Okay, stay safe. :) I'll be off at 4:00 pm today. I was planning to stay in.
[ He'll also give Marc the motel address and room number. He suspects that Marc doesn't need it, but it will go over better with Fern if he has plausible deniability about people he knows just. Knowing where they live and showing up at the door unannounced.
Thankfully, she'll be out tonight, so everything should be just fine! ]
( adrian's suspicions are correct: marc doesn't need the address, but much as adrian's keen to lean into the plausible deniability of it all, so's marc. he's aware that, in many respects, it'll come across as better if he doesn't admit he's TAKEN AN INTEREST in where the people he considers friends stay and work. it'd been one of the things marlene had taken issue with, towards the end of the relationship (not the end end, perhaps, but the beginning of the end.)
something about being controlling, and something else about a lack of respect, all compounded by the way that marc had managed not to listen to what any of her issues were with him. (all he'd heard had been how much she preferred steven—.)
and yet, marc doesn't acknowledge adrian's reply. he doesn't turn up at the clinic at four on the dot. it's not even within an hour or two that he bothers to make an appearance at adrian's address, it's much later, closer to eleven at night. perhaps if marc took more than five minutes to think about it, he'd have bothered with the front door, but as it stands, usual methods of ingress don't occur to marc unless he suspects he's upset the person in question and, well, he's been working.
if "working" is also "avoiding".
but to his credit, he has slept. he'd managed a neat (interrupted) four to five hours, and then decided that moon knighting was an adequate use of his time instead of bothering with the conversation he'd (sort of) initiated. in lieu of the front door, he climbs the fire escape along the outside of the address adrian had given him, hesitating momentarily at the window before—
gently and carefully trying to slide the window open. )
[ Adrian lingers around work for an extra ten minutes or so and, when Marc doesn't appear, he goes "home" without a fuss. He doesn't really expect to see the man out and about before the sun goes down. For someone who (probably) isn't a vampire, Marc seems to have a certain aversion to daytime.
When he finishes dinner and Marc still hasn't sent him any follow up messages, he settles at the room's tiny table with a medical text book in front of him... and proceeds to fall asleep with his cheek pressed against the pages.
That's where Marc will see him when he gets to the window; the lights are on, and Adrian's chair is facing the window, but Adrian himself is dead asleep. From the look on his face, he isn't having the most pleasant of dreams. There's a second chair waiting at the table, and a little box of cookies from Sunday's bakery, just something he'd gotten in case Marc did decide to stop by.
The window lock has long since been broken, so the window opens silently but, to his credit, Adrian refreshes the alarm spells regularly. If he looks back, Marc might notice a thin silver wire stretched across the inside of the window frame, invisible from the outside. The wire isn't attached to anything in particular, nor is it disturbed by the window opening. It's a boundary, rather than a trap.
When the alarm spell goes off, there's no audible indication. Adrian just goes from asleep to awake in an instant, operating entirely on instinct, still groggy from restless dreams. ]
Enkindle. [ His halo has flares to life. He grabs one of the radial spikes, pulls it free of the halo, and throws it like a lance before he can properly register who or what he's even looking at. The second spike is already in his hand before his expression goes from startled to horrified, and he drops it. ] Marc!? Are you alright? Gods I'm so sorry—
[ A single Eldritch Blast won't kill him, or even pierce through him, but the force damage would hit like a bullet if Marc hadn't managed to avoid it. ]
( it doesn't occur to marc that his ambiguity and lack of clarity around "I'll find you after" would put someone with less patience than adrian out. it doesn't occur to him, either, that adrian might have erected defences around his home — it'll occur to him in retrospect, the hindsight of someone hit by the awareness that they were really fucking lacking in good judgement as they did what they did, but that's nothing new for marc.
his isn't a deliberate lack of consideration, but it's both deeply ingrained and well-worn.
he clocks the movement and the shift in the light, and there's just enough time for his expression to shift as realisation hits with slightly less force than whatever adrian throws at him. he doesn't manage to dodge, not entirely, but he does manage to twist just enough that it doesn't hit him square in the chest. he loses his balance gracelessly, landing back against the metal of the fire escape with a resounding thud and an inelegant grunt-come-wheeze.
one hand — his right — pulls a thin, crescent moon-shaped dart from his belt, shiny enough to glint in the thin light from adrian's room and the here-and-there neons of the street. adrian's hurried apology is enough for him not to immediately throw it in response, though he makes no effort to stand and return to the window, and if adrian's expecting a response, none comes. for the moment, marc stays sprawled where he is, winded, the sound of him attempting to catch his breath audible before he manages a quiet, thick— )Ugh.
( —is his shoulder dislocated? (no.) (but it's going to hurt in the morning.) (god.)
he at least doesn't seem upset, more bemused, as if he's trying to piece together how he feels about what just happened. )
[ Adrian hurries over to the window and sticks half of his body through it, offering Marc a hand up. ]
Why in the world are you climbing through the windows like some sort of night creature? [ He's half-scolding half-confused, entirely heedless of the dart in Marc's hand. For better or worse, he doesn't expect Marc to throw it, can't conceive of Marc hurting him deliberately even in a situation like this... and it is Marc, he thinks.
Steven would probably be far more angry with him, considering how they got off on the wrong foot. But then again, Steven also seemed like the sort of person who knew how to use a door. ] I thought you were a vampire or a burglar or something, you fool of a man. Come in here, let me heal it for you.
[ He'll help Marc through the window if he needs it, but if not he'll just get out of the way.
Adrian rarely has a motel room, so this one shows few personal touches. There are two beds, with a large pack beside each one, missing only the items that are currently in use. Even all these months later, neither he nor Fern have shaken the habit of being ready to leave at a moment's notice. ]
I wasn't sure if you were still coming. I thought you might have gotten busy at... [ He gestures at Marc's outfit. ] Work.
( it's the scolding that rubs him the wrong way, more so than anything else, and he exhales an audible breath through his nose as he shifts his weight carefully to stand. unsurprisingly, he favours the side not struck by adrian's — whatever, and he quite deliberately takes his time, placing his crescent dart back on his belt and adjusting first his tie, then the lines of his shirt.
as adrian continues, marc's mouth dips like there's a retort sitting on the tip of his tongue, though he refrains — somewhat petulantly — from speaking until he climbs into adrian's room, a pointed glance indicating he has no desire for assistance.
he's aware he doesn't have a good answer for adrian's 'why the window?' that doesn't sound ridiculous, and his attention skims the beds and the packs in front of both with only the vaguest, slimmest of interest. it's a pity — for marc — that the belongings on display are few and far between, as it means there's not much for him to direct his attention towards that isn't adrian. instead, then, he heads towards the table adrian had been asleep at, seems to briefly consider pulling out a chair and sitting on it, before deciding to perch on the edge of the table. )
What part of Moon Knight makes you think any of what I do happens during the day?
( it's not sulky in any traditional sense of the word, but there's an unmistakable element of tetchiness, pointed and firm and, truth be told, at this point, marc quite frankly has no idea who he's used 'moon knight' with alongside 'mr. knight' and 'marc' and 'spector'. so, sorry adrian. marc's just assuming You Know.
then— ) I was on the roof. ( the why of the window. will marc ever approach a conversation linearly? all signs point to no. still— ) And I was busy with work.
