2/2

"All Christmases." He corrected, or more like demanded, those tiny hands now waving around wildly to emphasize his point. "All of them ever. I don't get to see you much, Miss Sonya. Mister Renato would probably like to see you more too."

"He sees more than enough of me as it is, kid." They both now lived in Mafia Land, not seeing one another almost every month was going to be hard to pull off. "And we'll see, but that's not really up to me in the end. This is Don Vongola's home, kiddo. He may not really want a Russian thief lingering in his halls so much."

Maybe she wouldn't have to do the Ball thing every year?

Would Nono mind if she was here but just didn't go and amused Shamal instead for the night?

There was a weird funny little cough thing from Sonya's other side, and she turned her head to finally notice the doorman. Who was holding a tray and looking very amused. "Your weaponry, Miss Nikishina."

"…right." She had to set baby Mist down for it, because she had to remove both bracers and her necklace she finally got replaced back in Moscow. Seven Bec de Corbins, a handful of extra jewels in various shades from her pockets, and a red tourmaline skeleton key were placed on the tray. "Master Tyr will probably want to see the key, but I would like it back eventually."

The doorman suddenly gained a bug-eyed expression, flicking his eyes from her to the key pendant lying innocently on his tray. "…of course, ma'am."

"Why would Tyr be interested in your necklace?" Renato asked, frowning at both her and the doorman.

"He asked about it this last Christmas." Sonya informed him with a shrug, picking baby Mist back up.

He was at least bigger again and getting into the lankier part of childhood. While weight didn't really mean much to her when picking things up, he was bigger than he had been half a year ago and sustained strength was an iffy thing for her.

"It's a very… useless necklace. Now, Shamal. What would you like for your very late birthday present? I can probably get you just about anything, and if I can't I can likely steal it."

Baby Mist didn't even need time to think for what he wanted. "Can I have a baby brother?"

"…okay, I might be able to do that too. Hey, Renato, can-" The thief cut herself off when the doorman suddenly made some fast tracks out of the Iron Fort's entrance way, and the hitman seemed to look a bit pale under his natural tan. "…can I steal him for a week or two sometime?"

"For?" He managed to grate out, a wary look shot her way included.

"My foster mother gave birth? The baby's a boy, so Shamal can go and get his fascination with all babies out of the way in a relatively risk-free environment."

The answer might still be no, because it seemed as if Renato was being very careful about Shamal's security ever since the scare in Mafia Land. At least this way baby Mist would be upset with the hitman and not her.

Vory weren't… well, weren't what would call careful or caring around children, but at least they wouldn't normally do anything too violent to anyone under the age of thirteen. Arseniy would at least try not to upset tetchy Mist brat with his usual sour grumpy-ness until the kid was more used to him, and Lisa likely wouldn't mind meeting Shamal herself or showing off her baby.

Valera probably would not care at all.

She was also somewhat sure her foster father wanted to at least meet Renato, although she wasn't sure of why.

"Ah… maybe next year."

"Sorry kiddo, anything else?"

Baby Mist brat was pouting again, but since it wasn't aimed at her she didn't really mind the expression.

"You have to spend all week here, then. Every second of every minute of every day. With me," He blinked wetly up at her, then pointed to the hitman that was raising him, "with us, I mean."

"Well… as long as I'm not the only one suffering through a week of kiddy entertainment."

"Hey! I got you your damn present." Protested the brat's guardian, waving a hand at the five and a half feet tall blonde woman holding said baby Mist. "Leave me out of this."

"You were late with it, though." Sonya reminded him wickedly.

Shamal gave a couple nods. "Yeah, Mister Renato. No excuses, remember?"

The outraged look on the hitman's face when tetchy Mist brat used what was probably his words against him made up of any number of days the man had a good laugh at her expense.

"I'm going to remember this." The older Italian vowed darkly, jamming that hat further down to shade his eyes and nearly radiating outrage. "When you're all grown up, I'm going to recall this and make your life a living hell with that phrase."

"No, you're not." The thief disagreed with a smirk. "I bet you Shamal will always find a way to wiggle out of whatever it is you try, and you'll never actually manage to hold to that."

He shot her a seething look from under his brim. "You're on, woman."

Yeah, he was going to lose that.

Baby Mist was a damn Mist. Aggravating, annoying, and conniving was their entire business.

