter Text

"Hey Beau?"

Oh, background noise is not what you need right now. Instead of giving yourself an aneurism, you focus on the paper in front of you, willing the numbers to stop floating around the page. If you squint, and ignore the fifteen double sided worksheets lurking underneath the page, you're almost done!

"Beau? Beau and the Beast? Brainiac? Oh, Brainiac's good, I've gotta use that one again sometime."

Ok, think. Yes, you're slightly out of practice as far as that's concerned, but this is important enough to dust off your brain. You absolutely need to get this assignment done before seven, latest seven thirty. If you work at a rate of one page a minute, you could still make it in time… a rate that was completely unsustainable and unrealistic, considering that you'd been stressing over this singular question for the past half an hour!

Change, why did you leave this of all things to the last minute?! You're usually meticulous with your timetable. Serves you right, thinking you were on top of the world after two terms of Defender Academy - you weren't even on top of your studies.

"How mad would you be if… say… Marie borrowed your new sketchbook? Like, every other page of your new sketchbook? Cause I think it's kinda impressive how quickly she's picked up art at her age."

You can't do this anymore.

With the groan of a dying man, you slam your head against the table, letting it rest on the cool hardwood. Maybe if you close your eyes for long enough the rest of the world will stop existing, and you can enjoy the dull ache of your forehead in peace.

"Shifting tides man, I'm sorry!" Avann exclaims from somewhere behind you. "I can get you a replacement or something, just stop crying!"

Crying? And risk smudging the ink on your worksheets? You wouldn't dare.

"I don't care about the crabbing sketchbook. She can keep it for all I care." You hiss. Usually, you would never be this curt with another person; you'd crush your anger until you squeezed anything confrontational out of your tone. It's not what Isabeau is meant to be, after all. In an ideal world, he'd be incapable of being angry, a perfect beacon of calm. Good enough to earn other people's affection. But if there's one thing you've learnt about your step brother since Zorenn had invited you under her roof, it's that he delights in ruining even the best laid plans.

As usual, he isn't fazed by your anger. You'd be surprised if he even registers it as a problem.

"Oh, great!" Point made, and proven. "Marie's gonna be so happy. The house is starting to run out of paper, you know?"

Seemingly not satisfied with irritating you verbally, Avann hikes himself up onto the table, letting his walking stick rest on your shoulder. You look up at him sitting on the desk and scowl, placing his mobility aid against your wardrobe before trying to re-arrange your scattered worksheets. Luckily none of them fell to the floor, but it was a near thing.

"The crab was that for?" You ask, annoyed.

If you didn't know him, you'd describe Avann's next words as friendly. "What's wrong?"

Unfortunately for his attempt at sympathy, you've spent several months sharing a room with him, so you see right through him. All his little looks earn him is an eye roll. "Why do you care?"

"Cause I care about you! And Marie's gone to sleep early, but I really do caaaaarreeee~!"

He leans towards you, batting his eyes and you have to push him away to hide your smiling face. Change forbid Avann catches wind that his antics makes you feel better: if he ever figures that out his head will grow so big poor Zorenn's roof will collapse under its swell.

"So you're bored?" You summarise.

"You think too much man." He retorts, displaying another annoying trait of his - the fact that he's gotten such a thorough look underneath your façade. There's no real way around it, either. Not unless you want to start doing your homework in the Academy.

"Don't you want to complain a bit?" Avann says, nudging you with a foot that you bat away. "Let loose a little?"

You sigh, falling back into your chair. 'Letting loose' is a tempting offer, albeit one you're sure to regret around Avann. Knowing him, he'll just use it as an opportunity to spice up his rumour mill with his surfer friends. But still…

"For some stagnant reason, I forgot I had an assignment due tomorrow until an hour ago. It's worth  roughly 40% of my grade, and we got it set a month ago, so at this point I can't ask for an extension."

Avann nods, as if this is a common place issue. Which it technically is, you suppose, but it isn't normal for you. You need to have your days scheduled down to the minute to balance your recently thriving social life with a secretly spotless academic record. One wrong move and it all comes toppling down.

"Usually I'd stay up to finish it," you explain, crossing your arms, "but Basil's invited me out tonight. At seven."

"Then don't go out?" Avann says as if he's stating the obvious.

"I've already cancelled on him twice this month. One more and he's gonna dump me."

"You can't know that -"

You interrupt him with a perfect mimicry of Basil's (admittedly nasally) voice. "You better not flake on me again Moineau, or Immassume you're sick of all of us. Pretty sure Iwai would loveta come round my place instead, sinceyou're always too busy." You drop the impression whilst running your fingers through your hair. "My entire social circle's on the line here."

Avann kisses his teeth. "By the tides, dump them all! None of them are worth shit."

"What part of 'entire social circle' don't you get? I know they're not perfect," Avann scoffs, and you studiously ignore him, "but I'm working with what I've got. The Academy doesn't have that many options."

"You're better off being alone."

"No I'm not."

Your reply is instantaneous. Clipped. A little too honest for comfort.

Before you can try to soften it, Avann shrugs, then jumps off the table to meander behind you. You have to swivel your head around to keep up eye contact, because that's what you have to do in a conversation or people start to look at you funny. That one took a lot of trial and error to figure out.

"As you Vauguardians would say," Avann clears his throat, then announces with some gravitas, "You're totally shrimped."

"Crabbed."

"No thanks, I've already eaten."

Why do you even bother?

He continues, starting to stroke the whisps of a goatee on his chin that you aren't jealous of at all with a philosophical air, "I don't know what I can do to help…"

You can't stop yourself from laughing. Avann? Helping?? This really was a new low.

"I'm serious!" He insists, somehow fully sincere, which makes it worse.

