duplicity — inbox

[vestments]

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action;

[chuffle]

[It’s late, late enough that it could almost be morning, and Daphne is hunting. There is a curfew up, but in the Down the curfew is more or less ignored.

She’s in tiger shape and she’s not really hunting to kill, she’s hunting for play, to keep her senses sharp, to keep her skills up. She’ll pick a person and follow them, stalk them, creep on them. And then she’ll do it to one person for a while before picking someone else. Everyone is on edge and it makes it harder.

She catches the smell of him and starts in his direction; he might be especially hard to track and fool with tricks. She knows he guards the night, and that alone makes him trickier.

She knows the moon as Luna, as something else, but Daphne is, largely, a creature of the sun. She doesn’t think moonlight will protect her against someone who belongs to it.

Still, she catches sight of him and starts to make her silent way behind him.]

[vestments]

( the down is the sort of place where marc feels comfortable but wishes he didn't. the sort of place where it's easier to tell the type of person someone is from what they do, how they look, what they say. in the up — in the type of society that somewhere like the up forces — it's different. it's people pretending a certain class or something or other makes a difference.

marc is no stranger to feelings, knows what it's like to be followed and know it. knows what it's like to be followed and not know until it's too late, until he's cornered. (and then, that's when it's useful being him, for not caring how whatever happens happens, just that it does. defence a suggestion more than anything else—.)

he's aware, too, of how it feels to be followed and know it only in the discomfort that pulls at the edges of his thoughts, the sort that becomes less clear, less comprehensible, less understandable the more he tries. it's like that now, subconcious more than conscious, sensation more than knowledge. it's now, in situations like this, that he misses the cowl mic, misses someone else being at the end of the line who'll drag his sorry ass home if worse comes to worst.

there's no mooncopter, no angel wing, no nothing except himself (fine). a building chosen not-quite-at-random, mostly empty, a little sad and sorry for itself. marc would say it'd probably seen better days, but given the down in general, he's not going to assume. a stairwell (he likes those), and up—. pointed, deliberate, and that's where he waits.

it could be nothing, the uncomfortable paranoia of a mind not quite settled, not quite in tune. but it could be—.

a lingering silence. a breath, then— )

Don't you know it's impolite to sneak up on people?

un: sherekhan

[chuffle]

Steven Grant.

un: mk

[vestments]

No.

halloween orgy invite 🎃

[nutup]

orgy party link here

un: m

[fightcoded]

so.
hows jail?

[vestments]

I've been in worse.

( technically, maybe. )

un: m

[fightcoded]

so what day is this

[ Technically Midnighter knows the amount of days the man has been stuck in jail, but he would rather make Stevenmarc say it. ]

[vestments]

( so the question is whether midnighter is naturally obnoxious or if he has to work at it. )

Tuesday.

( no? )

text; un: formerkingquentin

[proofofconcept]

So

Uh

[No more words, actually. Just a screenshot. It's of a text from the city. It announces a new monthly quota challenge for LIES graduates, yadda yadda. Quentin's challenge is to sleep with some specific people. He's been given three names, and unfortunately Marc's is one of them.]

[vestments]

( marc receives the message, reads the message, and then promptly ignores the message because what does he say to that? 'fuck'? as in for fuck's sake—. it couldn't, precisely, be a whole lot worse than some of their interactions have been, but—.

god. )

Great.

un: widow, private.

[redhourglass]

where are you?

( no preamble. no 'hi, how are you'. sorry, but someone snitched on you, marc spector. )

[vestments]

( marc doesn't see the message straight away and then, when he does see it, he doesn't reply straight away, instead choosing to leave those two charming ✔✔ marks sitting at the bottom of her message. he's an idiot, yes, but he's not stupid, he can guess why she's messaging. he can guess who spoke to who, like some fucking awful game of telephone and in between everything, the lingering headache and the emotions he'd prefer not to put names to, all he can think is—

wrong fucking natasha.

—or, no, that's not all, but it's most of it. eventually, something that sits between politeness and common sense wins out, and she gets a simple reply. )

Home.

