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The next step to making it clear to his family he was, in fact, making a deeper commitment.

Telling his parents.

Well, grandparents.

“God, Zee, can I just hide this from them?”

“No. You know you can't.” Zoltan pinched the bridge of their nose. After letting out a deep breath, they continued with, “Look, maybe they'll be easy-going about this. You getting married at all seems to have taken them by surprise.”

Michelangelo leaned back against one of the poles on the porch’s grand front entrance, trying to let himself relax about this. For himself, he wasn't that concerned. His grandparents were a known entity; he was perfectly fine fielding them. Michelangelo was just concerned they would be unnecessarily harsh to Sadie.

“Also, you do remember they have cameras, right? They know we're here.”

Michelangelo stood up a bit straighter. “Right. Sadie, you ready?”

---

Sadie held Michelangelo’s hand as the two of them, along with Zoltan, arrived at the massive house. She gave his hand a small squeeze. He seemed nervous, and she had to admit that something about the setting seemed a little intimidating, even to someone used to displays of money.

“No. I’d rather talk to them,” she said, her eyes eventually settling on the door. “I don’t want to, um, hide.”

Although in some ways, she was still hiding. To meet Zoltan, she’d dressed up a little, but she hadn’t gone out of her way for it. Now, she wore a tea dress much crisper than her usual style, one that made her skin itch in the tight places. Livie had helped with her hair, piling it on top of her head in a classic updo. She’d even put makeup over her scars, which didn’t quite work. They were too deep for that, and the concealer felt itchy, too, but at least it would be enough that maybe they’d ask her about something else, first.

“I’m ready,” she said.

---

Zoltan nodded to the both of them and instinctively went to take the lead toward the door, but Michelangelo tapped their shoulder gently before they did. “Look, I appreciate your parental instinct to protect me,” he murmured, “but I think I got this one.”

Michelangelo let go of Sadie's hand to approach the doorbell himself.

Well.

It turned out he didn't need to.

“Michelangelo,” announced a taller man on the other side, glancing up and down at him. “It has been a minute since I have seen you. You've gotten a bit stronger.”

“Everett!” Michelangelo’s greeting was more surprised than welcoming, his eyes widening slightly. Zoltan rolled theirs. “Ah, how are you doing?” He rubbed his neck. Great response to the butler. Totally.

Everett raised a brow. “I'm fine. Your parents,” he paused, “grandparents. Your grandparents are expecting you. Follow me.”

Michelangelo gestured for Sadie to follow him, murmuring, “Mr. Pembroke is fine,” he chuckled, “just serious. Very serious.”

“He's not that serious,” Zoltan followed behind, “you just always found a way to force him into corralling you.”

“Listen-”

Everett glanced over his shoulder. “And who is the miss you brought with you? Her dress is quite nice.”

---

Without really meaning too, Sadie stiffened her shoulder a little as the door swung open, and she straightened. She looked to the side, hiding her face, even though she’d gone to all that trouble with the makeup, and-

A butler. Well, that made sense. She smiled softly, in her natural way, and she turned straight forwards again.

She didn’t mind the way that he stood stick-straight, even as an older man. The formality in his tone was almost familiar to her, and when he said he liked her dress, she brushed her fingers across it. It wasn’t her first choice of style, but it did have a floral pattern on it in delicate blue lines, like an old china plate.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and her voice was warm. “I’m Sadie Avamir. I’m, um.” She paused, but only for half a second. “I’m Michelangelo’s fiance.”



Everett paused for a moment in his stride, but only a moment, not enough to particularly signal that he was surprised. Afterward, his stride resumed, leading them down a particularly marbled hallway with false candles and rugs that would have felt plush if not for their shoes. “I had heard Michelangelo had a fiancé. I was not expecting it to be true.”

Michelangelo laughed sheepishly. “That one wasn't a lie, obviously.” He reached to squeeze Sadie’s hand.

“How did you two meet?”

Zoltan glanced over his shoulder as Michelangelo scrambled mentally for the cover story. “We have a common interest in the sea.” True enough. “We met at the reservoir.” That wasn't true, but an old and easy enough cover.

Everett, if he was suspicious, said nothing. “I am sure your grandparents will be quite interested in this story.” He opened a door, bowing to indicate they should enter a darker room with a fireplace burning and couches that, too, likely cost thousands of dollars. The trims in themselves made that obvious, gold along the edges.

