The Liar
Chapter Six

As Michele stared at him in shock, Marcus tugged at the cuffs of his pushed-up sleeves, re-adjusting them to his liking, although there was no obvious difference between the before and after. He retook his seat calmly as the Liar watched the girl, still bearing that uncanny resemblance to a cat. He didn’t appear as if he were going to say anything, though, choosing to stay in observer-mode. And Marcus himself was quite content to let the girl be and give her some time to process.

“So…you’ll be staying for a while, then?” she asked slowly.

“Maybe.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, then let them fall. “I don’t know. A couple of weeks, perhaps. I’ll rent out an apartment for a month.” Then he sighed. “I really have things to be doing in Eastern Europe, though.”

“…Eastern Europe?”

“Mafia business,” he agreed blandly. “And that is probably just about all you want to know.”

“Marcus, you dog, I thought you’d turned respectable!” The Liar grinned widely, leaning across the table to punch the Angel of War on the arm. If the larger man had been standing, he would have tackled him.

“You mean like you?” asked Marcus dryly. “Serving out alcohol and stalking a young girl?”

“…When you use those terms, it doesn’t sound very nice.”

“It’s not.” Marcus snorted, and finally took a sip of his tea. No steam rose off of the top, and from the face he made, it wasn’t a kind he was particularly fond of.

“I really prefer tavern keeper and muse, you know.” The Liar had drained his own tea, and the mug now rested on the table, between them.

“Muse,” repeated the Angel of War flatly.

“Yeah.” He blinked. “I think it’s a pretty accurate description.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I like Huckleberry Finn.”

Silence.

Marcus stared at the Liar, who was smiling pleasantly and blandly, rather then with his usual mischievous, cocky grin. It was a startling change, one that appeared to belie his true character, making him seem, on the whole, nicer and gentler.

“Stop that,” commanded Marcus, fiddling with his collar. “It’s creepy.”

“I like Huckleberry Finn, too,” said Michele, breaking the strange standoff.

Turning to regard her, Marcus quirked one eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Across the table, the Liar was nodding happily, taking no notice of the fact that Marcus was looking back and forth between him and the girl, with glances that said, quite clearly, that they were both out of their minds.

“Excellent book. Yep. Ah, Mark Twain…he was one of mine, you know. One of my writers. Perhaps one of the best, though it’s hard to judge these things…Mmm. What a sexy man.”

Silence.

*

“Stop following me,” demanded Michele, turning her head to glare at the scruffy-looking man trailing along closely behind her.

He pretended to look affronted, straightening his back and puffin out his chest. “Who says I’m following you?” he asked haughtily, green cat-eyes going icy. “Maybe we’re not even going to the same place. Maybe I work out that way. Ever think of that?”

“…The bar that you’re applying to is that way.” Stopping, Michele pointed in almost the opposite direction from where they were going.

“Well, that’s as may be. But did you ever consider that, by some manner of coincidence, we might be going to the same place?” He cocked one eyebrow, settling himself into a crossed arm position.

“Oh really.” She leveled an unimpressed look at him.

“Yes,” he declared proudly.

“And where are you going, then?” She started moving away from him, continuing on the set path she took every day, five days a week, ten months of the year.

“To your school.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shrugged, swaggering along behind her. He stuck his lower jaw out so that he could try to blow his bangs off of his forehead. Try being the operative word. Growling angrily, he gave it up as a lost cause, and ignored the tickling sensation.

“Seeing as you would have no reason to go to my school if I weren’t going as well, that means you are following me.” She didn’t even bother to look back at this point, hoping that if she didn’t look at him directly, he would just go away.

“Damn you and your fancy logic!” The Liar grinned, lacing his fingers behind his head.

They moved on in relative quiet for a minute more, but then the Liar felt the need to speak up again. “So, what classes are you taking? What system does your school run on? Eight classes all year, rotating cycles, four classes per semester, trimester, what?”