A new throat clearing in a grab for their attention had hitman, thief, and Mist look up the grand staircase. Timoteo Vongola gazed levelly back at the three of them. "As amusing as all this is, I must wonder if you have to do this right in front of the doorway."

There were other entrances, right?

It wasn't like they were blocking any possible entrance or emergency exit way. Sonya, in fact, opened her mouth to ask just that but Renato's hand was suddenly plastered over her lips before she could sound the first word.

"Forgive us, Timoteo. We'll start moving." The hitman actually lifted her off her feet with an arm around her waist and forcibly moved her aside when she dug her heels in to resist his maneuvering of her person. "Damn it Sonya, stop being difficult."

She dug her nails into the hand over her lips to utter one sentence. "Remove your hands or lose them."

He jerked away from her gratifyingly fast, with a sniff in his direction the Russian strode across the foyer and started scaling the stairs with Shamal still in her arms.

"Don Vongola, I think I must beg a bit of your forbearance. Shamal, since I have missed his birthday, would like me to stay the week with him. May I?" She even held out pouty Mist brat, who gave his best shot at a begging expression.

As a boss of an entire criminal enterprise, but probably more importantly the father of two or three young children around a similar age himself, Timoteo was entirely unmoved by another child's entreating expression. Instead, he looked expectantly at her more than Shamal.

"…I may or may not actually have a candidate for the Storm Ring stone with me. Or rather with the doorman that has my weaponry and extra jewels. I brought it with to see if your Storm Guardian wouldn't mind comparing it to his own ring."

"I think we can easily house you for the week, Miss Sonya."

"It's the reddish-brown stone, a Cinnamon Stone garnet. I brought extras, so he may keep one if he likes."

Suppressing a wry smile, the Don gave her a regal nod and continued on with whatever it was he was after before getting waylaid by their blockading of the main doors.

"If you had a bribe ready to go," Renato drawled as he followed her up the stairs, "why did you waste time trying to sway Timoteo with Shamal's pouty face?"

"Manners are never a waste of time." Sonya informed him dryly, then reconsidered her words. "So long as the one your manners are aimed at aren't being stupid, moronic, or just plain suicidal."

"So basically, ninety percent of everyone in existence?"

She had to give him that one. "It really does seem that way sometimes, doesn't it?"

(Saturday the 6th of July, 1968. The Iron Fort, Italian Republic.)

"Why would it matter? He's five."

"He's not going to like it, that's why."

Sonya scoffed, already busy doctoring a cup. "If I make it right, he'll like it just fine and we won't have a caffeine hyped up brat on our hands."

Renato's flat expression could've been used to iron his immaculate suit. "I didn't even think of that. You're dealing with him for the next few hours, Sonya."

"Yeah, whatever." She gave Shamal a mug of coffee, or rather a mug of hot milk laced with some coffee creamer and a tiny splash of the Mafioso's espresso for the flavor. "There you go, kid."

She was pretty sure the older Italian's irritation was more for her stealing a little of his drink to do this, but eh.

Baby Mist looked entirely satisfied with life as he cradled the cup of 'adult drink' the hitman never let him have. The first sip earned her an adoring look. "It's really good, Miss Sonya. Thank you."

"See? I told you he'd like it just fine."

Vongola did a buffet-type breakfast for the entire household, at least when there wasn't a late-night party going on that made most if not all the guests and usual residents sleep in the day after. As 'guests', because Renato had finally managed to rid himself of an unwanted famiglia and didn't count as 'business guest' anymore, they were encouraged to eat within a certain time slot.

Guests weren't expected to know or figure out how to deal with the Guardians of Vongola's Sky in the early mornings, after all.

Given both the hitman and the thief were Flame users themselves downgraded that 'encouragement' to 'strongly recommend'. They still got the evil eye if they were late or lingered too long, however.

Tyr the Sword Emperor entering the ground-floor dining hall outside of the famiglia's usual times to feed their people attracted a whole lot of attention.

Since he had a familiar glitter of red between his fingers, and was headed straight for their little table, Sonya was pretty sure he was there to either return her necklace or ask a few more questions about it. "Master Tyr, good morning. Care to join us?"

The master assassin flicked his eyes from her, to the suddenly wide-eyed and gaping Shamal, and then to the slightly disgruntled looking Renato still nursing his 'wounded' coffee. "Another time, perhaps. Your necklace, Miss Sonya. While I do appreciate the look, it was unnecessary to give it up as well as your usual weapons."