Once you manage to calm down your laughter, somewhat, you shake your head. "The only way to help me is to magic away one of these tasks off my to-do list. And there's no way I'm letting you within two steps of my homework."

"I dunno, man, you may need the help. Pretty sure you're not supposed to write letters in a maths question."

You didn't listen to him, not out of a need to preserve your braincells for once, but because you just had an idea. A vague inkling, which you need to handle gently lest it smudges under heavy handling. You turn in your chair to face him fully.

"Avann." You say, slowly.

"Brainiac?" He smirks. "Yeah, that nickname's a keeper."

You open your mouth, intent on speaking, but…

"…No, it wouldn't work."

"What? What wouldn't work?" He asks, pausing his pacing.

"And even if it did, we'd get into so much trouble. Forget I said anything."

Avann grabs you by the shoulders. "Well, now you have to tell me!"

"It's just…" Propriety be crabbed, you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes when you're this close together, it's just uncomfortable! "You know how we look kinda similar?"

He nods. "Like looking in a younger, dorky mirror."

"I'm literally older than you??"

"You look younger though. Craft yourself a few more inches, then we'll talk."

You grit your teeth, and somehow stop yourself from punching his stupid, smug face. "You know what? Nevermind."

Avann seems to remember why he's talking to you in the first place as you get up to leave, and holds you in place by your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "Wait, nononono I'm sorry! Don't go!!"

"Okay, okay," you agree, if only to stop him from shaking you. You're getting dizzy. Thankfully, he lets you go, and steps back slightly to give you some much needed space.

"My point was," you say, "Zorenn's the only person who can tell us apart, right?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Marie doesn't know we're two different people yet."

"So… theoretically…" You fiddle with your sleeve. Just because you're aware of your nervous ticks doesn't mean that you've managed to get rid of them yet. "If you were to borrow my clothes and wear my earrings, in a dark, crowded room everyone would probably think that you were…"

You can't look at him. He's too quiet right now, you're not even sure if he's breathing. Instead, you look down at your scattered papers, laying across your table.

"Aha, but that's stupid! There's the logistics of your mobility aids and looking after Marianne - Change, your ears aren't even pierced! All that's before we consider the consequences of getting caught." You babble. "You're right, I'll suck it up and go. I can always pull another all-nighter after I get back!"

Your laugh is slightly manic.

"Isabeau."

You look up. Avann sits on the bed with a crab eating grin, next to what looks like your entire wardrobe emptied out on the sheets. He holds your sewing needle in one hand, and a quickly melting ice cube in the other. You don't have enough time to question where he got it before he speaks up.

"What am I wearing?"

Mirabelle was the last to step away from the group hug, and even then she kept her arms hanging loosely by Isabeau's side, ready to return at a moment's notice.

"Can you tell us what happened?" She asked, voice as gentle as her touch.

Isabeau opened his mouth to answer -

"We'll fill you in later." Odile interrupted him.

He frowned at her, eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, so now I'm allowed to keep things to myself?"

"How is that fair Madame?!" Mirabelle squealed, clasping her hands together in her outrage. "WE DESERVE TO KNOW THE DELICIOUS SECRETS TOO!!"

"And we want to help Za, right?" Nille added with a teasing tilt in her voice.

"And we want to help Isabeau! O-obviously!!"

Odile took a deep breath, and began counting off her fingers. "One, we don't have the time to give this discussion the weight or time it deserves." That put a damper on the discussion, making Nille and Mirabelle shift guiltily on their feet.

Then Odile smirked. "Two, I'm not going to give any of you motives for manslaughter with law enforcement this close to the house."

Her deadpan comment made Bonnie cackle with delight, as Isabeau choked on air.

"It's not that I'm not willing to help hide a body or two," (as Odile spoke, Mirabelle shrieked 'EXCUSE ME?? to little effect) "but we have to think practically here. Attacking any Moineaus with Defenders on their doorstep is a recipe for disaster, and we won't be allowed into Ka Bue's main port with a record."

Surprisingly, it was Isabeau who spoke up next.

"Oh please," he muttered, "you could stab someone right in front of a Defender and the most they'd do is offer you a tissue."

Mirabelle gasped. "Change, you do realise she's talking about murdering your family!?"

"I think we should hear her out," Bonnie whispered. Petronille nodded, and worryingly Siffrin looked like they were giving serious thought to the idea.

"Of course I don't want to kill anyone." Isabeau said, folding his arms. His three family members tried not to look too disappointed. "But we should be not killing my family for the right reasons."

As Mirabelle protested this with exaggerated hand movements, everyone else burst into laughter. Bonnie tipped their head back, banging into something round and metallic behind them.

They yelped, before jumping back and rubbing the back of their head.

"Are you alright?" Siffrin fretted, stepping up to them to assess the damage with almost supernatural speed.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine…" They turned to Isabeau, still rubbing their head, this time out of sheepishness. "Sorry for knocking over your… thingy."

"Don't worry, I'm just glad you're ok." He reassured them with a subdued smile. "Can't believe I didn't notice that was there. I'm pretty sure that thing belongs to fae."

Mirabelle quirked her head. "To who?"

Neither Isabeau or Odile answered her question.

"Actually," Siffrin said, fingers hovering over the base of the strange cyclical object, "I'm pretty sure the orrery's yours, Isa."

"The what? How do you know for sure?"

They tapped the words engraved onto its gear-like stand, dust blowing into the air with every touch. "You won't be able to read most of it, but this is in Vauguardian."

There were a couple of lines etched in the forgotten language, shifting and headache-inducing to even look at. Siffrin covered it up with his hand, leaving the last sentenced exposed. Everyone leaned forward to read the words 'Runner Up: Bi-annual Star Charting Competition'.

"It's the prize from the photo you were telling us about. B-before the memory was erased." He added shyly.