“Two semesters, two terms per semester, four classes during a semester over two terms,” she answered his probing question, wondering how he knew enough of the school system to phrase it with all of the appropriate words. He’d never been to school himself. Or— “Hey, did you ever go to school?”

“Hmmm?”

“School. I was just wondering, did you ever go to school?” she asked awkwardly, wishing she had a name that she could call him by comfortably.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m a big advocate of education. Not necessarily standard education, but education in general. Knowledge is power, and hopefully once you’ve got the knowledge, and thus the power, you’ll gain the wisdom to use it properly.” The Liar looked up at the sky, and he had a musing cast to his face. “Reminds me of Sun Tzu, you know?”

She shook her head.

“Well, you really should look into it. Ah, your question. School, right? Right. Yes, I have been to school. I do not have a high school diploma, that I am aware of. However, I do have several PhD’s of which I am rather proud of, and a couple of Masters Degrees that I really should get up to PhD level.” Sighing, he scratched the back of his head. “When I have time.”

“You’d have time if you would just leave me alone,” she tossed back at him as they hit the pavement that was the first official square inch of the school’s grounds.

“Oh, you!” He shook his finger at her, grinning widely. “Such clever retorts. I like you. I knew it was a good idea, hanging out with you. I haven’t had such stimulating conversation since…well, actually, I was talking to Creativity about a month ago, so…let’s amend that to the most stimulating conversation I’ve had with a human in a while. You’re a match for the greats, you know.” He nodded slowly.

“Pff, whatever.” She brushed her hair angrily back, careful to keep her face out of his sight. A slight blush was heating her cheeks. “I have class in…” She checked her watch. “…ten minutes.”

“Good, then the fun begins! Oh, and you never did tell me what your classes were. Don’t think you can get out so easily!” Smiling merrily, he followed her into the school building, ignoring the looks he was getting from the student body.

“English, Science, Social Studies, and Psychology,” she rattled off the list of the four hour and a half blocks that made up all of her days. “In that order today.”

“Fantastic!” he exclaimed happily, throwing one arm up in the air triumphantly. “This works out very well. Everyone calls Fate a bitch, but she really can be a lovely lady.”

“What the hell are you going on about now?” she whined plaintively.

“Well, I can drop in on your English class, run off for my job interview during Science, come back with Marcus so we can laugh at your teacher’s attempts to render history properly, and then I we can sit and enjoy the wonders of the field of psychology.”

“Why. Me.” Michele banged her head on her locked door, trying to ignore the Liar. “Are you going to be visible during the classes?”

“It depends on whether or not your teachers will let me sit in.” He shrugged. “Ah, well. Teachers are mostly stupid, anyway.” Chuckling, he ruffled her hair. “Come on, I think your bell’s about to go.” And then it went off, loud and abrasive.

“Ugh, I hate that thing.” Opening her locker, she stuffed her bag in and drew out the books she needed. “Let’s go.” Pausing, she looked him over. “They’d probably be more inclined to let you in if you were dressed…not like that.”

“Alright, then.” He seemed to privately decide something. “I’ll meet you at your class in five minutes.” Then he strode off, hands clasped behind his head, somehow managing to navigate through the oppressive crowds of irritable teenagers without actually seeming to have to navigate.

“Do you even know where it is?” she shouted, wondering how he could.

“No, but I’m sure that I’ll be fine!” She could hear the grin in his voice and resisted the urge to beat her head against the lockers, and instead wished that she had thought to stuff some Advil in her pocket.

Four minutes later, she sat in her desk in the militaristic little single-file columns, binder unopened, fidgeting nervously with her pen. Her friends Rachel and Katie were both in this class with her, and they had both met the Liar before. She hoped that he remembered which name to use. She would have to do so much explaining if he didn’t.

Snorting, she shook her head. He was the Liar. And whatever opinions people might voice about him out loud, she knew that no one thought he was really that stupid. He might seem it, he might pretend to be, but, at a deeper level, he was very intelligent. And he’d had thousands of years to hone that intelligence into cunning.

