“What do you want, you little demon?” Seraphine sat on her bed with her laptop open in front of her, frowning at the impish, malicious Sylveon smiling back at her on the video call he set up.

“What’s the matter, ma choupinette?” Sebastian chirped back, the gleeful sarcasm of his tone making that term of endearment drip with arsenic. “You sound terribly suspicious of your sweet, innocent twin brother who has never done a single thing wrong in his life.” The way his eyes glittered showed that he knew perfectly well that he had done many things wrong over the course of his life, and in fact knew that he had done many things wrong over the course of a given week.

“Since when have you called out of the goodness of your heart?” Seraphine snorted. “And I’m seventeen minutes older than you, so you don’t get to call me ‘ma choupinette.’”

“Of course, ma choupette.” Sebastian removed the diminutive, but still knew it pushed her buttons; he giggled happily as Seraphine rolled her eyes.

“So what is it this time? Money?”

Sebastian shook his head. “No. Mére et pére decided to open up the piggy bank again.”

“Of course they did,” his sister sighed. “I told you they would.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“The dozen other times you’ve been cut off didn’t clue you in? You’ve got the memory of a drunk goldfish.” Seraphine smiled. “It was fun hearing you blubber and cry about it over the phone, though.”

“I hope you get syphilis.”

Seraphine cackled. “Same to you, you little degenerate. Really, why are you calling?”

“Well, I just wanted to see how my sister was doing!” Sebastian was a terrible liar, at least when it came to Seraphine.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet,” she said, sinking her teeth into the insincerity of it.

“It’s true! I’m not a total monster. I wanted to see how you were faring, living on that foggy shithole of an island.” Well, Sebastian was French, after all.

“It’s going quite well, actually,” Seraphine said.

“Oh, you dirty fucking liar,” Sebastian said, grinning again as he continued to aggravate his sister. “The food tastes like piss, the wine tastes like grape juice, and all the men have tea spouts instead of cocks. If I lived there, I’d hang myself.”

“Not everyone’s a hateful little gremlin like you, Sebastian.”

“Maybe so, but you are.” Apparently bored of that train of thought, he moved on. “And what’ve you been doing? Training rich girls with Upstairs and Downstairs?”

“OK, but the fact that you know that show enough to reference it means-”

“Sue me for watching TV sometimes.”

“Whatever the case. Yes, that’s what I’ve been doing. We’ve got Portia Blackburn now.”

“Portia…?” 

“Blackburn, yes. You read the tabloids, don’t you? Media mogul parents, girls gone wild, sex and drugs and-”

“No, no, I know all that. I think I might’ve met her a while back, that’s all.” Sebastian’s face seemed unusually thoughtful for a moment, and it made Seraphine’s skin crawl.

“And what have you been doing lately, then?”

“Oh, the usual,” Sebastian said, coming back to attention. “Found some boy from Belgium the other night. Not the brightest, but clearly had money. Took him back to my place and...well.” His lips curled into a smirk, and he raised his eyebrows. “He’s a lot poorer after I saw him, but much happier.”

“How lovely,” Seraphine deadpanned. “Now, if you’re finished-”

She was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Miss Seraphine?” The voice was clearly posh, but it was roughed up around the edges thanks to the effects of cigarettes and liquor. Seraphine turned her head to the door and nodded.

“Come in.” She spoke this in English, as opposed to the French she had been using to speak with her brother.

The door opened, and the voice was revealed to be a short, shapely young Eevee, with light blonde hair and a face that seemed to be caught in a permanent blush. She was carrying a hamper, which she placed by the side of Seraphine’s bed.

“Your laundry, ma’am.”

Seraphine sighed. “And you expect me to put it away for you, then?” she began to chide, before she was cut off by her brother.

“Hold on a second. I remember that voice. Put her in front of the camera, Sera.” The Sylveon mistress and the Eevee servant exchanged confused glances, but Seraphine pointed to the bed anyway.

“Well? Go ahead, Portia.”

When Portia settled down in front of the laptop, sitting cross-legged and tilting her head at the faggy Sylveon on the other side of the screen, Sebastian’s eyes went wide.

“I know you! You’re the Fresh Girl!”

Portia blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” she replied, slightly alarmed.

“The Belle Dame? The flashing? The catfight?”

Portia was utterly lost. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Portia’s mouth was set in a thin, frustrated line.

“Well, I guess that’s not a surprise. You were wasted.”

“Listen, you fucking frog-leg,” Portia spat, her demure and servile tone shifting suddenly back to her usual vulgarity, “if you don’t tell me what the fuck you’re talking about I’m going to fly to Paris and-YIPE!”

The slap to Portia’s face connected like a police baton, and as she toppled onto the mattress she cupped her burning cheek, gasping as if she had been punched in the stomach. Seraphine stood over her.

“Don’t talk to my brother like that,” she said, her voice frigid. Sebastian couldn’t help but grin as Portia sat back up, glaring back at the computer screen.

“It was in Paris,” Sebastian began, “in 2010. Or was it 2011? No, right, it was 2011. It was a club called the Belle Dame, which wasn’t, like, creative or anything, but it was fine. I was there by myself at first, you know how it is, and the DJ started playing a remix of ‘Fresh’. You know, by Daft Punk?” Portia looked at him blankly, but he continued on.

“And I was by the bar, and you came by. And you said...what did you say? You said, ‘if I show you my tits, would you marry me?’ I wouldn’t, of course, but I wasn’t gonna say no to that, right?” The blush began to creep back to Portia’s face.

“So you did. You were wearing this frilly little white top that barely went down to your belly button, and you pulled down on it, and there they were! You took ‘em in your hands and you bounced ‘em, and you said ‘C’mon, Benji, take me away!’ Now, I didn’t know who the hell Benji was, but I didn’t think it was too important.”

Portia’s cheeks were going from pink to red to nearly purple. Seraphine just rolled her eyes. “Oh, look who’s a Puritan now.”

“Don’t be so embarrassed!” Sebastian chimed in. “They were really nice tits.”

“Jesus fuck,” Portia breathed.

“Anyway, once you’d done that, there was a badger girl standing off by the side, and she was watching this happen and she looked like she had just walked into the Twilight Zone or something. And you saw her, and you must’ve thought she was jealous or something? Because you went feral for a moment, and you said ‘mine!’, and you charged at her and tackled her to the dance floor. Then you went and smacked her and tried to choke her, and I think you even tried to pull her hair out! It got broken up pretty quickly, but…”

It was clearly all coming back to Portia. Seraphine couldn’t restrain her grin. Sebastian just smiled.

“So, aren’t you gonna flash me again?”