Somehow, in comparison to even Michelangelo's place, it felt unnecessarily showy.

“Would any of you like a drink?”

Dryly, Zoltan asked, “You got any everclear?”

“Zoltan.”

“I'm joking.” Zoltan's flat tone made that hard to tell. Was he? “Whiskey is fine.”

“The youngest and his betrothed?”

Oh thank god. Michelangelo laughed. “I can barely drink at home anymore. You got any of that loganberry wine?”

Everett lifted a brow, but said nothing. “Aye. I'll be back soon. Your parents,” he paused again, “grandparents will be here shortly.”

And he left.

---

“I’m real,” said Sadie, holding out a hand in front of her face and looking at how solid it was, as if to prove that she wasn’t a ghost. She’d been doing that for her own sake, recently, to show herself that she was still here, that she wasn’t dissolving under the light of the Dark Star.

No. She didn’t need to think about that right now. She just had to follow the butler, listen to Michelangelo’s story about how they met, listen to the click of her shoes on the floor. She wasn’t used to heels.

She looked at the decorations, too, in the room where they found themselves. Beautiful, she thought. The artist in her couldn’t help but admire all of the opulent details, all of the luxury squeezed into every corner. It still somehow felt a little cold.

She sat next to the others and looked at the empty couches across from them.

“Is this supposed to feel like an interrogation?” she asked softly. She considered this. “Oh, is that why you ordered the wine to remind us of the first time we got to spend time together at your house? Um, so we could have something happy even here?”

She would be okay, she thought. They were just grandparents.

---

They were just grandparents.

“Yeah,” Michelangelo leaned back in the seat he had picked. “Something we've shared before, right? Plus it's an element of wanting something that I haven't been able to have -”

“Dorian, right?”

“Yeah.” Michelangelo groaned quietly. “When I can get away from him I can indulge a bit more, but don't want to-”

He suddenly cut himself off and sat a lot straighter when Everett reentered, along with two others entering behind. It wasn't as easy to see where Michelangelo was related to them, but for Zoltan it was perhaps obvious. They had similar hair textures, at least, Zoltan had their father's eyes, it was clear Zoltan was short because their mother was short, too – and that had likely carried to Michelangelo, who was still under the average.

But the way they both carried themselves was different. The grandmother looked elegant, even in her house, glancing down her nose over at them as she smoothed out a designer dress that could have easily been pulled right from the runway. She wore heels, even in her age, and they clicked against the hardwood as she moved toward the rug to sit down on an opposing couch.

“Zoltan,” she addressed, first, “I suppose you are happy this removes pressure from our eldest.”

“Your only,” replied Zoltan, flatly. “But I'm mostly happy he's happy. This isn't about me.”

Their father sat down next to their mother, facial expression unchanging as he observed over glasses. He said nothing.

“Who raised him?” Zoltan's expression narrowed, but they said nothing as her attention shifted to Sadie. “Is this the lucky woman?”

---

When the grandparents finally arrived, it sent Sadie back to when she was a child. Children hadn’t been allowed at all of the wealthy’s parties, but they’d been allowed to some, and she’d people watched from behind her mother’s skirt. It had been like this, sometimes.

Like daggers behind smiles.

This must have been why Michelangelo still didn’t know whether to call Zoltan his sibling or his parent, if the two parties were always arguing about which was correct. Sadie had thoughts about that, thoughts about blood and heritage, and how it was really Michelangelo’s choice, what to call people, more than anything else.

But she didn’t say that, didn’t remember to smile as they called her lucky woman, didn’t remember to do anything but blink like a startled deer. She’d said that she wouldn’t mind what they said, about gender, but this felt harsher than that. This felt like they were putting her in some kind of box.

Her dress, it was so tight.

She managed to nod politely. “I’m very lucky,” she said, her voice soft and smooth, the kind of controlled tone that she used when she saw an agent with a starseed in their hand and murder in their eyes. She missed her ocarina. “To have been able to get to know Michelangelo, and to have gotten to this point. He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

It was true, and she smiled at it. With how she was, she hadn’t ever expected to be able to get to this point in a relationship.

“I’m Sarandon Avamir,” she said, maintaining eye contact the way she was supposed to. She held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

---

The grandfather observed in relative silence, looking this Sarandon up and down when she formally introduced herself. Not as chatty, but Michelangelo expected that. His father… grandfather. He had always been more stern, more calculating, more expectant. He didn't know what his grandfather was expecting here.