Sonya didn't take her necklace back when the man held it out for her. "Are you sure about that, Master Tyr? I was told to leave all my weapons at the door."

"As you told Don Vongola, Miss Sonya, it really is next to impossible to disarm a user of Dying Will Flames. Even a moderately motivated person without them could be just as much as a threat. While I can imagine a few ways this could be used as a weapon, it isn't intended to be one is it?"

"Point." The Russian agreed wryly, allowing the thin chain and crystal key to drop into her upraised palm.

"Good day Miss Sonya, Sinclair," the man even gave the still gawking baby Mist a nod of his own, "young Shamal."

Pursing her lips, she gave the man a moderately hard look for the last acknowledgment. He merely smirked faintly before striding away again.

Tyr having his eye on Shamal was slightly alarming. In the 'she was certain baby Mist was supposed to be mostly freelance not Varia' way.

…right?

Well… what happened would happen, she could really only wait and see.

"So, brat. What do you want to do today?"

Shamal's reply was a bit delayed, given he was trying to decide between copying Renato and his zealous nursing of his espresso cup before eating and her and her actually eating food breakfast habits.

"Can we go to the park again, and go see a cinema?"

"We can go to the park and see a film at the cinema, yes." Sonya replied wryly, wondering if Mist brat actually meant to go and watch a building that showed movies or to go see the movies such buildings provided. "I think… a Disney animated film called 'The Jungle Book' was recently released and should be showing around now."

It was about an orphan, right?

Hopefully he wouldn't focus on that part.

"I'm abstaining, have fun." Drawled the hitman, smirking wickedly as he elaborated why he wasn't going to be forced outside for a few hours to just sit and watch Shamal run around a playground. "I have to register Shamal for school in the fall."

Baby Mist's betrayed expression was hilarious and trying not to snicker at it made the thief focus on him more than the kid between them. "Is that possible? I mean, he did go a bit wild from what you've said."

The brat apparently had terrorized that weak Mist nursemaid Sonya didn't like with a Mist construct of the Russian and various other only vaguely human-shaped images, catching a lot of other people in the crossfire from all reports she had heard. It had gotten him into some trouble, with both the head of the Vongola staff and Renato himself.

Nurse-whoever apparently had more than enough, she had gotten herself reassigned elsewhere where she didn't have to try to wrangle a baby Mist stronger than she was.

Why did Vongola stick a Mist on a Mist, when a Storm was a better Mist-wrangler?

Frankly, even a Classic Lightning would've been better than Mist lady of no imagination.

The hitman had confiscated the brat's turquoise for a full month, until he not only promised to stop terrifying the staff but also to get a grip on his spamming of Mist Constructs… and apologize to the head of the staff for the disturbances. Shamal still found the entire thing unfair and had told her his side of the story her very first day with him while she was unpacking.

"It's a homegrown type affair. Private, local, and very used to Vongola linked students pulling weird or just crazy stunts. Which he knows better than to do around those not prepared to deal with it." Renato informed her blandly, eyeing the level of espresso he had left sourly. "It will, at least, give him something new to do instead of run wild."

Sonya merely shrugged when Shamal turned those big brown puppy eyes on her. "Sorry kid, I have to agree with him. You'll at least get to learn all sorts of things I don't know."

That possibility apparently did not jive with what tetchy Mist brat seemed to believe. Skeptical didn't quite cover the extent of his expression. "Really?"

"I was homeschooled. Finding and eliminating the gaps in my education is kind of tricky," especially since a lifetime worth of history she knew was not applicable in this life, "so this way? At least you'll start from a solid base to build off of."

Shamal did not look sold on the idea of attending formal education.

"Lucky him." The hitman commented neutrally, dropping his empty espresso cup to the tabletop between them and finally getting around to eating something.

(Friday the 12th of July, 1968. The Iron Fort, Italian Republic.)

The Iron Fort saw a lot of traffic that wasn't originally Vongola in nature.

Other Dons, their various guards/grunts/enforcers, their wives on occasion, local people that wished to entreat the Famiglia for either protection or intervention, there were a lot of bodies wandering in and out on any given day.

That didn't include their own people, which might even reach far into a couple thousand in number.

The point was there were a lot of 'time wasting' rooms on the ground floor that didn't get Sonya a very firm but polite maid or footman wishing to relocate her. There was a library not too far from the guest suites, and the thief had wrangled tetchy Mist brat into starting to learn how to read with her most of the mornings of her week-long visit.