( there are indications enough that it's not a lie — dirt and grime at the edges of sleeves, scuffed at his knees and the ankles of his trousers; the odd fleck of blood on the knuckles of his gloves that imply any blood elsewhere probably isn't marc's; hair a little damp and frizzy with sweat, but it's unlikely that he spent the entire time ""working"".
he's not going to admit that, though.
a sidelong, distracted glance back to the window. )
[ Adrian rubs the sleep from his eyes and adjusts his glasses while Marc takes his time straightening up and getting inside. He seems... Adrian wouldn't call it sulky exactly, but there is an air about him.
He walks over to where Marc has settled himself on the table and stops in front of him, a hand on his hip and a wry smile on his lips. ]
Uh huh. Good morning, then. I am glad to see you mostly hale and whole, Sir Knight. Stay still, if you would be so kind.
[ Adrian's halo appears, shifting from behind his head to hover over Marc. It brightens, and the gentle light begins to heal any injuries — not just the bruises-to-be, but any small cuts and scrapes and general fatigue. Most people find his healing fairly pleasant, like a warm drunk on a cold day.
There's no doubt in his mind that this is Marc. He and Steven are, as they say, like night and day. Adrian sighs. ]
I'll add an exception to the alarm spell for you if you promise to knock. If Fern was here, she would have put a number of knives into you before I raised my head, and I really don't want to know how you would respond to my other dear but overprotective friend. Sometimes predictability keeps you from getting stabbed.
[ The halo disappears, and Adrian rubs at the back of his neck, soothing the familiar burn of pain. ]
Do you want some terrible coffee, Marc? I don't have anything stronger.
Moon Knight or Mr. Knight, please. ( uttered as if on autopilot — none of this sir business, thanks — and very much in the manner of someone who's quite used to correcting others on his preferred name. (no-one quite gets the moon knight versus mr. knight difference quite right—. well, except maybe detective flint, but that'd been purely because he hadn't wanted to arrest marc.)
regardless, he does as instructed, despite any remaining displeasure. adrian's magic, his healing, still sits as something of an unknown for marc, like most magic, but it strikes him as not dissimilar to badr's rites of khonshu or whatever they were called. the things, the knowledge that fists of khonshus should be granted — apparently — but that marc, as khonshu's most (un)favoured son, was not entitled to.
it's quicker, though, than anything badr might have been able to achieve, although marc suspects that part of the delay on khonshu's part is for dramatic effect; there's nothing quite like wrapping a still-living man like a mummy and leaving him in a sarcophagus overnight, after all.
unfortunately, that doesn't mean it's enough to temper the edges of his mood, and he tilts his head as adrian says something about a fern and stabbings, and there's the briefest flicker of an almost-smile, thin and not quite amused. getting stabbed doesn't mean you've lost, in much the same way that leaving a fight without an injury doesn't mean you've won.
the sentiment sits in marc's deliberate silence before, quite abruptly, he waves a hand, loose and broad and dismissive. ) Fine. ( "whatever." ) I'll knock in the future.
—And coffee's fine, thank you. Black. No sugar. ( there's no disguising the brief flicker of a question in his expression, as if he's trying to work out if adrian added the remark about something stronger for his sake or because it's what adrian would normally offer. ) I don't drink on the job.
Mr. Knight? [ He's more confused than anything. He had been teasing with Sir Knight. The title is such an odd one, but maybe it's meant to be a pun of some sort. (It's equally hard to imagine Marc serving a King as it is to imagine him deliberately making a pun... But Marc is, well, a bit strange. Adrian isn't always right about him.)
He does wonder what these monikers mean, but he files the question away for later. He'll use them, as requested, at least in public. ] ...As you wish.
[ For a moment, he wonders if Marc will argue, or make some comment about how dead people don't mind being stabbed, but he manages to refrain despite that almost-smile. Adrian's expression softens. ] I do appreciate it. Fern is not the trusting sort, and I would like to avoid the two of you getting off on the wrong foot. You might like her, in fact. You're both as serious as a grave.
[ Another brief smile, and then he moves over to the nightstand where the motel's tiny coffee maker resides. He crouches beside it and removes his gloves so that he can start up a fresh pot for them. With his back to Marc he says: ] I don't drink. When we met, Steven made a comment about wishing he had something stronger... [ He makes a vague gesture. ] I can't say that I understand how things work between the two of you. He refused to explain.
[ Adrian glances over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Marc. ] I'm assuming that he told you something about our conversation?
Ngh.( it's an inelegant, unhappy noise of acknowledgement at — well, everything adrian's just said, and marc finds himself faintly irritated by the lack of anything in the room to use as a distraction. to focus on.
he slides off the table and turns his back to adrian, seemingly paying zero attention to adrian's words. the still-open book in front of adrian's chair gets pulled towards marc, and he takes a (probably rude, probably inconsiderate, but he won't acknowledge that) moment to skim the first page. it's nothing particularly comprehensible to him, but it at least buys some time and gives some credence to his silence.
marc may have said they needed to talk, but that doesn't mean he's going to — is capable of — making the conversation easy. )
Whisky, ( he remarks bluntly, with no immediate indication as to whether he's referring to himself or steven. ) The older, the better. ( a beat, a sidelong glance; a turn of a page. (hope you weren't feeling too precious about what you were reading, adrian.) marc's gaze flits towards the coffee machine, then back to adrian. as an additional explanation— ) The more expensive, the better.
( steven, then. marc has never been fussy, has never been particular — when he'd been younger, it'd been a case of whatever was available was good enough, and it'd mostly stayed that way, though if and when given the choice, he'd opt for vodka. cold and strong, the former an offset to a lot of time spent in hot countries, the latter an offset to — you know, sobriety.
it'd taken him a long time to admit the preference was partially due to it being what his parents had drank. in his teens and in his twenties, even approaching his thirties — all the way through to his father's death — he'd avoided acknowledging any degree of similarity between himself and elias, any want of similarity.
a wave of a hand, then, and— ) You didn't make the conversation enjoyable.
( is that marc's opinion or is that steven's? who knows, possibly not even marc give the way his expression tightens almost immediately after he's spoken. he exhales a breath through his nose and his features flatten as he holds up a hand, fingers curled but for the index and middle. )
Shared residence.( accompanied by finger quotes and a pointed, assessing stare, uttered in much the same way anyone else might go for an exasperated god—.
(that's a 'yes', then.) (he's aware, too, that adrian is asking for marc's explanation in a roundabout way, but marc's not sure how and where to start.) )
Edited (soz I forgot the term adrian actually used) 2025-10-13 22:40 (UTC)
[ Adrian feels as if he has grown oddly accustomed to Marc's presence; the long silences and fractured sentences don't bother him overly much. He and Steven can agree on one thing: Marc is honest, even down to his discomfort, even if he doesn't give voice to it.
He pushes to his feet, then settles again on the edge of the bed with his legs crossed, watching Marc fuss with his textbook. For a while, the only sound is the steady drip of the coffee maker and the turning of pages.
His mouth twitches at the mention of whiskey, a touch of haughty distaste coming into his expression. Even having spent so many years on his own, Adrian couldn't possibly escape his upbringing entirely, and the knowledge that something being more expensive doesn't necessarily make it better.
Obviously, he will have to correct this misapprehension by finding Marc (Steven) some truly good whiskey. He can manage it, probably. If he's careful.
You didn't make the conversation enjoyable.