Maybe nothing good. Hopefully everything good.

His grandmother, on the other hand, was more ready to smile in a way that was oh so serene as she took Sadie’s hand. “Sarandon! You're one of the Avamir children. I've seen you before, when you were much younger.” Her smile was a hint of snide when she followed up with, “Not too much younger, though. Not as a baby.”

“Alessia,” murmured the grandfather.

“Oh right, right,” she rolled her eyes. “It has been a long time since I've seen the Avamirs, though.”

Zoltan pinched the bridge of their nose, leaning over to Michelangelo to offer, “Need me to get her off this topic?”

He sighed. “Let me see how Sadie handles this before I veer them elsewhere-”


---

Sadie wasn’t actually good at this part of it, at the hidden meanings in things. She didn’t mind dressing up like a china doll sometimes, and watching people from the corner of a dark ballroom. There were ways you were supposed to phrase things sometimes, though, to save your reputation, and for all that Sadie was intentional about how she spoke, she’d never quite figured out all the rules.

Sometimes, it didn’t matter. She had a feeling it mattered to Alessia. The grandmother was asking about her family situation. Sadie knew enough to know that. She didn’t think that she was happy about it.

Oh well. She wasn’t here to prove that she was a socialite. She was here to introduce herself.

Well. She couldn’t help it. She was going to try. She’d gotten Faustite to tolerate her. This couldn’t be much worse.

“We were at the charity ball at the Star Festival a few years ago,” she said. “And, um, I think my father has been at a few other events like that here and there? But, it’s true that my parents have kept to themselves more in recent years.”

She sat straight, a little stiff compared to how she normally was. She kept her fidgeting to her engagement ring, and she glanced over to give a small smile to Michelangelo and Zoltan. She was okay.

“I don’t know if you knew about this, but there were some people at those kinds of events who weren’t very kind about the fact that my siblings and I were adopted. Um, people who asked invasive questions about their infertility. That kind of thing.”

---

“They certainly have.” Alessia crossed one leg over the other as she sat. “They appear at less and less. You are right, though. They did make an appearance at that ball. We attended that as well, didn't we, Max?”

The aforementioned Max nodded, but he still didn't speak up. He did seem to be looking quite specifically at Sadie, his gaze shifting toward Michelangelo on occasion.

Zoltan seemed a bit tense, but Michelangelo relaxed more readily when Sadie smiled in their direction. They could field this, right. It wouldn't be too long, and maybe his grandparents would get over themselves.

His eyes slid toward Max.

Maybe.

Alessia frowned. “That was such a shame, wasn't it?” It, for a moment, thought that she was in agreement with Sadie. Perhaps her next statement might change the impression as she added, afterward, “They couldn't continue their family in any natural way.”

“How are they determining your inheritance?” Max finally spoke, leaning forward to place his arms over his knees. “What becomes the priority? There is no firstborn, correct?”

Zoltan's eyes had narrowed, and they started to open their mouth, but Michelangelo reached out and grabbed their arm.

The glare that Zoltan shot at Michelangelo said a thousand words they held behind their tongue.

---

Oh. Were these some of the people who had been insensitive about her family’s situation? She thought that they were being a little insensitive now. If her mother had been here, she probably would have turned away when Alessia started talking about how her infertility was a shame. And making it about money?

She understood why Zoltan seemed to have tensed.

“It was difficult for them at first,” she said, a practiced response, “But they see it as a blessing now, that we were able to come together like this.”

If she was better at this game, she might have called Max rude for asking about money already. Instead, she shrugged, fidgeting with her ring a little more openly. She didn’t care, wasn’t here for a drawn out conversation if they didn’t seem to care about who she was as a person.

There were things that Michelangelo had said they might not be happy about. She might as well be honest about all of those things now.

“It’s just going to be split between us, as evenly as it can be.” Mostly. Things were a little more complicated, after what had happened with Minnie. They knew that she was now Misty, and wanted to include here where they could, but they couldn’t be direct about it, not with the Negaverse watching. Sadie did not mention that. Despite their age, she was not quite sure that these two might not be part of the Negaverse.

It was something about how they were looking at her. “My parents have always been clear that we’re to make our own way and not rely on inheritance. I’m a graphic designer.”

She glanced between the two of them, then set her hand on top of Michel’s.