"So it came from the Island…" Isabeau mused, rubbing his chin. "Huh. I don't remember even leaving the city before joining Mira, let alone another country."

Odile whisked a notebook out of… somewhere, and began jotting down a few thoughts. "Makes perfect sense to me. If this memorabilia from the Northen Island truly belonged to you then it's only logical to assume you'd forget its existence after a decade away from it. It does explain how neither of us noticed its presence until now, and why you were able to forget your own address."

"He wasn't just pulling a Frin?" Bonnie gasped, wide eyed.

"Hey."

"No, he was absolutely pulling a Siffrin." Odile smirked.

"Hey." 

His partner walked over to him, and made a show of leaning into the embarrassed rouge's shoulder. "I'm happy to pull a Sif anytime." Isabeau's tone, although subdued, was starting to become more lighthearted.

"Eugh." Bonnie didn't have to fake a retch, sticking their tongue out at the couple. Odile was inclined to agree, joining them in rolling her eyes. "You two are disgusting. Isn't there anything more interesting we can talk about? Literally anything??"

Odile cleared her throat. "We can start figuring out how to leave the house-"

"Oooor we can look through old diaries!" Petronille interjected, waving a ring-bound book in the air with reckless abandon.

Odile face palmed.

"Ooh?" Grinning, Bonnie practically ran to their sister's side.

Isabeau didn't move from Siffrin's shoulder when he spoke. "Pretty sure I burnt all my diaries when I moved out."

"Oh."

Petronille lowered the book with a dejected air.

Not realising his mistake until it was too late, Isabeau added, "Those are sketchbooks."

"OOH! GIMME!!"

Bonnie snatched the book from Petronille's arms, and began to flick through it with reckless abandon. The elated expression on their face quickly lost its manic energy, mellowing out into confusion, and soon they looked completely stunned.

"I…" They swallowed, then looked up at Isabeau, eyebrows furrowed. "I can't make fun of this."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it Bonbon." He shuddered, and sank lower into a blushing Siffrin's shoulder. "I remember exactly what I used to draw when I was younger."

Petronille shook her head. "Dude, this is good. Like, seriously good."

Unable to hide her curiosity any longer, Mirabelle jumped to the sibling's side, and began oohing and ahhing over every illustration. Even Odile, still annoyed at the delay, craned her head over Bonnie's shoulder to catch a glimpse.

Only Siffrin, who was still being used as an impromptu headrest, was excluded from the trip down memory lane. At the sound of their grumbling Bonnie swivelled the book around to face them, showing off an especially impressive landscape sketched on the page. Isabeau sunk deeper into their shoulder, squeaking sadly.

"I have to say, I'm impressed." Odile said, although it was unclear whether her smirk was from Isabeau's art or his embarrassment. "How old were you when you drew this?"

"Can't remember." His voice was muffled as he refused to look up. "All my sketchbooks should be dated on the front though."

Bonnie quickly flipped to the front page. Blank, except from a half rubbed out doodle of a strikingly realistic orchid.

"Huh." Odile directed Bonnie to flip the cover to Isabeau with a flick of her wrist, and smiled down at the teen when they followed her directions with gusto. "All of them, you say?"

Finally, Isabeau looked up. "Yeah." Confusion curdled his features. "At least they should be…"

"My sketchbook!!"

A high pitched voice squealed below them, and a mid-toned blur burst into the attic, beelining for Bonnie. They jumped back as tiny, trembling hands grasped at the book, and pulled it into her chest.

Marianne. Who, by the look of things, was starting to regret pulling so much attention to herself.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" Bonnie jumped. They looked truly apologetic. "Didn't realise it was yours. I thought this was Za's room."

She shook her head, braids whipping from side to side with the force. "Uh uh. VanVan said it'd be safe if I kept it in here." Her eyes, obscured by thick, cloudy glasses, flicked over to Isabeau, before dropping to the floor. " S-sorry. Please don't be mad at me."

"You don't have to apologise." He smiled. Not his usual giant grin, but something smaller and softer. "If anything, we're sorry for snooping around your stuff. Still, your drawings are amazing! You must have worked really hard on them, huh?"

Marianne flushed, but the poor girl's embarrassment was far from over.

Beaming a smile able to blind from the wrong angle, Mirabelle bounced over to her, spouting praise with every step. She was quickly followed by Bonnie, who gave a detailed appraisal of their favourite illustrations in the sketchbook. Despite their commentary being more exclamation marks than words, it still made Marianne sink behind her hands. As Petronille began to add her own encouragements to the supportive onslaught, Siffrin tapped Odile on the arm three times and whispered something into her ear.

Odile cleared her throat, and the room fell silent. Marianne lifted her eyes up from behind her palms, as wide as a cornered rabbit.

"Yes, we can all agree on how advanced her artistic skills are for her age." Odile drawled, with only the twinkle in her eye showing how genuine the comment was. But there was something wooden in her tone, slightly stilted, somehow. "We should also mention how, uh, great your glasses look."

Siffrin nudged her with a pointed elbow and look. She sighed. "And your hair."

"Are you just saying that because she looks like a mini you?" Petronille asked with a teasing grin.

Turning to her, Marianne's smile stretched as if it were trying to break away from her freckled cheeks.

"You really think so?" She whispered.

"Yeah," at the kid's excitement, Petronille's voice lost its sarcastic edge. "It's like the Boss got cloned and squished. Can't tell the difference between you two."

The kid had no response to that, save from the draft she created by frantically flapping her hands. Siffrin decided to pick up the conversation.

"She made the…" He gestured vaguely to the sides of his neck, where Marianne's glasses charms were swinging. "All by herself."

When Odile stepped forward, Marianne froze. Her eyes trailed up to her imposing figure, not even daring to blink, not daring to breathe.

"Origami, huh?"