He shrugs, expression falling into neutrality again, but there's an undercurrent to it. He's annoyed at Marc. ]
Now that you're here, I am sorry that I threatened him... I thought I was very restrained about it, all things considered. [ Adrian does have the grace to grimace at his own words, hearing how they sound out loud. ] At the time, I had no idea what had happened to you. You must understand what it's like to run into a stranger in a coffee shop, wearing your skin like a new suit. So yes, I was a bit unpleasant.
[ Adrian waves a hand, relenting. ] And yes, I know this isn't his fault.
[ He gets up, walks over to where his textbook is. It's a detailed guide to parasitic humanoids with startlingly detailed diagrams. Catching up on medical texts isn't exactly easy when he only has access to what happens to be available at the thrift store.
He flips the pages back, trying to find the one that he was on before Marc skipped past it. It does give him something to do with his hands. ]
Before I gained my magical abilities, I was a doctor. Unfortunately, my medical knowledge is currently both woefully outdated and far too narrow in scope... So, I have been working on catching up. I haven't been trying to diagnose you, if that's what you're wondering about. Steven seemed convinced that you should be the one to explain, so I am keen to respect that. [ He slides an old receipt into place like a bookmark and closes the textbook. ]
You don't have to give me all of the details, Marc. But it would put my mind at ease if I knew what was ordinary for you, and when to be concerned. It would also save me a fortune in apology whiskey for Steven... and any other guests.
( there's something about the visceral nature of now that you're here sat alongside wearing your skin like a new suit that grinds at marc, that irritates and sits under his skin in a way he wouldn't be able to articulate, and he turns his head to look at adrian, slow and steady and incredulous. he doesn't say anything, just allows adrian to continue, allows him to make claims about being restrained and only being slightly unpleasant.
it's a silent fuck you, of the sort that he's aware is unreasonable, the kind that andrea tolerates and then pokes and prods at until he finally, eventually elaborates. but adrian isn't andrea, and marc leans forward into adrian's space, like he's trying to find something in adrian, only seeming to change his mind about what he's doing-thinking-might do when adrian waves his hand.
"I know—", adrian says, and the noise marc makes suggests that he doesn't believe that in the slightest. (even if it's true. none of it is steven's fault.) (it's technically marc's fault—.)
he takes a step back as adrian reclaims the textbook, the corners of his mouth curving unhappily, though whether that's more to do with adrian's words or his actions remain unclear. quite deliberately, he pulls out a chair and sits at an angle, resting one arm across the back of the chair and drawing the opposite leg up, resting his ankle against his knee. )
I wasn't wondering, Adrian. ( cool and calm. (none of the above.) one-by-one, marc pulls at the fingers of first one glove, then the other, before removing them entirely and placing them down on the table. ) We're running a couple decades behind Google.
( a beat; a drum of fingers against the table. (is the coffee done yet? please, lower your standards for coffee, adrian. instant is completely fine.)
then— )
You know it's relative? ( a flick of his hand in lieu of finger quotes again. ) "Restraint." (ha. ) I'd put money on us having different definitions of the term.
( which is to say— )
Steven's not the man you should be worried about dealing with. But he's not a guest.
( —that is truly the worst way of putting it, adrian. )
And he's not—. ( he doesn't want to replace me? that may be true, but it's not something marc always belives. he doesn't finish the sentence. ) We have a history. Without him, my life would be very different.
[ Adrian, for his part, is no less irritated with Marc in his space. He's aware of Marc's disposition towards violence, even if it hasn't really been directed at him. It's just that he's not particularly concerned that it will be turned on him. (Even if he's wrong, the concern for himself always comes too late. The knife against his throat isn't frightful until it's already buried too deep.)
I wasn't wondering, Adrian.
Adrian huffs. He has no idea what Google is, but he's not going to ask now. The last thing he needs is to let Marc have some excuse to go on a tangent, or to be smug.
He walks away while Marc makes a show of being impatient. Adrian is busy retrieving mugs from his traveling pack and doing breathing exercises. If they both get snippy, he's not going to get anywhere. ] ...Fair enough. I threatened your friend. You're within your rights to retaliate. If we're done with that, however...
[ He pulls out two mugs; a plain white one with a chip in rim, and a novelty monstrosity.
When he pours coffee into them, he sets the bird mug on the table beside Marc. (It's only right, since he's a guest, that he doesn't get a broken mug.) Adrian takes the empty chair and starts opening sugar packets to pour into his own coffee. ]
He doesn't seem like a bad person. He said he'd known you his whole life. Have you always — and if you want me to call it something else, you will have to tell me what that is — have you always shared a body?
(if we're done with that, adrian says, and it somehow manages to both condescend and be far better than anything else adrian has said to this point. he's right. he's right and marc should apologise. the words sit unspoken, uncomfortable against the back of his teeth as adrian sets down a mug of coffee in front of him. his attention settles on the mug and his eyes narrow, sliding towards the other coffee adrian is in the process of assaulting with sugar.
and he doesn't say anything. he thinks of steven asking him what he was afraid of and his own defensive, angry response. I'm not afraid of anything. (I am afraid.) he rearranges himself, turning fully towards the table (and adrian), drops his leg to the ground and sits, for once, wholly ordinary. no posturing. no hiding behind body language. as he does so, he realises he's tired — not physically, no, because whatever adrian did had dealt with that, but in every other sense.
he wishes he had a mask. it wouldn't make the conversation easier, wouldn't take it further away from resignation and reluctance, but at least adrian wouldn't be able to see his face.
"his whole life." (ha, funny.) "shared a body." better, and marc murmurs a vague noise of assent as he turns his coffee mug, making sure that the handle — such that there is one — is on the right, before— )
I was a kid. ( it's still curt, lacking in much of anything that can be described as softness, but there are fewer edges. the lingering frustration is more inward than it is anything directed towards adrian.
his mouth twists, nose scrunching, and he continues to avoid looking at adrian. ) Something happened— ( he waves a hand, tight and restrained, a kind of non-verbal whatever that indicates that whatever the something was, he's not elaborating. ) Steven ( and jake, he doesn't say, ) was how my mind dealt with that.
( it hangs a little awkwardly, like marc thinks he should be adding something else, like he doesn't think that's going to be enough of an answer for adrian, but it's where he leaves it, tension and reluctance evident in the hunch of his shoulders, the tight knit of his brow. )
[ Adrian feels a little bad for his impatience even before Marc starts speaking again. All of that (admittedly mutual) huffing, only for him to turn around and look so beaten down it makes Adrian's heart ache a bit. Maybe he's projecting, or reading too much into it, but he has the grace to pretend that he's busy with his coffee to give Marc a moment to gather himself.
This is hard for him, whatever the explanation is. That much is obvious.
He doesn't expect Marc to open with that particular statement. Short as it is, it speaks volumes. Adrian does look up at him, but he keeps his expression neutral. He knows how Marc gets with what he perceives to be pity.
Instead, Adrian's brow furrows. He's never heard of anything like this before. ] So Steven... is a part of your mind?
[ A shard of his soul, perhaps? That is something he has context for, right down to the something happening to cause it. Though it's still only barely comparable, it does make a kind of sense. Adrian nods slowly. ] Did he make an appearance because of the meteors, then? Or do you trade places as you both see fit?