“So I’m not here with some dowry, if that’s, um, what you’re asking. I probably don’t count as a good match, in those proper kind of senses.” She smiled, soft as soft, as if that would soothe them, somehow. She could tell that they did probably care about those kind of senses. “I’m also autistic and I can’t have children.”

---

For all of their remarks, they were respectful enough to let Sadie finish before they spoke. Alessia huffed under her breath when Sadie made the remark of making their own ways, snidely adding in a, “Makes sense. Easy to cut off in that way.”

Michelangelo flipped his hand over to squeeze Sadie's hand. It seemed they were picking the approach of just telling everything that felt necessary up front. Michelangelo, for his own part, obviously didn't place any stock in these things. Zoltan didn't, either, still giving his parents a hard stare.

“Cut off?” Zoltan opened their mouth, but Michelangelo shushed them.

“We don't need a dowry,” replied Max, glancing over to Zoltan before turning his attention to Sadie once more. “I am just ensuring you are the proper fit for our family line, and that you will continue to allow us to prosper.”

“A family line she won't be able to continue,” Alessia noted, glancing toward Michelangelo. “Were you aware of this?”

“Aware of what?” Zoltan's pot had been boiling. Michelangelo’s attempt to place a lid over it hadn't worked. “I understand it's been a long time since you've dated, in theory,” Michelangelo wondered what Zoltan knew that he didn't, “but no one enters a relationship hinging on just that.”

Max rose a snowy brow. “I did. I needed to make sure my family line continued.”

“No wonder you two don't love each other,” grumbled Zoltan. It caught Everett's attention, who stood silently in the corner as was his job, his attention turning specifically to Zoltan. “And yet you only have one child.”

“Two.”

“One. Is this why you forced Cry–,” they suddenly cut themself off, “Michelangelo's mother into that ******** agreement?” Zoltan almost stood up, but glancing over to Michelangelo and Sadie kept them seated. “And why the everloving ******** you focusing on this s**t versus asking Sadie who they are!?”

Michelangelo’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers before he swallowed sharply and focused on himself and Sadie. Zoltan’s snap gave Alessia and Max pause long enough for Michelangelo to cut in, “We're not needing for anything, Grandpa. Do you want to get to know my spouse or not?”

The tension could not have been cut with a knife. Everett opted to take this moment to pass out another round of drinks.

Alessia, after a moment, huffed, “At least she's creative.”

---

It might have seemed strange, the way that Sadie softened as the tensions started to bubble to the surface. No, she didn’t smile at Alessia’s comments on her lack of fertility, but Michelangelo had warned her that those comments were coming.

No, what she’d been worried about was that they were going to pick over her body and soul and find something there that would make things harder for Michelangelo, harder for the family. However, it was immediately obvious that none of this had anything to do with her. It was intergenerational trauma. She was used to that kind of thing.

She could watch it, as an outsider, as she took a half-sip of her loganberry wine.

Max had been raised in a paradigm that valued wealth above all else, something that had caused a lot of harm in his personal life, including a loveless marriage and a strained relationship with his child and grandchild. Alessia was likely in a similar boat, although she seemed to be the one who cared more about childbearing. Either way, she could see how they were so sunk-cost into their philosophy that they were blaming others for their problems instead of questioning their own worldview. Sadie found her heart beginning to ache for them, just a little. They were going to have a hard time improving their situation.

They’d tried to put Zoltan into their mold, and it hadn’t worked. Now Zoltan was lashing out, again and again, which Sadie couldn’t quite blame them for. They’d likely been hurt badly in their childhood, and now they were rebelling.

She’d ask Michelangelo more about his place in things later, but for now, she could tell that he was having a hard time with the conflict. She rubbed her thumb across his knuckles.

“I do think it’s important to talk about children before making this kind of commitment,” she said to Max, her face serene. She wondered why they’d thought she would have hidden something from Michelangelo that she’d told them immediately, but she didn’t comment on that. “He’s always been clear about absolutely not wanting them, anyway, and I was fine with that.”

They could have figured something out if they’d wanted to, but wasn’t sure she wanted to be a parent, herself.

“Anyway.” She shifted slightly, tilting her head in interest. “Yes, I do design for work, and watercolor for fun. Do you have any hobbies?”

---

“I am a classically trained pianist,” responded Alessia, not missing a moment to brag despite the way her expression had twitched at Sadie’s reveal. Somehow she seemed to look down her nose at Michelangelo and Zoltan even while everyone was sitting down. “I was quite pleased when my youngest,” she plowed right past the way Zoltan growled to themself, “turned out to be musically inclined as well.”

