The Liar
Chapter Seven

A sharp poke in her ribs caught her attention. Startled, she twisted her head to bring her gaze away from the bright blue sky to her friend’s face. Katie was staring at something intently. When Michele turned her head again, she saw it was a sleek silver car. She imagined it was something a successful businessman might own.

“Isn’t that your friend?” asked the girl standing next to her. “That guy who came into our English class today. He picked you up the other day.”

“Scien Gaius Testament,” she told her friend, automatically listing out his strange, three part name. “And what are you talking about?”

“In the car.” Katie pointed. “He’s in the passenger seat.”

And true to her word, the Liar climbed out of the passenger seat of the silver car. He was still wearing his slick get-up, and he straightened his green tie as he walked over to her, grinning. Looking past him, she could see Marcus leaning on the top of the car, chin resting on crossed arms. He smiled at her, offering a half-shrug. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Michele,” greeted the Liar, smiling as if seeing her were the height of his day. At her slight hesitation, he gave her a short hug, whispering, “You can call me Gaius,” under his breath.

“Gaius,” she returned pleasantly, now that she had a solid name to call him. “What are you doing here?”

“I said I would be back to take you to lunch.” All of his weight was on his left leg, and his bony hip was jutting out slightly. “I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t stick around for your last class, I had a previous engagement. Although, seeing as it was Science, I’m not really all that sorry,” he admitted amiably.

Beside Michele, Katie was giggling furiously. It was a bad habit teenager girls seemed to adopt. Get a good looking guy in the premises, have him say something that was mildly amusing—or even not amusing at all—and they started giggling like demented merekats. It was a minor fault, one Michele was willing to forgive, but it was pretty annoying.

“Marcus is coming?” she asked.

“Of course. I figured, get him now for lunch, he can come with us, the two of you can gang up on me—it all works out. Come on.” He offered his arm, which she had little choice but to take. Opening the door for her, he closed it behind her as well. He circled around the car, and got into the back next to her.

“Let’s go for Japanese!” he decided as he buckled his seatbelt. “Michele, you know anyplace good?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” She told Marcus how to get there.

He nodded in the front seat. “Japanese actually sounds good. Ah, Japan. I like Japan…Beautiful swords. Considered the best in history by many—in quality, certainly—but for use, it really depends on taste.”

The car was off of the school’s grounds now, and Marcus was dutifully following her directions. After Marcus’ comments on the katana, no one spoke, the Liar not feeling the need to fill the air. It was a strange silence. Not awkward, but by no means a “comfortable silence”.

That was the problem with this situation, reflected Michele—everything appeared to make sense, but it lived in a lateral universe from the one everyone else ran in.

“This it?” Marcus’ deep, calm voice floated from the front of the car.

Michele looked up at him over the rim of her glasses, and then outside. Nodding, she confirmed verbally, “Yeah, this is the place.”

“Woohoo!” The Liar clambered out of the car and walked into the store. “For three!” they heard him call.

Getting out of the car themselves, Michele and Marcus followed the Liar into the store. He had already picked out a table and there were three menus set out.

“I’ve already ordered a pot of green tea,” he told them absently, eyes locked on the menu. He was looking it as if he’d never seen any of the words on it before and they were all wondrous, and he himself looked liked he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Since he said that he didn’t have to eat, that might well have been the case.

Marcus pulled out Michele’s chair for her, acting the gentleman he was dressed as. His clothing was similar to the Liar’s, except that he wasn’t wearing a vest, and his tie was red, rather than green.  He took the seat next to her, leaving the Liar on one side of the table by himself.

The three of them perused their menus for a couple of minutes until a waitress came by their table, pen and pad already in hand. With a large smile, she asked them what they would like. The Liar ordered first, listing off a surprisingly large amount of food. Next was Michele, pronouncing the names of the dishes competently. In the moment afterwards, however, she was shown up by Marcus’ impeccable accent.

When the waitress had left, Michele looked over to the very large man sitting next to her patiently. “You’ve been to Japan, then, I take it?” she asked him.

Marcus smiled and nodded while the Liar chimed in, “Yes—he speaks Japanese rather well. Don’t you, Marku-chan?” The Liar grinned wickedly.

“I speak competently in a number of languages,” replied Marcus, glaring at his friend. “Enough to manage in court and give orders and talk strategy.” He leaned back. “And don’t call me that.”

