catch-all.

[vestments]

Who: marc spector + VARIOUS
Where: AROUND
When: june(ish)
What: catch-all, tdm overflow

Warnings: general moon knight content warnings apply, specifics tba

Comments

[faithfall]

[ Adrian fights the instinct to tug out of Marc's reach and just keeps moving with him. He's about to complain that he doesn't need a leash when Marc clarifies further. He doesn't remember what happened.

Adrian's eyes widen briefly, but he absorbs the information like it isn't entirely novel. Maybe holding on isn't such a bad idea, actually. ] Let's hope that another pair of eyes will deter any further... mind games. If we must keep track of each other, it would be easier if you give me your hand.

[ It's more than that, he knows, from the words in the binder and the faces in the water. He would be just as disturbed in Marc's position, yet he wonders if there's something more underneath that, when the man seems so unflappable otherwise.

And Marc isn't wrong. There's no sense in staying to fight when they appear to be the only living souls in the area. What magic he has left isn't enough to combat an unknown number of shadows, and that's if he would be any use at all when he still feels half-drowned.

He worries that someone else might stumble into a similar fate in the meantime, but there's little to be done about that. Their corpses won't make this place any safer. ]

If it's still here, I'll come back with you. I can help with the light after a rest.

[ But at the moment, it's faster just to go. The shadows seem to follow them the whole way, gathering to one-another, growing in size. It's a relief when the front doors open for them, though not for long. The shadows are thick outside as well, moonlight barely fighting through the heavy rain clouds to light the way. ]

We should stay together. Your car or mine? [ In case they follow, he means. ]

[vestments]

Don't worry, ( he mutters, although whether it's to adrian, whether it's to himself, or whether it's meant for the shadows is unclear. ) Mind games tend to end in my favour.

( —it's not quite true. a certain kind of mind game tends to end in marc's favour, the sort where he can fight back with fists, the sort where his mind is found to be a less enjoyable playground than first impressions would imply. his has already been laid claim to, and khonshu's nothing if not territorial. it's not yet been tested whether that holds true here, but marc's certain that if he's any degree of living, then khonshu will seek to assert ownership as and when necessary.

the other kind of mind game, though? the sort where marc has to be certain of fact and fiction, has to be certain in his perception of reality? those are the ones he tends to lose. those are the ones where he travels off-piste, where he loses track of lines in sand, where he forgets when they were drawn and why. the kind where marc can be manipulated and persuaded. those, he won't admit to struggling with — he'd barely managed it with greer, had settled on an 'I needed a friend' admission instead. it'd been true, but there'd been more depth to it than anything he'd vocalised.

still, ego doesn't entirely win out. at adrian's it would be easier, marc's gaze meets his, briefly petulant, briefly unhappy. marc's used to control on his terms, used to push-and-pull only within known quantities, and adrian isn't known. it's with reluctance, then, that he holds out his hand. it's rough, calloused in the way that hands belonging to people who've made a living handling weapons are calloused — guns, knives. fists. broken bones that didn't set right or weren't given enough time to heal. a trigger finger.

bluntly, brusquely, he chooses not to pass comment and instead, ) I'm not afraid of the dark. ( there'd be adrian's name there, if he knew it. as he doesn't, the utterance hangs, a little awkward, almost notably unfinished. it's ultimately unnecessary, they reach outside with almost disconcerting ease compared to the rest of it and—

oh.

there's a moment, one that for marc, feels longer than it is, where he falters over the question about whose car. )

I don't have one, ( he admits under the dull, broken light of the moon. there's no immediate elaboration on what he means by that, or how he travelled here in the first place, not until marc's attention settles on an almost obnoxiously orange motorbike. there's a small topbox behind the pillion seat, and it's both outdated and with a smaller engine than what marc would've preferred, but practicality has never entirely been his preference. recklessness, speed, and adrenaline have always won out, even if steven and jake both think marc's a fool in that regard.

(he's privately come to the conclusion that he might have been better suited with a car after all — it'd have given him somewhere to crash when he didn't want to pay to stay somewhere, when he didn't want company, when he didn't want to implicitly trust his surroundings.)

the way his gaze returns to adrian, then, the way it settles— there's a very obvious sentiment of if you're going to insist we travel together, it'll have to be your car.

even if the truth of the matter is that while it might be adrian's car, marc would prefer to drive.

it's with a glance back over his shoulder, then, back into the dark depths of the building, the shadows that for the moment are still at the doorway, that he asks— ) How long have you been driving?

( it's slightly politer than 'give me the keys', at least. )

[faithfall]

[ Adrian shoots him a look, brow furrowed in mild confusion. What does that mean? Are mind games the sort of thing that Marc encounters often? He'll have to ask after it later, when they aren't trying to outrun shadows.

He doesn't expect there to be much of a fuss about taking his hand instead of his sleeve. Surely it's easier, is all that he thinks, at least until Marc meets his gaze.

Adrian has carefully avoided touching people for the past several weeks, but that habit is relatively new. It isn't ingrained in his nature. In times of distress, his instinct is still to reach out, and to hold on. He still forgets, at times, that this isn't true for everyone, and some hands are more accustomed to the comfort of a weapon. He can feel the callouses even through the thin gloves he wears.

If pride is what this is about, he'll take the hit. He isn't lying when he says: ] Well I am afraid of losing you in it... Even in that outfit.

