The Yatagarasu makes a toast to the past and the future. A submission to Yatagarasu Week ‘22 for the day 2 prompt ‘Disguise’.
It’s not that Calisto doesn’t like children, no matter how many times she’s used that as an excuse. Faraday’s kid is precocious-cute, smart and sneaky for her age. Takes after her dad. If the circumstances were different, she wouldn’t mind being Auntie Calisto. She’d teach her to pick pockets better, teach her where to kick an adult where it hurts if she ever needs to. She’s a bright kid–she has a good future, no matter if she follows in Faraday’s footsteps or not.
Not liking Kay isn’t the problem. It’s that she doesn’t like collateral damage.
But being the kid of one of her partners in crime, of course she’s always going to be underfoot–even now, as they gather at Faraday’s house in the evening to celebrate a recent successful heist. And because Calisto hasn’t helped Kay improve her pickpocketing technique, Faraday catches her sneaking a lollipop out of Badd’s coat pocket almost immediately. “Kay,” he admonishes, scooping her up by the armpits and swiftly standing up from his seat on the couch. She shrieks, still clenching her prize in one fist. Calisto pauses on her way back to get glasses from the kitchen and leans in the doorway, watching in amusement.
Kay tries to squirm out of his grip, pedaling her legs in the air. “Daddy! Not fair!”
“I don’t mind… if she wants one,” says Badd, a lollipop of his own in his mouth. He has his arms crossed and is slouched so deeply into the couch that it gives Calisto back problems just to look at him. He looks sour, but that’s just Badd.
“I know you don’t,” Faraday says, beginning to shake Kay like he’s trying to get coins out of a piggy bank. She yells indignantly. “But she doesn’t need the sugar this late, believe me. C’mon, Kay, give it up.”
“No!” Kay contorts herself, trying to bite him on the arm. He dodges skillfully.
Calisto snorts, pushing off of the doorway and coming to pluck the lollipop from Kay’s grip, three champagne flutes balanced between the fingers of her other hand. “God, you sound so old right now,” she tells Faraday. Free of excuses to be a bastard, he heaves Kay back down to the floor. She scurries away to hide behind the arm of the couch, peeking her eyes out to glare at them both.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me.” Faraday takes one of the flutes from Calisto and sits back down, reaching for their champagne bottle. “Anyway, you’re not the one who has to deal with her jumping on your bed at eleven at night.”
“Daddy,” Kay complains, like a grouchy little adult, “I’m right here. I can hear you.”
Byrne takes the opportune moment to pop the cork and catch the bottle’s sputter of foam in his glass. “Did anyone hear something?” he says serenely. “Just me?”
Calisto resists the urge to half-affectionately call him an asshole and distributes the other glass to Badd. She sits on Faraday’s other side and lets him pour her a glass. Badd slumps forward to accept a drink, too. “Kay… not getting anything?” he mutters.
Faraday gives him a look. “What kind of father do you think I–”
“Meant a juice. Or something.”
“Sugar, Tyrell, juice has sugar like you wouldn’t believe.”
Kay kicks the couch and groans dramatically. Calisto cackles. “You’re so boring! What are we toasting to?”
“Right,” says Byrne, raising his glass. “To the fall of the Matsui company.”
Remembering the heist has an immediate sobering effect. Calisto’s laugh had been genuine, but what’s left of it dies in her mouth. They had contacts at that company–not the Yatagarasu. She’s dreading her next report back to the ring.
“To the Yatagarasu… and to justice,” Badd rumbles, raising his glass next to Byrne’s.
They’re going to tell her she’s getting too comfortable, too friendly. If you keep going like this, they’ll remind her, one day you’re going to fuck up. You’re going to slip and let them too close, and you’re not wriggling your way out of cleanup duty. Remember that. Remember where your allegiances lie when you take off Calisto Yew’s face.
Calisto catches a look of Kay, chin now resting on the arm of the couch, looking up at the glasses with awe. The gears in her head are practically visible as they turn, trying to comprehend the delights they could possibly contain and how she could manage to steal one to find out. Calisto tears her eyes away and finally raises her glass. “To Cece,” she says.
Faraday tips his head. “To family, here or otherwise.”
Calisto clinks her glass to her dead fake sister in silence, and downs her drink quickly.
