[ Well.. It isn't so much clearing her schedule as in just putting his name down on a day and making a show of it, but his appreciation makes her feel all the happier either way. Because in a way, it's cute he thinks she's so busy when half the time her being 'busy' is.. Rewatching everyone's Instagram stories multiple times a day -- ]
cool
[ And she does think it's cool -- so much that she rolls around on her bed for a few moments, weirdly giddy from it all. ]
btw we can always be spontaneous.. we don't always have to plan stuff out!
[ Now that makes her shoot up from her bed and holler quietly. If it came from someone else, she'd probably toss her phone and go watch more Keeping Up With the Kardashians, but since it isn't some rando she's completely elated. Flattered, and maybe excited?? ]
a goddess? that's the first time i've heard that one is it the hair?? lol
( from here: no one in dwrp does strap anymore it's a dying art form )
[ there was no denying his swift attraction to lottie. there was a lot that he genuinely enjoyed about her. the way she spoke candidly (albeit, with terminology he didnβt always fully grasp), the way she was straightforward and a bit cautious all at once, her general allure? to be honest, he didnβt know exactly how to word the way he taken by her. he was more accustomed to operating by gut than by actual logic or reason, and it likely showed in all his impulses. including this one.
considering his own origins and being a demigod in a period of time where gods were so perceivably β¦ honrty, it likely isnβt a complete surprise that achilles considered himself fairly open as well. so it wasnβt all too weird for him to suggest they try something a little different. though, to be honest, between their discussions, he isnβt sure if heβs prompted this, or they somehow discovered this mutual intrigue together.
whatever the case was, achilles was already sitting on the bed with his shirt off. his pants were still on, if just to ponder over the actual logistics of this. it wasnβt that complicated, but he supposed it was one of those matters where they needed to build up to the tension. any good battle was the same way.
which is why, heβs grasping her hand in his, his fingers going over her knuckles as leans down and places a brief kiss on it. ] So, are we going to do this thing, Miss Goddess? [ itβs a nickname heβs somehow attributed to her. it may have been kind of corny, but he liked the idea of praising her, and calling her as such made him feel closer to her somehow. as if they shared a similar background or life. ]
[ He holds her hand and she feels her cheeks edge hot, his lips brushing against her knuckles. Lottie wonders if he can feel how sweaty her palm is, or feel the blood pumping through her veins even faster than usual. He calls her Miss Goddess and only then do her eyes flick up to look at his eyes, breath shuddering. Do this thing.. The 'thing'. Right. The thing. Who even suggested it?
Truthfully, it's hard to remember who suggested it first β whether it was him or her.Lottie remembers when this idea got into her own head, clear as day.
Sunny mentioned something Ashley (Meg's horndog weirdo fiance) said to him at the gym when she was bored and nosey... That he wanted to, quote unquote, 'get pegged up the butt by a hot ass chick'. She left Sunny on read after that, even when he double texted her the second he realized what she was doing. Lottie laid in her bed for what feels like hours before googling all her bad (interesting? New?) ideas. There was a period of time where she would stare at her folder of selfies she took with Achilles and zoom in on his face, just wondering. Sweating. Mainly wondering. She couldn't ask her friends about it, couldn't ask her mother, her sisters, or her fans.. So she asked the next best thing.
Reddit.
(She makes a post with a throwaway account that starts with: "I want to peg somebody, what do I do?") ]
Um, um... Sorry, you asked me a question β [ Yes, she has been staring at him this entire time, vaguely wondering what he'd look like beneath her. And then, does she look pretty when she's under him? ] Y-yes, of course. Of course we're gonna do this thing.
[ For the past week she's stayed awake every night thinking to herself, 'Am I going to fuck Achilles?'. Just staring up at her ceiling in nerves and excitement and worries. After her romp on the internet, she feels more ready, more knowledgeable. Still just as nervous. The hand he's just kissed flips and puts his hand atop hers. She's not sure what really compels her, but she brings that hand up to kiss it, too. A lipstick mark of pretty peach is left behind. She lips her lips, gently guides his hand down to hold it atop her bed sheets. ]
I just can't believe we're really doing this.. I'm, [ Her thumb brushes little circles atop his skin, doe eyes looking up at him beneath her lashes. ] excited?
[ Marc's hesitation says it all, confirms what she already figured because she knows him. Knows him stupidly well despite the fact she hardly knows anything important, at all. And really, hearing him just reinforces her 'stupid' decision, to do this. He asks what she was planning on doing and she has to bite back the truth, her own silence hanging heavy in the air. She hadn't got this far, truthfully, in this scenarioβ only got far enough to where he'd finally talk to her.
