(sweatpants and a shirt earns a look, longer and more doubtful than he intends it, more indicative of his opinion than he'd ever put into words. it's not that marc's ever been a fashionable man — his definition of comfortable attire has always sat firmly around 'utilitarian', but more 'cargo pants' than 'sweatpants', and he thinks he's just a touch too old for the era that accepts them as appropriate for day-to-day.
but it puts them on a level-pegging, where wanda thinks he's that much older than she is and he thinks she's that much younger than him, the sort where she's an age that puts him at ease for teasing — more reese than an honest-to-god peer, and so while the incredulity sits, it doesn't linger, it doesn't become more than that, not even as wanda begins to unpack her bag. )
No. ( he assumes that by 'undercover', she means 'secret identity'. ) If I wanted to do that, no-one would know my name. Marc Spector would be a dead man. ( his attention lingers on the cups, and he almost mentions that he has some of his own, that it bringing them was unnecessary before it hits him that maybe that's the point.
instead, then, he shifts his weight. instead, he busies himself with cracking open the window, just enough for the lightest of breezes to make itself known. quite abruptly, he asks— ) What dessert?
no subject
but it puts them on a level-pegging, where wanda thinks he's that much older than she is and he thinks she's that much younger than him, the sort where she's an age that puts him at ease for teasing — more reese than an honest-to-god peer, and so while the incredulity sits, it doesn't linger, it doesn't become more than that, not even as wanda begins to unpack her bag. )
No. ( he assumes that by 'undercover', she means 'secret identity'. ) If I wanted to do that, no-one would know my name. Marc Spector would be a dead man. ( his attention lingers on the cups, and he almost mentions that he has some of his own, that it bringing them was unnecessary before it hits him that maybe that's the point.
instead, then, he shifts his weight. instead, he busies himself with cracking open the window, just enough for the lightest of breezes to make itself known. quite abruptly, he asks— ) What dessert?