The next day, after flying his Arwing through several obstacles again, Falco congratulated him.
"Better than yesterday; don't use your speed boosts unless you really need them. You're improving." And then, grinning. "There might actually be hope for you, Marcus McCloud."
At the mention of his family name, the fox scowled.
"My whole family's been in the flying business. It's in the blood," he said briskly, taking off his helmet and wiping the fog off of it.
The falcon said nothing, except that his expression suddenly became wooden.
"What I need, Falco," continued the fox eagerly. "is combat training. I think I'm ready, after all, I feel I'm already good at maneuvering-"
Falco cut him off. "You feel you're ready, but you need improving," he said. "Your barrel rolls are too slow, and while you seem to do well in open environments, we need to work on how you maneuver in closed spaces."
"Oh, come on, like I'll ever fly through closed spaces. Besides, when the need arises, I'll do it."
"It's not so easy," he said, starting to become annoyed with the youth's arrogant and casual attitude, which reminded him of Fox McCloud.
"As I said, I'm good at flying, Falco, it's in the bl-"
But by then, the falcon had had enough of it, and had turned around, making his way out of the room.
"Fine then," he said angrily, without turning back. "Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want, if you're so good."
His footsteps made loud noises on the floor, his feathers bristling up as he walked.
"I swear, you McClouds, you're all so god-damned full of yourselves," he muttered, walking away. "You , your father, your grandfather too… Why can't you just…" and the rest, Marcus did not hear.
"You hate me, don't you Falco?"
The falcon looked up from his plate, looking at the blue fox sitting in front of him, his food untouched.
"No," he said, looking down at his food, picking it, but not eating it. "No, I don't hate you. You just remind me a lot of your father sometimes."
"And you hate my father?"
Falco remained silent, and then spoke, realizing he might as well tell the young fox.
"I didn't always hate him."
"I know. I've seen the pictures, heard the stories. I've seen the 'Falco and Fox, Heroes of Lylat' propaganda posters; seen them at the War museums back in Corneria City. I know you two were friends."
"I remember those days."
"What happened?"
The bird-man looked up, his eyes as cold as ice, glaring.
"Why do you want to know so badly?"
"Because he's my father, and you're my friend."
"Even if I am your friend, and he is your father, even if I told you, there's nothing to it. What happened was between me and him. No need to get you involved."
"I suppose. But I'm curious."
"'Curiosity killed the cat'."
"'And satisfaction brought him back'," replied Marcus, grinning a little at his words, inwardly feeling proud of what he believed was a clever comeback.
Falco glared at him, and Marcus noticed that even though he was older, the falcon still looked handsome and dignified and imposing, as he had been in his youth.
"It's not good to get into stuff one doesn't know about. Besides, it's all over and done," was his reply, standing up and picking up his plate, leaving it in the dish-washer. And he walked away, leaving Marcus by himself.