Because she knows if she went to his 'Mission', he wouldn't. Not unless she was in danger. And really, she hoped he wouldn't think her naΓ―ve enough to believe he'd come β Lottie may be generally new to a lot of life experiences, but she isn't stupid. She fumes quietly, feels her eyes stupidly water because she is both irritated with him, and frustrated with herself. ]
I-I don't know!
[ Is she lying? Is she being honest? She can't even tell, herself, with the odd way her voice warbles but her expression remains firm. Where does she start? Lottie looks up at him, tries her hardest to find his eyes beneath that mask of his but falters, lets her eyes look off to the side because he's still intimidating, still different from the Marc who so casually bares his face to her whenever she wants.
If it were him she were looking at, scrappy and tired bare faced Marc, she might've followed up with 'You're just too busy for me now, so..' She doesn't, though, only lets the indecision on whether she should show on her face. ]
( marc tends to forget that his expression is unreadable beneath the mask — the material shifts with the changes in his expression, is barely worth its weight in terms of protecting his face — but it doesn't allow for him to be easily read.
he winces when he notices the way that her eyes start to glisten and shine with the threat of (fuck) tears, the way that her voice pitches as she answers him (I don't know.) it's not that marc thinks she's naive, it's that he tells himself it'd be different if she was in danger, but she wasn't. he tells himself he would have gone, if he'd been needed, but—.
he closes his eyes and counts to five. )
It was, ( he corrects, tone heavy and unsure and tired. ) The type of people I deal with—, ( he half-explains, gesturing towards the street illuminated only by passing cars and street lights. ) There's a reason I keep my life separate.
( he would say that it's because he doesn't want to endanger the people he loves and cares about, his friends, by inviting his enemies into their lives. it's what all the masked superheroes say, isn't it? the spider-men and the ms. marvels of the world, but moon knight isn't spider-man and it's not true. marc hurts his friends regardless, he doesn't have to invite enemies into his life for that. no, marc's always done a better job at hurting his friends than any one of his enemies ever had.
he keeps his life separate because there's a line, a slippery, thin line that marc's always danced along. it never seems to take much to push him over it and into doing something he'll regret, and he doesn't want anyone to see that. )
The Mission? ( he questions, meaning 'shall we?'. they could go somewhere else — a restaurant, a bar, that one specific coffee shop that's open late because of people like him — but they wouldn't be assured privacy. regardless, he leaves the decision to lottie. )
[ It has never been a secret, Lottie's association with Moon Knight.
(He goes to her front doorstep, walks around in her building whenever she asks him over. He leaves out of her window, or any window he can get his hands on whenever he decides to humor her and leave normally. She's been seen walking beside him throughout the city, has been personally walked to his Mission β has had things delivered for them, to his Mission. Has had him pick things up in her name at random ass restaurants.)
It has never been a secret, Lottie's association with Marc Spector.
(Lottie may not divulge everything, but she mentions him to Misty. Mentions him vaguely to Caroline, when Esther tells her something she doesn't want to hear, when she knows Caroline will fan the flames of Lottie's endless desire to make bad decisions. Esther knows him by first name only, but she's seen Lottie's endless list of Doordash receipts on their company email, seen the notes ("hiii! someone else will be picking it up for me, he'll be wearing all white and in a mask but don't be scared ty xoxo", or "if moon knight walks in that's for meee!! also please put sugar and creamer in the bag, ty"). Has put two and two together to figure her boss has managed to get herself another 'unique' friend.)
Lottie hasn't posted anything on Instagram and hasn't let her know if she should come in to finish off the rest of her packages. Strange, but not wholly unusual. She arrives, anyway, sits at her desk around noon and figures maybe she's out somewhere with Misty and Meg. But it's by 6 o' clock that night, and nothing still, does she think this might be a sign of something terrible. Lottie is a creature of habit, has a problem with oversharing and is perpetually lonely. A day without a text from Lottie is rare, and usually means she's either: having a breakdown (again), or..
In a way, this association is a good thing, it means Esther Dumont has a place, a guesstimate of a time and who to contact, when she arrives at the Midnight Mission.
