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camels-pen · 3 years

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they're siblings, your honor

DannyMay Day 27 - Rain

Summary: A rainy weekday morning with Danny, Jazz, and Ellie.

Ao3 Link

Light trickled in through the single window above the sink, gray clouds filtering most of the early morning sun and keeping the kitchen dimly lit. Danny and Jazz sat at the table, dressed for the day and enjoying their respective breakfasts.

Ellie descended the stairs and glided into the room, the sound of slippers dragging against tile nearly drowned out by the pelting rain outside. Jazz held her face over the steam wafting off her tea and sighed before addressing her sister.

“Morning. You want me to make you something?” Ellie shook her head and opened the fridge, sticking her face in it. Danny emptied the cereal box into his half empty bowl, some of the milk spilling over the sides.

“Glue day?” he asked. Ellie held up a finger and water in the shape of the word “yep” appeared above her head. She pulled out a dimly glowing container and plopped down beside Jazz as the water dispersed back into the air.

“You okay for school?” Jazz asked. A thumbs up answered her as the girl dug out a handful of green granola and shoved it in her mouth. “Do you want me to grab a notebook?” Ellie accepted a spoon from her sister and shook her head, holding up a finger. More water letters appeared, this time in front of her.

I’ll just fake a sore throat they won’t call on me

“Nah, go with something more official. Like laryngitis.” Danny said around the food in his mouth. “No one will bother you for a couple days at least.” Ellie pointed her spoon at him.

I don’t wanna get sent to the nurse, genius

Danny waved a hand. “They won’t send you to the nurse. If they try, just write up a note with a fake fancy signature and go back in 10 minutes.”

“Danny, that’s forgery. You shouldn’t be teaching her that.” Danny and Ellie rolled their eyes as Jazz paused to sip her tea. “And finish chewing before you eat, that’s gross.”

Danny made a point of keeping eye contact with Jazz and chewing the last bit of his food with his mouth open. His sisters had clear disgust written on their faces and Ellie dropped a large ball of water on him, drenching him in seconds. He managed to swallow his food before coughing and looking down at his soaked clothes.

“Ellie! Now I’m gonna be wet the whole day.” Ellie kicked him under the table. “Ow, what?”

a) you deserved it b) use a towel

“I’m still gonna be wet.”

no you won’t, that’s what the towel’s for

“Towels don’t make you dry, they just make you less wet.”

Jazz ignored the ensuing argument and continued to sip at her tea. Once the mug had emptied and her siblings finished their food, she cleared her throat. They turned to her.

“Intangibility?” They were both more awake now and looked thoroughly embarrassed, Danny chuckling and letting the water phase off him as Ellie slapped a hand over her face, a random assortment of letters appearing in the air.

They put their dishes in the sink and, with the exception of the half-ghosts fighting over the bathroom, the three siblings continued their morning routines in relative silence. The younger two met up with Jazz at the front door, Danny trailing after Ellie with a loud yawn. Their mom chose that moment to pop out of the lab.

“Alright kids, ready for school?” Maddie asked as she took off her hood and goggles and locked the metal door behind her. She pulled off her gloves and dropped them on the kitchen table before walking over to them. “Your father should be home soon so we can give you a ride.” Ellie looked excited at the offer while her siblings paled.

Jazz held up her keys with a strained smile. “We’re good, thanks mom.”

“Are you sure? It’s really no trouble.”

“Positive,” Danny and Jazz said in unison as they used their hands to block Ellie’s water letters. The youngest Fenton scowled and elbowed both of them. Danny caught her arm and she tried to phase out of it, which led to both of them turning intangible which then led to both of them engaging in a super strength poking match.

“You don’t get a vote. You’re way too much of an adrenaline junkie,” Danny said, a few seconds later groaning in pain and hunching over as Ellie got him in the kidney. She stuck out her tongue and blew raspberries at him as he tried and failed to retaliate.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Jazz said with a snort. “But yeah Ellie, you always want mom and dad to drive us. It’s like you’re trying to get us all half-killed.” The two halfas immediately snapped their heads to her and dropped their hands.