Michelangelo shot a glance to Zoltan, murmuring, “I can handle this.”

Zoltan huffed quietly to themself, glancing over to the side. They said nothing further, clearly trying to calm themself.

Max took the moment to overtake the conversation from Alessia once more. “Michelangelo, is that true? You don't want children?”

Michelangelo sighed. “Grandpa,” he licked his bottom lip, “I've already made this clear, haven't I?”

“Did you intentionally chose-”

“I didn't choose Sadie because,” he paused, glanced at Sadie and mouthed a sorry, before continuing, “she can't have kids. It just came up after everything else. Doesn't matter, does it?” As he took a sip of his own wine, squeezing Sadie’s hand with his other, Max took the moment to speak again.

“Surprised you haven't managed a child out of wedlock yet. Maybe you have.”

Michelangelo swallowed hard.

“And if I have,” his voice was strained when he spoke again, “if they come to me I'll deal with it then, alright? But children haven't really been in my personal outlook and it's not in our combined one, either.”

Alessia huffed to herself. “Too bad, children are such a blessing.”

“Are they?” muttered Zoltan, before they glanced over to Michelangelo and muttered, “Sorry.”

“No, it's a valid point.” Michelangelo glanced back at his grandparents. “Are they?”

His grandmother opened her mouth to say something, but his grandfather instead cut in with a, “This conversation isn't over.”

But perhaps it was for now.

“I play fantasy sports,” responded Max, dryly. “I golf.”

---

Since it still seemed like the grandparents were speaking about her without speaking to her, Sadie pulled her attention away from them for a moment. She looked to Zoltan, who she also thought was being treated a little unfairly. “Your child’s been a blessing to me, um, for what it’s worth,” she told them. “I know maybe it wasn’t the best circumstances at first, but you did a good job with him.”

She wondered briefly if she should say something else to Michelangelo and his grandparents on the topic of children. There was the obvious point to make that if he hadn’t ended up with her, there was a good chance that it would have been a man on this uncomfortable sofa, and they would have had a similar sort of problem when it came to children.

She decided not to mention it. If you wanted people to start to see things more from your point of view, you had to start with making that connection.

“I don’t know so much about golf, although I heard the course on the west end of town has the best strawberry shortcakes in the city?” She also knew that the course had gone through some environmental lawsuits, but again, she had to start where she had to start. “I know a little about music, though.”

She had the Crystal education. She’d gone to an art school, after. She was a Neptune knight.

“Who’s your favorite composer?” She was actually interested in this, and it showed. “Do you have a piano I can see? Instruments are so beautiful. I, um, like looking at different ones. Hearing them too, of course.”

---

Zoltan's smile was slight when they turned their attention to Sadie. “Ah, thanks. Tried, considering the circumstances.” They gave a quick side glance to their parents. “When they'd let me.”

It was clear that Zoltan's relationship with their parents was strained at best. When they spoke, Zoltan's body tensed, and they watched them as if they expected something else to happen. Everett left Zoltan a small pastry as everyone else spoke.

“They do have strawberry shortcake,” Max could agree with the obvious, “but I don't indulge like that.” His glance hardened on Michelangelo in particular, who opted to do the best to ignore him.

He squeezed Sadie's hand anyway.

Alessia, always loving a moment to brag, was quick to respond that her favourite composer was, “Rachmaninoff. My favourite work of his for solo is Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor,” with a pause to shift in her seat, she finished with, “Op 36. I do have several pianos here. My favourite is my Bösendorfer. Did you wish to see it?”

Zoltan grumbled to themself, “She's bragging.”

“Better than continuing to snark on the kid thing.”

Zoltan gave a gruff snort as a response.

---

Sadie couldn’t exactly blame Zoltan for continuing to grumble about Max and Alessia. After all, they had likely spent years putting up with the couple’s underhanded aggressions. However, Sadie opted to ignore them for the moment, and she ignored Max’s pointed comment about indulgence as well, focusing instead on Alessia while she continued to give Michelangelo’s hand some gentle squeezes.

This wasn’t going so bad at all, especially if she could get the others to calm down a little.

She’d found something that they could talk about, some common ground. That was always the first step. “I studied visual arts more than music,” she admitted, “But the name sounds familiar. I’d love to listen to it, and I’d love to see your Bösendorfer. I’ve always found the craftsmanship of instruments so fascinating.”

