( marc's attention doesn't leave jason, not until he's quite certain that jason does have it handled and won't be needing any immediate assistance. that doesn't mean he doesn't make a point — deliberately — of brushing himself down. it's not entirely for appearances, part of it's to make a mental note of anything that hurts more than it should, of anything that he'll need to give attention to later.
there's nothing that stands out, and so once he's satisfied with is little brush-down, his gaze flickers to the slumped, unconscious and seemingly forgotten about second (third? depends on perspective—) man.
he squats, the sound of jason's words serving as background noise more than anything else. the twenty minutes is a nice touch, he thinks, hand sliding into one of SECOND GUY'S pockets, then the other, checking for anything — weapons or otherwise — that may prove useful. disappointingly, beyond the knife that'd been brandished earlier — which marc does take, even if he's less than impressed by the quality — he comes up short. he hadn't imagined there'd be anything like adamantium here, or even vibranium, but he had hoped for something a little more impressive.
still, he supposes low-quality thugs opt for low-quality weapons. (he doesn't care for guns, not these days.)
he stands, just in time to catch the sound of retreating footsteps, hurried and accompanied by the heavy sound of a body being dragged more than carried. marc inhales. it's a sharp, sudden noise, not precisely loud but audible in the otherwise quiet of the room and the hallway, and punctuated by an exhale that on any other man might be a laugh — not that there's any accompanying curve or curl of his lips that'd imply as much.
instead, he straightens his tie — fussy, deliberate, he doesn't normally do this without a mask — as he offers, ) Nice. ( a beat; a breath. ) Effective.
(then— )
I always found Health and Safety to be more obstructive.
⏾ jason
there's nothing that stands out, and so once he's satisfied with is little brush-down, his gaze flickers to the slumped, unconscious and seemingly forgotten about second (third? depends on perspective—) man.
he squats, the sound of jason's words serving as background noise more than anything else. the twenty minutes is a nice touch, he thinks, hand sliding into one of SECOND GUY'S pockets, then the other, checking for anything — weapons or otherwise — that may prove useful. disappointingly, beyond the knife that'd been brandished earlier — which marc does take, even if he's less than impressed by the quality — he comes up short. he hadn't imagined there'd be anything like adamantium here, or even vibranium, but he had hoped for something a little more impressive.
still, he supposes low-quality thugs opt for low-quality weapons.
(he doesn't care for guns, not these days.)
he stands, just in time to catch the sound of retreating footsteps, hurried and accompanied by the heavy sound of a body being dragged more than carried. marc inhales. it's a sharp, sudden noise, not precisely loud but audible in the otherwise quiet of the room and the hallway, and punctuated by an exhale that on any other man might be a laugh — not that there's any accompanying curve or curl of his lips that'd imply as much.
instead, he straightens his tie — fussy, deliberate, he doesn't normally do this without a mask — as he offers, ) Nice. ( a beat; a breath. ) Effective.
( then— )
I always found Health and Safety to be more obstructive.