reflectedlight | 🌙 Inbox - Marc Spector's Dead Drop

Marc is: In the bar.

Interrupting him before he really hits his stride is unambiguously good. He knows it, too, and sighs.

"Yeah. C'mon, I ... should be sober for this."

He stands, reluctantly. His knees and back make Noises™️.

"What a week."

Edited 2026-03-17 02:20 (UTC)

"Yeah..." He says it with a disgruntled grimace. That's all he really has to say to that. He has zero interest in talking about or acknowledging it. Better to let it be. Let it die.

"You can pick the place. Not exactly a lot of privacy regardless of where, I'm afraid, but if you got a preference..." He makes a gesture as if to say 'after you'. Lead on.

Marc makes a noise. This noise contains no information, but approximately corresponds to the thought: I really don't want this to mess with the current dynamic. I like us being just tired murder guys who kind of talk to each other, I hope he doesn't get all obligated to try to take care of me.

"What kinda conversation is this going to be? You're taking the lead here, pal. Am I going to not want anybody to walk in, or can we go to the Enclosure and pretend we can see actual daylight?"

He's got a similar dread, but perhaps better at concealing it. "Oho, on the contrary. I've got barely anything to do with this." Wait. Maybe that sounds bad.

"I mean, it's more up to you than it is me. But don't worry. Today's just..." he rotates his wrist (look, two hands!) in a circle as he flips through a good word. "Boundaries. Rules. Temp just means I get first dibs on knowing if you end up dead in corner. It's not going to be that serious unless you make it into something that needs to be." Like dying on his watch! Already had that happen once, thanks Verso. He's not eager to stalk you day and night for your 'well-being', Marc. Don't sweat.

"Enclosure, then?" Daylight's not his thing but.. maybe it'd be nice to see it for a change.

"Yeah. I don't really care where, let's just do somewhere neither of us did anything special in. No more big surprises. Neutral territory."

No birthplaces, no place you made your first kill, no seats of political destiny, no current homes, none of that crap. Something random.

"Wetboys have a word for something like this. 'Arutayro'. It's an agreement to meet in a public place. Weapons in the open, more or less, hands where you can see them. An hour of peace. Probably the one honorable code in the profession." All to say that he gets the idea. "Not saying we're planning to kill each other, of course."

Nah. "It's a good word. I've done it, just never had a term about it. Arutayro. Sure.

No point in killing each other. We'd pop back up."

Which isn't posturing, just an agreement. If you want someone to stay down here, you don't kill them. You do something else. He's playing that one close to the chest in case he reeeeeaaally needs it.

"Oh, I should warn you - I lost it on a Warden a week or so before the floods. John Doe put one of these things on me."

This is a massaging of the truth, but it'll do for now.

Marc knocks on the back of his booth. A Dancer pops up! ... Marc has, for some reason, dressed it like a person. It has a Chicago Cubs hat.

He mouths 'what the fuck' when the dancer makes its appearance. He hasn't encountered one yet and he's suddenly pretty uncomfortable with it. "Lost it.. how, exactly?" Please don't make him investigate. He is extremely aware some wardens deserve getting barked at or threatened. He absolutely deserves it but this seems...

"I mean, is it a threat? Not seen one before." Is it spying? Can he stab it? What happens if he stabs it? He's circling it at this point, very wary, even if his shoulders seem relaxed and his posture seems neutral. He doesn't like it.

"Panicked, forgot where I was." Even more toneless than usual. "Regretted it right away, I just -"

His mouth twists. "You've met old guys that saw too much stuff and the wrong kind of sound or touch will make them forget they're not fighting for their life, right? That's got to be something that happens to ... wetboys."

Marc does not like the term wetboys. It's weirdly horny. These are the compromises he makes for you, dude. He's meeting you halfway.

"He puts one on inmates that are dangerous. The Eleven had one, Ashton had one, the guy with no face had one... keeps me from hurting you or you from hurting me."

It is: Watching Kylar circle it!

Stabbing is: probably not recommended!

"Yeah, I'm familiar." Another grimace. He doesn't have a word for it. But he knows it intimately himself and his master was far more plagued by it than he could ever be. But 700 years would probably do that to anyone.

He folds his arms, tilting his head, still appraising it. "You want to keep it or you want me to talk to him?"

"No - it's fine. I ...asked him for it. Just, don't go spreading that around.

I don't like being like this. Figured it was my responsibility to make sure I don't hurt people by accident. But I also don't need anybody knowing I'm fucking nuts. It's none of their business."

Marc stands, sticks his hands in his pockets.

"Shouldn't even be talking about this in public. Let's go where we're going."

A solemn nod and a gesture for them to finally get out of the bar area. It shouldn't take that long to reach the Enclosure. He's fine filling in any silence as they go. He could talk about Black Barrow. He could try to express in some way that they're on equal footing but it's still a bit too fresh for him. He goes toward a sideways topic.

"There was a.. flood, or something. Last time I was here. I broke a friend's arm by accident. Nearly killed a girl who respected me. I put myself in Zero when I had a minute to think between the incidents for the rest of the week." He rubs the back of his neck, leaning on it. "There's a.. button, or something that's supposed to... block Talent from anyone with more than mundane abilities, I think. Even then, no one dared use it. Problem is, as I'm sure you're aware, it doesn't help much when you know how to kill regardless."

