Marcos proceeded up to the Main House, stopping briefly under the overhang to wipe his feet and shake some of the water off his coat. He pushed through the tall doors, hung his coat up, and pulled his boots off. Dinner was soon to arrive, he knew, but until then, he had time to kill.
He found Cisco in the center hall--or rather, Cisco found him, slipping up behind him and pinning both his arms behind his back, holding him in place. “Hey, brat. Can you get out of this yet?”
“Come on. Get out of it.”
Marcos thrashed fruitlessly. “I can’t!”
“Yes, you can. I showed you how.”
“I can’t! Just let me go!”
“If you don’t let me go, I’ll yell!”
Cisco released him with a shove, and Marcos nearly fell over. “You’re pathetic.”
“And you’re an ass!”
“Whatever. Go cry to Ma if you want.” Cisco walked away.
Marcos scowled and rubbed his sore shoulders. He had four siblings, and he definitely hated Cisco the most. Cisco was the second-oldest, having four years on him, but Gema was never around anymore, so Cisco still got to play the role of eldest.
He decided to head up to his corner room on the third floor, but he encountered his father on the stairwell first. Marcos had never known a sterner face than that of his father. The man’s jawline and cheek bones were harsh enough to cut with. The stone gray irises and bushy black eyebrows were both traits that he had passed on to all of his children, even the girls.
This man, Zeff Elroy, was a Rainlord of Sair, and by extension, so too were all of his kin. Admittedly, Marcos didn’t know what all that entailed, but he knew that it meant his father was important to the government in some way and that it was an honor to bear his name.
When Zeff’s cool gaze fell upon his son, he offered the boy an acknowledging nod. “Marcos.”
“Pa.” He wished he could deliver such a simple greeting with as much gravitas. One day, maybe.