Odile smiled. This time, the authenticity in her tone was clear. "Now that's something you don't usually see in Vauguarde. This is some truly impressive work. You should be proud."

Poor Marianne lost all powers of speech. She flushed down to her toes, her dark blush blending into her freckles, and after making a vague head movement that could've been interpreted as a nod, ran down to the attic's exit. They last they saw of her was a multi-shaded blur, darting down the ladder, and two long pigtails trailing behind her like ribbons.

Odile clicked her tongue.

"Ah, so it's genetic."

The last to leave his bedroom, Isabeau stood in the middle of the attic, trying to rub the blush staining his cheeks off his face after M'dame's little comment. He appreciated the sentiment, if not the content: he could expose her to the worst of his childhood, and she'd still treat him the same as ever. Sure, 'the same as ever' included a hefty amount of ridicule, but hey! Beggars couldn't be choosers.

He cast one last look around his - no, their room. At the mirror he couldn't bear to look at; at the blurry posters he could never remember to take down; at the traces of a brother he was too afraid to find. It was still difficult to believe that he was allowed to mourn it, Change, he could barely believe he was about to leave it all behind. But he could feel… bad. He let the thought nestle like a splinter in his heart - being in that house felt awful.

Isabeau didn't need to pretend that it didn't hurt anymore. That his family was fine, if you looked at it from the right angle.

That he didn't miss his brother.

Shaking his head, Isabeau dropped down to the attic door, and began descending the ladder to rejoin his family. He tried not to consider that the last time he would see their bedroom would be blurred by unshed tears.

He blinked them away as he dropped down to the corridor, thankful that his family's attention was firmly off him. That thankfulness quickly dissipated the moment he realised why everyone had their backs turned, staring at the newcomer.

"Did your brother send you to tell us the Defenders are here?" Odile said. He didn't need to see her face to know that a singular eyebrow was raised. "Avann?"

In hindsight, Isabeau didn't have the right to be surprised. With the length of their conversation, his old coworkers were bound to have arrived before they had an opportunity to sneak out. Unfortunately for common sense, logic didn't stop him from matching his family's shocked reactions, or the grimace tugging down his lips.

Avann leaned on his walking stick, drumming his fingers against its handle. "Nah."

Some small part of Isabeau's brain, convinced that the world at large was sick of seeing him suffer that evening, chose this moment to perk up. It whispered praise to whatever deity decided to intervene, and exorcise the specters of his past before they could haunt him.

"I came to tell you they're here out of the goodness of my heart."

The rest of Isabeau's brain took that part carefully in its metaphorical hands, and ripped it to bloody metaphorical shreds.

"I find that hard to believe." Odile muttered, somehow speaking over the ruckus of her panicking companions.

"Ok, and I thought it'd be really funny to watch Ange make excuses to the Defenders for hours once you're gone." Avann tried (and failed) to hide his smirk. "Especially when he's dressed like that."

Mirabelle quirked her head, confused. "Dressed like what?"

Whatever it was, it made Petronille and Bonnie snicker.

"Dressed like what?"

"If y'all have any brilliant escape plans, now's the time to use them." Avann said, flitting his eyes across the corridor.

Wouldn't that be convenient. "We don't even have a carriage booked." Isabeau sighed.

"Well…"

Very slowly, Isabeau walked over to Petronille. He didn't know exactly what expression he was making, but judging by how quickly Bonnie jumped out of his way, and how fast the guilty look on Nille's face shifted into panic, it couldn't have been good.

"Nille." His voice was steely. "What did you do?"

Odile interrupted Nille's spluttering. "She didn't do anything."

"What. Did. You. Do."

Unlike her younger companion, Odile barely blinked under the questioning. She merely crossed her arms and answered, "I made some alternative arrangements. All Nille did was park them next to house 16.5."

"And you did this behind my back, why?" Isabeau started to say, before cutting himself off with a deep breath, in, then out. "You know what? No. This is a conversation for tomorrow Isabeau. Tonight, I'm just happy that we aren't walking back to the hotel."

Petronille practically collapsed, draping herself over Bonnie with a loud 'PHEW!' The teen didn't appreciate their sudden role as a headrest, and shoved her away.

"How are we going to avoid all the Defenders?" They asked. "They'll be swarming the bottom floor."

Isabeau tried to counter that they didn't need to avoid the Defenders, that he wasn't so fragile that he couldn't handle five minutes of small talk, but… who was he kidding?

He'd rather die.

Suddenly, Mirabelle gasped, jumping in the air. "The garden!! We can leave through the back door!"

"Good idea!" Avann said. "Buuuuut they're kind of sort of in the corridor now, so I don't know how you'll get past them."

Mirabelle deflated. She began picking at her nails, clearly struggling to find a solution. Her worry was mirrored in the face of Isabeau's other family members, all trying to think of a way to make him slightly more comfortable - as embarrassing as the whole situation was, their efforts warmed his heart.

There had to be something he could do…

"We won't be able to get past them. They're the type of people who won't leave until they get what they want - so we have to give it to them."

Isabeau ignored the various protests and explosions of outcry that erupted out of his family members, and turned to his brother with an appraising look.

"Hey Avann?" He asked, cocking his head and trying not to notice the way his brother immediately mirrored the motion, "How long do you think you can go without your mobility aid today?"

"I can do this thing aaaaaaall night."

Isabeau crossed his arms. "How long did Zorenn say you can manage?"

"Mum says I'll be fine for an hour or two," Avann pouted.

"Great."

Without warning, Isabeau took three great strides towards his brother, and lunged.

"Woah, woah, woah! Hey!! You said we were cool! I gave you that bribe - it's not my fault that the glass broke, blame the dog-!!" Avann attempted to step back, but it was too late. In a glittery blur, Isabeau latched onto him, and the pair began to tussle. "SHIFTING TIDES MAN, I -!" Avann cut himself off with a gasp as he was released, and stumbled backwards.

