A/N: YOU GUYS, something marvelous has happened during this whole writing period! For those of you who haven't visited my profile recently – we have some lovely FANART! for this story, courtesy of souling on Tumblr. Go check them out, and marvel at the wonderful Lambos with her wonderful new haircut (specific links on my profile – or just search "lambo" on their blog).

ALSO, HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Did anyone dress up? My last Halloween costume was a moth magician; I made antennae out of feathers and pipe cleaner, a staff out of the same + some copper tubing, and wings out of some bent coat hangers with nylons (with oil crayon for color) stretched over them.

Keeping Your Character – Chapter 31

Lambo woke to something itchy brushing against her mouth. Yuurei curled up on her torso, butt pointed toward her head and his tail draped across her face like the beard-and-moustache equivalent of an ugly toupee.

It was an auspicious start to the day.

She gently lifted her gigantic fur child – he gave a low noise that mixed the typical cat-mrrp with a revving chainsaw – and twisted to sit him on the warm spot she'd just vacated.

Thankfully, she didn't have much on her schedule. She was taking a lazy day to recover, rather than continue her rather brutally paced training – according to her old memories and new life experience, plus Iemitsu's information network, she estimated that the Varia would arrive either that night or the next. Being rested up and loose-muscled was a good idea.

And sure, she ostensibly wouldn't be fighting right away – the Sun match came first – and had some extra time… but who knew with the Amano-Force around? Maybe it'd try to trip her up, so she'd lose her match like canon!Lambo.

Shaking off her unpleasant thoughts with a great yawn, she shuffled into her bathroom. She wasn't sure if it was the unusual hour making her groggy, but she found herself just staring blankly into the mirror for quite some time as she brushed her teeth. She eyed herself with a puzzled glare, wondering what was striking her as off. It wasn't as though she often looked herself over; she wasn't exactly vain – and even after all these years, there was still the occasional notion that someone else should be looking back.

(Which reminded her… she needed to talk to Mukuro about the trick he used to manifest and enter mindscapes, see if it was something anyone with a bit of Mist could learn. She was curious about exploring her own, and wanted to examine it a bit more closely, under less duress – and was especially keen on finding out what was inside the books there. On the other hand, if it was a Muku-exclusive skill, she wasn't really keen on inviting him in for a stroll. Once was one time too many.)

Lambo leaned in a bit closer, tugging forward a longer curl from the top of her head, going a bit cross-eyed as she tried to look at it straight on instead of via the mirror.

It was green.

She shuffled into her room to get a look at it in different lighting – but no. Still green. Admittedly, it was a very faint green tint, barely noticeable against the black of her hair. It didn't look that bad, actually.

Nonplussed, she wandered down to the kitchen, wondering if one of her housemates had added something to her shampoo. Then again, they'd followed the rules well enough so far, and she didn't think any of them were the type to ruin their good boy streaks for something so trivial as a hair dye prank. Besides that, it wasn't any of their styles; it was too subtle a color for it to be Ken, not enough like a horror movie for it to be a Mukuro trick, and not ironic enough for Chikusa (and Shouichi – the only other person regularly in her house – was, frankly, too intimidated by her to think of pranking her in the first place, if he was even inclined toward pranking in the first place).

Maybe the hair stylist had done it? If not dye or tint, perhaps the way they had layered her hair made it catch the light differently or something? Hell, for all she knew, it was simply anime bullshit acting up because her powers were green, and she'd just used them extensively in a training montage…

The moment her foot hit the tiled floor of her kitchen, she found a small savory something-or-other about an inch from her mouth. She flicked her eyes up to find Chikusa staring at her with his usual bland intensity.

"Try this."

She took a small sniff, but opened her mouth without much caution. Chikusa placed the tart between her teeth, and resumed his stare as she chewed.

"It's yummy," she said.

He didn't exactly smile, but something around his eyes looked distinctly satisfied.

"Breakfast tart. It's cheese, bacon, sautéed onion, and egg."

She hummed, then ambled over to grab another tart from the tray where they were cooling. She leaned against the counter, watching as Chikusa began to wash the various cooking implements he had used that morning. He was tidy with his new hobby, if nothing else.