“Now that’s just insensitive,” Danny said, crossing his arms while Ellie shook her head. Jazz rolled her eyes and Maddie sighed.

“Alright I get it, but let me give you kisses before you go.” One by one, they lined up and she gave each of her kids a kiss on the forehead, ending on her youngest. She zipped up Ellie’s jacket and pulled up the hood, tucking in stray hairs as her daughter tried to squirm away.

Moooom! The water above Ellie’s head condensed into thick block letters.

“Oh it’s a glue day? Should I grab a notebook?” Ellie shook her head, an annoyed look on her face.

“She’s gonna fake a throat thing.” Danny said, glancing at the clock on the wall. He nudged Jazz with his shoulder and pulled up the hood of his sweater as Ellie ducked under their mom’s arm and headed out the door.

“Okay okay, we’re going. Bye mom!” Jazz said as she opened her umbrella and followed Danny out with a wave. Maddie stood in the open doorway and waved back, bidding them farewell and then closing the door behind her.

Danny yanked up the roof of Jazz’s convertible from where it was stuck in the back and they got in. The car doors slammed shut and the rain tapped gently on the windows as two seat belts clicked into place. Danny leaned back in his seat and pulled out his phone as Jazz adjusted her mirrors.

“Ellie, seat belt,” she said, turning on the ignition. A heavy burst of water hit the windshield. She squinted at it, leaning forward over the steering wheel to get closer. “What does that say?” Danny glanced up and blew out a large puff of cold air, fogging up the glass and making the watery letters more defined.

guys look!

Danny and Jazz turned to the backseat. It was empty.

Another heavy burst of water dragged their attention back to the front.

I’m right here

“You’re invisible,” Danny said.

I’m not though

“What are we supposed to be seeing?” Jazz asked as she used her sleeve to wipe down her side of the glass.

After about a minute without an answer, the two visible Fenton siblings shared a look. Jazz started to get out of the car and Danny transformed into Phantom when the letters on the windshield started to move.

Water started to slowly float up off the car and condense into a large ball on top of the hood. Jerkily, it morphed and stretched to make an outline in the form of their little sister. The watery shape popped into Ellie's full ghostly glory a moment later.

“Oh shit, nice,” Danny said as he turned human. Ellie grinned and another blast of water hit the windshield.

you’re damn right it is

“That was great Ellie, but we need to go. Get in,” Jazz jabbed a thumb at the backseat. Ellie’s shoulders slumped and she pouted. She flicked a finger and more letters appeared.

aww~ can’t I ride out here? the weather’s so nice

“You can fly if you want, but don’t try to stick to the car. You’ll fall off and hurt yourself.”

but I don’t wanna fly

“So get in,” Danny said. “Jazz is right. You’ll get hurt riding out there.” Ellie frowned and crossed her arms.

you’re just trying to baby me again

Jazz winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. You're a perfectly capable and responsible girl, but riding on the outside of a moving vehicle is dangerous.”

so is ghost hunting

Jazz took a deep breath. “Look, Ellie, Danny’s done this before and he wiped out pretty hard.”

yeah, but I’m not Danny I’m wayyy better at holding onto things and better looking

“We look identical.” Danny turned to Jazz. “And it was your reckless driving that distracted me.”

“You were hit by a bird.” He turned back to his phone.

“Doesn’t wing a bell, sorry.” Ellie clasped her hands together and leaned towards her sister.

I’ll be holding on real tight, okay? I’ll even make myself a seat belt, like a responsible half-ghost

“You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” Jazz said, sighing.

no, of course not who do you take me for, Danny?

He frowned. “When you eat pavement, I’m not gonna say anything.”

