( marc doesn't expect thanks, and certainly not immediately. he's drowned before, he knows the crushing weight of water in lungs, the tight pain that comes with the loss of oxygen. the way that adrian's throat probably feels like it's been rubbed raw, even as his body forces itself to expel whatever's left.
he is glad — in more ways than one — that adrian hadn't lost consciousness, but adrian's question cuts through the relief, sudden, blunt surprise taking its place. his eyes widen just a touch, then narrow, brow knitting in bemusement even as he extends his other hand towards adrian to help him up. the desk might be fine for adrian, but extending a hand gives marc something to do other than just stand there.
once adrian's stood — whether or not he accepts marc's help — marc turns away, waving a hand tightly and dismissively over his shoulder. )
I'm fine.
( it's not a no, because the both of them can see the cut, the streaks of blood diluted by rainwater, but as far as these things go, marc is fine. it's not posturing, and it's not bravado — in the silver-white light of the moon and the dull flickering of whatever lights still remain on in the building, it's evident that marc is used to getting hurt. there's a scar through an eyebrow that suggests he's lucky to have both his eye and his sight still, while his nose bears the look of one that's been broken more times than marc can likely recount.
but much like adrian, marc is certain this place is wrong, but without magic, all he has to rely on is his gut, and despite everything, marc's aware that wrong doesn't always equal bad or evil. the place makes him think of the house of shadows, his midnight mission, but now's not the time to test that theory, to see if he has any way of winning it over and getting it on-side, not while he's not alone. )
We should go. ( it's brief, curt, designed to brook no argument — not that it usually stops anyone. )
⏾ adrian
he is glad — in more ways than one — that adrian hadn't lost consciousness, but adrian's question cuts through the relief, sudden, blunt surprise taking its place. his eyes widen just a touch, then narrow, brow knitting in bemusement even as he extends his other hand towards adrian to help him up. the desk might be fine for adrian, but extending a hand gives marc something to do other than just stand there.
once adrian's stood — whether or not he accepts marc's help — marc turns away, waving a hand tightly and dismissively over his shoulder. )
I'm fine.
( it's not a no, because the both of them can see the cut, the streaks of blood diluted by rainwater, but as far as these things go, marc is fine. it's not posturing, and it's not bravado — in the silver-white light of the moon and the dull flickering of whatever lights still remain on in the building, it's evident that marc is used to getting hurt. there's a scar through an eyebrow that suggests he's lucky to have both his eye and his sight still, while his nose bears the look of one that's been broken more times than marc can likely recount.
but much like adrian, marc is certain this place is wrong, but without magic, all he has to rely on is his gut, and despite everything, marc's aware that wrong doesn't always equal bad or evil. the place makes him think of the house of shadows, his midnight mission, but now's not the time to test that theory, to see if he has any way of winning it over and getting it on-side, not while he's not alone. )
We should go. ( it's brief, curt, designed to brook no argument — not that it usually stops anyone. )