Even if Shamal's level of energy couldn't hope to equal Cherep's childhood levels, the Russian didn't really feel like trying to tire him out the same ways she had tried to tire her foster brother out on his more annoying days.

Her very last day of visiting, she had been trying to teach tetchy Mist brat how to read and write his name in one of the little reading nooks.

Slight problem, Shamal couldn't remember his last name.

Baby Mist who was also an orphan freaked out about forgetting his father, or any part of his life before the hitman, and she reluctantly allowed herself to be used as a handkerchief for said waterworks.

Renato actually looked a touch apologetic about asking for the kid's legal last name so late into his guardianship of him.

"Why the hell do you not know it?" It was lucky they were in a private library, in a public one they would've been hounded by the librarians for the noise and she would've gotten arrested for threatening them to back off with her weaponry.

"The brat's dad did his business with only a handle. I never bothered to remember it, only his location, why the hell he was selling information, and the usual threats that might go in his direction. He wasn't that interesting. It's somewhere, I just don't remember it." He all but snarled back, apparently not willing to actually glare in the direction of the bawling brat in her lap but at the paperwork that needed last names to be filed by. "Shamal, it's not that important. I can look it up later, okay?"

"Oh yes, that is going to help. Tell the orphaned boy the name he shared with his father does not matter." Sonya rubbed the hiccupping Shamal on the back awkwardly, including a few pats when it did seem to lessen the outpour of water making her wet. "Kid, think of it like going undercover. They're civilians, so you need to ensure they don't think anything too odd of you. A different last name will help. Like how everyone here calls me Nikishina, even if I had that changed a few years ago."

Teary brown eyes peered up at her wetly, the young boy sniffling and still leaking, but didn't comment.

"You can use mine, until Renato finds yours." The thief promised, a touch desperately. She didn't actually mind touching the brat very much anymore, so long as she was the one doing said touching, but this was a bit far out of her comfort level. "I'll even sneak in to fix it for you if you want me to later."

It earned her another snotty sniff, and the kid did look like he was considering it instead of just being mopey and depressed over his sudden realization on the fallacy of human memory.

"You're not sneaking into a mafia affiliated school, Sonya. That's a stupid risk to run for something I can just file new paperwork on without a problem."

"Then I will sneakily file said paperwork in broad daylight, I never said I was going to break in."

Renato gave her the look he seemed to think it deserved, turning back to the paperwork he had been filling out for Shamal's future primary school attendance. "Shamal, pick one. Use Sonya's name, or leave it blank."

He at least had the decency to wince when she threw him a dirty look for the borderline demand.

She wasn't remotely comfortable with bawling baby Mist either, but the kid deserved at least some consideration.

Sonya might have no good opinion of her biological father, but she rather liked her foster one. If Shamal's father had been anywhere near as dear to him as Arseniy was to her now, then the kid was entirely entitled to his crying jag.

Slowly, the hitman skipped over the name section to fill out the rest of the forms while baby Mist deliberated over the choices he had.

Eventually, he tugged on her entirely too wet blouse to gain her attention. "Can I use your name, Miss Sonya? For a little bit?"

He didn't look happy with the asking, but he probably figured it was the better option than admitting he didn't know his own name to people.

"Sure kid, want to learn how to spell it?" They had a couple extra blank sheets, the Russian pulled one over to them and picked up her pen again. "Here, N-I-K-I-S-H-I-N."

"…I thought your name was Nikishina." Renato remarked quietly when Shamal got distracted investigating the shape of the letters making up the name, likely intending to not forget this one too.

"I'm female, he's male. The –a drops when my last name is used in reference to a male."

"Russians."

"At least my language doesn't assign gender to inanimate objects and forces one to learn three different definite articles to use with them."

"Barbarians." He returned with a slow growing smirk now that the stressful part was over with, quickly filling out that intimidating blank spot with the male version of her surname. He hesitated over the 'Middle Initial' blank, side-eyed the brat still sniffling in her lap and skipped it. "You're rather good with it, though."

Sonya couldn't decide if that was smart or cowardly of him.

"I cheat."

"Ho?"

She merely smirked, not intending to inform him exactly how she could cheat when it came to tricky bits of other languages.

The hitman eyed her suspiciously but got sidetracked on the basic medical history and vaccinations form. "…shit."

"…yeah, good luck with that one."

The look he gave her over Shamal's head would've curdled milk.

