I'm back! My exams are over, and I'm finally on vacation! (*⌒▽⌒)ﾉ

And there we go, yet another one-shot! I'm never gonna get around to actually serializing anything, am I? T^T Well, anyway, this one is much shorter than the previous one (2561 words), and I guess it's more of a drabble, really. I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm still alive, and haven't left , nor do I plan to do so anytime soon.

Timeline: Tsuna, Gokudera, Yamamoto, Chrome, Kyouko and Haru are 22 (Tsuna has been the official Decimo for four years now); Mukuro is 23; Ryouhei, Hibari and Kusakabe are 24; Bianchi is in her thirties, Shamal, in his forties; Fuuta is 17; Lambo and I-Pin are 14.

Pairings: brief 27/OC, hints of All27 (really all: 1827, 6927, 8027, 5927, L27, 27Bianchi, Shamal/27, Fuuta27, 2796, 2795, 2785...)

Warnings: err...violence, minor profanity...that's pretty much it...but I'll rate it T, just to be safe.

Disclaimer: Saggezza does not own KHR, and she probably never will. *sniffles*

" 'Ow fasceenateeng. You are fasceenateeng, Monsieur Vongola."

Isabelle giggled flirtatiously, leaning against her current target's arm as she did so, and watched amusedly as the pale skin of his high cheekbones flushed a fetching shade of pink. He smiled charmingly in return, and she nearly found herself blushing as well — nearly. Isabelle was an experienced man-eater and gold-digger, and proud of it, and she did not blush for men. Ever.

"You flatter me, Mademoiselle Dutoit," Vongola Tsunayoshi, né Sawada, replied smoothly as he gracefully set down a glass of fine red wine on the stone railing of his summer mansion's second floor balcony. "I must admit, it is quite a surprise to find a woman so interested in hearing about my work."

His smooth baritone, lilted with the slightest hint of a Japanese accent, sent a thrill down Isabelle's spine; she privately wondered if said voice would remain so smooth after several hours of passionate lovemaking. Well, that could come later. In any case, this one was certainly a catch: rich, handsome, obviously well-bred, and a decent conversationalist to boot. She decided to tell him so.

"Please, call me Belle. So, tell me, Monsieur Vongola: you 'ave everytheeng a woman could posseebly want: you are rich, 'andsome, smart...You must 'ave some skeletons in your closet the press must not know about, mm?" she prompted with a teasing smile, leaning forward on her elbows on the balcony's railing to showcase her generous cleavage.

As expected, his eyes briefly flickered to the exposed flesh before being politely averted. And was it just Isabelle, or had he paled slightly after glancing down at the rather gaudy silver rings that adorned his left hand's middle- and little fingers?

"W-well, my family does have a tendency to get rather...rowdy, to say the least," he murmured with a sheepish grin, idly scratching his right cheek in embarrassment. "Some of them don't get along, and they fight very often, but we're all used to it by now. I...I just can't look at them with anything but fondness, even the loudest and most stubborn of the lot."

The radiant smile he offered as he spoke those words, and the loving expression on his delicate features, combined with the moonlight that was caressing his pale skin and the light breeze that was playing with his long, fur-like auburn spikes of hair, made for such a breathtaking picture that Isabelle couldn't fight down a violent blush. She been told by her friends that any gold-diggers who tried their hand at seducing Lord Vongola the Tenth ended seduced instead, but she hadn't truly believed it...until now.

...Of course, said gold-diggers had a tendency to mysteriously disappear a scant few days after meeting Lord Vongola, but Isabelle was convinced that those were just rumors. A man with such a kind smile and gentle aura couldn't possibly be some kind of psychotic (literal) lady killer, after all...

" 'Ow kind of you, Monsieur Vongola," Isabelle purred, snaking an arm around the man's and pressing her breasts against the surprisingly toned limb. "I would love to meet thees fameely of yours, someday. Zey sound like such wonderful people..."