In a strange twist, her roommates had slowly taken on the combined skills of one whole housewife. Ken obviously had his gardening, while Mukuro could sit and watch trashy TV for hours (he'd moved onto soaps, hilariously), and if you put the laundry next to him while he was watching, some strange, possibly-from-a-past-life muscle memory would kick in, and he'd automatically start folding things without even noticing. And now Chikusa had picked up baking.

He was astonishingly good at it.

"There's a package for you," Chikusa added, after a long moment of silent work.

Lambo hadn't ordered anything recently, so her interest was piqued. She shoved the last of a tart into her mouth, then shuffled over to the other counter – the one between kitchen and sitting room, where the mail usually got put when someone bothered to get it in the morning.

Sitting there, amongst the usual flyers and bills, was a plain, brown box about the size of her hand. She quickly stripped the tape off and opened it. Within was a slightly smaller white box of the style you'd expect to find a bracelet in – and inside that was a USB key, nestled beside a certain Half Ring on top of some fluff. After a slow blink, she carefully pulled the fluff up, revealing the sticky note hidden beneath it.

"I came through on my part – I.S."

The second Lambo comprehended it, she snatched up the USB key with an excited squeak (which she'd deny forever). She felt Chikusa staring at her, but she was too giddy to care. If this held the information that she thought it did… frankly, a slight amount of embarrassment paled in comparison.

In the brief moments when she'd allowed herself to lose a bit of focus on her training, she'd been on tenterhooks waiting for word from Iemitsu – even if, in the back of her mind, some part of her figured the Amano-Force would have him succeed so that she'd end up as Tsuna's Guardian without "breaking her character" as a self-interested, independent badass. (Half of the reason she'd done things the way she had was to test the limits of the AF. After all, if the whole concept came from the world being as a fictional narrative, then it stood to reason that it followed rules for good writing – trying to avoid OOC, for example. And while she wasn't completely sure that she was right about this theory, Iemitsu actually handing over Vongola secrets to her because A: she was the only viable Lightning Guardian for Tsuna-the-protagonist, and B: getting her what she wanted was the only way someone like her would accept the position… it didn't exactly disprove her hypothesis about the In Character Inclination.)

Either way, this acquisition of knowledge had her the most excited she'd been since… well, since the Estraneo breakout. Even in her past life, worldbuilding and power mechanics had been of great interest to her – but here, where it was actually personally applicable? Sure, she'd experimented with Flames on her own, and more recently with her housemates. But there was something special about a more systematic, encyclopedic approach. The way she imagined it was similar to the rules of language – the better you knew the rules, the more effectively you could bend them to get your point across.

(Plus, if said information came in the form of something like notes written by someone from Primo's Generation, there was possibly interesting tidbits of the historical or blackmail-worthy variety.)

The idea made her guts feel tingly. Even the Ring – and the troublesome, if hopefully temporary, responsibilities attached – couldn't dampen her mood overly much. Besides that, the Ring itself also represented a learning opportunity, given its status as part of a set of mystical rocks that apparently kept the world from ending? Somehow. (well, half of one. How did splitting – not to mention sealing – the Vongola Rings even work, if they were needed for regulating or balancing the world's life force or whatever?)

But she imagined learning about the Tri-Ni-Sette would be even more difficult that learning about Dying Will Flames, so she considered that topic couched until something new came up.

Lambo gingerly plucked the Ring from its fluff and eyed it for a moment. Rather than put it on, she shoved it in her bathrobe's pocket. Then, after grabbing a plate with a few more tarts, she left for her room – and more importantly, her laptop.

As far as she knew, the Varia could show up at any moment now, and she wanted to at least glimpse over her new data during what little quiet was left.

It didn't take long for Lambo to get sucked in. She poured through the notes like a flash flood, clicking through anything that looked interesting. There were sections on the practical uses of Dying Will Flames (and classifications of their properties), anecdotes from past Vongola members (some of which indeed had tantalizing mention of historical figures), a list of the Flame information (and disinformation) that the Vongola had made known to the mafia, a very brief mention of the Vongola Rings (with no mention of the rest of the Tri-Ni-Sette whatsoever), and even some research into the origin of Flames.