She considered for a moment, then glanced back to Max. “So, um, which foods do you like?”

---

Common ground was always the first step.

It was too bad Alessia was using this as an opportunity to brag about her particular knowledge and skills, figured Zoltan, but it was better than the alternative. “You should absolutely listen to it. I can play it for you, as well,” Alessia’s tone was smug, her smile more insincere, “on the piano. It is so lovely and crafted, from the keys to the inners.”

Her sigh was dreamy.

“If I could live in a world surrounded by beautiful music. My youngest encourages this. It's simply too bad he won't have anyone to continue this through.”

Michelangelo bit his tongue.

Max's brow lifted. “Food is not for enjoyment. It is for nourishment.” Zoltan groaned quietly. To themself, they started mimicking what was about to be said. “I eat what is necessary to help keep me alive at my age. Sugary things will not help this. Enjoyment will not help this.”

Zoltan was unable to hold back the irritated, “What even do you eat?”

Max’s expression hardened. “My chef is very skilled at creating what is needed.”

---

Sadie nodded, looking thoughtful. It was harder to find the common ground with Max, who seemed determined to not give her much to work with, as far as seeing what things she liked, but that didn’t mean she was going to groan at him or stop trying.

“I see what you mean,” she said instead, softly as ever. “I understand wanting to make sure that you can be healthy for as long as possible.” She understood about food simply feeling like a necessity, too. It was like that for her, sometimes, when things were bad. The Bells could be having the happiest meal, and she’d manage a few bites of pasta that tasted like cardboard.

It was nice when she could smile along side them, or when she could maybe split a pastry with Michelangelo and taste the sweetness.

“But those small moments of joy in something as everyday as eating? Those are the things that make this journey, this life, more worth living.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to say to Michelangelo and Zoltan, so she decided to do her best to keep the conversation going, standing up. “I would love to hear you play. I always love seeing, um, different people’s talents,” she said to Alessia. Maybe the older woman was bragging, but Sadie didn’t see it like that. She truly was interested in learning more about her, more about her passions. “Is there time to see it now?”

A moment passed. This was riskier territory, maybe, but she added, “Um, if you did want to pass some things on to the younger generation, you could teach me some things, maybe. I’ve been trying to learn more about music, being with Michelanglo.” With her magic, too, but she didn’t need to know that. “I’m trying to get better at reading it.”

---

Max looked at Michelangelo directly. “Yes. I will need to stay as healthy as long as possible. I apparently cannot trust what he's going to do with any of this.”

Grandpa Maximilian had a way of making Michelangelo feel small, sometimes. This felt like one of those moments. He took a deep breath, counted to five, attempted to channel his parent, and let it out. This meditation thing really didn't work so well for him though–

“Oh, Max, please,” Alessia’s laugh felt airy, lacking the warmth that Michelangelo usually had in his, “go use your SkyTrak. I have a chance to show my piano to someone who will actually appreciate it.”

Zoltan pinched the bridge of their nose. When Michelangelo glanced in their direction, they swatted at him to hush him before he even asked. Michelangelo could take some educated guesses, considering how observant he was, and yet he still felt like he had missed some things that Zoltan had noticed years ago.

Perhaps before Michelangelo was really aware of what was happening under the surface.

“Come, come! Follow me!” Alessia got to her feet, slowly making her way out of the room they were in and down the gallant hallway. “Everett will guide you if you need, considering,” Alessia paused, before resuming with, “nevermind. The Bösendorfer is truly a work of art. You don't have to know pianos to know this.”

Michelangelo kept step behind his grandmother. “Bösendorfers are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars,” he murmured. “She's quite proud of that thing.”

---

She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Max, or what to do about his stubbornness and the constant barbs he was throwing at Michelangelo. Honestly, he reminded her a little of Irving. Maybe she would talk to Michelangelo about that, when they got home.

For the moment, she decided to do what the others were doing and ignore him.

“Yes, it’s, um, a house large enough to get lost in,” she said to Alessia. “I’ll stay close.” And she followed. “If there’s anything else that’s particularly important on the way, we can look at that, too. Especially art.” Sadie wouldn’t be surprised if there were some impressive pieces here.

Michelangelo’s comment got a little nod, and an impressed raise of her eyebrow. That was a steep price, even for a quality instrument. If pianos were her passion, and she’d invested that much of her precious money into a quality one, then it was no wonder that she was so proud of it.