“Yes you will,” Jazz said at the same time Ellie sent an identical message. Danny ignored them and went back to texting his friends. The youngest sibling stared at the oldest with big pleading eyes and a wobbling lip.

Jazz held her gaze for a few moments before deflating. “Fine.”

Ellie grinned and changed back into a watery outline of herself. She flopped against the windshield and it was like someone dropped several buckets of water on the car. Once the mini tidal wave had settled, the older siblings watched as an upward stream of water went up to the roof. A moment later, a tapping sound came from the driver side window and they turned to see a watery arm waving at them.

The eldest took that as her cue and pulled out of the driveway. They headed straight for a while, avoiding potholes like the plague, and slowed as they came near the first turn. Jazz kept glancing at the mirrors and almost came to a full stop as they neared the green light.

“Just go. She’ll be fine,” Danny said, trying to hide his own quick glances. “As long as rain brain remembers she can float, nothing bad will happen.”

The irritated honks behind them started to let up as she nodded and pressed on the gas. The car turned in a wide arc, skidding a little on the wet road before steadying as they continued on.

Danny let out a relieved breath and chuckled. “See? When you’re not driving near a flock of birds, there’s nothing to it.” Jazz laughed, her tense grip loosening on the steering wheel.

“So you admit—!” She was cut off by the sounds of a crashing wave, swerving cars, and a cacophony of loud honking and yelling behind them. They both winced. Spoke too soon.

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midnightluck · 6 years

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a very expensive vase (the trouble twins remix)

Marco taps his pencil on his desk and watches the clock, just like every other student in the class. Unlike them, however, he’s really hoping that it will somehow slow down.

No such luck, unfortunately, and the teacher is writing their assignment on the board. Two minutes left until school is over, and Marco dreads that final bell. He used to love it, but ever since a few weeks ago, it’s taken to signalling the start of his own private hell.

It rings anyway. He takes his time putting his notebook away and standing up, letting his classmates stream out of the room round him. There’s only so much he can delay, though, so he slings his bag over his shoulder and starts for the door.

It’s really a pretty campus, he thinks absently. Carefully manicured greenery out every window, high ceilings, pristine floors--it looks more like a mansion than a school.

If it were a mansion, the hallway he’s heading for would be the bedrooms, and he drops that metaphor the second he realizes it. It’s bad enough he’s even in this club without taking it anywhere else.

He slips past the fancy gilt sign with “Just a moment” written on it and heads for the third door on the left. He gives himself a single moment, with his hand on the knob, to close his eyes, breathe, and dread, then he cracks it open, slips inside, and opens his eyes.

Blue.

There’s blue everywhere, on the walls and the floor, which is odd because he’s fairly certain this room was yellow last week. There’s piles of blue satin and lace everywhere, and the effect is actually very nice, like waves. In fact, exactly like waves, Marco notices, taking it in; the whole room looks remarkably like an ocean.

“Marco!” someone shouts, and then something heavy and soft is dropped on his head, temporarily blinding him. “You’re late!”

“Sorry,” he says reflexively, reaching up and retrieving an oversized tricorn hat with blue and yellow feathers in it.

“Teacher kept you back?” a familiar voice asks, and he catches a heavy purple coat with his face.

“Or a pretty girl?” asks another as he fights his way free of it.

“No,” he says, shaking out the coat, “I just didn’t want to come.”

And there in front of him, is the reason. Blond and black, mischief and merriment, and both grinning at him. “Come on,” Sabo says, spreading his arms. “Welcome to the Grand Line! We’re gonna have fun this week!”

Marco looks at Sabo’s blue coat, knee high boots and ragged cravat. “Pirates, yoi?”

“You’ll love it,” Ace assures him, and he’s wearing--well. Not much at all.

Marco turns his eyes back to the purple greatcoat. “Pirates,” he sighs, and pushes between the two to head to the wardrobe room.

“Wear those lace-up sandals!” Sabo calls after him, and he wonders if he can get away with bare feet because he’s seen the heels on those things. Surely there’s something else.