Lord Vongola suddenly looked slightly panicked. "Um, I'm not sure—"

But before he could finish his sentence, the large windows that led out to the balcony they were standing on slammed open, and the sound of people yelling rather impressive insults, wood being blown to pieces and glass shattering reached their ears as a small mass slammed into Lord Vongola's chest, wrapping thin arms around the man's waist.

"Tsuna-nii!" an adorable young teenager with a head of curly black hair, brilliant green eyes and a strange number sign tattoo under his left eye, wailed as he looked up desperately at a stunned Lord Vongola. His rather odd ensemble of a black suit, cow-printed dress shirt and emerald green tie were tattered and covered in soot and bits of food. "Nappo-nii and Hibari-nii are fighting again, and Goku-nii's about to join in! You've got to stop them!"

Under Isabelle's stunned gaze, Lord Vongola cursed colorfully and dashed inside the ballroom to the source of the ruckus and destruction, effortlessly dragging along the black-haired teen who was still hanging onto him. Isabelle followed as fast as she could in her red, strappy stiletto heels, only to stop short at the sight that met her as she reached the windowsill. Pandemonium reigned in the formerly posh ballroom. Chairs and tables were overturned, food was spilled on the sparkling marble floor, priceless artwork was shredded to bits, and one diamong chandelier had already crashed to the floor. Most, if not all of the guests had already fled, and a small crowd of people were having at it near one of the miraculously intact buffet tables next to a tall, unlit fireplace.

A tall, buff man with white hair that was cropped short, dark eyes and a scar on the tanned skin of his brow was relentlessly swinging his fists at two other men — one with feral features, a large, jagged scar across his nose, and bleach-blond hair, and another, with glasses and chin-length black hair partially covered by a white beanie, who was holding a yo-yo. A few feet away, a pretty young Chinese girl looked on worriedly as an older-looking teenager with chocolate brown hair and eyes was somehow floating in midair — bits of broken plates, glasses and silverware hovering around him as well — and rattling off strange rankings ("Lussuria-nee's fashion sense is the worst out of 186 289 mafiosi...").

A beautiful woman with long rosette hair was throwing platter after platter of purple bug-infested, noxious-looking food at a rugged-looking man wearing a doctor's white coat; two younger and equally pretty women, a long-haired redhead and a short-haired brunet, were helping her, with a wicked-looking battle axe and a pair of Uzi respectively.

Two exceedingly handsome dark-haired men — one with heterochromatic eyes, one red and the other a clear cerulean, and a taunting smirk, and the other with sharp ice-blue eyes and a fierce scowl — were battling it out near the buffet table, sending expensive tableware flying in spades as their weapons, a large trident and a pair of tonfas, clashed repeatedly. Nearby, a petite woman who looked quite similar to the smirking man was clutching an identical trident to her ample chest and watching said man worriedly, while a third man, tall and dressed in all black with an outdated regent hairstyle, kept a careful eye on the ferocious-looking tonfa wielder; a small canary sang in an eerie little voice from his perch on the tall man's shoulder.

Two other men were fighting nearby, a tall, dark-haired one knocking away flying pieces of dynamite with his katana, while a silver-haired man chucked bomb after bomb at him, getting increasingly frustrated as each of his attacks were effortlessly parried.

Isabelle could quite possibly have just stood there gaping at the surreal scene for the rest of the night, but dodged reflexively out of the way when a steel tonfa went flying in her direction and embedded itself inches deep in the thick plaster of the wall, a hair away from her ribcage. She ran over to Lord Vongola's side, seeking protection, but was halted when she tripped over the thick vines that had suddenly sprouted from the tip of the smirking man's trident. Lord Vongola hauled her to her feet but before they could make much progress across the large room, a stick of dynamite sent a full wineglass hurtling in their direction, its contents spilling straight onto Isabelle's dark brown hair. She squealed in protest, only to choke and splutter when a miniature ocean suddenly poured onto her, drenching her from head to toe and effectively washing the alcohol right out of her hair.

