( marc has pointed out to reese that he's not much of a detective. he'd positioned mr. knight as a concerned citizen, someone capable of assisting the cops (mostly detective flint) only because moon knight had been a wanted criminal, while he thinks that marc spector is still a wanted war criminal.
the facade had ceased around the same time that flint had retired, around the same time that ryan trent had opted to become the black spectre (number two) — no-one else on the so-called FREAK BEAT had the patience to pretend that they weren't aware that mr. knight was moon knight was marc spector, particularly after the age of khonshu. but — but — the separation in identities and costumes had stuck: moon knight was for the violence (mostly — at least, whatever was planned), whilst mr. knight was the one that invited conversation.
neither of them were designed with investigation in mind — and it's not anything that marc had bothered with as far as formal employment went.
but it is thanks to his own lifestyle that he notes the scuff marks first, before giving the flaking red-brown of dried blood his attention. he lifts his head, looks towards the main window, then the door, then the other door, the one that leads to the ubiquitous BACK. he'd guess it's not much more than a glorified cupboard — mop, broom, vacuum and whatever other cleaning supplies a barber needs, and maybe a through-line to an alley.
when lucina stops speaking, he mms around a mouthful of coffee, his footsteps as he circles the room uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the evening, but there's no indication whether his utterance is to her first remark, or the start of an answer to her second. at length— )
It was personal, ( he states. what does he have to back up that belief? the fact that a fucking bowling ball was used as the murder weapon. that's not impersonal. ) Probably thought that if he let them in, it'd go better for him.
( the low thrum of threat, intimately familiar.
"you mentioned they'd want to send a message," she'd said, and it'd been a question without a question mark.
his gaze settles on her, level and firm. he doesn't know if she means it as an echo of their first meeting and marc's own given reasoning for the crescent moon left on the door. ) Power's built on currency. Sometimes that's money, sometimes that's fear. All of it's word-of-mouth and belief.
If people don't think you're willing to back up what you're promising, you've got nothing — and this is a place with enough debts owed. ( a breath. ) You show how far you're willing to go, fewer people are willing to push.
no subject
the facade had ceased around the same time that flint had retired, around the same time that ryan trent had opted to become the black spectre (number two) — no-one else on the so-called FREAK BEAT had the patience to pretend that they weren't aware that mr. knight was moon knight was marc spector, particularly after the age of khonshu. but — but — the separation in identities and costumes had stuck: moon knight was for the violence (mostly — at least, whatever was planned), whilst mr. knight was the one that invited conversation.
neither of them were designed with investigation in mind — and it's not anything that marc had bothered with as far as formal employment went.
but it is thanks to his own lifestyle that he notes the scuff marks first, before giving the flaking red-brown of dried blood his attention. he lifts his head, looks towards the main window, then the door, then the other door, the one that leads to the ubiquitous BACK. he'd guess it's not much more than a glorified cupboard — mop, broom, vacuum and whatever other cleaning supplies a barber needs, and maybe a through-line to an alley.
when lucina stops speaking, he mms around a mouthful of coffee, his footsteps as he circles the room uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the evening, but there's no indication whether his utterance is to her first remark, or the start of an answer to her second. at length— )
It was personal, ( he states. what does he have to back up that belief? the fact that a fucking bowling ball was used as the murder weapon. that's not impersonal. ) Probably thought that if he let them in, it'd go better for him.
( the low thrum of threat, intimately familiar.
"you mentioned they'd want to send a message," she'd said, and it'd been a question without a question mark.
his gaze settles on her, level and firm. he doesn't know if she means it as an echo of their first meeting and marc's own given reasoning for the crescent moon left on the door. ) Power's built on currency. Sometimes that's money, sometimes that's fear. All of it's word-of-mouth and belief.
If people don't think you're willing to back up what you're promising, you've got nothing — and this is a place with enough debts owed. ( a breath. ) You show how far you're willing to go, fewer people are willing to push.