Within the latter category, one of the subheadings was "What Determines an Individual's Flame Type"; some part of her (probably the one that had, in a past life, completed personality quizzes regarding the subject) zeroed in on it.

There were several theories. Parentage, for one – not surprising, given the historical emphasis on bloodlines. Supernatural influence was another, which seemed apt enough. And then there was, of course, individual personality.

Each of the theories had variations in thought. Was it inheritance from the mother or the father? Was it magic, or aliens? And exactly which facet of your disposition would determine a thing like Flames?

Lambo thought that all of the theories had some merit (though even she wasn't sure whether Earthlings counted as magic or aliens). Flames probably came from a combination of several factors. Still, she found herself leaning into the words, studying the overlap, as well as the differences – some of which were only slight. It was very interesting to her; on one hand, in the sense that it explained, or tried to explain, how powers worked – on the other, it was a look into other peoples' perspectives on the matter.

Before the past week of training with the boys, Lambo hadn't exactly talked about Dying Will Flames with anyone. For one, it was a pretty small population of people who were even in the know. For another, she didn't really have friends – let alone the kind you talked about powers and weaknesses with; her Flames were what gave her an edge, kept her alive and wealthy. As such, her brain pretty much categorized Flames as highly secret, and highly personal.

So it was interesting, albeit weird, to read about other peoples' ideas and experiences with them; their curiosity was... different, perhaps, than hers, given that some part of herself still saw Flames as part of a power system from an anime. But these people were approaching it like any other mystery of the world around them.

She settled in, and scrolled down to the next page.

What seemed like minutes turned out to be hours, judging by the Rice Krispie noises her joints gave off when she straightened herself from her hunched position on the bed. She blinked a bit, took a glance at the clock on her nightstand, then decided to get a midnight snack. Maybe a coffee, if she was going to stay up as late as she'd probably end up doing; her Earl Grey sadly didn't cut it for situations like these (more likely to relax her into sleep than keep her alert).

She walked into the kitchen – only just registering Ken and Chikusa sitting on the living room couch as they watched some comedy sketch – and opened the caffeine cupboard. She grabbed a bag of grounds instead of one of the single serve pods that went with the coffeemaker (it was a full pot sort of night) and went to get a mug.

And then Levi A Than showed up.

He'd tripped the silent alarm – obviously not expecting Mist illusions to be hiding traps and security when he was after a teenager – and a panel on the living room wall slid open to reveal a screen that showed the feeds from all of Lambo's outside cameras.

He was currently trampling through her peonies in the backyard on his way toward the house, followed by some lightly-fried minions who had obviously tripped one of the not-so-silent traps (courtesy of Shouichi's latest endeavors in security, spurred on by unwanted Hibari incursions; unsurprisingly, they hadn't really helped in regards to the prefect).

Her lip curled, fingers drifting to the Ring in her bathrobe pocket. Mammon's little psychic snot maps sure were inconvenient.

"Oi, Lambo, is that one of the assassin guys?" Ken asked, already on his feet.

Chikusa stood next to him, fishing one of his new yo-yos (who knew battle yo-yos were a thing you could order online? But then again, it was a service straight out of Mafia Land…) out of his pocket.

"Yep," Lambo said.

She found herself surprisingly uninterested, considering Levi would be hilariously easy to goad into a fun fight. But, given that he had interrupted her little study session – and he was trespassing on her property… frankly, she'd just rather he be a problem that didn't exist.

"Could you guys just… keep him off the flowers or something? I'm sure the rest of the mafia circus will be here soon enough and…"

The rest of her sentence – something about this little ambush being shortly dealt with by someone else, because people wanted to shoehorn the whole Varia issue into a slightly more legitimate death-match format – cut off abruptly.

So did, seemingly, every noise in the room.

Ken and Chikusa unconsciously inched away from Lambo, eyes morbidly riveted on the upper right section of the security screen.