Only awake from the worry and the coffee she's chugged on the drive here, she enters the building with as much a friendly energy as her nerves will allow. Greets the receptionist, Reese, as she comes to find out, when they get to chatting β something that she knows must be entirely out of place in a 'business' like this, but she only does it to soften the abrupt blow of, 'I need to speak to Marc. It's about a mutual friend of ours and it is very, very urgent.'
She is a startling splotch of yellow in the otherwise controlled hues, the deliberate palette, of the Missionβ her jumpsuit teeters between fashionable and casual, the way it's paired with the heels she wears, a practical low to Lottie's always impractical high. They click heavy against the floor as she paces inside the room Reese had led her into, arms crossed and body stiff, her phone glaring bright in one hand as if she had just recently checked it. ]
( radio silence from lottie doesn't strike marc as strange in quite the same way — his efforts to text her are infrequent and inconsistent, and though he's come to expect communication from her (of a sort), he's never paid that much attention to the frequency — partly an oversight, and partly due to his own irregular hours. so though he notices he hasn't heard from lottie, but he doesn't think anything of it. he assumes she's busy, or that she's just not interested in talking to him right now (for whatever reason. it'd hardly be the first time).
he's in the middle of something — ""something"", his usual affair of regular criminal punching when there's no zodiac to hunt down, no midnight man to dress up as, and no new leads on who sarnak's working for. it's therapeautic stress relief — when reese gets in touch with him, a short, succinct message over the cowl-mic. she says she wasn't given a name, but explains that the woman in question almost definitely isn't from their neighbourhood, is dressed in actual colour and that she thinks she might be friends with the "(melo)dramatic lady with green hair". marc doesn't disagree.
he hasn't met esther before, only heard the name. he's entirely devoid of expectations before he enters the room, imagines a mini-lottie in appearance if not in personality, simply because he's not sure if lottie would tolerate too much time spent with someone too much like her. certainly wouldn't employ someone like herself as her intern (probably). esther in reality is about halfway to what marc was imagining.
he does the ritual, the welcome to the midnight mission. my name is mr. knight, how can I help? because although they have a mutual friend in common, esther is not a part of this. she has not been to the mission before, she does not know what to expect from him. he does it, too, because in its own way, it's grounding. comforting and familiar. esther explains the problem, and marc can see where she's coming from. if it were anyone else, he'd be skeptical, but lottie? no. not so much.
he says he'll look into it, and offers for esther to stay at the mission if she wants, if she thinks it'll help. there's a chance it's nothing, he thinks, a chance it's just (quote-unquote) lottie being dramatic about something or other, but there's a chance, too, that it's not and marc's been there. he's been in this position before, with marlene, with frenchie, with jeff, with diatrice. with soldier. with reese.
(with almost everyone he knows and cares about, actually—.)
he starts by asking if lottie has any enemies (the exact word he chooses, to be precise, even if he knows the answer will probably be a 'well, there are people that don't like her'), asks if anything else has been weird or off with her, with her routine, and with anyone that's been spending time with her (he half expects an incredulous look at that question, giving who he is and where they are). he asks, too, if there's anyone that's shown a bit too much interest in her — beyond the usual, although frankly, marc's not really sure how he'd quantify that given their very different lifestyles and what passes for 'regular attention' in lottie's day-to-day.
in spite of all that, in spite of the questions, there's a part of him — a large part, the majority, that says as with every other friend and loved one that's been hurt adjacent to him, it's because of him. says that he doesn't need to be asking all of these questions, because he — the fucking idiot — has been dressing up as the fucking midnight man and hitting the homes of the children of the committee. anton mogart might be dead, jeff wilde might be dead, and though coming back to life is no rarity in their sphere, neither of them have (yet), so who else would the new midnight man be? it'd taken greer barely five minutes to figure out, and with the resources available to the committee (and, presumably, their children—).
(maybe taskmaster knows something, he thinks. tony had warned him the last time, didn't want a repeat of marc flying a helicopter into the building he was in. or 8-ball, perhaps, not that jeff ran in the sort of circles the committee did.
or the profile? was he still around? after — everything?)
marc has never claimed to be a good detective: he relies more on brute force, on demanding information from people than calculated studies and deductions. he can do it, though he's not especially skilled — better with crime scenes that have details to work with — and for anything else, he's found he prefers making people talk.
[ It's an understatement to say that Lottie is not a music person.
She's never been into bands, never has attached herself to songs and felt something, has never felt the need to go to concerts unless it was for her sister's sake (read: forced). Whenever someone asks what her favorite song is she always googles whatever is in the top 10 playing on the radio. It means that she is painfully unprepared, painfully lost, when she finds out some of L.A.'s hottest bands are performing tonight at the bar she's scoping out.