In Isabeau's hands were the two items that he had pilfered from his brother's head. In his right, a hairband, that he tucked into his coat pocket. In his left, he used two fingers to flick open Avann's earrings, turning them from hoops into rectangles. Holding them flat on his palm, he offered them over.

"Oh. Ooooooooh." Avann took them, and in one fluid movement clipped them back onto his ears. "I'm picking up what you're putting down."

Isabeau nodded, but held up one manicured finger. And immediately regretted it when he saw how chipped his nail polish was. "If we're going to work together, we're gonna have some ground rules."

Avann scoffed.

"You're taking my place tonight to distract the Defenders, and only to distract the Defenders." With the parameters established, he began counting the rules off on his hand. "So no breaking property, no flirting, and no signing contracts. Don't agree to anything that I can't get out of by skipping town, alright?"

Avann shrugged.

"Just, don't do anything that I wouldn't do."

His brother smiled, and nodded.

"…Or anything that would get me arrested."

"Ugh, you never let me have any fun!"

"You don't have to worry, Isabeau." Odile said, interrupting the exchange. "Petronille and I will accompany him."

The Petronille in question startled. "We will?"

"We will." She nodded, firmly. "For realism - someone will have to convince your biological family that the rest of the Saviours have left. Besides, it'll be easier for you to locate the carriage if we take a familiar route out of the house."

"And I can lead everyone else to the other exit!" Mirabelle exclaimed, conveniently forgetting that Isabeau had lived in that house for sixteen years in her excitement. He didn't mind too much: just let the intoxicating warmth of being cared for wash over him.

"And we'll be your body guards!!" Bonnie shouted, pumping their fists, unburdened by their mystery cake platter, in the air. Siffrin dropped into a fighting pose beside them.

Ok, that was getting unnecessary. But what was Isabeau supposed to do - snuff out the blinding lights in their eyes?

Maybe he could indulge them a little longer.

When Isabeau laughed, he couldn't pull off his usual, boisterous howl. He just didn't have the energy to pull his face into a complete smile, to tilt his head back and perform. But the warm looks and glowing smiles he received in response to his gentle little giggle made him feel like it was okay to be a little soft. A little sad.

Just a little bit.

As if a thought had only just occurred to her, Mirabelle began to wring her hands in a familiar motion. "W-what if Avann runs into one your siblings? Or your parents! Surely they'd blow our cover…?"

"You're right. Here." He slid his arms out of his blazer, and tossed it to Avann. "That should be enough to fool them."

"Will it?? Will it really??" Mirabelle asked, eyes darting back and forth.

"Just make sure you don't run into Zorenn."

Surprisingly, Avann hesitated before slipping the overcoat on. He thumbed the bedazzlement, tracing each faux rhinestone with an uncharacteristically bashful look. "When am I gonna give this back to you? It looks expensive…" The meekness melted off his face, and he smirked. "I don't mind keeping it if you don't want it, though."

"Hmmm… how about brunch on Sunday in Café Charlotte?"

Avann blinked, shocked. Then a massive smile spread across his face - the most he'd resembled Isabeau during the entire conversation. "Really? A-are you sure?"

"Yes," Odile folded her arms with a sharp look. "Are you?"

"I'm the one who offered," he shrugged. "No one's forcing me."

Odile stared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch like taffy, before nodding, and stepping back. Meanwhile, Avann began to bounce on his feet.

"Your treat?"

"You know what?" Isabeau shrugged. "Sure."

He clapped his hands, smile splitting open to reveal a mouth of sharp teeth. "Ooooh, I'm so taste testing the entire menu!"

"You're pushing your luck!" Isabeau shouted as Avann began to run down the corridor.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, TOO FAR AWAY, BYEEEE!!"

As soon as his brother was out of ear shot, which wasn't too long of a wait, Isabeau sighed. "You'd better follow him before he gets up to something. Pretty sure he's forgotten most of my rules."

Odile just nodded.

"See you on the flip side!" Petronille said, trailing after him. "Good luck!"

Bonnie saluted her on her way out.

***

What happened next was an absolute production. Bonnie and Siffrin both took their self-appointed roles  as seriously as if they were staging it on the Grand Thero. The pair insisted on pressing themselves against every available wall, stopping Isabeau every few steps to 'scan the area', and crouching behind every single corner. Mirabelle even got a piece of the action, updating her co-conspirators on whether or not the coast was clear. Throughout it all, the crouching, sidestepping and constant vigilance, they both maintained a firm grip on each of Isabeau's hands, small fingers wrapped around his.

On one occasion on the second floor, Mirabelle frantically indicated that someone was coming. That was all the warning Isabeau got before it all went dark: Bonnie had used their teenage reaction skills to swipe a tablecloth and drape it all over their friend in the few milliseconds after Mirabelle's announcement. Thankfully whoever it was went the other way, otherwise they might have had some questions as to why the floating tablecloth couldn't stop laughing.

Isabeau knew he should've felt patronised. Swaddled - literally. But how could he be angry, surrounded by all this warmth? (Literally?)

Their mystery pursuer began to stomp out of the kitchen, and the four of them ran down the hall in a desperate scramble for the shadowy refuge of the staircase. Isabeau chanced a look behind his shoulder, and his fragile composure fractured.

"W-what happened to Ange?" He asked, fighting to keep down his volume and his laughter in equal measure.

"I'd argue that he did that to himself."

"Bonnie," Mirabelle hissed.

"Hey, look, an opening!" They let go of their grip on Isabeau to push past her, poorly concealing their smirk. "Let's go before the Defenders catch us!!"

"BONNIE!!"