A small grey blur had just darted out from beneath one of the lilac bushes – unmistakably Yuurei on one of his little nighttime jaunts around the yard. He'd made a beeline for Levi, visibly hissing and spitting, puffed up like he'd been electrocuted, aiming to get in some serious clawing and biting at the intruder.

Levi had kicked him. Hard. With combat boots, and enough force to send the poor cat tumbling several yards and into the fence. He lied there, unmoving.

"Ken. Chikusa"

They jumped at the sound of her voice, colder than they'd ever heard it.

"Go to Yuurei. Now."

And when she silently stalked out the door, they followed with blue and yellow fire licking at their fingertips.

Mukuro tended to be a lot more honest with himself than almost anyone would believe. Said honesty rarely saw the light of day, naturally – but deception was a tool he took great care to keep from becoming double-edged.

Therefore, Mukuro would only ever admit it to himself (for the sake of his ambitions, if nothing else – even under… review as they were right now) that he was quite fond of his current, rather peaceful way of life. Regardless of his intentions to hide the sentiment, however, his thoughts on the matter were unfortunately obvious if one cared to look. Did people really think he'd follow someone else's rules if they didn't suit him?

Then again, perhaps people put that down to Lambo being something of an exception, as she was wont to be. (Something else he'd never admit to out loud.)

Still, the fact of the matter was that he liked things as they were, and some upstart coming to screw with it would piss him off. Possibly to a degree only slightly lesser than Lambo's inevitable displeasure with such a situation.

It was why, despite enjoying his life, he hadn't been at Lambo's house for a while. But for one quick stop to drop off his own shiny, orange-glowing contract, he'd been out gathering information on these… Varia people. All the better to put them down with great prejudice.

It was also why he had put up a boundary line of sorts around her… their home. An invisible, undetectable circumference tied directly to his awareness of his powers, as all his creations were. And really, it was amusing how limited people thought Mists were; only there for creepy parlor tricks and visual misdirection. Quite frankly, he could do whatever he wanted and could imagine, just so long as he could trick the world into thinking it was real.

Then again… maybe other Mists were simply feebleminded, and he was just so much better by comparison that no one could predict his true efficacy.

Satisfied at the thought, he allowed a smug little smirk to curl his lips. Then, he concentrated once more on making a beeline for the house. He'd only just finished up with his latest lead when he'd received a mental ping from his tripwire. Someone unfamiliar had crossed the border.

Someone dangerous. At least, more dangerous than the usual suspects – the postman, or Lambo's little minion.

By the time he arrived, he was expecting things to have already escalated. Lambo was delightfully skilled at angering people in general, let alone prospective opponents – and with her home turf being invaded, she'd be in peak agitating form.

Strangely for him, he'd underestimated how badly the situation might devolve. Instead of the typical meandering path Lambo usually drove things down, the car had taken a sudden swerve off the road straight into a ditch. And now everyone was stuck walking along a lightless forest, with gleaming eyes tracking their backs from the tree line.

Or at least, Lambo's current state certainly gave off the impression of a stalking predator of some sort. The moon wasn't particularly bright that night, and her back was to the porch light – but for all that her features were cast in darkness, he could see her eyes anyway because they were straight up glowing. (He hadn't known she could do that; they were practically like sparklers, complete with a fuzzy-burning pinprick on the inside of his eyelids when he blinked.)

Considering he'd last seen her only about a week ago, she seemed very different. Her hair was different, for one (the undercut suited her) – but she was also madder than he'd ever seen her; even more than when they'd been picking off Estraneo scientists like gremlin children from a horror movie.

But more unnerving was the sense that there was something… Wrong. Something off. It took him a long moment for Mukuro to realize what was unsettling him.

There was no indication of her rage, other than her eyes being incandescent – and they were wide open too, completely lacking the lazy, half-lidded look she usually sported. There was no palpable killing intent, no sparks, no twist to her expression. She was simply standing with a strange stillness and staring, without blinking, at a rather homely-looking man with ridiculous piercings and several umbrellas on his back.

Levi A Than of the Varia. Surprisingly unaware for an assassin of such caliber.

