The House of Marcellinus

Arc 1: Trickster - 2

"So, why did you tell her I was just a classmate? Wouldn't it be more believable if I was your girlfriend? Who else would put up with a guy making her play a game like that?"

Markus clucked his tongue and turned to look at her, or rather at the top of her head.

"You're too tall for me. I prefer more petite girls. It's cuter."

"I'm only a little taller than average. You're just short."

A look of annoyance passed over his face and he stood on his toes so he could see over her head.

"I'm still 17. I have a couple more inches left in me."

"Not likely."

She looked down at her loafers. So he's hung up on his height? How cute. That was probably why he never provided her with high heels.

"The scion of the Marcellinus family shouldn't need height or looks to get a girl."

"Oh, saucy today, aren't we? I'll have you know that I'm devastatingly handsome and dashingly charming to boot."

He turned and resumed his leisurely walk.

"And besides, if it's just a classmate and not a girlfriend coming back home with me, it means she's interested and I'm not."

He shrugged, holding the corner of the game box between his index and middle fingers, not caring who saw it. He spoke with an unaccountable confidence that dazzled the listener and made them want to believe what he was saying, even if it was bullshit. She reminded herself that no, he was not devastatingly handsome, though... maybe he wasn't bad to look at either.

They continued past the fainting couch at the top of the stairs and into a hallway, its plush burgundy carpet sinking underfoot. They turned right and headed into the long hallway that stretched the length of the east wing. On one side were tall mahogany doors with baroque mouldings, each adorned with gilded lever handles. These doors were evenly spaced like ornamental soldiers, interspersed with console tables draped with embroidered napery. On the tables stood alabaster sculptures of tastefully naked women, gleaming fresco-painted vases (which Markus insisted were all fakes and imitations), and on the walls were picturesque landscapes in huge frames so gorgeous they seemed to be trying to outshine the very paintings they were meant to accentuate.

Opposite the doors, a row of elegant curtained windows overlooked the front courtyard, which boasted marble and granite tiles, stone vases, and a huge fountain. In the center of the fountain stood a giant statue of a man (everyone assumed some old Marcellinus lord) on a rearing horse. Around the fountain ran a circular drive, wide enough to accommodate three cars abreast. It was an entrance that would suit a world-famous luxury hotel, the sort that kings and dignitaries might condescend to frequent on holiday.

To Alexia, it all amounted to the same thing; wealth to the point of obscenity. Yet another thing to take in stride. She did her best not to think too hard about it.

Markus suddenly stopped in the middle of the long hallway, his ears perking up. He turned, examined a vase and said:

"Oh, it's gotten dusty! Alexia, find something to wipe it off with. And if anyone asks, you haven't seen me today!"

He then lifted the tablecloth and crawled underneath. Alexia watched him disappear, and, unable to restrain her instinct as a maid, straightened it out. Soon enough she heard what Markus had- muted but purposeful footfalls approaching from ahead.

Maxwell rounded the corner and his eyes lit up when he saw Alexia. He jogged to her and said,

"Alexia! Just who I wanted to see. Where is the young master?"