Siffrin patted her shoulder, straining their arm at an awkward angle to keep their hold on their partner. "Let them have this one Mira. We have no powder to stop them."

Mirabelle batted their hand away, and they both followed Bonnie down the stairs, Siffrin finally letting go of Isabeau's hand. He stayed there for a second, flexing his fingers to make sure that the blood circulation hadn't been permanently cut off. A second too long.

Isabeau smelt the alcohol on his brother's breath before he heard his voice.

"Ah, Isabeau."

He grit his teeth. "Oh. Clement."

Clement swayed on his feet slightly, twirling a glass in his palm. "Thought you'd already left."

In an ideal world! "I'm actually going now, so-"

"I'm glad."

Huh? Of all the things Isabeau expected from his brother, genuine positivity was not one of them. Even while drunk Clement tended to get more sardonic, pointing out flaws with brutal accuracy, but there was nothing of his usual apathy in his gaze.

The surprises didn't stop there, as Clement uttered, "I wanted to say thank you."

Isabeau made a noise unable to be directly translated into words. Its closest description was the word confusion pronounced with only vowels and the occasional unrelated consonant.

"For saving the country." He continued, looking down at his glass. "I've been told by several people that I crabbed it up the first time around, so… Thanks."

"Uh. I - Thank you??" Isabeau shook his head, as if to knock the words in his mind into the right order by force, and hurriedly corrected himself. "I mean, you're welcome!!"

A dark hand stuck out from around the corner of the wall, flapping in the air in a universal 'HURRY UP!!' motion. If they were trying to be subtle with the movement, it didn't work, as Clement spotted it from the corner of his eye, and turned to Isabeau with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that your teen?" He asked, raising the glass in their direction.

"Yeah," Isabeau reluctantly sighed. Then paused. "Well, no, they're not my teen, just a teen. Thirteen. That I'm partially responsible for, but they don't belong to me or anything, I'm just-"

"Around? A responsible adult in their lives who can't be called a parent or a sibling?"

"But it'd be weird to call myself a cousin! Cause then it's like I'm a distant relative!!" Relieved, Isabeau nodded, noting the soft smile on Clement's face. Strange. For how rare the expression was for him, it didn't look out of place. "Do you have a…?"

Clement shrugged. His smile made him look younger, somewhat. "Three of 'em. The youngest's Marianne's age, but the middle one's the same age as your teen."

"ZAAA!" Speaking of said teen, their whispered shout echoed up the staircase. Followed quickly by his friends' muffled hushes.

"Same volume too." Clement deadpanned.

Isabeau chuckled slightly, still not at his usual volume, but getting there. What a novelty! Laughing with his brother instead of being laughed at. "Think they'd get along?"

"Maybe a little too well." He smirked. "Maybe I'll bring them around sometime. Sure they'd be thrilled to meet the Saviours of Vauguarde in person instead of using me as a middle man."

He opened his mouth to make a reply when Avann bust into the conversation, rushing up the stairs with a massive grin.

"Coast is clear! If you hurry, you guys can…" He trailed off, realising for the first time exactly who was standing next to Isabeau. "Go…"

Clement looked at Avann, then at Isabeau, and then back at Avann. He closed his eyes, chugged the last drops of something dark in his glass, and shoved it into Avann's hands.

"Deal with this nonsense yourself." He drawled, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to lie down."

"H-have a good night." Isabeau stammered. Then, in a moment of bravery, he added, "I'll see you soon, Clem!"

Clement paused for a moment, his back turned to his siblings. Slowly, he raised his arm, waved, and disappeared up the stairs.

Avann shot him a questioning look, but Isabeau just shrugged, and ran down the stairs where a frantic Bonnie was waiting to latch onto his sleeve, and drag him into the garden.

As they snuck through the darkness, trampling over patches of grass and clumps of weeds, Isabeau spared a glance towards the window above. His mother's silhouette shifted in the light. She hated it when people left gatherings early, especially without saying goodbye. Cutting words, bitter glares and at least a twenty minute argument was guaranteed the next time she saw you. Not that he was speaking from personal experience. No, he'd rather wait out whatever backhanded compliment his mother wanted to part with than draw her ire - or worse, her attention.

Isabeau still didn't know how he was going to handle it. What he was going to say the next time he saw her. Change, he didn't even know if it was a 'when he saw her' or 'if'.

It was something for a future Isabeau to worry about, he decided. Not tomorrow Isabeau, who had his future hands full with figuring out why Odile felt the need to work behind his back, no matter how useful it ended up being, or even the Isabeau-the-day-after-that, who had emotional recovery on his to-do-list, and especially not today-Isabeau.

Who was a little busy being tackled by something large, dark and fluffy.

Amidst his family's gasps and shrieks, was Zorenn's voice, calling her pet back in the house. The dog gave one last lick of his face, dragging its tongue across his cheek with a loud smack, and pattered back into the house.

Zorenn walked up to the group, and silently offered a hand to Isabeau. Trying to muster up a smile, and half succeeding, he took it - only for her to tug him up into a tight hug.

Isabeau didn't have the time to puzzle out a reaction before she ruffled his hair and ran off, closing the door behind her.

"Crab." Bonnie winced, dusting Isabeau's shoulders off (or what they could reach of them). "We're terrible body guards."

That time Isabeau didn't have to try to laugh. Turning away from the door that he must have walked through a thousand times before, he looked down at Mirabelle, and beamed so brightly it lit up the garden.

"Where to next, Mira?"

***

"I can't believe you really did that!" Mirabelle exclaimed, jumping forward in her seat.

"I know, right? I really thought we were done for when his dad showed up, but then Bug pulled out their show stopping performance!"

Bonnie was so pleased with the compliment they forgot to shove their sister's hand off their head. "Heh, I just used the trick you taught me, Za."

