I like the color. ( it's not not true. sure, it's a pain in the ass: laundry is never-ending, and it stains really, really easily — which, in fairness, is really only an issue when he's eating or drinking, otherwise it's a feature, not a bug, and it's effective. ) But you're not calling me that, either. I'm not Harvey Keitel. ( he says, before immediately realising that she's probably not old enough to have seen reservoir dogs. her response makes him think of reese and of tigra — "marc, why are you making this poor child call you that?", "oh my god, he has a name?"

the lingering silence is punctuated by a soft sigh, and he adds: ) Marc. ( marc... knight? who knows, he doesn't clarify. he gestures with a hand back at the mausoleum. ) What were you looking for?