“You…speak a lot of languages, then?” Michele continued with her questioning. Marcus seemed a lot nicer than Gaius, but he was still the Angel of War. Not someone to be taken lightly. None of these people, she thought, were.

“Hmmm? Oh, yes. I’ve been all over the world many times over, so I’ve picked up a few things.” He tilted his head back in thought, tapping his chin. “Let’s see…Latin and German, of course. I speak them better than English. English, obviously. Greek. French. Italian. Spanish. Russian. Japanese. Mandarin and Cantonese. Actually, most of the European and Asian languages. I don’t know any native South or North American or Australian languages. Some from the very north of Africa, around Egypt, nothing from any farther south.” He paused. “That…about covers it.”

“That…is very impressive,” she told him, really meaning it. He knew how to speak more languages than he could remember to name. More than she could probably name offhand.

“Thank you.” Marcus smiled. “But Gaius, here, is the real master of languages. Every language he’s ever come across, he’s learned. And he can speak them as if they were his only language and he’d received the finest education.”

“You flatter me,” said Gaius, sprawled in his chair. “It’s true, of course, but it’s very nice of you to say nonetheless.” He smiled that strange smile of his—mischievous, wicked, and friendly, like he knew something you didn’t and he might let you in on it later.

“Gaius told me that you have Psychology and Social Studies this afternoon,” commented Marcus after a moment. “He wouldn’t let me not-come, but I want to go anyway. I hope that’s not too inconvenient for you?”

Michele shook her head. “No, it’s fine. This morning wasn’t that bad. You’re both well dressed, and you don’t look insane—” She threw a glance at the Liar. “—so it’s not really that bad.” Shrugging, she finished, “It’ll be nice to have some more intelligent company.”

“Go public school systems!” cheered the Liar sarcastically in the background.

“Well, that’s good.” Marcus smiled again. “I really dread your Social Studies class, though. They always make it sound so boring, by teaching the silliest things. They’d get way more attention by telling kids the, oh, say, logistics and methods of medieval fighting rather than boring them to death with what started the first World War.”

Michele nodded in agreement. “Oh, yes. I get it already—Franz Ferdinand was shot by some kid named Princhips, so Germany went to war and things went downhill from there.”

“Stupid war,” disapproved Marcus. “Stupid, stupid war. I’m the Angel of War, and even I think war’s gotten idiotic. The scale is ridiculous. What happened to the good old days when you could pull on your armor, pick up your flails, strap a broadsword to your back and then wade into a battle and dismember the enemy?” he mourned. “Guns have taken all of the real fun out of it. All the skill that requires you to be at the top of your game, always. All the chaos and the joy. Fucking guns,” he swore.

“I’m not…really a fan of war on any level.”

He patted her arm. “That’s okay. I forgive you.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Food!” shouted Gaius happily as their orders were brought out and placed before them. He was eating almost before it had been set down.

Smiling indulgently, Marcus picked up his chopsticks expertly.

“You’re a lot like his older brother, you know,” observed Michele, taking a bite of her lunch. “More like a cousin.”

“It feels like that, sometimes. That’s how we all address each other, sometimes. Brother, sister, cousin. But he’s really older than I am, despite appearances. He’s just senile.”

“I heard that!” protested Gaius through a mouthful of food.

“Don’t get any on your shirt.” Marcus started eating.

When the pair on the side of the table closest to the door had finished while the Liar still munched contentedly, Michele asked, “Did you two ever…fight together?”

“All the time.” Marcus stop fiddling with his chopsticks to look at the girl. “We’ve been all over Europe and Asia. Started wars, finished them, enjoyed them. We were footsoldiers, and cavalry, and officers, and generals.” He sighed. “That stopped when things started to get too messy, with all that technology getting in the way.”

While they talked, Gaius had finished his meal. “Ah, so good. Not as good as the real thing, but mmm. Let’s go. Don’t want you to get a detention.”

They left and returned to the school. She had Social Studies first, and she didn’t even bother to introduce the pair of them, just walked in and sat down, relying on them to do their own talking. They seemed more than capable.

“Hello,” she had been expecting the Liar to speak, but it was Marcus’ strong, low voice that rang out through the room. “I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion, but we’re guests of Michele—” He nodded towards her. “—and we were hoping you would allow us to sit in on your class.”