There’s chaos in the back half of the wardrobe room, and Luffy pokes his head around a shelf, something oddly striped over half his head. “Hey, it’s Pineapple! Hey, Zoro, look, he came back!”

Another garment of dubious design goes fluttering over his head, and then he disappears back around the shelf. “Get back here and be careful taking that off,” comes the cool voice he knows is their treasurer’s. “If you tear it again, you’re buying the replacement. And Zoro, Marco came back! Pay up on our bet!”

“Namiiiii~” Luffy says, and Marco tunes them out as he ignores the pile clearly left out for him and goes through the racks. Purple’s not so bad, and there’s some blue capris he remembers from his first week here; that won’t clash, will it? Still, it looks more try-hard surfer bum than pirate, so he wanders to the accessory area and plucks halfheartedly at the containers and shelves until he finds a blue scarf. He doesn’t think about who it’s from, only ties it around his waist and tucks the top in.

The fabric, whatever it is, is light and slick and cool against his skin, and he doesn’t think about that either. He just keeps poking until he finds a pretty gold loop belt, and then tries to layer it over the scarf.

It’s too short, because of course it is. Everyone in this club is thin and lithe and tall and pretty, and it’s clearly not made for real people. He just tucks it in around half his waist, and calls it good enough.

He stands in front of the full length mirror, trying to guess what they’ll send him back for this time, and a grunt makes him look up in enough time to catch the silver mess coming at his face. At least, he thinks it’s silver. He hopes it is, because he does not put it past this group to have white gold or worse, platinum.

Whatever it’s made of, it’s too big to be a bracelet, and he glances up the way it came from. Zoro’s there, leaning against the wall, in greens that match his hair and only slightly more clothes than Ace. "Balance," he says, gestures vaguely.

"Balance," Marco repeats, and then his eye catches on the chain belt on one hip and he nods. You can get away with asymmetry, sure, but not unbalance, and he hates that he knows that now.

He hates that he’s here, dressing up and getting ready to put on a mask to cater to the whims of rich boys with nothing better to do than play around, but--

Well, whatever. He leans over and slips it up his calf until it sticks, just under the hem, and then looks in the mirror again. Yeah, sure, that’ll do.

He looks back to Zoro to be sure, and he’s got his eyebrows up.

“What?” Marco asks, only half defensively. Zoro’s pretty all right, most of the time.

“Nothing,” Zoro says, pushing away from the wall and walking off.

Most of the time, Marco decides, does not include now. Whatever, it’s good enough.

He heads back out into the main room and the chaos there. “Places!” Chopper shouts, waving his little arms. “Everybody, places! We’re open in three!”

Marco wanders over to the staging wall, staring blankly at the small wooden tables that almost look like they’re made of ship wood or crates. Still elegant, of course, but with just the right touch of rustic to lend to the sea-going atmosphere. A set-up like this clearly wasn’t cheap, and it was just for the sake for playing pretend pirates.

Speaking of, was that a bit of salt in the air? Franky was really getting creative with the sets, wasn’t he?

Chopper’s keeping a countdown going and Marco steps into his place, behind and to the right of the trouble twins. Sabo’s whispering harshly, jabbing a finger into Ace’s chest, and Marco fixes his eyes on the doorway and tries to avoid listening in.

“--all about you,” Sabo is saying, and then there’s a short scuffing noise.

“Maybe it should be,” Ace says back, and Sabo makes the most disbelieving noise Marco’s ever heard--and he has a lot of younger siblings.

“You’re just jealous--” Sabo says, and Chopper makes a loud noise and yells about one minute left.

“So what if I am?” Ace snaps back, and Marco’s eyes drift towards them.

“Of whom, Ace?” Sabo asks, and then Luffy comes bounding over.

“I’m a pirate!” he shouts, one hand on his ever-present straw hat. “I’m gonna be the best pirate ever! King of the pirates!”