(ugh, follow up questions are his least favourite. he'd invited them from reese, from soldier, but neither of them had followed up. they'd let his explanation remain what it was — although, marc's aware, they had more of a baseline for understanding than adrian does. andrea has asked questions, but that's her job and, as marc had taken far too long to realise, she'd been more concerned by and with marc than she ever had been with steven and jake.
this isn't, then, something he has much familiarity with navigating. not in recent years, anyway. there'd been hospitalisations, there'd been doctors, but they all knew — roughly — what and who they were dealing with. here, he has to provide context and whatever else. he almost misses the days of pretending steven and jake were just disgusies, an easy explanation full of don't worry about it, it's under control. now, he doesn't think marlene had ever really bought it, but it'd been an easy way to dance around the real problem for a while.
he meets adrian's gaze, his coffee entirely untouched. he half considers not answering, of forcing the conversation elsewhere before admitting— ) Steven has his uses. I haven't always recognised that.
[ Adrian can't say that he truly expected a direct answer, but he does sometimes hope for one in vain. He doesn't pretend that he understands the response, but he take a swallow of his coffee while he puzzles through it.
Adrian finds them both a bit opaque in different ways, but Steven had so obviously to cared for Marc, and even this much seems difficult for Marc to admit. Uses, indeed. ]
You look after each other, I suppose? In your own ways. [ He can't say that he expects much of an answer to that statement. ] I feel as if I should tell you what I told him.
[ Adrian sets his mug down and holds out a gloved hand. ] Your hand, please.
( the problem, most of the time, is that marc generally doesn't consider himself to be indirect. he thinks he's answering the question, responding to what's being asked of him in the way that suits best. this, sure, is different. there aren't many people that'd be able to squeeze 'steven steps in to make sure I don't do something I regret, jake steps in when I can't deal emotionally' out of marc. the answer adrian gets, then, is the closest marc will willingly get to elucidating.
and, if pressed, he'd argue that alongside everything else, it's hardly very fucking opaque. uses—!
though much like the time andrea had asked marc what steven and jake thought of being dragged into marc's perpetual war as moon knight and marc being faced, abruptly, with the knowledge that he's never once asked their opinions, never once considered their feelings, adrian asking — commenting, really — that steven and marc must look after each other has marc realising that—
no.
not really.
what does he do for steven except cause problems? lose their money. alienate his employees. torch grantcorp's reputation. get them investigated by the IRS.
the beat of silence is telling, and marc keeps his face still, expression unchanged as he glances towards adrian's hand, the edges of unwanted self-consciousness softened by questioning.
(he didn't ask about their conversation.)
(god.) (he should have stayed at home.) )
—Is this going to be some kind of telepathy thing? ( abrupt and incredulous and seemingly entirely in spite of himself. )
[ Adrian blinks in surprise, clearly not expecting that question. ]
I don't have any telepathic abilities... Do you? [ Is that why he's asking? More likely, Adrian assumes, he's just familiar with those who do have such abilities. (Frankly, if he did have a Telepathy spell, that would make much of this conversation easier. As things stand, he feels as if he's often trying to catch up with Marc's train of thought.)
He doesn't move at all, elbow restring against the table, hand open and palm-up. ]
I thought it would be better received if you knew where I planned to cast. I was going to remove the many stains from your glove and sleeve... If you have no objections?
[ Many is an exaggeration, but there is blood and dirt.
Considering his work at the clinic and the long sleeves that he always wears, Adrian should have long since acquired similar stains, but his own white shirt is pristine. Magic is useful like that. ]
( sorry, he's just struggling to follow how being told about steven and adrian's conversation has any relation to the marks on his clothes.
does he object? not really, not in and of himself — don't ask him about how much he spends on dry cleaning at home, or how much of his free time he dedicates to doing laundry here. it's a lot (unsurprisingly), but it's the price to be paid for the life he lives.
regardless— it's a pain in the ass to have to clean so consistently, so frequently. despite misgivings, he grunts a noise of — acknowledgement? agreement? not disagreement — before, ) I thought you were telling me about your conversation.
( doesn't mean he's not going to act at least a little disgruntled about the entire thing. he has an image to maintain, adrian. )
I don't have any abilities. ( pointed. ) Doesn't make my head any more fun for anyone to experience. ( on the off-chance that adrian did have telepathic abilities. he cares, you know. )
[ Adrian isn't quite petty enough to find satisfaction in causing the confusion for a change, but it's a near thing. He does give Marc a little grin when he says: ] I'm trying to be dramatic. I thought you would appreciate that.
[ He doubts that Marc thinks he's being dramatic almost as much as he doubts that Marc will appreciate his attempt at it, but sometimes Marc is wrong.
He sighs and lowers his hand, flexing his fingers. ]
I pray for your cleansing grace.
[ He makes a sweeping motion with his hand, and the stains vanish, from the glove to about halfway up Marc's arm, leaving the suit the same pristine white that it must have been the day it was made. Adrian props his cheek against his fist and reaches for his coffee mug again. ]
As I told Steven, I do wish that you would more freely ask for help — and not because I doubt your capabilities, but because this sort of thing is trivial for me. I can do the whole suit in a few seconds if you fold it up for me first. I can heal you so long as you haven't passed through death's door. I would be glad to do either of these things, whenever you might have want of them, as I would for any of my friends.
[ In truth, healing isn't nearly as trivial as a cantrip is, but Marc doesn't need to know that right now. Adrian takes a sip of his (still terrible) coffee, eyeing Marc across the table. ]
( his mouth twists sharply when adrian grins and says about trying to be dramatic, like marc does appreciate it but would prefer not to. reluctance sits in the way his mouth settles the beat after, as adrian sighs and does — frankly, whatever he does, it bears little similarity to anything any magic users he's familiar with can or will do. not, of course, that marc's ever asked a single one to do anything so mundane as clean his suit. )
I'm a difficult man to please, ( he mutters instead, although there's no heat behind it, nothing that indicates he's quite as serious about the matter as he might have been had adrian not made it quite as clear that there was humour in his words.
as adrian continues, though, marc's reluctance shifts to something more palpable, more tangible. less comfortable with circumstances — not on account of the magic (that's fine), and not even because adrian considers him a friend. (marc had decided, quite quickly, that adrian was a friend regardless of how adrian might feel about him, even if showing that isn't something he's particularly skilled at.) no, the reluctance is with the rest of it, the 'ask for help' and the 'death's door'. how does that work for someone like him?
he turns his cup between his fingers, placing the handle — such as it is — just so, before— )
No. ( firm, somewhere between tired and irritable. ) He can tell me himself if it's important. ( or adrian can, if he thinks it's important enough. ) Your conversation with Steven was between the two of you. I don't—. ( AAAH. ) I can be demanding and I can be unreasonable, but I'm not intrusive.
( —or not as much as he has been, not these days. controlling is a trait that marc doesn't think he'll ever fully be able to shake, but it's something he's worked to temper after losing marlene, after losing jean-paul, after losing diatrice.
his fingers press against the mug, harder, before releasing abruptly. he takes a slow sip of (really bad) coffee and adds, ) If I need to know, one of you will tell me.
Evidently. [ He says, still light-hearted. Difficult, indeed. ] You're welcome.
[ It ought to be sarcastic or chiding, but it's perhaps a touch too sincere. He doesn't really mind. He's at least starting to understand some of why Marc seems to struggle with this sort of thing.