She slowed, though, so that she was shoulder to shoulder with Zoltan. “Are you, um, okay?” she asked.

---

“Oh, it assuredly is. I can't imagine it is particularly much easier when,” Alessia glanced toward Everett, who shook his head, “you are unused to the place.” Her heels clicked against the floor. “But no matter! It will grow easier!”

Zoltan was surprised to see Sadie slow her walk to keep pace with them. They glanced upward. Their response was a noncommittal grunt. Were they okay? Debatable, perhaps. Not something they were going to talk about too publicly.

At least, not in front of Alessia.

“Don't worry about me,” Zoltan offered, glancing back in front of the both of them. “This is all about the two of you, right?”

“And here she is,” gushed Alessia, cutting Zoltan’s thoughts as she gestured widely to the black grand piano, with gold legs and a red pop over the keys, “my Hans Hollein 290 Imperial. Isn't she beautiful?”

Seeing as Sadie seemed actually interested in her pride and joy, Alessia stayed just slightly to the left to let Sadie get a better look. Michelangelo pursed his lips, impressed that his grandmother had done that much.

… Of course, Sadie had said magic words. She was encouraging his grandmother to chatter about her bragging rights.

“There were only thirty-five of these ever made. Thirty-five! And one of them sits in this house, here, in Destiny City!” Compared to the classic feel of the home, perhaps this design was surprisingly modern. Then again, Alessia had decked this entire room differently. There were more reds, more warm colours, less portraits and more landscapes. This room was meant to feature the piano.

---


“It’s about all of us,” said Sadie, and she reached out a hand to rest her fingers on Zoltan’s shoulder, just for a second. She wouldn’t push them, not now, but she was aware that she would likely see them around more often than she would see the grandparents. If this was about seeing more of the family, then that included them.

Sadie always did her best to check on people who she cared about.

The piano was impossible to miss. Sadie broke away from Zoltan to step up to it, her lips softly parted in a gentle kind of awe as she inspected the work of art. “Oh,” she breathed. It was a little more modern than she’d been expecting, a certain midcentury air to it, like it would have been at home in a jazzy lounge, and there was certainly a unique beauty to its crispness. The woodworking involved in making any instrument was terribly impressive, and making any grand piano was even more so. This was a work of art on top of that, and Sadie couldn’t even see the strings.

“She’s beautiful,” she murmured. She took another half step closer, and had to clasp her hands together to keep from running her fingers over the polished wood. This wasn’t her Wonder, she reminded herself. She was used to touching treasures, but this one wasn’t hers. She couldn’t guess at the price, other than that it was likely one of the most expensive things she’d seen in a long time.

“And a collector’s item, on top of that? No wonder this is your pride and joy,” she said. “Where did you find this one?”

---

Zoltan glanced at the fingers on their shoulder, but didn't acknowledge them beyond that. They would manage. They always had. Sadie and Michelangelo worrying themselves about them when this was about their upcoming nuptials felt … well, it felt wrong, in any case.

It had been a long time before too many people showed concern about them, though.

Minus Michelangelo, anyway, who was busy rolling his eyes at Alessia laughing aloud when she was asked where she found it. “I bought it, naturally.” Naturally. “It is rare these items actually come to market, but this one was inside someone's estate. They passed away, so it went to auction, and I bid.”

It was hard to miss the confidence in her followed statement. “They should've known better to compete with a duPont.”

Their life was, indeed, about how rich they were, even when Alessia was speaking with pride in her work.

“So here she remains, in a room dedicated to her and to the craft.” Alessia glanced to Michelangelo. “Certainly, something he understands.”

Michelangelo cleared his throat. Right. “Of course! Having your own room for your music is important. I have my own practice room after all.” He chuckled. “And several saxophones, actually.”

“I know,” Alessia’s voice was almost sing-song. “Taught you well.”

---

She’d bought it. Obviously.

Even to Sadie, who could be a little slow with picking up the subtexts of these kinds of things, that was practically a given. She nodded anyway. “Still, you knew when it became available. That takes paying attention. Then you made the investment.”

Michelangelo’s family had exceptionally deep pockets, but this item must have cost more than some houses. Sadie understood that the value represented here was likely one of the most important things to Alessia. She smiled.

“I can see that this is very important to you. I’m stunned, honestly. I like instruments in general, but,” she shot Michelangelo an apologetic look, “Well, pianos are often a little more artistically designed than saxophones.”