Ace catches him when he jumps, and laughs as he sets Luffy back down, smile in place like nothing ever happened. “You certainly are,” he says, and scoots over to let Luffy have the middle of the formation.

“Thirteen seconds!” Chopper shouts, twirling in panicked little circles. “Places! Where’s Sanji?!”

“Here,” Nami says, shoving Sanji out of the wardrobe room. “Get to work! And Zoro, don’t forget my money!”

Zoro scowls and slides down to sit beside Luffy, leaning back on what looks suspiciously like actual sword scabbards. Marco counts three of them, probably because Zoro can. He really hates this rich-people school sometimes.

“We’re open!” Chopper shouts, and then dives forward to sit on Zoro’s outstretched leg. “Everybody smile!”

And they do. The door swings open, to gasps and chatter, and it’s only been two weeks but Marco knows, now, how to tip his chin and let his eyelids droop and chant “Welcome!” in perfect unison.

“Ooh, pirates!” someone says, clapping their hands, and the chaos begins.

Marco knows his role by now; he knows how to take the client’s hand and bow over it (but not kiss it) and welcome them softly and hand them off to their tables. He’s still the greeter here because this is their definition of both watching and training. Luckily, Marco’s always been a fast study.

Luffy’s the center of attention at his table as he bounces and talks about all the adventures he wants to go on, and, more importantly, all the meats he could try as a pirate. Zoro’s behind him, as usual, and Marco’s not at all worried about that table getting out of control.

Sanji spins past him with a tray full of delicate cups and petit-fours. He’s crowing about the beauty of flowers, and Marco tries not to look at the filigree metal towers of delicate sweets swaying precariously.

“Right this way, Princess,” he says instead, cutting his eyes back to...oh, Mary? Maria? Malina? Something with “ma”, certainly. She’s enough of a regular that he should know her name, but he knows her preference instead and that’s more important.

It’s a complicated dance, getting everyone set up at proper tables, because there’s a balance between small, intimate groups and making sure their guests get the best match. Here comes Belia, for example, and she prefers to sit at Luffy’s table, but Luffy already has three girls--he can seat her to the side and ask her to wait, but it’s too early for turnover, but Chopper’s got a free place and he’s hyper today, so maybe--

He’s already bowing over the next guest’s hand and murmuring, “welcome, princess,” as he calculates places, when he glances up to see which host their eyes are on and freezes.

He stares up, and Haruta who absolutely does not go to this school looks back, smile growing at the same speed as the dread in his stomach. Oh shit, oh shit, this is not good--

Sanji swirls past him and subtly kicks the back of his knee, and he grits his teeth and barely manages to turn the collapse into an awkward kind of dip that might be mistaken for a bow if you’d never actually seen one.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, standing up, and glances around; Haruta’s next to Whitey Bay, the second year pre-med daughter of the pharmaceutical zaibatsu, likes purples and camomile tea and--

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Sabo is right beside him. "Now, now," he says, taking Haruta's other hand. "That's not how you treat a lady, Marco," and he looks Haruta over and adds, "or a guest. What's your type?" he asks, leaning in and lowering his eyelids. "How can we please you today?"

Haruta, Marco notices, looks absolutely delighted, and is probably about to request Marco, he can just tell, so he cuts his eyes to the side and says, “Miss Bay, as I recall, you do quite enjoy the company of our resident doctor, don't you? Please, just this way.”

He offers her his arm and she takes it, letting him lead her over to Trafalgar’s table. He hands her down into her chair and leans in to murmur, “if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant, just say the word, yoi,” because scripts are scripts and guests are always the first priority.

She smiles at him and her dimples are adorable. He bows once more and steps back, turning at the last moment and cutting his eyes back towards her just once more. She smiles coyly, and he offers a tiny smile back before he’s finally free to look around again.