He watches Marc's hands as he fusses with the mug. It wouldn't be entirely unreasonable if he had said yes, had wanted to know what had been said and done when he wasn't in control of his body -- their body? -- but things between him and Steven don't work that way. Even as slivers of the same soul, they are their own people. Steven was, in many ways, very astute about Marc. ]
You've not been overly demanding with me, either, actually. Unreasonable I'll give you, but I can be a bit of a brat myself so -- we are well matched.
[ He offers Marc another smile, smaller this time, softer: ] You are doing just fine, Marc.
[ It just seems like the kind of thing he needs to hear.
( marc could explain why it might seem that he's not been demanding with adrian, he's self-aware enough for (some of) it, but the parts of it that would make most sense could be interpreted as insulting, while the rest of it requires history. backstory. and none of the people involved are here in panorama, so there's no point. the short of it is— )
You don't work for me. ( curt and certain, with an unspoken side of we're not close enough for me to be demanding. marc's attitude tends to be circular in that those closest to him bear the brunt of his worst traits, of his assumptions and his disregard. his enemies are the recipients of something similar, albeit born of different reasoning, while friends — the regular kind — and acquaintances often earn something tempered and more considerate.
where for some, familiarity breeds contempt, for marc it's thoughtlessness.
he imagines, then, that adrian's opinion will change in time, that he'll come to realise that marc is speaking about himself objectively. marc hasn't yet met anyone who's openly disagreed with the assertion, which is why adrian's you're doing fine earns a flat look, disagreeing in almost every single way, before— )
You're obstinate. That's not the same thing.
( dismissive. 'brat' isn't the word marc would use for adrian — at least, not in the current moment — but he doesn't disagree with the underlying sentiment. still, he doesn't linger on the remark, instead swiftly adding— )
No. Not just. But it was a part of it. I— ( pause. pause. ) —'ve been working on being more open.
Of course I don't. Do you really think you could pay my fee? [ Adrian replies, one eyebrow arched. He breaks a moment later, another cheeky little smile. ] So, undemanding. You should enjoy it while you can.
[ Adrian takes another sip of his coffee. He's curious to see if and how that might change. There are very specific circumstances where he might do as he's told, and outside of them he is, to put it mildly, impossibly stubborn. People who learn that quickly never like him enough to be angry about it later, when they inevitably leave.
As for his fee... If he isn't working under contact at the clinic (and sometimes even then) the only thing he's ever asked for is a story or a cup of coffee, to get to know people better. For them to open up.
Marc has, to the best of his abilities, already paid his 'fee' in some ways.
Adrian rolls his eyes, clearly considering the correction to be pedantic. There's more that he could say about being called obstinate, but Marc has already continued.
A part of him had expected the question to be dismissed. Of course Marc isn't here because he asked; he was in the area, or he had something in particular he needed, or he just thought that taking an Eldritch Blast to the face sounded like a fun... Anything, really.
His gaze drops to his cup briefly, raising again in the pause between words. ]
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[ He'll also give Marc the motel address and room number. He suspects that Marc doesn't need it, but it will go over better with Fern if he has plausible deniability about people he knows just. Knowing where they live and showing up at the door unannounced.
Thankfully, she'll be out tonight, so everything should be just fine! ]
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something about being controlling, and something else about a lack of respect, all compounded by the way that marc had managed not to listen to what any of her issues were with him. (all he'd heard had been how much she preferred steven—.)
and yet, marc doesn't acknowledge adrian's reply. he doesn't turn up at the clinic at four on the dot. it's not even within an hour or two that he bothers to make an appearance at adrian's address, it's much later, closer to eleven at night. perhaps if marc took more than five minutes to think about it, he'd have bothered with the front door, but as it stands, usual methods of ingress don't occur to marc unless he suspects he's upset the person in question and, well, he's been working.
if "working" is also "avoiding".
but to his credit, he has slept. he'd managed a neat (interrupted) four to five hours, and then decided that moon knighting was an adequate use of his time instead of bothering with the conversation he'd (sort of) initiated. in lieu of the front door, he climbs the fire escape along the outside of the address adrian had given him, hesitating momentarily at the window before—
gently and carefully trying to slide the window open. )
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When he finishes dinner and Marc still hasn't sent him any follow up messages, he settles at the room's tiny table with a medical text book in front of him... and proceeds to fall asleep with his cheek pressed against the pages.
That's where Marc will see him when he gets to the window; the lights are on, and Adrian's chair is facing the window, but Adrian himself is dead asleep. From the look on his face, he isn't having the most pleasant of dreams. There's a second chair waiting at the table, and a little box of cookies from Sunday's bakery, just something he'd gotten in case Marc did decide to stop by.
The window lock has long since been broken, so the window opens silently but, to his credit, Adrian refreshes the alarm spells regularly. If he looks back, Marc might notice a thin silver wire stretched across the inside of the window frame, invisible from the outside. The wire isn't attached to anything in particular, nor is it disturbed by the window opening. It's a boundary, rather than a trap.
When the alarm spell goes off, there's no audible indication. Adrian just goes from asleep to awake in an instant, operating entirely on instinct, still groggy from restless dreams. ]
Enkindle. [ His halo has flares to life. He grabs one of the radial spikes, pulls it free of the halo, and throws it like a lance before he can properly register who or what he's even looking at. The second spike is already in his hand before his expression goes from startled to horrified, and he drops it. ] Marc!? Are you alright? Gods I'm so sorry—
[ A single Eldritch Blast won't kill him, or even pierce through him, but the force damage would hit like a bullet if Marc hadn't managed to avoid it. ]
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his isn't a deliberate lack of consideration, but it's both deeply ingrained and well-worn.
he clocks the movement and the shift in the light, and there's just enough time for his expression to shift as realisation hits with slightly less force than whatever adrian throws at him. he doesn't manage to dodge, not entirely, but he does manage to twist just enough that it doesn't hit him square in the chest. he loses his balance gracelessly, landing back against the metal of the fire escape with a resounding thud and an inelegant grunt-come-wheeze.
one hand — his right — pulls a thin, crescent moon-shaped dart from his belt, shiny enough to glint in the thin light from adrian's room and the here-and-there neons of the street. adrian's hurried apology is enough for him not to immediately throw it in response, though he makes no effort to stand and return to the window, and if adrian's expecting a response, none comes. for the moment, marc stays sprawled where he is, winded, the sound of him attempting to catch his breath audible before he manages a quiet, thick— ) Ugh.
( —is his shoulder dislocated? (no.) (but it's going to hurt in the morning.) (god.)
he at least doesn't seem upset, more bemused, as if he's trying to piece together how he feels about what just happened. )
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Why in the world are you climbing through the windows like some sort of night creature? [ He's half-scolding half-confused, entirely heedless of the dart in Marc's hand. For better or worse, he doesn't expect Marc to throw it, can't conceive of Marc hurting him deliberately even in a situation like this... and it is Marc, he thinks.
Steven would probably be far more angry with him, considering how they got off on the wrong foot. But then again, Steven also seemed like the sort of person who knew how to use a door. ] I thought you were a vampire or a burglar or something, you fool of a man. Come in here, let me heal it for you.
[ He'll help Marc through the window if he needs it, but if not he'll just get out of the way.