Her friends wanted to come (a shocker, even to her, as they are brunch girls and not stay-out-at-night girls), and not one to look unprepared or lost, Lottie has come a night before the intended arrival of her gang so she can look cool and knowledgeable. They won't care, they're her closest friends, but she cares. Clearly, if the way she's just scrutinized the menu for fifteen minutes before realizing uh, there is no menu and she should just order whiskey or something hits her.
She's sat at the bar, at the corner closest to the stage with her whiskey on the rocks in her hand. It tastes terrible, fucking awful really, but she feels so cool. Hopes she looks it, in her chic pink co-ord outfit (with her baby blue seashell purse, her fuzzy strappy heels that lead up to miles of bare leg, lead up to a skirt that barely covers the important bits and a crop top to boot).
Lottie's on her phone half the time, only sparing glances towards the stage, where bands perform nightly. Feels her ears ringing from some particularly rough drumming and high notes from the last band before bracing herself for what seems to be the last β Corroded Coffin. The band that has the luxury of Lottie being two drinks in to witness, the luxury of her leaving her seat and actually meandering into the crowd with a curiosity that can only be attributed to the lettering of their logo. ]
[ tonight's venue isn't exactly the sort of place corroded coffin normally plays; it's too open, too main stream. apparently, that's the way things are going for them now that they've been signed and noticed by the up and ups of the musical world.
eddie knows that this is the precursor to festivals, to the sort of venues where people will need a screen to see his face as he runs around the stage or into the crowd. he's always been the sort of person that lights up when he's got eyes on him, willing to shock or just engage for the sounds of people screaming when he's on his knees shredding on his guitar.
some artists say it's all about the music. and it is mostly about the music but eddie loves the eyes on him, does love the attention.
he's got one knee on an amp, fingers dancing over the neck of his sweetheart (his guitar) when his eyes scan over the crowd and he spots someone who stands out amongst the sea of black and red -- a metalhead's true uniform. she's not wearing it; nope. the outfit too bright, too pink. it's very barbie except that she's got an edge to her that eddie can't place, a little bit of desperation maybe?
so he grins and when the song lyrics hit the chorus, he sings to the 'green-haired girl' instead of the usual 'lonely-eyed girl' he's meant to croon to. and if it's not obvious who he's talking about, eddie makes his way from his usual stage left over to the corner the green-haired girl who's peaked his curiosity is nearly hiding in. and does the crowd grow louder and curious too? yeah. yeah they do. ]
[ When they first discussed wanting to experiment with his venom, Miguel certainly could see the appeal. It's not like he didn't get the urge to sink his fangs into her during their interdimensional trysts. He acted on that desire plenty of times, but only if he knew he was delivering a dry bite. Β
He never crossed that line because he used his venom for subduing superhuman enemies, and Lottie was not that. She was extremely normal, a fraction of his size, and allergic to everything. There was a number of ways this could go wrong. A light dose was harmless enough, a body-wide numbing that wore off with no lasting effects. But if he misjudged andΒ injected too much neurotoxin, it could destroy the tissues of the nervous system or even be fatal. Add possible anaphylactic shock to the mix?
Nope. There was no way in hell he was agreeing to that without running tests. So the preceding week before Sexy Bite Night, Miguel brings a kit from his home dimension. He performs the very clinical and unsexy blood tests (with the sheepish reveal of his former life as an egghead scientist). The advanced lab tech made everything quick, easy and nearly painless. Still, a medical exam doesn't really set the right mood, especially when he was in Working Mode. So it is put off.
A week passes, he runs the numbers to his satisfaction, and makes the jump the day their nights were clear. Miguel approaches Lottie's window by wall-crawling down the building, dressed in a sleek black track suit with a small duffle bag slung across his back. Clinging upside-down beside the window frame, he gives the glass a light knock to let her know he was here. He⦠was not fitting inside unless she opened it all the way. ]
[ Lottie didn't see the big deal when she suggested it, at first. It's just a bite, why not? It'd be fun! Sexy. More intense!
Lottie didn't see the big deal when she suggested it, until Miguel explained to her just how badly things could go and then she relented: fine. It isn't just a bite. Maybe they should old off and think about it.