"The crocodile tears?" He was too exhausted to muster up any real volume, but he figured he could substitute it with a smile. "Nice."

"When are you getting your Tonie nomination Bonbon?" Siffrin smirked, leaning into the crook of Isabeau's shoulder.

They giggled. "The award's arriving in the mail."

"There's been way too many surprises lately." Mirabelle huffed, trying (and failing) to hide her laughter. "Even before tonight! I-I mean, a part of me still can't believe you have that many siblings Isabeau - I always thought of you as the oldest of two. Maybe three?"

From the front of the carriage, Odile's voice was slightly muffled. "I always pictured you as the youngest."

"Chronic only children, both of you." Petronille pointed a lazy finger right in Isabeau's face. "He couldn't scream 'neglected middle child' any older than if you wrote it with lightless ink on his forehead."

Then she blinked, and her smile turned sheepish as she dropped her hand. "Uh. No offence."

"None taken! If anyone was going to say so it'd be the walking talking definition of parentified eldest sisters."

"You know what? Fair."

The carriage slowed to a gentle stop. Odile's self-satisfied smirk couldn't be seen from where she was sat, back turned to the rest of her family, but it could definitely be heard in her laidback announcement.

Mirabelle clapped her hands, beaming. "We made it!! We've officially made it! We survived an entire family reunion!!"

He couldn't help himself. Isabeau barked out a laugh.

"That… that wasn't a joke Isabeau."

Pretending to wipe a tear from his eye - he'd be crabbed if he cried in front of everyone now, of all times - Isabeau pulled himself away from Siffrin to meet Mirabelle's eye as he spoke. "Let me put it like this, Mira… Zorenn has at least four cousins living in Vauguarde, Mum's the youngest of thirteen, and Dad's a twin."

Mirabelle tried to hide her mortification behind a comforting smile, but its twitching corners paired with her fidgeting hands betrayed her true feelings. "A-at least that last one's not too bad…?"

"And his dad was bonded at least seven times."

"Gem's alive." Clearly Odile had no qualms of hiding her feelings.

Judging by the face Bonnie was pulling, the feeling was mutual. "Stuff me in a shooting star and point it up my -"

"AAAAAND that's enough out of you!" In one fluid movement, Petronille scooped the flailing teenager into her arms and booked it into the house, the pair laughing and screaming through its doors.

The rest of them looked at the path they'd trailed through the mud, speechless.

Sighing, Odile was the first to break the silence. "The perils of youth. Where do you lot get the energy?"

"Who knows." Siffrin shook their head.

Rounding on him, Mirabelle spluttered in partly mock outrage. "I know where Madame Odile is coming from, but you don't get to say that Siffrin! You're not even old!!"

"I could be," they grinned, leaning away from her. "Who knows?"

Isabeau clicked his tongue. Yes, yes, he knew that Siffrin was only joking, but if you adjusted their supposed age somewhere in their late twenties with a five year buffer period following the Island's disappearance, and added possible temporal distortions with the amount of time they'd been looping… "Maybe they're even older than M'dame?"

"You're pushing your luck." Odile drawled, taking the time to flick Isabeau's 'neglected middle child' forehead before sweeping inside the house.

Siffrin motioned for him to lean down, before placing a feather light kiss on the same spot. They sprinted through the doors, blushing furiously.

Mirabelle giggled at the display, and then giggled even harder when Isabeau tried to rub the besotted look off his face. It didn’t work.

"You two…" She shook her head fondly. Isabeau's only response was a strangled noise.

He moved to go inside, but Mirabelle caught his arm. He turned to her in wordless surprise.

"Um… c-can I say something?" Mirabelle stuttered, grip growing tighter. "Like, in private? It'll be quick, I promise!!"

Despite himself, Isabeau smiled warmly. He twisted his arm to hold her hands, hoping that he didn't feel too clammy. "You can talk for as long as you want, Mira. I'll be happy to listen."

She giggled, and swung their hands in unison. Back, and forth.

"Well…" Their hands swung back, "I just wanted to say…" and forth, "…That the reunion was terrible. And even if it could've been worse," and back… "it was still bad."

And forth.

"And it's good we got through it. Am I making sense? Change, does that even make any sense?"

His hand paused mid swing. What was the line between the truth's comfort zone and a lie?

He was too tired to figure it out. A tomorrow Isabeau problem, then.

"…I guess that makes sense."

Isabeau wanted to do several things that evening.

Lie in bed until his body forgot that he'd ever need to wake up again.

Hide in the darkest corner he could find to let all his emotions drip out of himself without getting them on the rest of his family.

Or scream. A pillow would do if a void wasn't available.

Being tackled to the ground wasn't on the bucket list.

"Seriously?" He asked, voice strangled, as suspiciously small hands wrapped an improvised blindfold around his eyes. All Isabeau could see was patterned pinpricks of light - did they really have to steal his granny squares for this? "How many times is this gonna happen today?"

He didn't get a response. Only dragged (gently) to his feet and pushed (gently) through a couple of doors, nothing but shifting speckles of light and twin peals of laughter to guide him.

Isabeau was jostled into his chair, and finally the blanket was removed from his head with a dramatic flourish - nice work, Bonnie - and draped over his shoulders. Isabeau blinked, once, and twice, to give his eyes a moment to adjust.

"Surprise!!"

The kitchen was completely transformed. Streamers dangled from the ceiling, and each counter was stripped bare from its usual cooking appliances. They were replaced with lines of beautifully decorated glasses, brimming with something bright and fizzing; neat rows of nail polish, arranged by shade from dark to light; and bundles of string, curled up next to glittering beads.