"Before you graduated, you mean?"

Hnh.

"Yeah. Didn't need Talent, just had a knife and training."

"Ah, no. That was after. Pretty sure I mentioned this before but, we can get demoted, you know. I was worried I'd be risking it if I didn't lock myself up and throw away the key." He shrugs and now he's shoving his hands in his pockets. Maybe that makes it sound a bit selfish.

"Eventually, you're gonna have to find a way to manage that on your own. Without the ... hat guy. But, don't worry. I know there's no fix for it. It doesn't work that way." And he could just completely ignore him entirely, he is aware of that, too.

"Yeah, I know. I was -" Marc grimaces, angry with himself, angry with life. "I was doing really well, for a long time. I had it managed, and then - "

He gestures.

Life happens. Shit falls back apart.

"I'm never going to say you did the wrong thing for protecting other people, even if it's from you. I think floods are exceptions to just about everything, though. Were you even you?"

"Yeah, yeah I was me. I both was aware of doing it and.. not." He sighs. "It was a weird one. It's hard to explain it. But better safe than sorry."

And it was over ten years ago so that's not helping his explanations either.

"How did you manage it before? Oh, uh. If you don't mind me asking you. Can also just wait until we're in the Enclosure, too."

"Stable marriage, stable work, wasn't dead and on a boat."

It was mostly about not having to live in a tiny little enclosed community where his and Steven's lives bled together, but let's not get into that. The other three things were also technically true.

"So.. routines." He does not say how boring that sounds. But he might be the opposite. The only thing that dragged him out of his depression pit was an assignment and everything going ass up. Thanks to his own stupidity.

"Hypothetically, if you had similar circumstances here, you could probably manage without hat guy, right? Can't do anything about the marriage part, but the work and routine, maybe. Where've they got you assigned?" The wheels are turning...

"Maybe. I know I do better when I'm not just sitting around waiting for the next catastrophe, which is all we seem to do here."

Marc sighs. Steven's in the library, which means Marc is not in the library, which means Marc is nowhere. Time to just make stuff up.

"No idea where they've got me, I never went and they never asked. You might notice I'm not a fan of socializing."

He thinks for a moment, he doesn't really know Marc's strong suits besides 'murder'. So he'd offer infirmary and he could teach him, but who's he kidding? He'd be terrible at it. He can't teach someone.

"How about maintenance? You any good with that sorta thing?" He waves a hand almost instantly. "Actually, pretty sure that doesn't matter. You want to, I can talk to one of the wardens working it. Set you up there. Doubt there's much socializing with it. Perfect fit, right?" He's got this. Nailed it. He's so sure of himself.

"I'll think about it."

No.

"What else do you usually set up, huh? You got a routine for this kind of thing?"

He shrugs, he tried.

"Routine for.. this? Nah, no. We've already skipped the first step. We can get back to that later." Can't be that far from the Enclosure now anyway. "You do realize, I get nothing out of talking to you. There's no gain, no benefit. It's temporary. I'm supposed to make sure you breathe, that you don't stop someone else from doing the same—which doesn't even seem to involve me thanks to hat guy—and maybe ask the admiral for things on your behalf." He sucks in a breath through his teeth. "No offense, but it's just glorified babysitting. Which is why I said you're taking the lead. I can help you, if you want me to. But there's nothing you can do for me." All to say, 'what routine'.

"Not going to apologize for being self-sufficient," Marc says, which is his idea of a joke.

Listen. He's been breathing his entire life, except twice when he died and an evil god came and said HI. He'd have two nickels, but it's still weird that it happened twice, etc.

"I don't get anything either. We could just ignore it and not let it make this any weirder. That's my vote."

You are like one of 2.8 people he enjoys talking to.

Hunh. Wait a minute.

"Am I on your item?"

Haha, not bad. At best there's a 'tch' of a laugh.

But ah, the unpleasantries. He nods. "Yeah, I know where you are at all times. That's how I found you in the bar. It wasn't a lucky guess." I mean, it could be.

"But you also could get something out of it. Like I've said, you don't need a warden to graduate. You can do it without any of us. We just benefit if you happen to do it on our watch. Permanent watch. This? None of this counts for us. But it can count for you."

He sighs. "And maybe it's because I think you could get out of here, maybe you deserve it, maybe you don't. You might think you don't. But I wouldn't offer anything if I didn't think it would do anything for you. I'm not going to judge you, but I'm pretty sure you're not a complete asshole." Maybe he sees some of himself in you? Definitely can't say THAT out loud. He wouldn't dare. That would make it weird in no time. But surely, SURELY they can find a balance between not hating each other and helping. Right? Right??

Okay. Okay. This is all very nice, but.

"How do you know?" Marc presses. "Where I am, I mean."

Oh, it had better not be the prosthetic hand that kills you if you look Kylar in the eyes. Ohhhh it had fucking better not be.

The rest is .. hnh.

"I want you to get your deal." Flat. "I don't want you wasting time on a pairing that won't count. I want to get out of here, sure, but the deal's for kids, and I don't mess around with that kind of thing."

Marc sees himself in Kylar - but he'd like to see less, frankly. He's vaguely hoping he can divert Kylar to another path before he ends up as bitter and fucked up as Marc is in fifteen years or so.

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cw internalized ableism

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