"Sorry!" the friendly-looking swordsman hollered from a distance as he casually batted an infuriated silver-haired bomber's leg away with the flat of his blade.

Lord Vongola didn't give the flummoxed Isabelle time to gather her wits before dragging her arm and tugging both her and the adorable green-eyed teen forward with a cry of, "Come on, keep going! Don't slow down! Go, go, go!" that put her very much in mind of a sergeant pushing his exhausted soldiers onwards on a battlefield.

They arrived in the vicinity of the women-VS-doctor fight, and had to duck under wild swings of a giant axe that the petite redhead really shouldn't have been able to wield so easily, and under salves of bullets from the pair of Uzi that looked strangely at home in the cheerfully smiling brunette's small hands.

Isabelle yelped when the green-eyed boy — who was still clinging to Lord Vongola like a baby koala to a eucalyptus tree — suddenly smacked her arm, hard. He showed her his palm with an apologetic expression, displaying the large, oddly-colored mosquito he had killed before it could bite her. "My apologies for striking you, Miss," he said smoothly previous childishness suddenly all but gone, "but I didn't think you'd enjoy coming down with syphilis. It's a rather nasty illness, or so i've heard."

Isabelle blanched and opened her mouth, not knowing herself if it was to scream, cry or demand answers — since when could syphilis be transmitted through mosquito bites? And more importantly, why were these people, whom she recognized from the party as Lord Vongola's closest friends, fighting so violently? Why wasn't anyone trying to stop them? And why did Lord Vongola look so calm, as if this mayhem were an everyday occurrence?

But a platter of highly poisonous-looking antipasti was soaring towards her open mouth; Lord Vongola got her out of the way in the nick of time, cradling her against his chest as they rolled together after his flying dive. They landed in a heap, Isabelle lying strewn atop the beautiful brunet's firm, warm torso. After a few moments of silence, she slowly sat up, pushing off of his sculpted pecs with the flat of her finely manicured hands, and nearly swooned as her baby blues met Lord Vongola's concerned gaze. He had amazing eyes, she decided: wide and bright, with irises the color of liquid caramel, framed with long, tangled dark lashes. They were bright with innocence and kindness, and yet dark with a jadedness that only the most war-hardened individuals possessed. Isabelle simply couldn't look away, so entranced was she by the quiet power that oozed out of every inch of Lord Vongola's person. Perhaps this was what love felt like—?

She froze in alarm as she felt the room's temperature suddenly drop to subzero levels, and slowly turned around to find that the daggers she had felt insistently digging into her back were in fact the various fighters' (and observers', and...floating teenager's) frigid glares. She nearly leapt off of Lord Vongola, her face losing all traces of her blush to lighten to a pallor that surely couldn't be healthy. She started backing away, very slowly, but a now standing Lord Vongola held her back before she could flee, hissing under his breath, "Don't you dare run away! They'll eat us alive at the slightest show of weakness!"

And then they were running again, weaving through the ever-increasing mass of cutlery, china and poisonous food that "accidentally" flew Isabelle's way. They now only had to get past the floating teen, and they would be home free. Only, the gods apparently weren't done terrorizing the poor Frenchwoman today, for said teen seemed to know all of Isabelle's most embarrassing flaws, and was all too willing to share them.

"Miss Isabelle Dutoit is ranked twenty-eighth out of 204 872 of France's most narcissictic women; she is ranked she is ranked seventeenth in the poll for 'least likely to help an old lady cross a busy street, or give up her seat for an old lady on the bus'; her love of money, one-night stands at posh clubs and expensive clothing and alcohol is ranked eighth out of her whole nation—"

Cheeks burning, she ran by the nosy teen, sparing him a venomous glare on her way and getting nothing but a rather creepy vacant stare in response. She nearly cried in joy when she, Lord Vongola and the green-eyed boy finally burst through the doors that led out of the enormous ballroom-turned-battlefield. The noise and chaos didn't cease, however, so Lord Vongola's features hardened noticeably as he took a deep breath before hollering:

"YOU LOT! If you don't desist and drop your weapons right this fucking instant, I'll have you all doing paperwork until you're crying tears of ink! Do I make myself clear?"

