( marc, meanwhile, is mostly oblivious to the scuffle. his attention had been taken by something else — similar, broadly speaking, in that it had been a DISAGREEMENT, but it'd managed to involve precisely zero mannequins and no-one marc recognised.
what he's drawn to after the fact is murmured gossiping, variations upon did you see— that he catches here and there, the majority put in less polite terms, and disgruntled mutterings about the way a masked man had barrelled straight through a duo on their way in to said questionable, seedy shop.
marc, for his part, is still dressed in white. where the mannequin's suit was every bit mr. knight's, with its fussy crescent moons for cufflinks and buttons, marc's is simpler. the result of necessity — that is, all he could find at the mall — with regular plastic buttons and zero cufflinks, because he'd sooner go without than wear just anything. what he lacks, too, is the roughly-made mask of the mannequin; instead, his brown hair's slightly dishevelled, a little damp with sweat. any attempt to brush it back has evidently been unsuccessful — it's a touch too long for that, with loose strands curling across his forehead, while the rest of him just looks tired.
for a second, he wavers. his gaze flits from the couple to the store and back again, eyebrows knitting together tightly as if he's weighing up options, considering. he ignores the shop, the door swinging open and fern stood in the entrance in favour of the couple. a beat, two beats pass, and he strides towards them, ignoring the startled glance and the the sharp, unhappy you oughta watch where you're going, if you've come back for anoth—, interrupting it with a brusque, ) Who?
( not that he gets much in the way of an answer, as both he and they are more-or-less immediately distracted by movement — by fern. surprise twined with a lack of recognition flit across his features, shifting into an unspoken question when he thinks it's evident she's looking for someone.
but then, that's hardly unusual in a place like this. )
no subject
what he's drawn to after the fact is murmured gossiping, variations upon did you see— that he catches here and there, the majority put in less polite terms, and disgruntled mutterings about the way a masked man had barrelled straight through a duo on their way in to said questionable, seedy shop.
marc, for his part, is still dressed in white. where the mannequin's suit was every bit mr. knight's, with its fussy crescent moons for cufflinks and buttons, marc's is simpler. the result of necessity — that is, all he could find at the mall — with regular plastic buttons and zero cufflinks, because he'd sooner go without than wear just anything. what he lacks, too, is the roughly-made mask of the mannequin; instead, his brown hair's slightly dishevelled, a little damp with sweat. any attempt to brush it back has evidently been unsuccessful — it's a touch too long for that, with loose strands curling across his forehead, while the rest of him just looks tired.
for a second, he wavers. his gaze flits from the couple to the store and back again, eyebrows knitting together tightly as if he's weighing up options, considering. he ignores the shop, the door swinging open and fern stood in the entrance in favour of the couple. a beat, two beats pass, and he strides towards them, ignoring the startled glance and the the sharp, unhappy you oughta watch where you're going, if you've come back for anoth—, interrupting it with a brusque, ) Who?
( not that he gets much in the way of an answer, as both he and they are more-or-less immediately distracted by movement — by fern. surprise twined with a lack of recognition flit across his features, shifting into an unspoken question when he thinks it's evident she's looking for someone.
but then, that's hardly unusual in a place like this. )