[ Marc will have to forgive the slightly breathless teasing. His heart is attempting to hammer its way through his chest. Normally, this would hardly have troubled him, accustomed as he is to walking or running or fighting for most of the day. After nearly drowning, even the short jaunt to the door is more strenuous than he would like to admit.

Despair greets him when he follows Marc's gaze to the motorcycle, like the one Fern has, though certainly brighter. He's so immediately grateful that the man doesn't insist they both try to get on it that he lets go, digs is keys out of his pocket, and thrusts them into Marc's palm before he can change his mind. ]

Not long enough. [ Adrian starts toward the teal mini bus, the only thing in that direction, still holding Marc's hand with the keys squished between their palms. They've made a choice. No changing his mind now. (Granted, even soaking wet from the flood and the rain, Marc could probably pick him up with one arm, so Adrian can't really drag him anywhere he's not willing to go.) ]

[vestments]

( marc catches the look, the confusion, the lack of comprehension, but he very pointedly and very deliberately doesn't react to it. what does get a reaction is the teasing — a sharp, sidelong glance, a momentary once-over accompanied by a brief twitch of his lips before, ) Hey. ( blunt but not sharp. ) These are my vestments.

( in terms of tone, there's precisely zero indication that it could be a joke, could be even the slightest bit self-aware. they're his vestments and so do deserve respect, and yet—

he's very aware of how he looks. he's very aware of the impracticality, but the impression the suit gives is worth all of it. it makes him visible, it makes him memorable, and though that's the point, at the end of the day, the suit is ridiculous. he'd only started wearing it because moon knight had been a wanted criminal and he wanted (needed) to continue his work without immediate threat of arrest, and it'd worked as plausible deniability for the few cops that'd been willing to indulge "mr. knight".

but then adrian's acquiescing to his unspoken request, and marc doesn't quite relax, but a sliver of tension releases. it doesn't quite return when he notices the van, but there is a noticeable inhale of breath, and the hand adrian's still holding twitches momentarily. fortunately, he doesn't complain, but he does— ) Right-hand or left-hand drive? ( he'd assume left, but the vehicles had very much been a matter of 'you take what you're given'. it doesn't matter, not in terms of whether it'll bother him one way or the other — he's driven enough vehicles in enough countries to be comfortable with both — but it does matter for the side of the van he gets in.

not that it means he doesn't start to pull his hand free and make his way to the left side of the vehicle before he's given adrian a chance to reply. adrian's near-death experience isn't forgotten, he doesn't yet ask if adrian's okay &mdash that can wait until they're in the van — but he does look back towards the building and the encroaching shadows that— are they faster? or are they just larger? it's probably not to the time to wonder.

what he does say as he swings open the door, abrupt and sudden, is— ) Seatbelt.

[faithfall]

[ That earns Marc a look that's only marginally less confused than the first, if only because Adrian understands what vestments are. He supposes that the man could be a priest or a cleric of... something. Cleric seems more likely. They're the ones who carry scars, go into battle for their gods.

Adrian decides it isn't worth asking right now, when he needs his breath for other things, but he's certainly planning to bring it up again when they're clear. They make it to the van, though Adrian barely has time to gesture to the left side before Marc is unlocking the door. It's fine, it works. He lets Marc unlock the passenger door from the inside and lets himself in on the right. Exhausted though he might be from earlier, he's well accustomed to pushing himself past it to do what needs to be done.

There's no question or argument; he grabs the seatbelt and locks it into place. (He's seen how Fern drives, even when she isn't on her motorcycle. It must be some sort of mechanical demon possession that makes them incapable of understanding what a speed limit is.) ] —You're also going to wear one, aren't you?

[ A seatbelt, he means.

When he looks out the window, the shadows have grown so thick that it's hard even for him to know which are ordinary and which are — something else. ]

[vestments]

( marc doesn't dignify the question with an answer which, frankly, should be all the answer adrian needs. instead, his attention shifts to the dashboard, a quick once-over of the vehicle as he pushes the keys into the ignition. manual or atomatic, it's all the same to him, although he'd prefer manual — almost all the cars he'd owned, particularly in his wealthier days, had been european. it'd been one of the few things he and steven had been in agreement on, while jake — the professional driver — didn't much care where a car was made, just as long as it was fit for whatever purpose he needed it for.

(understatement, mostly.)

an automatic glance up at the rear-view mirror before adjusting it on autopilot (he's taller than adrian), before a sidelong glance at his wing mirror. fuck it, close enough—.

he reverses at pace, before swinging the van back round to face the exit-come-entrance-come-return to the main road, precisely zero consideration given to adrian's comfort. the headlamps do little to battle the almost all-encompassing dark of the shadows, the near-void of it all, and marc hmphs, the noise escaping him without intention or thought. he wonders what his bike will look like in the morning, after the sun's struggled through the whatever this is.

—which, mm, the retrieval will be a problem. he'll need to ask for a ride back out here tomorrow. he glances sideways at adrian, just for a second, like he's thinking of asking (telling?), before deciding against it. it'll probably be better to ask someone who hasn't just almost died.

another, quick glance at his mirror. the shadows behind them seem as thick as ever, but they don't seem to be following now they've left the immediate vicinity of the office, and while marc doesn't relax, he does sigh, quiet, short, but audible. )