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Her hair was wet from a bath, smelled of raspberries, and fall limply through the teeth of Lili’s comb. This was little Aislinn, bright-eyed, red-haired, watching herself in the mirror as her mother fondly braided her hair. She was so much like both of them it was almost overwhelming, like every quality she held in common with Donald was increased tenfold.

Aislinn would excitedly chat about her time at school the day before, chat about what she planned to do the day coming.

“I had a good day!” She’d exclaim, jumping up into the arms of whichever parent picked her up that day, them laughing right along with them.

Lili added the finishing touch to her baby’s hair, in the form of a familiar blue ribbon.

Estelle was the very embodiment of romance itself. Equipped with charm, wit, and a terrible knack for mysteriously liberating men of their belongings and their pride, she crushed London under the force of her sharpened heel and draped the ruins in style. Then she met her match. Literally, her match: Iain.

Her opposite in all; rugged, robust, utterly ungraceful in all but his speech, which smoothly poured Scotland itself into the air she breathed. Her opposite and her compliment, the final 180 to her unfinished circle. She was taken aback by tactless words, for no one had spoken to her so roughly (and lived long enough to prove her did.)

Taken aback and taken completely. Estelle had fallen in love… someone loved her back. God help us all.

A shot was taken, blazing through the air like a Snitch until penetrating Arthur’s chest. He reeled backward and clutched at the wound, and struggled to stay on his feet as the pain surged through his chest like burning venom.

Never before had Peter been so scared. He was watching the celebration on TV, equipped with enough popcorn, sweets, and handheld consoles to get him through the boring speeches. Now, none of that mattered. Nothing could take his eyes away from the screen, as he tried to comprehend the unimaginable. Someone tried to kill his cousin. Mouth agape, he stared as he moved closer to the screen, yelling at the figures as if his voice could somehow make the unthinkable become unreal.

But Arthur waved off the men and women trying to help him. He shrugged off the wound, muttered something about losing his place, and simply continued. Peter’s brow was still furrowed with worry, but there was a slight dash of relief and happiness when he saw Arthur walk back to that podium. “Arthur, you jerk…”

"All right, that's three!"

It took only a split second for Lili to down the burning liquid, face contorting painfully as she consumed the bitter alcohol. She couldn't spare any more time than that. The drink was like acid, one never wanted it to actually touch flesh. Why was she even doing this in the first place!?

Glasses were slammed down onto the table by the more enthusiastic participants, but not Lili. She set hers down gently, exhaling to relieve the heat in her mouth. Round four was coming up. She rubbed her temples in anticipation, staring down at the striped wood of the table.

"Hey, how you hanging up there?" Donald leaned himself down slightly, eyes angled upward to look into her face while he grinned cheekily at her expression.

"Vash is going to murder you. You know that, right?" Lili peeked out at him from behind her hands, smirking at him.

Donald merely chuckled and sat himself upright, that grin suddenly turning fearless, on top of the mirth he had no end of. He spoke, dramatically, receiving laughs from his brothers (among others) as he did so. "Ah, dearie! Your fears are all entirely unfounded! After all, when has Vash ever actually followed up on his threats."

He bent back down as if divulging a secret to her. "I think he's scared of you."

Naturally, Lili had a slight predisposition to holding her alcohol. Even then, what she had consumed already was loosening her up visibly. She laughed at his accusation, taking the small glass into her fingers once more as it was filled for a fourth time. "Scared, of me? Honestly, he acts as if the window incident marked the end of our relationship. He brought it on himself when he punched you in the gut."

"You picked sides." Donald returned, smirking.

"I did not! I merely made a persuasive argument against treating you as if you aren't family. Besides, it was just the living room window. He had bushes to cushion his fall." Her mouth gaped slightly, incredulous he would even accuse her of such a thing!

"I would have done the same to you if it were you punching Vash." She quickly added.

More laughs from the extended family at the table, a 'Watch yourself, Donny! Look what you got yourself into!'

His grin grew, betraying those dimples in his cheeks. "I'll keep that in mind! Can't anger the little dragon, now can I?"

Vash was nowhere near as talented with any sort of needle as Lili was. In fact, one could dare say that anything he bothered to touch, if indeed touching the needles were somehow important to him, he might somehow destroy whatever project lay attached at the hooked ends.

Regardless, he always managed to track down the most beautiful of objects for his sister - cheaply, of course, but he spared no amount of quality if he felt like a gift would make her happy. And honestly, the guilt he had to work with day by day made such gifts far from a rarity. If Lili's talent was making things from scratch, then one could say Vash had a true talent for commerce.

Creating or buying for Vash, however, was a little more difficult than creating or buying for Lili. Not because he would be displeased, but because Lili only ever wanted to give Vash things she was sure would be useful for him. As a man, he wasn't exactly keen on the kind of things she liked.

So... practicality over beauty, she decided. It was a scarf, the colors muted into a light pastel, hopefully fitting Vash's taste. Certainly, anything overly colorful would not fit well with anything he wore, so she attempted to create an item with a neutral color as its main - in this case, a somewhat darkened grey to contrast with the green vines embroidered in to compliment his eyes. No flowers or animals save the single rabbit hiding among the blades of grass at one end.

He rarely complained about the cold, but Lili took it upon herself to take care of him even still. His reaction, though flustered and seemingly at a loss for words, spoke endless amounts to Lili, who could read his reactions and the meaning of his words better than anyone else.

