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“Kaylee?” Alvin asked.
His sister hummed in acknowledgement.
“Where’re we going?”
“We’re going to Goduncle Olivier’s. Patch up that leaky nose.”
Alvin hummed, staring at his feet, twitching occasionally. Kaylee was quite sure his medicine had worn off, but Goduncle Olivier would probably have something. The two dark-haired twins had ended up on the Elevated Train rattling to another neighborhood of Rotterfeldt. When they had arrived back at the crime scene, Commissioner Adler had taken one look at Alvin’s face and sent them packing, preferably to a doctor.
Sherlock Holmes had still been hanging around, and quirked an eyebrow at the pair of them. Kaylee flushed. She wished she could stick her tongue out at him. Holmes was a flat tire, and a high hat to boot, and Kaylee decided she did not like him nearly as much as she had originally.

Winston Olivier was not an uncle to neither Alvin or Kaylee. Far from it. He was not related to them by blood or by marriage. He was elected godfather by their father, and that was the only relation. Winston Olivier was a doctor by profession and a doter upon both his godchildren and his adopted son when he wasn’t working. Years working in the medical field had given him lines between his eyes and thinned his hair to a grey cloud, but he was still relatively thin and still carried enough of a respect for the profession of Monstrumology that he understood what the studiers of the science went through.
So when a very tired Kaylee and Alvin showed up at his door at approximately five thirty three in the morning requiring medical attention, he did not turn them away.

“Another case, was it?” Winston asked, slippered feet whispering along the floor. He had one bony hand wrapped around Alvin’s wrist and was dragging him forwards, with Alvin offering no resistance.
“I...I guess so. He didn’t tell me. No leads, either,” yawned Kaylee, knuckling at her eyes.
WInston tsked. “You two! You’re supposed to catch the monsters, not let them catch you!”
“Sorry, Win,” mumbled Kaylee.
“If you two die, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Thank God it’s just a broken nose and out of pills,” griped Winston.
Alvin was flung down into a kitchen chair, and Winston handed three blue pills and a glass of water. “Drink that up, it’s good for you,” recommended Winston.

Alvin managed to follow the directions, but said nothing. “Kaylee, honey, wait here. I’ll need something to set that nose. Watch Alvin,” commanded Winston. “Can I come?” asked Kaylee standing on her toes. Winston sighed, then shook his head “If it wasn’t for Charlie, God bless his soul, you’d be in the medical field.”
He wandered off down the hallway, mumbling vaguely.

“Gangway! Wowzers! What oh what happened to our boy here?”
Constantine Olivier was Winston’s adopted son. Constantine, or more commonly Con, was a healthy-fed blonde twenty-one year old boy. He had been adopted soon before the Frecks had been born, but had a difficult adolescence, resulting in a three and a half year stint where he lived on the streets and attended every party he could. He also had dyed his hair pink, but that was not often mentioned unless conversation was running thin.
Although Con’s party-heavy days were mostly behind him, he had returned to the realm of finer society with an odd way of speaking, not quite Nadsat, or common slang, or the mixed english from countries beyond the Pearl Sea, picked up from slums and jazz joints and God knows where else. It drove Winston to despair, and was impervious to all sorts of therapy.

“Morning, Con. Alvin got a bit of a knock, and Goduncle Winston’s plugging it up,” Kaylee explained, sinking into a chair. “Wizard! Right round, then, Alvin. Ooh, what’s give the purple stuff, huh?” Con asked, always energetic and making no exception now.
“Bruises?” Alvin asked, not entirely sure what Constantine was saying.

“Yes, moron. The bruises.”
The medicine was already starting to kick in, making Alvin able to hold eye contact, although briefly. “I reckon you know what these contusions are from, Con. Don’t be coy.”
“What? Coy? Oh, you slay me, here! Take my heart, thou fiend!” Con wailed, and sat down at the table.
“Kill it, Con. How’ve you been?” Kaylee asked, setting her elbows on the table.
“Enh, this and that. Still working Archivist,” Con said happily.
“You mean you’re a librarian at the Hall of Justice?” said Kaylee. Con hissed, glaring out from his mop of blonde hair. “Say what you please. I’ve got pension.”

“Aww. Did I tread on Connie’s toes?” asked Kaylee, pouting.
“Mind your potatoes. Did you catch what you’re after?” Constantine asked, looking excited. “Not yet. There’s no leads anywhere. Odd all over, if you ask me,” Alvin croaked, pushing on one side of his nose. Con fidgeted. “Look, if you kids need any help, you know you can always come to your old friend me, right?” he asked, glancing from twin to twin. “Thanks but no thanks, Con. You swoon at the sight of blood,” Kaylee reminded him. “We’ll just leave you to get records, huh?” Alvin said, trying to cheer him up.

