( he follows the tilt of her head. it's ugly, the arcing pattern of the blood — mirrors, glass, walls. it's one of those things like sand, only more insidious, that seeps and sinks into crevices and corners you can't begin to imagine, and each time you think you've managed to wash it all out, you find more. it's been a long time since marc's had to worry about sand, but blood? he knows well enough that he'll never be able to wash himself clean, and he doubts that whoever did this will be able to either.
he's willing to hedge bets on three — two inside, one to do the deed, one to stop anything going south, and a third at a door, though he can't begin to guess at whether that'd more likely be the front entrance or the rear.
he lets her question hang between them as he makes his way to the other door. much like the entrance, this one's unlocked, and there's a soft click of the latch as he pulls it open. the smell of damp greets him first — a mop left to dry, a bucket still containing remnants of water — and then the slight draught of the outside filtering in through a poorly insulated door.
no signs that entry had been forced through this door either, nor that anything's been disturbed — at least, not overtly, and marc looks back over his shoulder. )
Yes.
( he leaves the door open and strides back to the rearranged barber chairs. he looks from one to the second to the third, seemingly assessing before he inhales a breath and, quite suddenly, chooses to sit on the third. he doesn't recline, it's more of a perch — marc doesn't look as if he knows the definition of the word 'relax', and he rests his arms on his knees, weight and centre of gravity forward, coffee cup held perhaps surprisingly delicately between both hands. )
I usually don't bother with them unless they're causing problems. They keep to themselves, stay out of my territory, then we don't have any reason to meet. Most of them prefer it when I don't want anything from them.
( there's a breath of a pause and marc sits up, just a touch, almost as if he's deliberately loosening a fraction of the tension that seems to sit almost permanently within his skin. )
Besides, there are other people who help keep the streets safe. ( it's oddly dismissive in tone, not quite light, but as close to an 'and anyway!' as marc's gotten. ) The problem with here is I'm still learning. It's been a while since I've had to build from the ground up.
( —well, that's not quite true. he's had to work at rebuilding his reputation several times over, but that's quite different to starting from scratch. )
no subject
he's willing to hedge bets on three — two inside, one to do the deed, one to stop anything going south, and a third at a door, though he can't begin to guess at whether that'd more likely be the front entrance or the rear.
he lets her question hang between them as he makes his way to the other door. much like the entrance, this one's unlocked, and there's a soft click of the latch as he pulls it open. the smell of damp greets him first — a mop left to dry, a bucket still containing remnants of water — and then the slight draught of the outside filtering in through a poorly insulated door.
no signs that entry had been forced through this door either, nor that anything's been disturbed — at least, not overtly, and marc looks back over his shoulder. )
Yes.
( he leaves the door open and strides back to the rearranged barber chairs. he looks from one to the second to the third, seemingly assessing before he inhales a breath and, quite suddenly, chooses to sit on the third. he doesn't recline, it's more of a perch — marc doesn't look as if he knows the definition of the word 'relax', and he rests his arms on his knees, weight and centre of gravity forward, coffee cup held perhaps surprisingly delicately between both hands. )
I usually don't bother with them unless they're causing problems. They keep to themselves, stay out of my territory, then we don't have any reason to meet. Most of them prefer it when I don't want anything from them.
( there's a breath of a pause and marc sits up, just a touch, almost as if he's deliberately loosening a fraction of the tension that seems to sit almost permanently within his skin. )
Besides, there are other people who help keep the streets safe. ( it's oddly dismissive in tone, not quite light, but as close to an 'and anyway!' as marc's gotten. ) The problem with here is I'm still learning. It's been a while since I've had to build from the ground up.
( —well, that's not quite true. he's had to work at rebuilding his reputation several times over, but that's quite different to starting from scratch. )