Sabo’s leaning in towards Haruta, still standing in the middle of the room, and Marco...doesn’t know what to do. He needs to resume his place as greeter, but he does not want to go back over there.

At just that moment, Sabo throws back his head and laughs, his perfect staged “real” laugh. It has all the hallmarks of proper amusement except it’s also attractive enough that Marco knows he practiced in a mirror, because Sabo’s real laugh is an ugly affair, full of flushed cheeks and awkward snorting noises.

Still, he doesn’t let go of Haruta’s hand; he just steps backwards and leads them both over to the large “ship deck” where Ace is holding court. He pulls out a chair and hands Haruta down into it, and Marco cuts his eyes away and gets back to greeting.

He makes it through the next two hours, somehow, by avoiding Sabo’s and Ace’s tables as much as he can. No one even notices because it’s not like it’s unusual behaviour for him, not really. He always tries to stay away from their tables while they’re working if he can.

Haruta leaves a bit before they close without any prodding from Marco, which is terrifying. He lets the last guest drag their fingers away from his hand with obvious reluctance, and he watches her leave, making sure his small smile is in place and his head is tilted just so. Body language may be subconscious, but, as Sanji says, it works.

Then the last girl’s gone, out through the door, and Chopper closes it and everyone sags in place. “Wow,” Ace says, running a hand through his carefully-styled hair. “That was worse than normal.”

“Everyone likes pirates,” Luffy says cheerfully. “Sailing! Meat! Freedom!”

“Mmm,” Sabo says and stretches, popping his spine. “Well? Are we in the black?”

“You know we are,” Nami says, counting a stack of cash. “Theme days always make bank. Hmm, this is a good start.”

“Start?” Marco repeats, eying the pile of bills stacked neatly across an entire table.

“Sure,” Nami says. “Looks like...hmm, you only have a few hundred thousand belli left on your debt.”

“But that’s--that’s what I started with, yoi!”

“Yeah, but now it’s 300 belli less.”

“Three--”

A hand lands on his shoulder. “Go home,” Zoro advises. “You’re not going to win this fight.”

And he’s not, Marco knows--no one wins a fight against Nami when money is on the line. His shoulders sag and he sighs, loud and long and depressed.

No one stops him as he heads back into the dressing room, but he rushes through getting changed anyway because--

“You did good today,” Ace says, and Marco whirls to find him leaning against the wall just inside the door.

Marco nods, swallows, and then eventually says, “Thanks, yoi.”

“You’re a fast learner, and a natural, too. We’ll have to get you on tables soon; the competent older brother type is always in demand.”

“I’m not--” Marco starts, but, well, no, he kinda is, isn’t he? Still, tables are a whole new level of fresh hell he is absolutely unprepared for.

“Hey,” Ace says, pushing off the wall to take a step towards him “Look, I know you think this club is dumb--”

“I don’t--” Marco says, even though he absolutely does.

“--and shallow--”

“It’s not--”

“--and that we’re contemptible and taking advantage of both the girls and ourselves--”

“I…”

“--but the thing is,” Ace says, taking another step, and the shadow in his eyes makes Marco shut up. “The thing is, is this is important. Maybe not to you, but to us, to me, to Sabo--there’s a reason that we do this. A lot of reasons, and...well.” He stops, and his eyes skitter away from Marco’s, who stares back. “Just--you can hate this if you want to. You can hate us if you need to. But at least...try to respect why we do it, yeah? Sabo--” and he cuts off and shuts up, standing there with clenched fists and red cheeks, and takes a second to just breathe. “We deserve that much, at least. Don't we?”

Well, and maybe they did, and maybe Marco has been judgemental, and maybe he hasn’t thought to try understanding them and this club and this school and this whole nightmare, but that’s because, “You’re blackmailing me to be here, yoi.”

Ace stares at him, then his eyes close and his hands go loose and his mouth crooks up. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, okay. I can see why you’d think that. Okay. That’s--that’s fine.” And he turns and walks away.