( no 'why?' because it's not needed. )

delivery

[agoddessonce]

[ She isn't sure what Marc celebrates, or indeed if he celebrated anything at all this time of year? She'd seen what figures of Khonshu he had the last time she'd been in his home. She herself didn't exactly celebrate any of the typical holidays most people did - but over the years she'd picked up the gift-giving tradition from Jean and Kitty. Neither of them were here - but then, when she'd spent years and years without them, this was one way she'd kept their memories alive.

So. Marc gets a present. Clearly labelled, so he knows it's from her. If asked, she could always say this delivery wasn't festive in nature. The pot of flowers comes carefully boxed in Blooming Days packaging, with no holiday wrapping or ribbons or anything. But it does come with a notecard of fast facts about how to care for Krakoan blooms (these can't do what they would at home, but still they're very hardy and thrive anywhere), and how she thinks they might look especially nice next to the monstera she noticed he had in his living room. ]

[vestments]

( he doesn't celebrate christmas, doesn't do gift-giving. at most, he gets a hanukkah card from ben grimm, which marc has put down to ben not knowing nearly enough jewish superheroes.

(even if he knows jake plays poker with ben.)

at first, he's surprised. he hadn't expected to hear from her again — or at least, not so soon — after their last quote-unquote conversation. he certainly doesn't imagine she'd send him a gift.

once the surprise passes, he thinks there's a chance he might have been wrong about ororo, and it's not the first time the thought's occurred to him, it's just that it goes out the window as soon as they start talking to one another.

he thinks about sending her something in return, but wouldn't know where to begin. instead, he sends her a card. it's simple and handwritten, and the inside consists of a thank you, happy holidays — M.S in printed handwriting, accompanied by a snapshot of it next to the exact plant she'd suggested. )

Christmas Delivery!

[legellely]

[ Christmas morning, afternoon, and evening, there are deliveries being made, and Elle has plenty to give. Marc receives a large tin of chocolate chip cookies. There is a card that reads:

"I hope you have a wonderful holiday and a lovely new year! Elle 💗" ]

un: m

[fightcoded]

how much collateral does steven have? is he into venture capital?

[vestments]

( oh good god marc doesn't know the details of steven's interests. )

He's into money.

( sm...ooth? )

🐙 text ; un: mordor ; invite for birthday bash + renaming party at/for jolene's 🏴‍☠️

[notscary]

would love to have you there :)



[ he's talked to you like a couple times?? congrats on making it to the 'this person needs an invite, obvs' category, marc. we all know that's exactly what you wanted. ]

special delivery underneath his pillow (sticking out the sides, obviously)

[redhourglass]

( against her better judgment, there's a baton left under marc spector's pillow; obviously well made, though heavier than it looks, it's branded with a red hourglass at the base. how'd natasha leave it there? who knows! #spy stuff. there is a note, however — )

don't lose it. it's one of my favorites.
- N

[vestments]

( his reply is sent SOME TIME LATER — by no means immediately, and not quite within a socially acceptable reasonable time frame — but it does eventually come. )

It's bigger than mine.

( ... )

Thank you.

butterfly event 🦋 text, un: widow, private.

[redhourglass]

( it's late when the text comes in, but she expects him to keep weird hours — at least as weird, if not weirder, than hers. she's spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to make this sound less like a booty call (because it's not one), but in the end ... )

you awake?

( it's not like marc spector can take a hint, unless he's hit over the head with it. )

[vestments]

( it's not the sort of text message that marc gets sent often; if it's nighttime, it's assumed he's awake. if it's daytime, he's probably awake. the bigger question, frequently, is when does he sleep.

she could've gone into straight into her point, it's not like he'd be offended.

still— )

Need a hand with something?

text; un: sandjackals

[shadowstrikes]

hey marc you're warm blooded right?

[vestments]

( ??? )

what do you need to do with my blood?

an invitation 💐 a bridgerton birthday ball (complete with optional accidental orgy)

[sheening]

[ a sturdy ivory envelope addressed to / MR. MARC SPECTOR / with a periwinkle wax seal arrives at your home address on june fifteenth.



attached is a handwritten note -- ]

Dear Mr. Spector,
Your attendance would be most cherished. Please bring a guest as it pleases you.
Yours,
Daphne Basset ]

💐 PARTY LOG LOCATED HERE 💐