There was a light knock on the open, wooden door, and the Liar’s polite, smiling face peeked around the doorframe. His hair was less unruly than it usually was, but it wasn’t restrictively formal and boardroom-style. He moved so that he was in full view. The point of his narrow shoulder rested against the doorframe, but his torso wasn’t clad in its usual t-shirt and paint-splattered green jacket. Instead, he was wearing a crisp white shirt, a green tie, and a light grey vest. And rather than his dark, ripped jeans, he had a pair of dark grey pants.

Everyone’s attention was centered on him, and even the oblivious teacher seemed aware of it.

“Ahem,” coughed the teacher, trying to bring attention back to him. “Is there a reason you’re here…sir?” Michele hid her smile at the image of her teacher searching desperately for a title for the Liar. While he was young, it would have seemed ridiculous to call him “young man”, like some unruly teenager come to disrupt his class.

“Yes, actually, there is.” The Liar smiled confidently, stepping more fully into the room, his dress shoes clicking against the linoleum. “I was hoping I could have the delight of sitting in on one of your classes.” The hand holding his black fedora gestured towards where Michele was sitting. “I came into town just recently, and I’ve been quite distressed to find that I can’t visit with my young friend very much.”

The teacher looked flustered, staring helplessly at the suave personification of confidence that had just strolled into his classroom. “Ah, yes. Yes, of course. Just, please, don’t…don’t interrupt,” he pleaded desperately.

Flipping his fedora up onto his head in a move that belonged onstage, the Liar swept it off again, bowing. “Of course.” Sauntering over to Michele, he took the vacant seat beside her. He sunk into and positioned himself comfortably. “My name, by the way, is Scien Gaius Testamant. But you can call me Mr. Testament.” The way he said it clearly indicated that “Mr. Testament” was not a teacher-student address, but an inferior-superior one.

“Um, yes. Well, have…have a seat, Mr. Testament.” The teacher didn’t seem to realize that the man had already done so. “Um, um. Today, today we’re reading the novel, and we’ll get students to read aloud in turn, and then we’ll do a discussion, alright?”

Fighting valiantly, the teacher somehow managed to get a string of readers going.

All the while, the Liar was flinching in his seat. “Is it just this class, or are all high school students this bad at reading?” he asked in a whisper of Michele.

“They’re all this bad.”

At a particularly mangled word, he seemed to die in his seat. “That’s it—I’m taking control of this.” He swiped Michele’s book and stood up when the one student had finished, but before the other could begin. “If I may, I’d like to take over from here.”

He didn’t give the teacher a chance to object.

Running his finger down the page, he found where they had stopped, and coughed, clearing his throat. Someone in the back laughed, but he just grinned. He took a breath, and then he began.

The class was left speechless. He pronounced every word effortlessly, as if they were a part of his everyday vocabulary, and his elocution left nothing to be desired. His voice rose and fell with the cadence of the sentence, and when he spoke dialogue, he seemed to take on each character’s voice and person. The way he controlled his own voice…it was spectacular. The kind of acrobatics expected of the most insanely talented singers who trained their voices six times a week.

No one objected when he continued on like a steamroller, completely ignoring the fact that it was supposed to be a “group read”. But despite that, he was acutely aware that he had an audience, frequently glancing up to catch their eyes, and acting out every detail.

Chapters later, he closed the worn-out paperback softly, and replaced it on Michele’s desk.

“Um, discussion?” asked the teacher weakly.

“Wow, he must be an actor!” whispered one girl in the back.

The Liar turned around to smile at her, brushing his hair back with his hand. But he didn’t comment.

Then the abrasive bell went, saving anyone from having to discuss a really quite boring book that was rendered so much more by what could only be called a brilliant performance.

“Right.” The Liar stood, tugging out his vest. “Well, I’ll see you later. Pick you up for lunch?” he questioned, although his mind was already decided. “I’ll bring Marcus. Don’t worry—he’s always presentable.” Looking down at himself, he asked, “You like?”

