The Point Is Rather Dull

"...and how many calories is that?"

Marcus was glad that he was simply talking to Feliciano over the phone. He did not think he could have kept his face simply cheerful in the face of these questions. He would be laughing at the boy, not with him or anything like that.

He wondered what Ludovicus would think if he started making the man watch his calories. Ludo would not take it gladly at all. Would probably threaten him if he took it too far. Marcus enjoyed the exclusive right of being the only man left alive of which Ludovicus would still threaten and probably still mean it. What were friends for if you could not call a bluff and know when it was serious?

In the end, however, Marcus finished reciting what was needed for the recipe he just made up, promised he would be in the restaurant that evening, and hung up so as to get out of the house before Ludovicus realized he had not left yet.

What did he need from the store? Bandages for those burns. Marcus was pretty certain there was something else, but he could not recall. Oh well, if it was important it would come to him.

He found himself at the edge of town before he realized he had passed the store by a while. I need to spend some more time here, not only am I not remembering the layout of the place, but I'm just more forgetful in general.

He could imagine Yao right now: "You've always been forgetful, aru!"

It was true. Marcus did not tend to remember the things the others had. His priorities had been different. Muhammad understood it, frustratingly. Or maybe not so frustrating. Muhammad was not too bad, after all. Marcus was just slightly sick of him.

Muhammad, Sadiq, Yao... he was sick of them. He supposed spending hundreds of years with people just was not something he could deal with sometimes. Marcus turned around and headed back toward the store when he was stopped by a noise. Actually, the noise did not stop him. It was the fact he knew what the noise was. His conscious stopped him.

He peered around to the back of the inn, where Elizaveta was hugging herself, leaning against the wall. Tears were running down her cheeks, an occasional sob escaping pursed lips.

"That's a tragic condition to find such a face," Marcus said smoothly as he walked over to her. She gasped at the intrusion and quickly straightened up, trying to wipe off her face.

"Marcus! I must look a mess, I just got some dust in my eyes cleaning inside, and–"

"Things tend to get into our eyes all the time!" Marcus agreed, shaking a fist at the sky. "The world must be trying to blind us!" It only got a weak chuckle, so Marcus wracked him brain to think of what could have happened to cause the distress. "What sort of dust was it?"

"The normal kind."

So she was not going to play along with him. Elizaveta obviously did not want to say what it was, or else she would have jumped on the word play. "You think we would get used to the normal dust," Marcus commented, nodding sagely. After all, he was used to people viewing him as missing the point. As Ludovicus would point out, he often did.

Marcus supposed it was true.

"Luckily for you, you have a never ending supply of alcohol to wash the dust away in," Marcus pointed out. Elizaveta's smile disappeared completely. As if to say 'not anymore'.

Now Marcus might miss a lot, but he had not lived for near two thousand years without understanding a few things. A sudden issue with the reference to alcohol implied many things. The way she was still hugging herself did not.

Now, does Roderich know?

"And when alcohol is no good, pretty women such as yourself have men falling all over themselves to try and put a smile back on that face," Marcus reminded her, tilting her face upward with a finger. A small smile returned to her lips.

"'Men falling all over themselves'? I don't think so."

"You don't? You are the star of Hearth, little Lizi. You've been so for a long time. We may decide to be more organized about it, but you have a long list of residents at your beck and call. After all, you are at many of theirs."

That created a more sincere laugh from her. "I'm not little anymore, Mister Vargas."

"As often as I forget it, I am old," Marcus announced. "I'm entitled to still call you little if I want."

Before she could respond, they were both distracted by two strangers. There really was nothing else the women would have to do, they were strangers. The younger of which, Marcus noted immediately, was very attractive.

Lucia would not mind, would she? She was still in Brazil. He could go see her there after he was done here, he supposed. Far be it that he dragged her away from the work she loved so much! Anyways, it was never a crime to look. Except by some people's standards. Honestly, that was rather silly.

"Excuse me," the young Vietnamese woman said, pulling a picture out of her coat. "We were wondering whether you have seen this man here."

"For you, I hope so," Marcus said, but just as he reached his hand out Elizaveta took the picture, giving him an amused look. That changed as soon as she looked down at the paper.

"Roderich?"

"You seen my son?" the other woman asked, immediately at Elizaveta's side, holding one of her hands.

"You are Roderich's mother?" Elizaveta asked in German, surprised.

"Then you do know where he is," the first woman said, sounding slightly more relaxed now, also speaking the same language. Not by much though. She and Ludovicus would probably get along fine.

"He's probably in the inn still, right?" Marcus said, glancing over toward Elizaveta for clarification. The Asian headed toward the door and, after many words of thanks, the other woman followed her.

Elizaveta stood there as if she had been stung, staring at him.

"What?"

Notes:

Let us all note Ludovicus is not included in the list of people Marcus is tired of. Ever. Though I cannot say it is the true the other way round.