Marlon Brandwoods' eyes struggled to see through his crusted eyelids at the pesky wanderings of a rather large house rat sniffing around on the floor by the wall, just under the window sill. Marlon hadn't thought of a rat in years and had forgotten how big they can get, this one being about the size of his shoe. Marlon blinked his eyes to clear his vision of the rodent as well as confirm that he was indeed awake, then sat up slowly. The rat hadn't noticed his movement just yet or just didn't seem to care that Marlon was readying to throw an empty, glass bottle at him which he did and accomplished nothing other than startling the rat that scurried out of the room. The bronze colored bottle rolled around in a semi circle, wiggled then stopped completely still. Marlon sighed and collapsed back onto the bed, now disgruntled that he would have to deal with this pest problem for the rest of the day. It was his grandfathers dying wish that none of his beer, ale, or bread be tainted by the dirty, wandering activities of rodents and other pests, especially rats. So before Marlon could brew a new batch of ale, he had to rid of this rat.
As he stared up at the ceiling wall, he recalled the old folklore story his father had told him when he was a child. The Mosquito and The Rat was a lore that entailed the everlasting rivalry between the two pests, particularly the argument of who had killed more people throughout history. The mosquito was arrogant and seemed to brag about its killing of millions of people on top of the eradication of an ancient species of animal that existed way before man. The rat, on the other hand, killing its fair share of people, would rather put the blame of its doings on the flea or otherwise direct responsibility completely away from itself. The flea indeed assisted the rat in spreading disease as it unwittingly used the rat as transport, but the rats' carelessness, greed and desperation to scavenge what it could from humans led to the ultimate conclusion that both were to blame for the death that was brought upon millions of human settlers.
Marlon began to drift off into thought about the days before his fathers untimely death at the hands of a thief, when he was interrupted by a rhythmic, almost musical knock from downstairs. Marlon knew who it be because the one doing the knocking did so in such a fashion to let those inside know exactly who it was at the door. Marlon sludged out of bed, slipped his family branded, leather shoes on, and without bothering to freshen up any further, headed downstairs to open the door for Cerio Cicero.
Marlon swings the door open, his face had obviously just gotten out of bed, no surprise to the noble squire.
"Mr. Brandwood, so sorry to wake you on this beautiful day", Cerio says sarcastically, "but I would like you to meet someone."
Marlon noticed a very short, black haired woman standing next to him.
"Mr. Brandwood, this here is Arcadia. She is here along with Maestro Hunie to perform for Lord Cualisto at the Lunar Concerto later this month." Cerio explained. Marlon abandons the assumption that Cerio had finally grown weary of his romantic attempts on his niece, Griselda Hemmingway, and was now presenting him with an alternative option.
"That's lovely." Marlon grins and nods at Arcadia who awkwardly smiles back revealing a gap between her two, top front teeth. "But squire, I don't understand the meaning of your visit…"
"On behalf of Lord Cualisto, I request your talent be used in the tutoring of miss Arcadia for her part in the upcoming concerto." Marlon knew that by request, Cerio meant demand, especially when on behalf of the lord or the king, so even though he was reluctant to agree, he had no choice but to accept.
"Which part?" Marlon asks after a pointless, brief pondering.
"She is to be fluent in the Lunar Soloette of Lunare's Moonata in just about less than two weeks. I'm trusting you with this task because you're the only one I know that still lives in the city walls that can play the part decently yourself." Cerio says.
"Less than two weeks?" Marlon felt the weight of a thousand bags of flour fall onto his shoulders and at that very moment he hears the sound of clanging in his kitchen, a blatant, careless reminder of his new pest problem. "That's outrageous and shouly unrealistic!"
"Pardon me, madame," Cerio says to Arcadia, "allow me a private word with Mr. Brandwood for just a moment." Cerio urges himself into Marlons home and they gently close the door behind them.
"Listen," Cerio whispers, "Maestro Hunie is an arrogant fool. He believes this young womans violin is of some magical sort that would make the music sound fantastic no matter how horribly it is played. I'm quite interested in the outcome that is to transpire shall the maestro be stupid enough to allow a young, inexperienced stranger he found somewhere tumble onto the stage and perform the lords favorite part." Cerio laughs and Marlon couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Allow us to amuse ourselves, hm?"
"Alright." Marlon agrees. Cerio slaps his hand on Marlons shoulder.
"Teach her as best you can. Don't worry too much about the result." Cerio opens the door and walks out to join Arcadia who was standing there patiently.
"Very well Mr. Brandwood, you will be handsomely rewarded after the show. And miss Arcadia would have a place to lay her head, correct?" Cerio says.
"Uhh…of course, yes, yes."
"Splende'!" Cerio ushers Arcadia in through the door, "go along now, there's no time to lose." Cerio stops her and grips Arcadia's hand in both his before she was completely in the home.
"It was a pleasure meeting with you madame and I do wish you the best of luck, and please make sure Mr. Brandwood doesn't get himself in any trouble, hm?" Marlon laughs as Cerio makes his way down the stone path through his unkempt yard.
There was an awkward silence as Marlon closed the door and took a seat at the square, wooden table covered in empty and half empty ale bottles, plates and bowls harboring old, molding food, and all kinds of other clutter. The whole house was a disastrous mess, littered with empty bottles, worn clothes, and random items that cluttered the shelves and tops of tables and dressers that Marlon insisted would become useful in time, whenever that is. Arcadia stood patiently with her violin case held in both her arms, almost like one would hold a newborn.
Marlon looked around the floor as if the words he was looking for were laying around in the mess somewhere. He flicks his hand up quickly and lets it fall down onto his thigh making a clapping sound before saying awkwardly, "well…welcome to the brandwood property." A long silence followed until the feint sound of clanging in the kitchen was heard once again.