Adrian rarely has a motel room, so this one shows few personal touches. There are two beds, with a large pack beside each one, missing only the items that are currently in use. Even all these months later, neither he nor Fern have shaken the habit of being ready to leave at a moment's notice. ]
I wasn't sure if you were still coming. I thought you might have gotten busy at... [ He gestures at Marc's outfit. ] Work.
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as adrian continues, marc's mouth dips like there's a retort sitting on the tip of his tongue, though he refrains — somewhat petulantly — from speaking until he climbs into adrian's room, a pointed glance indicating he has no desire for assistance.
he's aware he doesn't have a good answer for adrian's 'why the window?' that doesn't sound ridiculous, and his attention skims the beds and the packs in front of both with only the vaguest, slimmest of interest. it's a pity — for marc — that the belongings on display are few and far between, as it means there's not much for him to direct his attention towards that isn't adrian. instead, then, he heads towards the table adrian had been asleep at, seems to briefly consider pulling out a chair and sitting on it, before deciding to perch on the edge of the table. )
What part of Moon Knight makes you think any of what I do happens during the day?
( it's not sulky in any traditional sense of the word, but there's an unmistakable element of tetchiness, pointed and firm and, truth be told, at this point, marc quite frankly has no idea who he's used 'moon knight' with alongside 'mr. knight' and 'marc' and 'spector'. so, sorry adrian. marc's just assuming You Know.
then— ) I was on the roof. ( the why of the window. will marc ever approach a conversation linearly? all signs point to no. still— ) And I was busy with work.
( there are indications enough that it's not a lie — dirt and grime at the edges of sleeves, scuffed at his knees and the ankles of his trousers; the odd fleck of blood on the knuckles of his gloves that imply any blood elsewhere probably isn't marc's; hair a little damp and frizzy with sweat, but it's unlikely that he spent the entire time ""working"".
he's not going to admit that, though.
a sidelong, distracted glance back to the window. )
But predictability does no-one any favours.
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He walks over to where Marc has settled himself on the table and stops in front of him, a hand on his hip and a wry smile on his lips. ]
Uh huh. Good morning, then. I am glad to see you mostly hale and whole, Sir Knight. Stay still, if you would be so kind.
[ Adrian's halo appears, shifting from behind his head to hover over Marc. It brightens, and the gentle light begins to heal any injuries — not just the bruises-to-be, but any small cuts and scrapes and general fatigue. Most people find his healing fairly pleasant, like a warm drunk on a cold day.
There's no doubt in his mind that this is Marc. He and Steven are, as they say, like night and day. Adrian sighs. ]
I'll add an exception to the alarm spell for you if you promise to knock. If Fern was here, she would have put a number of knives into you before I raised my head, and I really don't want to know how you would respond to my other dear but overprotective friend. Sometimes predictability keeps you from getting stabbed.
[ The halo disappears, and Adrian rubs at the back of his neck, soothing the familiar burn of pain. ]
Do you want some terrible coffee, Marc? I don't have anything stronger.
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regardless, he does as instructed, despite any remaining displeasure. adrian's magic, his healing, still sits as something of an unknown for marc, like most magic, but it strikes him as not dissimilar to badr's rites of khonshu or whatever they were called. the things, the knowledge that fists of khonshus should be granted — apparently — but that marc, as khonshu's most (un)favoured son, was not entitled to.
it's quicker, though, than anything badr might have been able to achieve, although marc suspects that part of the delay on khonshu's part is for dramatic effect; there's nothing quite like wrapping a still-living man like a mummy and leaving him in a sarcophagus overnight, after all.
unfortunately, that doesn't mean it's enough to temper the edges of his mood, and he tilts his head as adrian says something about a fern and stabbings, and there's the briefest flicker of an almost-smile, thin and not quite amused. getting stabbed doesn't mean you've lost, in much the same way that leaving a fight without an injury doesn't mean you've won.
the sentiment sits in marc's deliberate silence before, quite abruptly, he waves a hand, loose and broad and dismissive. ) Fine. ( "whatever." ) I'll knock in the future.
—And coffee's fine, thank you. Black. No sugar. ( there's no disguising the brief flicker of a question in his expression, as if he's trying to work out if adrian added the remark about something stronger for his sake or because it's what adrian would normally offer. ) I don't drink on the job.
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He does wonder what these monikers mean, but he files the question away for later. He'll use them, as requested, at least in public. ] ...As you wish.
[ For a moment, he wonders if Marc will argue, or make some comment about how dead people don't mind being stabbed, but he manages to refrain despite that almost-smile. Adrian's expression softens. ] I do appreciate it. Fern is not the trusting sort, and I would like to avoid the two of you getting off on the wrong foot. You might like her, in fact. You're both as serious as a grave.
[ Another brief smile, and then he moves over to the nightstand where the motel's tiny coffee maker resides. He crouches beside it and removes his gloves so that he can start up a fresh pot for them. With his back to Marc he says: ] I don't drink. When we met, Steven made a comment about wishing he had something stronger... [ He makes a vague gesture. ] I can't say that I understand how things work between the two of you. He refused to explain.
[ Adrian glances over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Marc. ] I'm assuming that he told you something about our conversation?
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he slides off the table and turns his back to adrian, seemingly paying zero attention to adrian's words. the still-open book in front of adrian's chair gets pulled towards marc, and he takes a (probably rude, probably inconsiderate, but he won't acknowledge that) moment to skim the first page. it's nothing particularly comprehensible to him, but it at least buys some time and gives some credence to his silence.
marc may have said they needed to talk, but that doesn't mean he's going to — is capable of — making the conversation easy. )
Whisky, ( he remarks bluntly, with no immediate indication as to whether he's referring to himself or steven. ) The older, the better. ( a beat, a sidelong glance; a turn of a page. (hope you weren't feeling too precious about what you were reading, adrian.) marc's gaze flits towards the coffee machine, then back to adrian. as an additional explanation— ) The more expensive, the better.
( steven, then. marc has never been fussy, has never been particular — when he'd been younger, it'd been a case of whatever was available was good enough, and it'd mostly stayed that way, though if and when given the choice, he'd opt for vodka. cold and strong, the former an offset to a lot of time spent in hot countries, the latter an offset to — you know, sobriety.
it'd taken him a long time to admit the preference was partially due to it being what his parents had drank. in his teens and in his twenties, even approaching his thirties — all the way through to his father's death — he'd avoided acknowledging any degree of similarity between himself and elias, any want of similarity.
a wave of a hand, then, and— ) You didn't make the conversation enjoyable.
( is that marc's opinion or is that steven's? who knows, possibly not even marc give the way his expression tightens almost immediately after he's spoken. he exhales a breath through his nose and his features flatten as he holds up a hand, fingers curled but for the index and middle. )
Shared residence. ( accompanied by finger quotes and a pointed, assessing stare, uttered in much the same way anyone else might go for an exasperated god—.
(that's a 'yes', then.)
(he's aware, too, that adrian is asking for marc's explanation in a roundabout way, but marc's not sure how and where to start.) )
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He pushes to his feet, then settles again on the edge of the bed with his legs crossed, watching Marc fuss with his textbook. For a while, the only sound is the steady drip of the coffee maker and the turning of pages.
His mouth twitches at the mention of whiskey, a touch of haughty distaste coming into his expression. Even having spent so many years on his own, Adrian couldn't possibly escape his upbringing entirely, and the knowledge that something being more expensive doesn't necessarily make it better.
