“Hey! You're in my bubble again, stay out of my personal space,” Victory reiterated, uncrossing her feet to push the child away.

   The young girl continues to climb the table, her black ringlets bounce energetically as she tries to reach the sugar cubes, “Noooo! I want sugar!” She jumps once more and hits the coffee pot, spilling it over her brother’s friend and the ornate white table cloth.  

   Victory jumps up immediately, “Cassy! Seriously kid?” she tips the pot back into place moving soilable objects out of the way. Her dark gray waistcoat turns black and the ends of her long golden hair stick together.

   “Cassidy, go get towels,” instructs a black haired boy sitting on the floor. He tinkers with the small object in his hands, not bothering to glance at the mess his sister made. “They’re in the laundry room, on top of the dryer.”

   “Why can’t Vic do it? She got in my way!” huffs the eight year old, trying to persuade her brother with her brown, puppy-like eyes.

   “Oliver told you not to eat sugar cubes. Maybe try listening from time to time,” Victory counters, glaring at the girl with an icy blue gaze and running the table cloth under water. “This’ll probably stain, man.”

   Oliver lifts a gear into the light to examine it, “Probably, it's fine though, I’ll just replace it.” He directs his focus away from the watch and onto his look-alike, “Run along now Cass.”

   “Hmph! Your hair looks like seaweed” She hurriedly insults the woman disappearing from sight into the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen.

   Sighing deeply, Victory declares, “You should scold her for that. She has to learn to listen.”

   “Hmm?” Once again shuffling through his tool box, Oliver takes his gaze off of his project and onto his soaked friend, “I will discuss it with her, but simply scolding her doesn’t do much. That's why she argues wi-”

   Cassidy’s voice interrupts him, “I’m back!” she screams while throwing towels at Victory.

   “You brat!” The two begin running around the kitchen, but Victory quickly catches the young girl by the nape of her pink dress. 

   “Let go, you’re sticky!” Cassidy cries

   Baffled, Victory chuckles, “And whose fault is that?” She barely notices the phone begin to ring and Oliver making his way through the door.

   “Enough, Cassidy, clean the spill,” Oliver maintained, now peaking his head through the doorway, “city hall called, the clock tower is acting up. Watch Cass for me, won’t you?” He doesn’t stay to hear the answer or wipe his face of the oil and dust.

   “What, no!” Victory runs to the front door, “Hey! … I swear if he was any more zany, he’d be institutionalized,” she grumbles walking back to the kitchen. Cassidy stands in the doorway looking defeated.

   “I can’t reach the middle of the table,” Cassidy mutteres, towel in hand. Small wet footprints made it evident that the child forgot to clean the floor as well.

   Victory sighs into her hand, “Give me that towel. Clean the floor yourself,” The woman makes broad, clean swipes over the table, efficiently absorbing the liquid.

   The younger of the two takes more time, clumsily wiping over the damp floor. “Can we listen to the radio and maybe play checkers?” she pleads. “I’m really sorry for calling you names”

   “And?” Victory prods.

   “And not listening,” Cassidy continues

   “Sure, when you finish cleaning.” Victory laughs, leaving to change from her soiled walking suit. Cassidy wipes up the spill and returns her brother’s tools to their box. The cleaning concludes quickly and the two entertain themselves, awaiting Oliver’s return.