Her teacher looked at them oddly, but taking in their very nice clothes and Marcus’ polite command of the English language, nodded. “Just don’t disrupt my class.”

They sat, one on either side of her, aristocrats in a classroom full of children. Michele was struck by how different these two were from her classmates, from her teacher, even. It wasn’t just that they were adults, it was…everything. The way they wore their clothes, their skin. Their words, what they said. Everyone else spewed their words thoughtlessly even where thought was needed, and they just didn’t notice anyone around them.

Gently, Marcus tapped her elbow. She looked up to see her teacher looking at her impatiently. “Um, yes?”

“Michele, tell me what you know about the Roman Empire?” repeated her teacher with a scowl, crossing his arms.

“Uh, it existed approximately two thousand years ago, took up most of Europe, and had an excellent military? It fell in part due to climate change, as the northern Germanic tribes went southward and turned on the Romans, who they worked for? Ah, they had advanced plumbing, but they made their pipes out of lead, which lead to poisoning?” She was just jabbing out randomly with her guesses, hoping she would hit what he wanted.

“That is correct.” The man didn’t appear satisfied, grimacing. But he was always like that.

Turning away from the class, he began to write notes on the board after straightening his ugly sweater, lecturing as he went in a dry, bored tone. But in the middle of his speech, the phone started ringing. The man closed his eyes. “It’s the office. I’ll be back,” he told them, exiting.

“…That man does not have a proper appreciation of ancient Rome,” disapproved Marcus with a scowl. “Maybe we can teach these kids some, though.”

Gaius grinned. “You going to teach a class, Marcus? I’d help, but I think I’ll just randomly interject comments whenever I feel the need.” He slouched farther into his seat.

The large Angel of War stood up and walked to the front of the classroom. His hands clasped behind his back, he told the class solemnly, “Your teacher is an idiot.”

They shut up.

“I’m going to teach you guys about the Roman Legions and a couple of the worst emperors.” Smiling, Marcus proceeded with his lesson.

“That is the most…insane, in-depth, funny, bawdy, downright strange lesson I’ve ever had,” concluded Michele when he was done. “Elegabalus? Nero?” She shuddered. “If I ever wanted to write something…hmmm…I could…”

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” chimed in the Liar. “You haven’t been writing enough lately.”

The bell went for the umpteenth time that day, and the teacher told them shakily, “Class dismissed.” He’d come in partway into Marcus’ lecture, but had been so shocked that he’d just sat down. That would probably be the last time guests were ever allowed inside his classroom.

Frowning, the Liar followed Michele out into the hall, Marcus close behind. “Do you think your psychology teacher would let us sit in? Your last two have been compliant, but…”

“Don’t worry. My psych teacher loves strange people. Sometimes she brings them in herself.” Michele shrugged and went to her locker, depositing one set of books in exchange for another. “And you definitely qualify as strange.”

Marcus was smiling in the background. “You know, I kind of resent that.”

“You’re nice, but you’re strange.” She patted his arm. The Liar had been right—she did get along with Marcus. He was much more polite and considerate than the smaller Angel. Much less of a pain.

With Michele giving directions and Marcus at the head of their group, they were able to get through the crowds easily, as no one wanted to bump into a man who looked like he could crush their skull with his bare hands. He probably could, at that. He was almost seven feet tall and he had the hands to go with his size.

“Here we are.” They filed into the classroom, Marcus ducking under the door. Instead of the little desks which he had looked so silly in earlier, this room had rows of tables and stools. They chose three empty seats.

This teacher didn’t notice them immediately. She appeared immersed in some papers on her desk, probably class notes, her long black hair obscuring her face from view. After a minute, she straightened, and then she spotted the two men in her classroom.

“Hey. I’m Anna. Who’re you, and what interest might you have found here?” It wasn’t an interrogation-style question, just friendly and curious.

“I’m Scien,” the Liar introduced himself with a seated half-bow.

“And I am Marcus,” added the large man quietly.

“We’re here because of our friend, here.” The Liar indicated Michele. “Besides, psychology is fun.” He flashed her his charming, white-toothed grin.

She grinned back, but didn’t look taken in in the least, a wicked tilt to her arched brow. “I hope you don’t mind being psycho-analyzed?”