“Yeah, actually. Very sophisticated.” She nodded approvingly. “Not like the jeans guys wear now, that hang around their asses.”

“Appalling,” he agreed. “Well, you’d better be getting to your next class.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “See you in a bit.”

*

“Hey, Richard,” called the Liar cheerfully as he walked into the bar. “Things all set up?”

The burly man came out from behind the bar and nodded. He seemed taken aback by the clothes the “younger” man was wearing. “What’s with the get-up?”

“Job interview?” offered the Liar half-heartedly.

“You’re getting dressed up that nicely for a job interview at a bar,” he stated flatly. “You’ll get your ass kicked if you show up to work like that.”

“No, I can still kick their asses dressed like this.” The Liar smiled. “But you’re right. It’s for a woman.”

“Ah, well.” Richard nodded. “That’s a worthy reason, then.” He laughed, slapping his leg. “Right, boss is over there.” He pointed to a table where a stiff-looking man in a business suit sat unnaturally straight. “Have at it.”

“Oh, I will.” The Liar strode confidently up to the table and took the chair across from the businessman without hesitation.

“Hello, sir, I believe we have an interview.” He leaned back causally in his chair, careful not to seem as though he were slouching. “My name is Scien Gaius Testament, and I’m applying for the job of bartender.

“Mr. Testament. Richard informs me that you can take the very late, and the morning shifts. Is that correct?” When he spoke, he sounded like he had to force the words out because they tasted sour on his tongue.

“Yes, that is correct. I am quite capable of taking those shifts over. Richard will have also told you that I am also capable as a bartender. A judgment made over a period of a shift, not five minutes. He asked me to come in and have a trial shift. And though I may sound arrogant for saying so, the only reason for you not to hire me would be if you had an extraordinarily talented candidate.” He smiled easily. “But you don’t have that, do you? No, no, they would all be somewhere else, am I correct?”

The businessman nodded tightly.

“Well, then, do I have it?”

“The job’s yours.” The businessman coughed, dry and hacking. “Now, we just have to discuss wage…”

“Ten dollars an hour. Richard,” he pointed at the man, “is likely being paid twice, two and a half time that. But he has seniority, and he’ll be working busier hours. I’m talented enough to warrant something above minimum wage, but I’m also not greedy, and money doesn’t mean much to me.” The Liar leaned forward. “Now, is everything settled?”

“It’s settled.”

The Liar rose before the businessman, offering a half-bow. “Thank you for your time.” He walked off. “I’ll start tonight,” he told Richard. “Be here at the start of the shift?” he requested. “And than I’ll take over from there.” His face creased in a smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll be wearing something more appropriate.”

*

“What are you doing here?” Marcus asked, looking up from his book. His dress-shoe clad feet were propped up on the coffee table, and he seemed at home in the apartment. “Oh, wait, never mind. You’re still you.”

“Nice place. Pre-furnished?” Gaius whistled, spinning around in a slow circle, hands in the pockets of his dark grey pants.

“Yes. But really, is there a specific reason why you’re here?”

“Yeah. I want you to come with me. Michele’s lunch starts soon, and I wanted the three of us to have lunch.” Gaius stopped his spinning and met Marcus’ grey-blue eyes. “And then I thought we could crash her last two classes. Social studies and psychology. Lots of fun,” he told the man, trying to entice him into agreeing.

“Fine.”

“That quick?” Gaius seemed surprised.

“I know better than to make a fuss. I’m going to agree in the end, anyway.” He rubbed his square jaw as he sighed, the silver ring on his right thumb cold against the skin of his face. “Let’s go. We’ll take my car. Just let me change my shirt,” he requested, moving into the bedroom. When he came back out, the plain t-shirt was gone, and he was wearing a white dress shirt to contrast his dark slacks, his red tie crooked.

“Come on.” He grabbed his keys away from the Liar, who had found them in a dish by the door. “I drive.”