( it doesn't occur to marc that lucina might get some of it in her own way. he hasn't explained enough for her to piece it together — not strictly out of reluctance, though there's a thread of it, but because he wouldn't know where to begin. his death in the sudan had been an inevitability — if it hadn't been at raul's hands, it'd have been someone else, someone similar.
he hadn't been a kind, gentle man, and he hadn't deserved a kind, gentle death. still doesn't, he thinks, and he's yet to know one — drowning, explosions. dehydration and blood loss, thanks to the courtesy of being stabbed and left alone. khonshu had been a choice, and marc will never argue that it wasn't a choice, as much as the circumstances had been poor — elias would never have given up his covenant with god and marc had, that's all there was to it. he'd chosen to live, chosen an existence that furthered his dedication to everything that'd set him on a path separate to his heritage.
and how do you say I am who I am because I made bad choices without it sounding a kind of brag? you don't. there's nothing of marc spector here in panorama, no news reports or clippings, no records, no anything that tells of who he was before khonshu, and how he'd struggled since. the mistakes.
what he gives her now is as best he can manage.
perhaps once she meets moon knight, perhaps once the delineations between him and mr. knight and marc are clear.
'what I'm doing here, I'm doing because I have nothing else.' that's what it comes down to: marc has no idea who he is without moon knight, no matter how often he's wished he could bury moon knight all the way down in the same way he (they'd—) tried to smother marc, back when it was steven-and-marlene, back when they (he'd) tried to argue that moon knight was an unemotional, impassive tool of vengeance. marc had too many emotions, that's always been his problem—.
and so, much like lucina, he says nothing of it. instead, he hums. it's a noise that's part acknowledgement, part consideration at her suggestion. abruptly, he thinks that this — hitting the streets — is far more of a jake affair, and his fingers press tighter into the cardboard sleeve encircling his coffee cup. not now, not here, not yet, and he resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. )
I'm not interested in the weapon, ( he remarks instead, brows knitting together momentarily. ) I want to know how it was taken. ( if it was asked for and given freely, if it was snatched. if there was a game of pretence, or if this kind of thing was expected.
where lucina might be surprised by the lack of interest and shock in billy yrix's death, marc very much is not.
he wavers in the doorway for a minute before acknowledging, tone a little softer, ) —But asking at other establishments is a good shout. Give us more of an idea of what kind of person he was, whether or not he had it coming.
[ What are either of them without their sense of purpose, anyway? There's a mission in front of them — self-appointed or otherwise — and that's where her focus should be; not on the feeling of the rug being pulled out under her feet. Her work is done. Ylisse is safe. If nothing else, she should be happy. There's nothing that needs to be done anymore.
And yet she finds being here — away from home — a blessing. Even worse, she doesn't want to. Her new circumstances are enough to keep the aimlessness at bay, but it's not entirely gone; it's that reminder that she can't seem to shake off, all of a sudden. And it's not that Lucina's not envious of his certainty, but—
She really does need to stop thinking about it.
Back to the present, properly this time. She shakes her head for good measure, finishing the last of her coffee while she comes to terms with everything he's said. ]
I suspect he's not one who will be missed. [ No one's honoring his death. No cries for justice, for revenge. She's careful to close the door behind them as they leave, eyes scanning the sidewalk for a place to throw out her empty paper cup. ] Though I suppose that in itself will be telling.
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he hadn't been a kind, gentle man, and he hadn't deserved a kind, gentle death. still doesn't, he thinks, and he's yet to know one — drowning, explosions. dehydration and blood loss, thanks to the courtesy of being stabbed and left alone. khonshu had been a choice, and marc will never argue that it wasn't a choice, as much as the circumstances had been poor — elias would never have given up his covenant with god and marc had, that's all there was to it. he'd chosen to live, chosen an existence that furthered his dedication to everything that'd set him on a path separate to his heritage.
and how do you say I am who I am because I made bad choices without it sounding a kind of brag? you don't. there's nothing of marc spector here in panorama, no news reports or clippings, no records, no anything that tells of who he was before khonshu, and how he'd struggled since. the mistakes.
what he gives her now is as best he can manage.
perhaps once she meets moon knight, perhaps once the delineations between him and mr. knight and marc are clear.
'what I'm doing here, I'm doing because I have nothing else.' that's what it comes down to: marc has no idea who he is without moon knight, no matter how often he's wished he could bury moon knight all the way down in the same way he (they'd—) tried to smother marc, back when it was steven-and-marlene, back when they (he'd) tried to argue that moon knight was an unemotional, impassive tool of vengeance. marc had too many emotions, that's always been his problem—.
and so, much like lucina, he says nothing of it. instead, he hums. it's a noise that's part acknowledgement, part consideration at her suggestion. abruptly, he thinks that this — hitting the streets — is far more of a jake affair, and his fingers press tighter into the cardboard sleeve encircling his coffee cup. not now, not here, not yet, and he resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. )
I'm not interested in the weapon, ( he remarks instead, brows knitting together momentarily. ) I want to know how it was taken. ( if it was asked for and given freely, if it was snatched. if there was a game of pretence, or if this kind of thing was expected.
where lucina might be surprised by the lack of interest and shock in billy yrix's death, marc very much is not.
he wavers in the doorway for a minute before acknowledging, tone a little softer, ) —But asking at other establishments is a good shout. Give us more of an idea of what kind of person he was, whether or not he had it coming.
( how deserved it was, he means. )
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And yet she finds being here — away from home — a blessing. Even worse, she doesn't want to. Her new circumstances are enough to keep the aimlessness at bay, but it's not entirely gone; it's that reminder that she can't seem to shake off, all of a sudden. And it's not that Lucina's not envious of his certainty, but—
She really does need to stop thinking about it.
Back to the present, properly this time. She shakes her head for good measure, finishing the last of her coffee while she comes to terms with everything he's said. ]
I suspect he's not one who will be missed. [ No one's honoring his death. No cries for justice, for revenge. She's careful to close the door behind them as they leave, eyes scanning the sidewalk for a place to throw out her empty paper cup. ] Though I suppose that in itself will be telling.