Then again, if Mukuro hadn't known her so long, even he probably would have missed the way she seemed about ready to unhinge her jaw like a snake and bite the man's head off.

Given that he was in the habit of observing others' habits, however, it felt like a jab in the gut to realize that he'd missed something. He hadn't noticed that Lambo had never done killing intent. Sure, he'd seen her radiate a sort of irritation to intimidate people every so often – but when she truly, genuinely had the desire to straight up murder someone? Nothing.

He supposed that would be a boon for successful bounty hunting.

So struck by his oversight (and once again hit with the intense want to get back inside Lambo's head, if only for a moment, so he could figure out how she ticked. Who used murderous intent for petty scares, but not for actual killing?), he realized the reason for her extreme state as almost an afterthought. Crouched behind her were Ken and Chikusa, hands flaring yellow and blue, respectively. And the focus of their Flames was a pitiful little lump of fur. A low growl coming from that direction – probably kept from escalating into a hellish yowl only by a ready supply of Tranquility – told him exactly what it was. Yuurei.

For all that Lambo could baby that cat, she wouldn't insist on them exposing Flames – exposing their threat level – to an enemy for no reason. (Even if it was only a potential exposure, since she had a light coating of Mist covering up the light-show; the Varia should be capable of detecting her illusions, but who knew if they'd underestimate her.)

He felt a strange flare of animosity all his own. Yuurei was… an irritant, yes. But he was part of their little group. He was Lambo's cat. For all that Mukuro wanted to yank the cat's tail sometimes, someone else seriously injuring him was not acceptable. He found his fingers curling around the shaft of a trident that had yet to exist outside his mind.

Some hypersensitive part of him jerked to attention as Lambo broke her strange stillness. She took a single step forward. The man of excessive piercings and ugliness – currently monologuing about some inane subject or another – didn't even have the sagacity to notice his impending doom.

But just as he was certain that the night would end with the peonies soaked in assassin blood (Ken would throw such a fit, he thought with a none-too-bothered inward sigh), a small horde of people showed up. Or rather, two smaller hordes in opposition to each other.

Mukuro felt his lip curl. Too little, too late. It was hardly their business now.

Still, he listened to what they were saying. Wouldn't do to miss something, now that he was… nominally Sawada Tsunayoshi's Guardian.

Doubly so, since it seemed that Lambo had little intention of paying attention. Rather than going for Levi's throat, like she'd seemingly intended moments before, she was staring at the far wall of the yard, which was untouched by the light from the porch. She jabbed a hand into the shadows, reeled out a disheveled man in a white coat – the perverted, mosquito doctor; Shamal, or something – and began dragging him in the direction of the injured Yuurei.

"Check him," she said plainly, crouching down next to her cat.

"I'm not a vet, Lambo," he protested.

But then the doctor took a glance at her face, and his reluctance dropped away. He squatted down easily next to Yuurei, paying no mind to Ken and Chikusa nearby (who were understandably not very fond of mafia doctors). He gently poked and prodded the cat – probably saved from a severe scratching only by the Rain Flames still working through him – and hummed quietly.

"Your little friends did a good job. Nothing was punctured; the ribs were only cracked, so nothing needed to be set, and the Sun Flames healed everything correctly. And the Rain kept him from moving around too much and worsening his condition. He's fine. Just a little… doped."

Something in Lambo's posture relaxed, and she nodded to the doctor without really looking at him – or anything else, for that matter. She reached out a hand to softly pet Yuurei's head.

Mukuro kept an eye on her, but most of his attention was on the mafia fools acting out a little drama. There was almost too much posturing, death threats and the like, but he still managed a coherent picture of what they were going to attempt. A series of one-on-one duels – likely to the death – between teams: middle schoolers versus professional assassins.

What a display of integrity and fair play. And that wasn't even mentioning the kind of filth that he'd discovered going on behind the scenes.

Then those suspicious Cervello girls showed up. Officiators for the farce.