All was silent for a moment, before metallic clangs rang through the still room as falling weapons clattered noisily against the marble floor. Satisfied with the sudden quiet, Lord Vongola turned back to Isabelle and smiled at her, tremulously, hopefully. "Mademoiselle Dutoit — no, Belle, I'm so very sorry for my family's childish behavior...Would you still care to join me for an evening meal sometime this week...?"

Isabelle considered it. Her dark hair, matted with wine and water, and her running makeup, probably made her resemble some sort of drowned raccoon, her red stilettos were ruined, and bits of poisonous spaghetti were still slowly eating their way through the tattered fabric of her pale green cocktail dress. She had just suffered through a mad race that would've warranted a nervous breakdown for any sane person, and Lord Vongola's so-called family members were still glaring at her, just daring her to even try and utter a positive reply to the gorgeous man's invitation.

Lord Vongola probably would've been a great boyfriend, a great husband, and a great father for her potential children, and it pained her to give up on such a catch, but Isabelle just wasn't suicidal.

Clenching her fists at her sides, she finally found her voice, which grew increasingly hysterical through her tirade until she was screeching like a stilted harpy. "You told me, Monsieur Vongola, zat your fameely members fought often...But zees, zees was not a fight between relateeves! Zees was guerilla warfare! No. No, no, no, no, no, no! No matter 'ow smart and rich and kind and 'andsome you are, Monsieur, I am not going srough this kind of 'ell ever again! Adieu, Monsieur Vongola!"

Having said her piece, she spun on her heel and stormed off down Vongola mansion's lavishly decorated corridors, wobbling slightly with each stomping step due to both her receding adrenaline, and the broken heels of her shoes.

Tsuna stared at her retreating back for a long time, devastated, before burying his head in his hands, uttering a cry that was halfway between a groan of dismay and exhaustion and a sob of utter despair. His family watched on, a few feet behind him, offering silent support despite being the source of their Boss and Sky's renewed heartbreak in the first place. And somehow, Tsuna couldn't even really resent them for it.

"I didn't even have to let her know about Vongola to send her running for the hills this time. I'm never going to find a wife," he quietly bemoaned, voice slightly muffled by his trembling hands. "I'll always, always be alone with only you guys for company. Forever."

He didn't see the smirks of wicked glee that lit up his family members' faces as he spoke those words.

— THE END —

Well there you have it, folks.

BTW, you guys see what's happening through Isabelle's eyes during most of the fic, so she doesn't actually know every KHR character's names, but I tried to make it easy for the reader to understand who she was looking at/thinking about...I hope I succeeded in this endeavor...?

I had lots of fun writing this xD I tried to reflect the general mayhem that follows poor Tsuna wherever he goes, and to imagine how it would reflect on his love life, especially if his Famiglia all wanted a piece of him (yes, even Shamal :P), and...this happened. I must say, not to brag, but I'm quite happy with the result.

(I don't think the few words of French I used are tremendously complicated, but I'll translate them anyway:

- "mademoiselle" = miss; "monsieur" = sir, mister;

- Isabelle's nickname - "Belle" = pretty, beautiful;

- "adieu" = farewell, goodbye (forever).)

On another note, some people might find themselves frustrated that there is no actual All27 (no kisses, no love confessions etc.), but, well, that will have to come in a later one-shot...maybe. At the moment, I find myself reading and writing more HP or HP crossover fics than KHR ones, so I promise nothing in regards to this.

Anyway, reviews are received with much happy-dancing and rejoicing, whereas flames, as always, hurt my feelings.

Saggezza out!