VI Marco
VII Sapphire
The restaurant was fancy, all done up in gold and red leather. The ceiling was so high you could probably fit an elephant in it. Not that the toffs would let one in. They barely even let Marco in.
Marco had never had so much real meat in his life. His stomach felt sick, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He ordered another ribeye, reminding the waiter to cook the thing.
“Very good, sir.” The waiter replied with a bow. His pompous face was struggling not to twist up. He might not like serving Marco, but the bloody toff lover had to at least pretend he did. The first time they handed him a steak, they barely even heated it up, the lazy bastards, but he made them do it again. Looking around, he noticed that most of the toffs hadn’t stood up for themselves but pretended like they enjoyed themselves all the same. The thing about money, it doesn’t matter who you are. Each penny was a little claim to power. When you’ve got a chest of aurens, you might as well be one of them. Working was for chumps. Selling a contract was easy money, real money without so much as having to kiss ass once. Marco took a sip of the fine wine. It was sour and bitter, leaving his mouth feeling dry. It was also very expensive. Marco concluded that it must be very good.
Ira, the girl accompanying Marco, was dressed richer than any of the goldies around. He had bought her a sparkly golden sequined dress and a fine fur to put over her shoulders. He had taken her shopping so that she would look the part, but she just wasn’t used to the high life. She was shy, spending the whole time staring at her forks and comparing them to the forks the bloody toffs were using. She still didn’t understand. They had money. It didn’t matter what bloody fork.
“Isn’t this great? And it’s jus’ the start,” He gestured with his arm as if the whole place was his, as if the whole world was. “Ya know,” Making the first real eye contact of the night with her, temporarily suspending her focus on what-fork-should-be-used-to-eat-what, “ever since we was kids you were the cutest little thing, ‘ad everyone around your little finger. Little princess of the lowlands.”
Ira blushed and began furiously arranging her forks. “Thanks, fer that, but ya do know how I butter my bread, right? I’m not that same little girl no more.”
Marco used the largest fork available and cut into his steak. “O’ course I do, but one toil’s the same as another, don’t mind all that. An’ I still see tha’ little princess, now I can treat ya like one. I gots more than enough for the two of us. Jus’ quit yer toil, just like I quit mine.”
Ira flipped her hair back. “Awful nice, Marco, awful nice of you an’ all. But don’tcha come with a bit of an expiration date?”
Marco’s face darkened. It was too early for her to bring that up. Too early. That’s the problem with people, too focused in the future. That’s not a proper way to enjoy life. But it didn’t matter anyway he had a foolproof plan. “Dun’ worry about it, luv. I gotta foolproof plan.”
“Funny, everyone else who said that is proper worm food by now.”
“Yeah, well, this is different!” Marco lifted the oversized fork and took a big bite out of his steak. Was steak supposed to be so chewy?
“Yeah? How?”
“You remember Gram? He’ll have one.”
VII Sapphire
Sprawled out on a couch her legs in the air, Sapphire gazed at the last remnants of daylight piercing through the stained-glass roof of the study. Lifting up a hand in the path of the light, it turned a decided yellow, moving a bit to the right, it was ruby red. Further right and her hand became cobalt blue made with real cobalt. After spending a few minutes of moving, flipping, and angling her hand in the light, she came to a sudden and inescapable conclusion. She was bored.
When asked what living in the penthouse was like, she would say, “It is nice. That way, you can have windows on the ceiling.” Or simply and more usually, “It’s nice.”
She did realize she was fairly lucky, of course, especially when she thought about the Vestal Academy or the fleeting dim scraps of memory from before she was sold to the school.
The Butler came in. “Tea or Coffee, Miss?”
“Coffee.”
“Very good, Miss.”
It had been a few years, but she still hadn’t quite got used to the whole servant thing. It wasn’t exactly like getting used to being paralyzed, lying there, unable to move. It was more like getting used to the option of being paralyzed. Still, it filled her with just a little unease. She always told herself she should at least learn the staffs’ names. Though till this point, she had always forgotten to ask. Maybe when he comes back with the coffee…What would that be like, having a job where people call you by your job? What was the general rule? You call maid maid, butler butler, bartender barkeep; but you call carpenter Carl, luthier Luther, and rocketship engineer Roger. What decides who gets a name and who doesn’t? Is it better to be a profession named person? What about kings or prime ministers? They get both their title and name. Well, the kings of old did anyway. But then, if you called someone maid Sally instead of Sally, that somehow seems worse than just calling her maid or Sally. If you are a Duke or something, you get your title plus the place your title gives you, like Duke of Oxenfurt. But how would that work? Maid of Upper Elysia Lomo Building Penthouse? Maid Sally of Upper Elysia Lomo Building Penthouse?
“Your coffee, Miss.” The Butler returned, presenting Sapphire with a steaming hot cup of dark rich black coffee. Extra extra bitter, the way she liked it.
“Thank you, Butler.”
As he turned to walk away, she suddenly remembered.
“Butler?”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Are any of the maids named Sally?”
The butler pushed his lips together in a way that folded his face, “No, Miss. Is there anything else you need?”
“Damn.” Her attention turned to the steam rising from the coffee—it was spiraling a little before it disappeared. She wondered why it didn’t go straight up. This quickly became boring. She rolled a dice and got a seven. It was a good roll. She had been hoping to read more of that book.
Homo Economicish 