Winston bustled back into the room with a bowl and a towel. “Morning, Connie. See you’ve made yourself comfortable,” he said. Constantine glowered. He had never taken well to that nickname.
Constantine flicked his eyes to Alvin, who had tilted his head back and was letting Winston get a grip on his nose. He’d recovered from getting brushed off, and was looking vindictive.
“So, Alvin, my dearest most dear, is it true what I’ve been hearing?” he asked, a smirk beginning to pull at his mouth.
“Well, Con, that depends. What on earth have you been hearing?” Alvin asked. “Can you hold still for me, Alvin?” asked Winston, applying pressure to one side of Alvin’s face.

“I’ve been hearing you’ve snagged yourself a nice little kvetsh.”
Kaylee gasped. “No! A girl? Not Alvin!”
Alvin yelped. Winston had twisted his nose to the left, trying to get it straight. “Don’t move, Alvin!” Winston reprimanded. Constantine wasn’t stopping, though, although he had paled a shade or three. “Yes! I heard it from the yenteh girls who brought coffee for Walter. How they knew, neh, beyond I. But that’s not even the worst bit,” Constantine leaned over the table to Kaylee, who was smiling in anticipation.
“The ittybit in question is Abaiyan’i.”
Kaylee squealed with laughter. “Oh, no! A foreign girl? Alvin! Is this true?” she wheezed, fanning her face with one hand.
Alvin, who was still getting his nose set, tried to answer the best he could.
“She’s just--OUCH!--she’s a friend! Of mine! And--OW!--she’s just smart and I--MMH!--value her input!”
Constantine cackled. “I bet.”

“Could you hold still, Alvin? I’m likely to break this again with your wiggling,” complained Winston.
“Sorry, Win. Horsefeathers, Con, not everybody thinks about girls the...the way you do!” blustered Alvin. “No, see, you’ve got it wrong, old sport! Nobody thinks about the broads the way you do, which is none at all!” Con said, trying to laugh at Alvin and avoid looking at his father setting Alvin's nose. Kaylee cleared her throat, but both boys ignored her.

“There’s nothing wrong with that!”
“If you say so, Alliegator.”
Alvin let out a small squeak as his nose was twisted a half-centimeter to the right. The cartilage slid back into place with a pop. Kaylee goggled, making a mental note to read up on how something like that was possible.
“I think that’s as straight as it wants to go, Al,” Winston said, sounding unsure. Tears were popping at the edges of Alvin’s eyes. “That’s jake,” he squeaked, reaching up to gingerly touch it.
“Good. Now next time you’re roaming the streets, try not to get kicked in the face, hear?” Winston asked, folding his arms. “Didn’t get kicked in the face...” Alvin muttered. Winston sighed. “Alvin, I’ve dealt with your nose, don’t make me take your lip, too.”

Constantine sat at the table, waiting for some sort of rebuttal from his younger Godcousin. “Look, Con. The Abaiyan’i girl is smart and she knows some things better than I do. Now go tell those coffee chicks they should dry up and send them talking about your own lovers. Actually,” Alvin paused. “Seeing as you’ve never had a blue serge, maybe I could set you up with mine?”
“Oh, get lost, junior,” snapped Constantine.

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On the elevated train ride home, Kaylee turned a stare worthy of an Inquisitor upon her brother.
“What’s her name?”
Alvin fidgeted, staring out the window before finally answering.
“Her name’s Jin.”
“You goofy for her?” Kaylee asked, crossing her ankles.
“None of your business.”
“I see. Is she really Abaiyan’i?” questioned Kaylee, stumbling over the pronunciation.

Alvin straightened. “Yes she is. She came across the Pearl Sea to New Prussia, and settled here.”
“What does she do?” was the next question.
It was a question Alvin did not want to answer, but he did so anyway. Better to face the wrath of his sister now than later.

“She’s, um. She’s a, well. A maegi? I think that’s how you pronounce it?” Alvin said, waiting for Kaylee’s anger. He was not disappointed.
“What? An Alchemist? A summoner! Alvin! How could you?!” Kaylee demanded, glancing around for eavesdroppers. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, and I’m going to see her tomorrow. Tell me, sis, what’cha gonna do about that?” Alvin asked quietly.
Kaylee fell back in her seat and fumed until they got home.