( marc snorts at the assertion that set doesn't want him, because why would he? khonshu had wanted him, claimed him as the moon's knight of vengeance and marc had taken on the title willingly if not exactly happily. marc was four: traveller, embracer, pathfinder, and protector of those who travel at night; his mind — apparently — fractured, damaged in the process of attempting to make sense of khonshu, but no-one had ever been able to tell him why he'd been so broken even before khonshu had entered his life. )
Nothing you had a hand in brought me here. ( it's a simple utterance but factual: the last time marc had seen set had been in the overvoid, but that wasn't where he'd last been before here.
marc stops walking when set does, and he takes quiet note of their surroundings, potential dangers, until—
for khonshu I will take care of you. the remark sits unpleasantly within marc's chest and his stomach, and there's a moment's silence as he eyes the tip of set's finger. marc and personal space have never been friends, as such — it's difficult to care for it in the military, difficult to pay it much mind when you've spent days and weeks and months in the company of the same handful of individuals but still it's easy to be bothered by the wrong sort of proximity.
there's a part of him that says that disagreeing with set probably isn't the best course of action, but marc's never been an agreeable man. that had been why his father — elias — had disowned him, it had been why he'd been dishonourably discharged, why he'd ended up working for men like bushman, because the only thing marc could agree on was what price he'd sell his soul for. )
If my death mattered to Khonshu, I wouldn't still be here. ( despite the assurance in his tone, marc's not sure if it's strictly true. khonshu's capable of creating mindscapes and worlds that marc's incapable of telling apart from reality; khonshu's imprisoned on asgard and though he is still pathfinder, that doesn't mean he's without limitations, and there's always a price to pay.
—but khonshu is fickle, too. marc was still his son, but that didn't mean khonshu was pleased with him. )
cw: vague mentions of DID
Nothing you had a hand in brought me here. ( it's a simple utterance but factual: the last time marc had seen set had been in the overvoid, but that wasn't where he'd last been before here.
marc stops walking when set does, and he takes quiet note of their surroundings, potential dangers, until—
for khonshu I will take care of you. the remark sits unpleasantly within marc's chest and his stomach, and there's a moment's silence as he eyes the tip of set's finger. marc and personal space have never been friends, as such — it's difficult to care for it in the military, difficult to pay it much mind when you've spent days and weeks and months in the company of the same handful of individuals but still it's easy to be bothered by the wrong sort of proximity.
there's a part of him that says that disagreeing with set probably isn't the best course of action, but marc's never been an agreeable man. that had been why his father — elias — had disowned him, it had been why he'd been dishonourably discharged, why he'd ended up working for men like bushman, because the only thing marc could agree on was what price he'd sell his soul for. )
If my death mattered to Khonshu, I wouldn't still be here. ( despite the assurance in his tone, marc's not sure if it's strictly true. khonshu's capable of creating mindscapes and worlds that marc's incapable of telling apart from reality; khonshu's imprisoned on asgard and though he is still pathfinder, that doesn't mean he's without limitations, and there's always a price to pay.
—but khonshu is fickle, too. marc was still his son, but that didn't mean khonshu was pleased with him. )