"It's...-- it's great." Compliments were never Vash's strong point.

Lili smiled and wrapped the scarf around his neck comfortably. It only embarrassed him more, but hidden away from the eyes of the public it wasn't quite so demeaning.

"I'm glad you like it."

Lions.

Fat, lazy, social. They sleep for what… eighteen hours every day? Hell, in the zoo about 99% of what they do is simply lounging around doing nothing, though in a zoo that probably isn’t all that surprising since it’s about all they can do.

Peter himself had climbed up onto the railing to look over the edge into the lion pit, with Iain securely grasping the back of the younger boy’s hoodie just in case he fell. He’d given up pulling the brat back down to the ground. If there was a railing, Peter would climb it. He seemed to be used to it by now.

“Hey, hey Iain.” Peter addressed, glancing over at the older man. He was met with a terse, “Aye?” in response. “Iain, have you ever considered throwing people down into the pit?”

As the oldest brother surrounded by a plethora of siblings, at least one of whom was a nightmare to be in the same room with… well, who didn’t?

“A few times—not you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Iain raised an amused brow, somewhat befuddled but entirely unsurprised. “Why?”

“I was just thinking about how you’d just fight off all the lions if I threw you in.” Because Peter really believed that.

"Weißt du, wieviel Sternlein stehen
an dem blauen Himmelszelt?"

Lili sang this softly, attempting to comfort the infant in her arms as he squirmed about and fussed, obviously tired but much too stubborn to fall asleep. Oliver, he was named. Third in a small brood.

"Weißt du, wieviel Wolken ziehen
weithin über alle Welt?"

She continued, moving gracefully about the room, the motion befitting the context on the lullaby she sang. Oliver rubbed at his eyes, burbling protest. He refused to let himself sleep. There was still so much to do in the day, despite the hours creeping quickly into night.

"Gott der Herr hat sie gezählet,
daß ihm auch nicht eines fehlet
an der ganzen großen Zahl..."

Slowly, inevitably, Oliver's struggling ceased. He quieted, his eyes fluttered shut and he curled up in Lili's arms, eagerly cuddling into the safe, maternal warmth she radiated.

Ah... she didn't even get to finish her song. Exhaling a content sigh, she secured the baby in his bed. "...an der ganzen großen Zahl."

("Weißt du, wieviel Sternlein stehen")

Entitled, "10 Ways to Tell Don to Shut Up." By the Misstwins.

#1:
"Donald. Shut. Up." Aoife ordered as she constructed a railway path for the baked potato from the plate to down her twin's oesophagus.

#2:
"Donald, shut up." screamed every Kirkland, including those unborn and still residing in the loins of the merry men, and those not actually present within earshot of his impressively irritating oration.

#3
"Donald, SHUT UP." Screamed Vash as he stopped an incomplete flirt with the barrel of his precious Betty shoved down into the ginger's windpipe.

#4
"东哪，你给我闭嘴!" screamed Yao in angry Chinese as he forced a row of hot ching chong balls down his throat.

#5
"Donald, shut up." Threatened Anya while breaking his hand, after he carelessly knocked over a vial of experimental fluid.

#6
"Donald, if you don't shut up, I'm going to air your porn history over the prime time news AND send it to Vash and Lili." Clara typed as her Skype window rapidly shifted upwards with endless messages from said ginger.

#7
"..." Said Mi-Yun as she thrust the blade of her scalpel desperately into his throat in an attempt to make him just stop talking.

#8
"Donald, less talky time, more sexy time." instructed Estelle as she gestured for Nicoleta to place the tape over his mouth.

#9
"Donny, shut up." said Joachim never ever whenever the two buddies started conversing. God, don't they need to breathe?

#10
"Donald, shut up..." Said Lili, placing a kiss on his lips to silence him. "You're ruining the moment." Ah, well... this one he could deal with.

Sunday. Quiet. Tired.

The day before the week began and everything was slow. Lucian in particular, though, as he had just woken from a late night sleeping in, and made his way across the house not unlike a zombie. Equally lazy was his mother, Nicoleta, who lay sprawled across the sofa with a magazine over her face. Still noctunal, but expecially sleepy on this day.

She looked comfy, though.

With an undead groan, Lucian flopped himself onto the sofa and snuggled himself in comfortable. Nicoleta screeched and tried to sit up, but the dead weight that lay across her body.

"Brat, what are you doing?" Her tone was playful, and a smirk lit across her face as she amused her fingers with the untamed locks of her son's hair.

"Being lazy." Lucian smirked back.

Hah, be lazy on her will he? Nicoleta took a firm grip of his pajama shirt and pulled him down off the sofa as she rolled down the cushions onto the floor. "Oh really, now?"

"No, wait-- no! Mom, stop!" Nicoleta nuzzled the hell out of his hair with her cheek. One of her favorite features he had, how cute and curly it was...

"Shut up, you. Let me love you." Nicoleta demanded as Lucian dramatically went ragdoll in her arms.

One of many trips back home Heracles was taking today. Strapped securely into the seat, he sat himself back lazily, reading the in-flight magazine even though there was nothing in it that could possibly interest him.

These trips always bored him. There was nothing to do up in the air except read and listen in on conversations he had no business being a part of. On the bright side, however, he wasn’t alone. Not this time.

Curled up at the wall, head covered by the blanket she was wrapped in, was Nicoleta, sleeping the hours peacefully away until landing… unfortunately much too asleep to hold a conversation.