Isabeau gasped, and was immediately hit with a wave of warm smells. He looked down. Stretched out on the table was a veritable banquet. His wide eyes bounced from dish to dish, each more decadent than the last, and rested on the plate in front of him. It was stacked with beignets, dusted with icing sugar and a drizzle of chocolate that spelled out the words…

"…Donut give up?" Isabeau's voice wobbled.

Petronille snaked her arm around his shoulders, and squeezed. "Let it be known that the pun was Bonnie's idea."

"YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T TELL HIM!" They screeched, hands clenched into fists in their outrage. "I only added it 'cause you said you were going to take the credit you blinded shattered CRAB!!"

"Nooo, I'm taking credit for the 'you-rocky' road. Why waste your hard work?"

Shaking, Isabeau slapped his hand over his mouth. "The what?"

"CRAB OFF BOTH OF YOU."

"Bonbon," He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice from his hysterical laughter, "Pie love this so much! I-it's so sweet!"

Bonbon groaned, and spun on their heel. "UGH, WHATEVER." They grabbed Mirabelle and Siffrin by the writs and began to stomp out of the room. "Belle, Frin, c'mon! Let's go make a pillow fort WITHOUT THESE CRABS."

"Aww, c'mon Bug! Don't be like that!"

Just like that, the kitchen was emptied except for Isabeau and Odile, who was leaning against the wall. She tried to scoff, the sound coming out far too soft to be mocking in any direction, and turned to Isabeau. Whatever comment she was about to make died on her lips as she realised he was still hunched over. Still shaking.

"Gems alive, Isabeau." She shook her head, and walked over to his side. "I understand it's a special occasion, but that pun cannot be funny enough for you to still be…"

Odile got a good look at his face. His breath stuttered. His lips trembled, and he blinked, quickly, as if that could rid his eyes of its tears.

"S-sorry M'dame I'm…" His breath hitched. "I'm… trying not to get B-bonbon's beignets soggy."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. Frankly, she was just surprised he managed to hold out that long - she was sure he'd crack during the first group hug.

He leaned into her touch for a moment, before pulling away. His arms wrapped around his torso, and squeezed. "No, nonono, I can still save this. Give me a minute, I'll be… I'll…"

Odile stepped back. He looked up at the noise, jaw tight, and blinked at her wide open arms.

"Yes, it's exactly what you think it is. No caveats, no tricks, and no, I don't mind. Make the most of it - we both know I don't offer this every day." Odile bit back a snippy 'hurry up', and it took all her self-control not to mutter 'many would pay for less.'

Odile mused for a moment on her benevolent nature, so she had little warning when -

Isabeau barrelled into her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

He sobbed.

It was a lot quieter than she was expecting, and mercifully less soggy - at first Isabeau kept his cries to soft tears and muffled hiccups. Odile never quite knew what to do with her hands in such… situations, but the aftermath of Dormont had given her more practice than she'd ever expected to have.

Funny how the gem gets shaped, she mused, gingerly placing one hand on his back whilst smoothing his hair with the other. She never thought that a hug could feel comfortable.

Well.

Family had always been an exception.

Still, she had her limits. And when Isabeau's tears kept flowing, and her stomach began to feel damp, she moved one of her hands to cup her mouth, and shouted:

"Alright, this is firmly outside of my skillset. Children, and Boniface, your presence is required."

"Wha-?" Isabeau pulled away from her, and attempted to wipe his face. Poor boy, it only made his eyes look more splotched. "M'dame, you can't. I look disgusting."

She took no notice of him. "First one to arrive gets to hug both of us."

"MAKE UP THE TIME!"

"DIRTY CHEAT!! NO HONOUR!!!"

"SIFFRIN, YOU CRAB, HOW COULD YOU?!"

"POTATOES IN YOUR SOCKS-!"

It was only a moment before they were both tackled by a darkless blur, and squished within an inch of their lives. Siffrin looked up at them, mercifully loosening their grip once he'd gotten a hold of them, and grinned.

Then he paused. "Oh…" They whipped their head around to the rest of his family, quickly approaching with malicious intent. "Wait, stop! Isa's -"

Siffrin was quickly dragged away by the other two alleged 'adult's, and assaulted with equal amounts of screams and pillows. Boniface, the only one in Odile's opinion who was blessed with some modicum of sense, took the opportunity to slip past the chaos and run up to Isabeau and Odile. They hesitated at their - or more accurately, his - expression.

"Are…" They tilted their head in confusion. "Are you crying? Crab, was the pun that bad?"

"No, no! It's perfect, Bonbon! Y-you, I…" Isabeau frantically swiped at his eyes, to no avail. The tears just started falling faster. "You've made this entire night worth it."

"Ah." They nodded, some tension leaving their body. "Happy tears?"

All he could do was nod back.

"Tears?" Mirabelle paused in her quest for revenge, pillow held aloft. Petronille had no such qualms.

"WHY!" She wacked Siffrin with her pillow. "DIDN'T!!" And wacked him again. "YOU!" Wack. "TELL US SOONER!!"

Wack, wack, wack.

Mirabelle snatched the weapon out of her hands, giving Siffrin enough time to dart behind her. "We didn’t give him the chance!! Have mercy!"

Petronille haphazardly chucked another pillow at Mirabelle, which she casually dodged to rush next to Bonnie. Petronille and Siffrin followed suit, and, in a brilliant moment of co-ordination, all four of them surged forward as one, surrounding Isabeau in a bonecrushing hug. Even Odile, after a moment of consideration, wrapped her arms around them, placing her hand back on Isabeau's head to ruffle his hair.

Change, there was so much he could've been worrying about. So many problems to solve, emotions to dance around, plans to create: logically speaking, relaxing made no sense. Isabeau should've been stressed out of his mind, frantic with worry, or at least crying out of genuine sadness!

And yet…

Wrapped up in his family's warmth, the only thing he felt was loved.