Obviously, he will have to correct this misapprehension by finding Marc (Steven) some truly good whiskey. He can manage it, probably. If he's careful.
You didn't make the conversation enjoyable.
He shrugs, expression falling into neutrality again, but there's an undercurrent to it. He's annoyed at Marc. ]
Now that you're here, I am sorry that I threatened him... I thought I was very restrained about it, all things considered. [ Adrian does have the grace to grimace at his own words, hearing how they sound out loud. ] At the time, I had no idea what had happened to you. You must understand what it's like to run into a stranger in a coffee shop, wearing your skin like a new suit. So yes, I was a bit unpleasant.
[ Adrian waves a hand, relenting. ] And yes, I know this isn't his fault.
[ He gets up, walks over to where his textbook is. It's a detailed guide to parasitic humanoids with startlingly detailed diagrams. Catching up on medical texts isn't exactly easy when he only has access to what happens to be available at the thrift store.
He flips the pages back, trying to find the one that he was on before Marc skipped past it. It does give him something to do with his hands. ]
Before I gained my magical abilities, I was a doctor. Unfortunately, my medical knowledge is currently both woefully outdated and far too narrow in scope... So, I have been working on catching up. I haven't been trying to diagnose you, if that's what you're wondering about. Steven seemed convinced that you should be the one to explain, so I am keen to respect that. [ He slides an old receipt into place like a bookmark and closes the textbook. ]
You don't have to give me all of the details, Marc. But it would put my mind at ease if I knew what was ordinary for you, and when to be concerned. It would also save me a fortune in apology whiskey for Steven... and any other guests.
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it's a silent fuck you, of the sort that he's aware is unreasonable, the kind that andrea tolerates and then pokes and prods at until he finally, eventually elaborates. but adrian isn't andrea, and marc leans forward into adrian's space, like he's trying to find something in adrian, only seeming to change his mind about what he's doing-thinking-might do when adrian waves his hand.
"I know—", adrian says, and the noise marc makes suggests that he doesn't believe that in the slightest.
(even if it's true. none of it is steven's fault.)
(it's technically marc's fault—.)
he takes a step back as adrian reclaims the textbook, the corners of his mouth curving unhappily, though whether that's more to do with adrian's words or his actions remain unclear. quite deliberately, he pulls out a chair and sits at an angle, resting one arm across the back of the chair and drawing the opposite leg up, resting his ankle against his knee. )
I wasn't wondering, Adrian. ( cool and calm. (none of the above.) one-by-one, marc pulls at the fingers of first one glove, then the other, before removing them entirely and placing them down on the table. ) We're running a couple decades behind Google.
( a beat; a drum of fingers against the table. (is the coffee done yet? please, lower your standards for coffee, adrian. instant is completely fine.)
then— )
You know it's relative? ( a flick of his hand in lieu of finger quotes again. ) "Restraint." ( ha. ) I'd put money on us having different definitions of the term.
( which is to say— )
Steven's not the man you should be worried about dealing with. But he's not a guest.
( —that is truly the worst way of putting it, adrian. )
And he's not—. ( he doesn't want to replace me? that may be true, but it's not something marc always belives. he doesn't finish the sentence. ) We have a history. Without him, my life would be very different.
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I wasn't wondering, Adrian.
Adrian huffs. He has no idea what Google is, but he's not going to ask now. The last thing he needs is to let Marc have some excuse to go on a tangent, or to be smug.
He walks away while Marc makes a show of being impatient. Adrian is busy retrieving mugs from his traveling pack and doing breathing exercises. If they both get snippy, he's not going to get anywhere. ] ...Fair enough. I threatened your friend. You're within your rights to retaliate. If we're done with that, however...
[ He pulls out two mugs; a plain white one with a chip in rim, and a novelty monstrosity.
When he pours coffee into them, he sets the bird mug on the table beside Marc. (It's only right, since he's a guest, that he doesn't get a broken mug.) Adrian takes the empty chair and starts opening sugar packets to pour into his own coffee. ]
He doesn't seem like a bad person. He said he'd known you his whole life. Have you always — and if you want me to call it something else, you will have to tell me what that is — have you always shared a body?
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and he doesn't say anything. he thinks of steven asking him what he was afraid of and his own defensive, angry response. I'm not afraid of anything. (I am afraid.) he rearranges himself, turning fully towards the table (and adrian), drops his leg to the ground and sits, for once, wholly ordinary. no posturing. no hiding behind body language. as he does so, he realises he's tired — not physically, no, because whatever adrian did had dealt with that, but in every other sense.
he wishes he had a mask. it wouldn't make the conversation easier, wouldn't take it further away from resignation and reluctance, but at least adrian wouldn't be able to see his face.
"his whole life." (ha, funny.) "shared a body." better, and marc murmurs a vague noise of assent as he turns his coffee mug, making sure that the handle — such that there is one — is on the right, before— )
I was a kid. ( it's still curt, lacking in much of anything that can be described as softness, but there are fewer edges. the lingering frustration is more inward than it is anything directed towards adrian.
his mouth twists, nose scrunching, and he continues to avoid looking at adrian. ) Something happened— ( he waves a hand, tight and restrained, a kind of non-verbal whatever that indicates that whatever the something was, he's not elaborating. ) Steven ( and jake, he doesn't say, ) was how my mind dealt with that.
( it hangs a little awkwardly, like marc thinks he should be adding something else, like he doesn't think that's going to be enough of an answer for adrian, but it's where he leaves it, tension and reluctance evident in the hunch of his shoulders, the tight knit of his brow. )
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This is hard for him, whatever the explanation is. That much is obvious.
He doesn't expect Marc to open with that particular statement. Short as it is, it speaks volumes. Adrian does look up at him, but he keeps his expression neutral. He knows how Marc gets with what he perceives to be pity.
Instead, Adrian's brow furrows. He's never heard of anything like this before. ] So Steven... is a part of your mind?
[ A shard of his soul, perhaps? That is something he has context for, right down to the something happening to cause it. Though it's still only barely comparable, it does make a kind of sense. Adrian nods slowly. ] Did he make an appearance because of the meteors, then? Or do you trade places as you both see fit?
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this isn't, then, something he has much familiarity with navigating. not in recent years, anyway. there'd been hospitalisations, there'd been doctors, but they all knew — roughly — what and who they were dealing with. here, he has to provide context and whatever else. he almost misses the days of pretending steven and jake were just disgusies, an easy explanation full of don't worry about it, it's under control. now, he doesn't think marlene had ever really bought it, but it'd been an easy way to dance around the real problem for a while.
he meets adrian's gaze, his coffee entirely untouched. he half considers not answering, of forcing the conversation elsewhere before admitting— ) Steven has his uses. I haven't always recognised that.
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Adrian finds them both a bit opaque in different ways, but Steven had so obviously to cared for Marc, and even this much seems difficult for Marc to admit. Uses, indeed. ]
You look after each other, I suppose? In your own ways. [ He can't say that he expects much of an answer to that statement. ] I feel as if I should tell you what I told him.
[ Adrian sets his mug down and holds out a gloved hand. ] Your hand, please.
