The Lords, Princes, and Kings.

Chapter Ten-

   "Every word I say is kindling/But the smoke clears when you're around/Won't you stay with me, my darling/When my walls start burning down, down, down?" — The Crane Wives- Curses — 

    "Mickey Lorde." 

"Margarita Fysher. There, we have randomly said each other's names without anything related to it after."

Rita stared at me, deadpan. Then, I tasted the autumn-dust kissed fabric of a leaf. "He-" I was cut off, glittered, condensed foam hitting my chin. With a scoff, I caught the mini pumpkin before it hit the grass.

"I did softball for two years, you sure you wanna fight with me?"

"My father played football with me everyday for double that. Come on, coward."

"Coward? Oh, you are going to regret th-" I threw the pumpkin at her before finishing.

"Marsh, help!" I bolted for a tennis ball a yard or two away.

"You are done for, Mouse!" Marcus threatened, deepening his voice.

"You right, Marcus!"

I heaved the tennis ball at him, dodging the foam pumpkin.

"Who was that guy you told us about at one of the Marine balls a few years ago?" Margarita started. I stumbling, shock at her remembering distracting me. Whenever I tried to remember Mindy's kids, I couldn't find a single memory of her daughter.

"Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus!" She said it perfectly...

Now, the memory surged into view.

    -The ballroom; wooden and marble floors, actual colors unknown. Yellow hues. Ceiling; white with meticulous designs built into the plaster, a grand globe oculus. Margarita Azuraa-Lucht Fysher wore a simple yellow dress, aged the same as I at nine years. Young. Marcus wore a cute tuxedo, fit for a boy his age–which was about three. He could barely walk, yet eagerly pretended to listen to my stories. Margarita let him sit on her lap, putting her head on his shoulder.

"What was the phili- um.. That thing you said he studied." I couldn't blame her. More likely than not, I, myself, pronounced it incorrectly.

"Stoicism!" I chirped.

.

.

. Almost definitely saying it wrong.

She smiled brightly. "Like Hiccup's dad?"

"Yeah!"

"That is super cool, Marsh! You have the same name as someone who knew Stoic!"

"Yay!" He cheered, hands flying up, on slapping Margarita in the face. She blinked, but that was her only reaction, steadying her little brother.

"Mickey, time to go." My mom called. I shot up, grabbing something–food, I think–from the table.

"Bye Peggy, bye Mars!"-

     Something hit my back. "Wake up, Milvus... The red kite is your favorite bird, right?"

I turned around, picking up the maybe dodgeball, throwing it at Rita. "Bingo. How'd you know?"

"You were writing about it during Chemistry. Not-so-great sketch, great word art... or whatever."

She held my gaze, and all fleeting thoughts, so artfully, my lungs failing me. Encompassing autumn light, shining through the strands of her voluminous hair, deep brown eyes wide with childish play.

Her simple grey zip-up jacket was halfway undone and hanging from one shoulder. She fixed her posture, sloppy grin softening. A pumpkin hit her shoulder.

"I am getting bored," Marcus sang, A laugh erupted from all but him. He stood with his elbow on his hip, sas palpable. He glared, looking between us.

Margarita turned to me, smirking. She mouthed, "truce?"

I grinned widely before forcing it down. Ever so slight, I nodded, edging back, seeing the tennis ball in my peripheral vision.

Then, began the onslaught. 'Regret', the birds sang, sleep pulling at some, morning-night wildness settling in others. Margarita and I obliterated Marcus. That was, until Mindy came to check on us. Surprised she didn't come out sooner; we were screaming, yelping, yelling, laughing, and bickering a LOT.

Mindy had Marcus gather some more tennis–as well as some soccer–balls.

    Margarita hook-threw me a bottle of water. I grinned. "We. Won."

"Sure you did," Mindy hummed patronizingly. Margarita laughed more. Gods, she had such a different laugh when she meant it. It bubbled, swelled and sunk, the sound honey or gold. Venus's patient, or, an object of which Vulcan would be honored to craft. The finest bow or sword could be created, shimmering, strong, and luxurious.

What the laughter left, the result was gilded and divine.

"You know we demolished you guys, but, okay. Lie to yourself, the only true sense of triumph is reserved for Mickey and I."

"Bam," I added, finalizing the statement."

"Mmm, sure, sweetheart."

"They always have to win," Marcus tutted.

"Women." Mindy scoffed, eyes shining. She nudged Marcus with her hip before peeling away.

"Macaroni and cheese good for dinner?" She called.

We all chorused our agreements.

"Round two, Overwatch."

I glanced at Rita for her answer, expecting her to say no. Instead, she discarded her phone onto her jacket.

"Hell. Yeah." She smirked, holding a fist in my direction. I hit the top of it, then our fists switched places.

"Buona fortuna., Marcus," Margarita hummed, putting her hand on my shoulder before swaggering past her brother.

"Game room at the end of the hall. Race you?" I nodded, smiling.

"It's on, little one."