Marco stares after him. This club makes no damn sense, he swears--this club and this school and these boys and the thing in his chest that feels oddly like guilt. It doesn't make sense and he doesn’t like any of it.

But he can’t just stand here in the dressing room half-changed all day, so he finishes putting his shirt on, makes sure his tie is just the right kind of crooked--the kind he perfected by watching Law--and that his hair is the right level of wild fluff that looks barely tamed. Not that it takes much work.

Then he can leave this place and go home and lose himself in homework and family chaos and forget about this confusing place until tomorrow, at the very least.

He thinks it’ll work, too, but his hopes are dashed the second he steps out the front gate and finds Haruta and Whitey waiting for him.

He pins Haruta with laser eyes. “Why,” he says flatly, and his brother giggles and covers his mouth demurely, for all the world like any of the girls they serve.

“You should be grateful,” Whitey says, eyes dancing. “To have the privilege of escorting two such lovely young ladies home.”

“It’ll do wonders for your reputation,” Haruta says, and gloms onto his arm before he even offers it.

And shit, it will, won’t it? Everyone knows what club he’s a part of, and he can’t be anything less than perfectly gallant, not where people can see. His reputation is the club’s reputation.

So he grits his teeth and allows himself one short sharp “fine,” before he slides the elbow Haruta’s grabbed out and bows to Whitey. “Milady,” he says, and offers his other hand. “Please allow me to escort you home.”

Sighs and coos erupt around him and he fixes his face and waits until Whitey slides her fingers over his. Reputation, he reminds himself, then straightens up, turns Whitey out, and heads off towards home, head high.

“You really are good at this,” Whitey remarks as they walk. “And, apparently, good at keeping it secret.”

“You’re the only other Whitebeard who attends this school, and you don’t live at home anymore” Marco points out. “Besides. They know I’ve joined a club.”

“Yeah, but not which club,” Haruta says, dropping his arm and flouncing around to walk backwards. “You didn’t mention that.”

Thankfully, Whitey lives both close to the school and on the way home, so there’s no major detour, and even more thankfully, Haruta walks the rest of the way in silence. Marco counts his blessings and uses the time to make a to-do list. He still has to organize dinner and get started on the readings and there’s the math worksheet, and if they really are doing a cowboy theme next, he needs to brush up on his English--

And then they arrive and Marco realizes that maybe he ought to have paid more attention to Haruta after all. A quiet Haruta is not a good Haruta, and there’s a gleam in his eyes and evil in his smile when Marco opens the door and steps aside on instinct.

Haruta minces away through the front door ahead of him and calls out, “Hey, everyone! I just had the most fantastic afternoon!”

“Really?” comes Izo’s voice. “Oh, that uniform looks nice on you!”

“You’re such a brat, yoi,” Marco gripes, stopping to take off his shoes and line them up neatly.

“That’s not what you called me earlier!” Haruta carols back. “Hey, make some tea for us, Marco!”

“What I am, your servant?” he says, but he moves towards the kitchen anyway, because--well, because.

“Not a servant,” Haruta says, sitting daintily at the kitchen table next to Izo and watching him with gleaming eyes. “Consider it practice.”

“I don’t need practice,” Marco grumbles, getting himself a cup of water. His brothers can get their own tea.

“How about, if you don’t, then I’ll tell everyone exactly what club you’ve joined?”

“You know what club it is?” Izo asks, sitting up straight.

Ah, no. Okay, that--that’s not happening. “Two sugars, yoi?

Haruta grins, equal parts mischief and triumph. “Good boy.”

“Hey, no fair!” Izo says, leaning in. “What club is it? Tell!”

Marco gets out the teapot and sighs. This is his life now, apparently.

Well, Haruta’s right about one thing. It is good practice.

#Marco the Phoenix #ouran host club #dumb crossover ideas #answer in the form of a story #zoro's laughing inside because it's an armlet #but sure whatever leglet works too

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