( marc's found that you say priest and people have a very specific idea of what that entails, what that looks like. he knows he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on, knows it's quite a particular image he's invoking when he uses the term, but that doesn't stop it from being useful.
he watches as jason re-opens the door to the room, and rather than look back in at the sight of the man slumped against the wall, he watches jason instead. watches the way his expression does or doesn't change, watches to see where his attention falls. there's very little mistaking the type of man marc is, that's the point. mr. knight might be the more comforting persona, moon knight might be the one that's brutal, but marc spector had come first. there was no moon knight without him — the lines between moon knight and marc have always been thin, and for as much as steven-marc-jake might have tried their best to emphasise the differences—
—they weren't really there. moon knight was who marc had wanted to be, as efficient and as brutal, but without the lingering emotions.
and so he offers a hum of acknowledgement, his weight shifting as he glances first one way down the hall, then the other. it's quiet. not the sort that implies something worse is to come, but the sort that settles after unpleasantries. the sort that's still but unwelcome. uncertain in its own way. )
I just got here, ( he answers bluntly, roughly, gaze returning to jason. it's true enough — a week or two is hardly enough time to gain the measure of a place. barely a breath of a pause and he jerks his head towards the room, before adding, ) How much room for talking d'you think my sermons leave?
no subject
he watches as jason re-opens the door to the room, and rather than look back in at the sight of the man slumped against the wall, he watches jason instead. watches the way his expression does or doesn't change, watches to see where his attention falls. there's very little mistaking the type of man marc is, that's the point. mr. knight might be the more comforting persona, moon knight might be the one that's brutal, but marc spector had come first. there was no moon knight without him — the lines between moon knight and marc have always been thin, and for as much as steven-marc-jake might have tried their best to emphasise the differences—
—they weren't really there. moon knight was who marc had wanted to be, as efficient and as brutal, but without the lingering emotions.
and so he offers a hum of acknowledgement, his weight shifting as he glances first one way down the hall, then the other. it's quiet. not the sort that implies something worse is to come, but the sort that settles after unpleasantries. the sort that's still but unwelcome. uncertain in its own way. )
I just got here, ( he answers bluntly, roughly, gaze returning to jason. it's true enough — a week or two is hardly enough time to gain the measure of a place. barely a breath of a pause and he jerks his head towards the room, before adding, ) How much room for talking d'you think my sermons leave?