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and, if pressed, he'd argue that alongside everything else, it's hardly very fucking opaque. uses—!
though much like the time andrea had asked marc what steven and jake thought of being dragged into marc's perpetual war as moon knight and marc being faced, abruptly, with the knowledge that he's never once asked their opinions, never once considered their feelings, adrian asking — commenting, really — that steven and marc must look after each other has marc realising that—
no.
not really.
what does he do for steven except cause problems? lose their money. alienate his employees. torch grantcorp's reputation. get them investigated by the IRS.
the beat of silence is telling, and marc keeps his face still, expression unchanged as he glances towards adrian's hand, the edges of unwanted self-consciousness softened by questioning.
(he didn't ask about their conversation.)
(god.)
(he should have stayed at home.) )
—Is this going to be some kind of telepathy thing? ( abrupt and incredulous and seemingly entirely in spite of himself. )
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I don't have any telepathic abilities... Do you? [ Is that why he's asking? More likely, Adrian assumes, he's just familiar with those who do have such abilities. (Frankly, if he did have a Telepathy spell, that would make much of this conversation easier. As things stand, he feels as if he's often trying to catch up with Marc's train of thought.)
He doesn't move at all, elbow restring against the table, hand open and palm-up. ]
I thought it would be better received if you knew where I planned to cast. I was going to remove the many stains from your glove and sleeve... If you have no objections?
[ Many is an exaggeration, but there is blood and dirt.
Considering his work at the clinic and the long sleeves that he always wears, Adrian should have long since acquired similar stains, but his own white shirt is pristine. Magic is useful like that. ]
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does he object? not really, not in and of himself — don't ask him about how much he spends on dry cleaning at home, or how much of his free time he dedicates to doing laundry here. it's a lot (unsurprisingly), but it's the price to be paid for the life he lives.
regardless— it's a pain in the ass to have to clean so consistently, so frequently. despite misgivings, he grunts a noise of — acknowledgement? agreement? not disagreement — before, ) I thought you were telling me about your conversation.
( doesn't mean he's not going to act at least a little disgruntled about the entire thing. he has an image to maintain, adrian. )
I don't have any abilities. ( pointed. ) Doesn't make my head any more fun for anyone to experience. ( on the off-chance that adrian did have telepathic abilities. he cares, you know. )
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[ He doubts that Marc thinks he's being dramatic almost as much as he doubts that Marc will appreciate his attempt at it, but sometimes Marc is wrong.
He sighs and lowers his hand, flexing his fingers. ]
I pray for your cleansing grace.
[ He makes a sweeping motion with his hand, and the stains vanish, from the glove to about halfway up Marc's arm, leaving the suit the same pristine white that it must have been the day it was made. Adrian props his cheek against his fist and reaches for his coffee mug again. ]
As I told Steven, I do wish that you would more freely ask for help — and not because I doubt your capabilities, but because this sort of thing is trivial for me. I can do the whole suit in a few seconds if you fold it up for me first. I can heal you so long as you haven't passed through death's door. I would be glad to do either of these things, whenever you might have want of them, as I would for any of my friends.
[ In truth, healing isn't nearly as trivial as a cantrip is, but Marc doesn't need to know that right now. Adrian takes a sip of his (still terrible) coffee, eyeing Marc across the table. ]
Do you want to know what else we spoke about?
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I'm a difficult man to please, ( he mutters instead, although there's no heat behind it, nothing that indicates he's quite as serious about the matter as he might have been had adrian not made it quite as clear that there was humour in his words.
as adrian continues, though, marc's reluctance shifts to something more palpable, more tangible. less comfortable with circumstances — not on account of the magic (that's fine), and not even because adrian considers him a friend. (marc had decided, quite quickly, that adrian was a friend regardless of how adrian might feel about him, even if showing that isn't something he's particularly skilled at.) no, the reluctance is with the rest of it, the 'ask for help' and the 'death's door'. how does that work for someone like him?
he turns his cup between his fingers, placing the handle — such as it is — just so, before— )
No. ( firm, somewhere between tired and irritable. ) He can tell me himself if it's important. ( or adrian can, if he thinks it's important enough. ) Your conversation with Steven was between the two of you. I don't—. ( AAAH. ) I can be demanding and I can be unreasonable, but I'm not intrusive.
( —or not as much as he has been, not these days. controlling is a trait that marc doesn't think he'll ever fully be able to shake, but it's something he's worked to temper after losing marlene, after losing jean-paul, after losing diatrice.
his fingers press against the mug, harder, before releasing abruptly. he takes a slow sip of (really bad) coffee and adds, ) If I need to know, one of you will tell me.
( right? right. )
That's not why I'm here.
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[ It ought to be sarcastic or chiding, but it's perhaps a touch too sincere. He doesn't really mind. He's at least starting to understand some of why Marc seems to struggle with this sort of thing.
He watches Marc's hands as he fusses with the mug. It wouldn't be entirely unreasonable if he had said yes, had wanted to know what had been said and done when he wasn't in control of his body -- their body? -- but things between him and Steven don't work that way. Even as slivers of the same soul, they are their own people. Steven was, in many ways, very astute about Marc. ]
You've not been overly demanding with me, either, actually. Unreasonable I'll give you, but I can be a bit of a brat myself so -- we are well matched.
[ He offers Marc another smile, smaller this time, softer: ] You are doing just fine, Marc.
[ It just seems like the kind of thing he needs to hear.
He leans his chin on his fist again. ]
Why are you here? Just because I asked?
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You don't work for me. ( curt and certain, with an unspoken side of we're not close enough for me to be demanding. marc's attitude tends to be circular in that those closest to him bear the brunt of his worst traits, of his assumptions and his disregard. his enemies are the recipients of something similar, albeit born of different reasoning, while friends — the regular kind — and acquaintances often earn something tempered and more considerate.
where for some, familiarity breeds contempt, for marc it's thoughtlessness.
he imagines, then, that adrian's opinion will change in time, that he'll come to realise that marc is speaking about himself objectively. marc hasn't yet met anyone who's openly disagreed with the assertion, which is why adrian's you're doing fine earns a flat look, disagreeing in almost every single way, before— )
You're obstinate. That's not the same thing.
( dismissive. 'brat' isn't the word marc would use for adrian — at least, not in the current moment — but he doesn't disagree with the underlying sentiment. still, he doesn't linger on the remark, instead swiftly adding— )
No. Not just. But it was a part of it. I— ( pause. pause. ) —'ve been working on being more open.
( 'this is me being better.' )
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[ Adrian takes another sip of his coffee. He's curious to see if and how that might change. There are very specific circumstances where he might do as he's told, and outside of them he is, to put it mildly, impossibly stubborn. People who learn that quickly never like him enough to be angry about it later, when they inevitably leave.
As for his fee... If he isn't working under contact at the clinic (and sometimes even then) the only thing he's ever asked for is a story or a cup of coffee, to get to know people better. For them to open up.
Marc has, to the best of his abilities, already paid his 'fee' in some ways.
Adrian rolls his eyes, clearly considering the correction to be pedantic. There's more that he could say about being called obstinate, but Marc has already continued.
A part of him had expected the question to be dismissed. Of course Marc isn't here because he asked; he was in the area, or he had something in particular he needed, or he just thought that taking an Eldritch Blast to the face sounded like a fun... Anything, really.
His gaze drops to his cup briefly, raising again in the pause between words. ]
Oh. Well... I'm glad that you came.
wow adrian he didn't know he was going to get hit in the face okay
it was just a fun bonus perk for him
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