(Sunday the 21th of July, 1968. Lille, French Republic.)

Coyote Nougat eventually got back to her, right before she left, that the garnet she had wanted him to take a look at would make a respectable B-grade Storm ring.

Sonya hadn't known those rings for Flame users came in various grades. She never made any mention of being interested in buying one, so all she really did know about them was that they were somehow color coded and scorched as well as shattered after enough use.

Quite frankly, it wasn't really good news.

Instead of just seven or fourteen or so rocks, she was looking at upwards of twenty-something or more depending on how high or low the grades went.

Aside news of undesirable sort mixed in with a bit of confirmation she and the others at least found something they wanted, and Shamal's very best attempts to waylay her from leaving, she left Italy the week after she arrived with little issue.

Heading north instead of straight back to Mafia Land.

It had been half a year, she wanted to see how Cherep was doing on his lonesome.

Oslo, Norway, was likely the midway point for the Großes Volksfest this year. She took a random stab in the dark of where they'd likely went next and tracked them down quicker than it had taken her last year when Fong cornered her in Shanghai.

The thief also, unfortunately, located the traveling Russian Circus just in time to catch one of 'Skull de Mort's' stunt shows.

First off, while she did recognize the damn name, de Mort was French. 'Skull' was English.

What the ever-loving fuck had gone through her foster brother's head to think that was a good idea?

"This is France, is it not?" Skull reminded her unhelpfully, smirking like the ass he was and waving a hand to the back of the dressing room tent to take into account the country they were currently in.

Sonya managed to sneak her way into the prep tent, even if she had to give Jaq a bit of a bribe she intended for Crina to get past his guarding of the entrance since she was refraining from inhuman feats in broad daylight, and glared at the alter ego of her best friend. "Please at least tell me there is a better reason than that."

"To make anyone looking into 'Skull' head to the western parts of Europe instead of eastern. Or even the States, if I'm lucky." The stuntman offered with a dismissive shrug. "And it sounds a bit obnoxious, doesn't it?"

"Some days, you worry me."

That earned her a flash of sheepish Cherep instead of arrogant Skull, but the stuntman eventually batted a hand at her lazily and grinned. "Well… good. You worry me a lot too, you know. Especially now you're on your lonesome doing all sorts of nasty things to people."

"Usually, they are already nasty people before I get called in to perpetuate a feud or arrange and steal a comeuppance."

He snorted softly, gaining a wry, bitter edge to his smile that just made her uncomfortable. "And that makes it all better, I'm sure. What about the other half of that usually?"

She had no good answer for that one, so instead she changed the subject. "I am not on my lonesome, anyways. I am going to be living with Tats. We even have a phone number, which I wanted to give you."

"I was there this Christmas, I remember it."

"No, I mean we got a private line installed for both Lisa and Arseniy that you can use too. Instead of deal with Mafia Land operators that would otherwise give you a run around."

Skull accepted the slip of paper with a raised eyebrow, snorting at the complicated number sequence it took to get a civilian's land line to hook into the underworld's private network of radio towers. "That's… freaking awesome. Well, at least with Tats I don't have to worry about what you're eating."

"I am not that bad of a cook."

"I really beg to differ. I can't even die of food poisoning and I'm still scared of your cooking."

Sonya gifted him with a disgusted look. "I got better this spring, under Lisa's direction. Arseniy ate it just fine."

"I think he's got a cast iron stomach. You can't use our foster father as an example, anyways. You're his favorite."

"This from the man that will eat just about anything, especially if it grosses out his little sister?"

The alter ego of her fellow Cloud dismissed that with another of those limp wrist waves, smirking again. "You may have a point, but I'm not acknowledging it."

"You are an asshole."

"That's my point." He returned cheerfully, snatching up his slightly battered helmet when Jac gave a sharp rap to the pole holding up the flaps of the tent. "And that's my cue. You going to stick around for it?"

The thief had been about to say no, because she hated watching him risk his neck. She reconsidered before she said so, figuring that she had better see how popular of an act Skull's stunt work was becoming.

She may hate the show itself, but the crowd might just be reassuring in a way.

"Yes, fine. This once."

"Or twice? Because I'm pretty sure you've said that before. Once or twice. Possibly. Might be more than that, actually."

"Skull, unless you would like to make an attempt at the world's farthest human cannonball record without the cannon, get moving."