Unless you got into magic. She was a visual person, though. She couldn’t help it.

“Were you going to play Sonata No. 2 in B-flat minor?”

---

“It can take a lot of effort to pay attention to the luxury instrument market, yes,” agreed Alessia, walking around her pride and joy. Her admiration was obvious in a melodramatic sigh. “You young people even have computerized machines to make that process easier. I had to keep tabs on estate sales myself.”

“AI?” asked Zoltan, leaning against the wall. “You mean artificial intelligence, right?”

“Yes, yes, whatever that phrase is,” Alessia moved to the bench of her piano, sitting herself down in front of it. Zoltan spared the thought that Alessia really hadn't done all of that as solo as she would claim, but they didn't bring it up. No point in arguing that specificity. “The work I was willing to put into this gave us such a lovely piece. And you are right,” her fingers ghosted over the keys, “it's a shame Michelangelo didn't take to the piano.”

Michelangelo shook his head lightly at Pendour to tell them not to worry about it, though he did wish his grandmother hadn't used it as an opportunity to unnecessarily lament. Not that that was anything new. “She's melodramatic anyway,” murmured Michelangelo, an airy puff of a laugh following. “You're not wrong though. Pianos have prestige behind them, so artistry, too.”

He also knew he couldn't not pay attention as his grandmother took the question as a suggestion and immediately started playing her favourite arrangement to play on her favourite piano. Alessia wasn't exaggerating when she said she had talent on the keys; her fingers glided across them as easily as breathing. The piece itself sounded powerful on an exquisite piece of art itself, and there wasn't any arguing that.

Zoltan was fairly sure that was why their mother paired them both together.

---

There was more to why the piano was important than simply its sound quality. Sadie understood that. She also understood that it was truly a magnificent instrument, and it quickly became obvious that Alessia was very skilled.

Sadie stepped half a pace back, enough that she could reach out towards Michelangelo, wrap an arm around him, and lean on him a little as the her eyes fluttered closed. She sat there in silence for a long moment, simply enjoying the music and the artistry of the situation.

It was almost nice, she thought, that there was a family aspect to the music. Although depending on how deep that family connection ran-

Sadie opened her eyes. At first, with how Michelangelo had spoken about his grandparents, Sadie had been a little worried about them being involved in Chaos, somehow. Of course there was still a chance of that, but now, Sadie found herself looking at Alessia’s hands.

She worr many rings.

“Are you going to be okay,” she whispered to Michelangelo, “If she’s Neptune?”

---

Michelangelo, for his own part, was doing his best just to ignore the fact that his grandparents had found ways to be snide toward him somehow the entire time and instead just enjoy the music. No matter how he felt about the situation, he knew the musical ability clearly ran in his blood. His ear caught tones easier than most, and he had taken to instruments of several varieties without much mental effort.

There was also the fact that he was a reborn knight of a planet known for its musicality, from a wonder dedicated to the study of arts, but he didn't put that much stock into that being the only reason. It might've explained his inclination to the saxophone. It didn't explain the musicality in the first place.

Michelangelo glanced toward Zoltan, who had leaned themself against the wall, crossed their arms, and let out a heavy sigh. Everett went over to them. He'd ignore the both of them for the moment.

His glance went upward toward Sadie instead.

The concept of Alessia being a knight almost made him bark a laugh. He held it back, knowing that Sadie was serious. “Doubt she's like us at all,” was the response. He followed that up, even quieter, with, “I'm reborn and they're,” with a head jerk toward Zoltan, “new to this life. There's no sign of the water planet blood in us.”

His gaze shifted back toward Alessia.

“Think she's just got a good ear for it.”


---

“The Code has been doing some different things lately,” said Sadie, with a small shrug. A few years ago, you wouldn’t have heard of people new to this life. “Um, taking applications, almost?”

It wasn’t quite that simple, and even if it had been, she wasn’t sure if Alessia was the kind of person who would have applied for the burden of Knighthood. She just knew better than to reject the possibility, after what had happened with her sister.

She didn’t think it was a sure thing, just something on the table. And yet, she had the feeling that more magic in the family would somehow catch Michelangelo completely off guard, even now.

“But she does have a good ear.”

She let herself drift into silence, enjoying the music until the end of the song. Then, she began to clap, in that gentle, formal way.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “The piano. The song. Your talent.”