Marcy snorted at the mention of her brother being worried about her. It was nice of him to cover like that, but it was unnecessary. They both knew that she was a big girl who didn't need anyone's sympathy, which was why it was always such a big deal to her that she always felt compelled to seek out Nathan's. Now, playing grown-up with his stuck-up wife, Alan has come to share the outlook of their parents', which was that Marlene was the blemish on the face of their family. Didn't bother her much, though. As long as they were there as a safety net, Marcy was perfectly fine being the bad seed. It suited her.

As he grabbed her duffel from the bed and swung it over his shoulder, she couldn't help herself: "Wow, special treatment from the celebrity himself." Laughing softly, she lifted the strap of the satchel over her head and let it rest across her body, finally allowing for some definition between where the sweater ended and where she began. Marcy hooked one thumb into the strap and came to attention at his side, chest puffing out while her hand flung itself up to her hairline in a lazy, mock solemn salute.

"Lead the way, Mr. Pres."

Sure, she might have been a bit too obvious with her jabs at his new lifestyle, but he had to have known this was coming. Maybe she was a sarcastic, vengeful bitch, but let it never be said that she ever wasted an opportunity. After they left the room, she'd probably have to hold back most of the smart remarks for the sake of his carefully constructed publicity. And for the sake of not getting arrested on account of accidentally calling Nathaniel a jackass, or something. That would just be a waste.

She strode past him to the door and pulled it open, holding it behind her with her hip while she gathered the strands of her long hair and tied it up in a messy bun. "How the hell did you get in here, anyway? Without any fuss, I mean? Don't you have a posse following you around like, 24/7 nowadays?" The back of her slender neck now exposed, he could see the little tattoo of the black and white outline of a lotus flower peeking out through wisps of loose strands when she turned her head to look out in the hallway. It was her first tattoo, the one she'd dragged him to get with her on her eighteenth birthday for a hand to squeeze.