With a bark of a laugh, he did just that. Jamming the birthday gift from her on his head before running out of the prep tent into the big top.

Sonya followed him out more sedately, giving Jaq a friendly wave as she passed the ebony skinned strongman.

He saluted her back with the second bottle of rum she brought along to use as a bribe to get Crina to tell her of anything unusual or wrong with the circus.

(ooo000ooo)

(Sunday the 21th of July, 1968 continued. Lille, French Republic.)

"I don't particularly like your replacement." Crina informed her old apprentice sharply, who was cringing and trying not to watch her brother as he let go of his motorbike in mid-air.

"That's nice, Crina." Sonya muttered absently, putting a hand up to shield her view of the stunt ramps. "You didn't like me either in the beginning, so I don't see your point."

The old Romanian snorted in exasperation, as the girl had even paid to watch the show but practically refused to actually watch it.

Privately, she bet the Russian was keenly tracking the circus' stuntman even if she wasn't watching him. Her former apprentice, in her own strange little way, adored her big brother greatly. Even if she masked it with some bland sarcasm and a lesser version of that indifference she usually applied to everything else.

This was probably the only apprentice Crina was actually slightly sorry to see the last of.

She had gone through a lot of them, too.

Most of her apprentices ended up being criminals, and in the most baffling manner.

Rarely were they joining a circus to continue whatever life of crime they intended to do, but for a few months of relative safety and maybe to get in or out of a country or two. They would do exactly as much as they had to, and generally weren't the nicest of people, but as temp workers go they weren't actually that bad.

That, she would insist, artificially inflated the number of apprentices she had gone through over her lifetime. Those rumors she ran off her apprentices wasn't appreciated at all.

Maybe just one or two, but those were nasty pieces of work.

Crina couldn't get a good read on her latest one just yet. She was as baffling as Sonya had been, until the Romanian realized it was exactly as the two of them claimed.

In a skewed manner of speaking, anyways. Not just 'little sister following big brother out of worry', more like 'little sister might just be the bigger threat ensuring her big brother didn't have problems'.

She really did wonder if the two of them were really siblings, or if that had been as much of a cover as Sonya's claims to be trained to be a ballerina.

Which was true… but not the whole story.

Ballerinas did not wander about with impossibly hidden, full-sized polearms stored somewhere on her she could whip out to threaten people with. Nice dancers also did not know exactly how to carve into rocks with a tiny red crystal. Good, law-abiding girls from Soviet Russia also did not prove to be good help in smuggling people out of a country as well as being entirely nonchalant about the very act.

"Crina," speak of the devil, "your break is long over."

Sonya glanced over at the new voice, and for half a moment the old Romanian woman hoped the girl would get downright stubborn and refuse to allow her to leave.

Her newest apprentice was a damn slave driver, especially when money was involved.

What was slightly disturbing was she had been pretty damn sure the new girl hadn't known Romanian at first, but not a week into her working for the circus she could speak it as well as the native from the country could. Sonya had taken a few good months to learn.

A bottle of her favorite brand of rum was shoved up under Crina's nose, greatly distracting her. "Do as the nice lady says, Crina. I'll catch up to you later."

Bless this girl. "I really do miss you."

"Yeah, whatever. My price is information, though, so don't get too hammered."

"Drinking on the job?" Apprentice slave driver scoffed, which only earned her another of those dismissive glances from her predecessor.

"Strangely, Crina's more popular when she's slightly tipsy."

The old gypsy held her breath, but all that happened was Viper considering Sonya's comment seriously then giving the older girl an absent nod. "Mou… we'll see about that."

Damn it. Why couldn't the Russian girl get stubborn when Crina wanted her to be?

"Do those tattoos have a meaning?" The former apprentice asked idly, still trying to fruitlessly ignore the risk-taking her brother was doing in front of a few hundred people.

"Do yours?"

"Yes."

Viper rubbed a finger down one of the upside-down triangles on her cheeks. "…they do, actually."

The crowd gasped, which made Sonya flinch. "…ah. That's nice."

Tugging a lock of her vibrantly bluish-purple hair, the new apprentice slanted a demanding look at Crina.

She shrugged the whole messy situation off, not seeing anything she had to worry about from just introducing the two. "Viper, this is Sonya de Mort. My former apprentice and Skull's little sister."

"Cherep's, I am Cherep's little sister." Sonya corrected with a touch of exasperation. "And I have more than enough names, you old bat. Stop adding more."