Still, for all his disgust, he found himself eyeing his prospective opponent with interest. One of the world's most powerful babies – an Arcobaleno. That meant strong Mist Flames, which was readily apparent in the strength of the illusion that was woven around him. To keep others from realizing his status? And presumably, to not make the connection between his baby form and said status in the first place (after all, there weren't exactly other babies with fully adult faculties running around the mafia world). It was an interesting concept.

Eventually, finally, everyone dispersed. The Varia disappeared to the pricey hotel Mukuro had long since pinpointed, while the middle schoolers drifted apart after a few encouraging platitudes – Shamal following the bomb-happy kid out.

Sawada Iemitsu, the only outsider left in the yard, ambled toward Lambo. Mukuro glanced him over, eyeing the shabby construction outfit and scruffy facial hair. It was hard to believe that a man like him held the position of Vongola's Number 2.

"You're awfully quiet, considering," the man said.

She glanced at him.

"You're awfully calm, considering," she replied. "What are the odds that one of your son's friends will die in the coming week?"

Iemitsu seemed almost taken aback. It was a rather harsh remark, coming from Lambo; usually, she tended toward the comical, or absurd. But then, he visibly calmed.

"The odds are better than you might think. This pretense of legitimacy gives Tsuna a chance. It's straightforward, plus spectators are allowed. Intervention is a last resort, but still possible."

He grinned at her then, but his eyes flickered over to Mukuro for a split-second. The illusionist held in a sneer.

"Besides, I like to think that our side has two… no, three guaranteed wins."

Lambo snorted, her eyes finally focusing on the man.

"You're still on my property," she said after a moment.

She made a shoo-shoo motion with her hand.

Iemitsu rolled his eyes, but nevertheless removed himself from the yard, ambling off down the street toward the Sawada house.

The moment he was gone, Lambo turned to Mukuro, her eyes wide and sharp. Her hands clamped down on his shoulders, and he nearly started. He wasn't exactly one to talk, but Lambo didn't really initiate physical contact.

Violence aside.

"What do you have on Levi A Than?" she asked. "I know you've been off snooping."

Mukuro couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"Lambo, you hardly need my help to kill a man like that."

She huffed, impatience written all over her face.

"Killing is easy. I want to make him want to die. Tell me how to obliterate him."

Mukuro couldn't help but smile.

OMAKE 1

Lambo and her other housemates sat around the kitchen table. Spread across it was an array of pictures and sheets of paper. Operation: Erase Taserface was in progress.

Lambo stroked along Yuurei's back, the big baby sprawled across her lap and purring like an earthquake. (He was taking the usual cat stance of "I never made that mistake, I'm perfect and untouchable" and thankfully carrying on like normal.)

"You're surprisingly good at photography, Muku."

"I've got reach," He deadpanned at her, a tentacle sprouting from an indeterminate point behind his back.

"There's not much on Taserface," Chikusa said quietly, poking around the notes. "Only some basics about his combat statistics and personality."

"Yeah, the other guys' files are way bigger," Ken butted in.

As one, they all turned to stare at Mukuro. Said illusionist turned to look at the ceiling instead of meeting their eyes.

"…he's boring, okay?!"

OMAKE 2

With a plan in mind, a purring cat on her lap, and several cups of tea down her gullet, Lambo had calmed considerably. As the others continue discussing the information on the table, she cast her mind back to the scene she had ignored earlier.

There was Levi, then the rest of the Varia, and the Cervello. She hadn't really noticed Xanxus, strangely enough. Wasn't his rage aura supposed to be pretty attention-grabbing? Not to mention the glow of Wrath Flames.

"Ah!"

"What? What happened?" Ken barked.

"Squalo was there!"

"This one?" Chikusa pointed to a picture of the long-haired swordsman in question.

"What of it?" Mukuro asked.

"I had so many hand puns I didn't get to use!" Lambo pouted. "At least a couple pages worth. Plus the hand I took off him."

Mukuro sighed.

"If we could return to the conversation…"

"…at hand," Chikusa whispered to Ken.

"…that we were having," Mukuro finished, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

"I could have given him the finger with his own hand!" Lambo lamented.

Mukuro stood and walked toward the alcohol cupboard.