What she didn't consider happening was the testing β she ends up feeling like she's at her doctor's than doing intense preparation for a dick appointment. At the very least, the reveal of Miguel being unfairly smart (an egghead scientist!!) managed to make it all worth it. It's something for her to tease him about later when she remembers, how he's using his probable ten billion science degrees for horny interdimensional trysts.
And predictably after a week, she forgets all about it: the tests, the bite, the results. Because she's too busy preparing for him coming overβ it's the one night they both have free from a sudden onslaught of abysmal scheduling and she's obscenely excited when she hears that knock knock. ]
Oh my god, hey, [ She greets him with a giddy sort of smile, oooing at the bits of black she can see from his suit. It clings nice across his frame and even better, she surmises, when he'll crawl through her window (which she opens all the way after a second or two of struggling, standing off to the side to make room for him to crawl through and into her apartment). ]
[ It started off as pretend ignoring. Genuinely, truly, it really did. But that's the thing with Marc and Lottieβ they can go and make an effort to do something with good intentions but nine times out of ten, this always happens. Someone says something to make pretend turn into real and they have to navigate their night, their day, their playtime accordingly.
This time, it's Marc who has found out what Lottie's last straw was and predictably, she tells him nothing of why she's upset. She only types away at her laptop, the one plugged into the nearest outlet sat on his desk. Tonight, it's just them at the Missionβ it'd be mortifying for Marc's Esther (Reese, bless her heart) to be here to witness what they were going to do.
..Well. Not that they're doing much of anything, now, other than letting Marc watch Lottie sit in his office chair, opposite to the one she'd usually take on the other side.
Truthfully, Lottie is almost mad at herself for being so upset, but she remembers that this is Marc's fault for being so bratty and saying whatever he wants. Even when she's prepared a whole outfit reveal for himβ a coat covering up her frame to hide everything fun beneathβ even when she laced up these boots at her legs and will endure the cinch of them for the rest of the night. But instead of letting him appreciate her effort, there she is, stubbornly letting herself exist in this stuffy, vaguely uncomfortable, coat. On Marc's stuffy, vaguely uncomfortable, seat.
So she feels less bad when her phone β bright and glaring at her wrist β demands her attention. Which, she does give.. Readily. Because clearly, she's willing to expend her effort and time for a random on her phone but not Marcβ this is a pointed show she's orchestrating right now, on top of the work emails she's tending to.. The emails she'd usually leave to sit and rot for Esther to sift through. ]
( the problem is that marc hadn't been in the best of moods to start off with and he's never been great at navigating what should and shouldn't be said, at not letting himself be influenced by — everything, really. too much time spent as moon knight interspersed with attempts to balance and juggle the various facets of his (""his"") life, resulting in—
—not enough downtime. not enough sleep, not enough food, not enough of anything that should matter but marc has never quite been able to convince himself to carve out time for. and so she'd said something, then he'd said something and all at once the mood had shifted. marc, because he doesn't like to talk, would much sooner avoid and deflect and focus on anything else. lottie, because marc's remark had been blunt. unappreciative. not exactly ridiculing, but pointed, as if he doesn't enjoy lottie's outfits even if he doesn't understand them.
it'd been abrupt, lottie's switch from being her in a ridiculous coat, overdressed for the weather with absurd shoes (boots? something) teasing the outfit underneath. coyness had become coldness had become monosyllabic replies if she couldn't get away with staying entirely silent. marc's mood, in turn, had become much the same. sullen silence, brow pinched in a frown, lips pressed together and curving down. unhappy, yes, but irritable. petulant.
she taps away alternately at her laptop and her phone, the clack of the keys and the tap of her nails the only sound in the stubbornly quiet room, marc's gaze flickering to her every time the screen of her phone lights up.
[ Marc, when Lottie feels she's just beginning to seep into the cracks of him β to live and breathe in that wonderful in-between that most couples do where they just know each other β always manages to keep her guessing. He came to pick her up from an event, one she had invited him to that he decided not to attend. Not abnormal at all for themβ she extends the invitation because she feels safer with him there, even though she knows Sunny is probably keeping an eye out for her since the incident. Esther, too. Her friends, for what little details they know.
Caroline happens to be one of her friends.
She doesn't think she's ever told Marc about the almost-maybe-something they had going, but it comes rearing its head when Caroline makes sure to walk Lottie out when her boyfriend arrives. Sizes Marc up like she already knows everything about him, a casual confidence to her that can only be seen if you stare long enough. If you know what you're looking for. In a move she doesn't expect, she wraps Lottie in a tender hug. Her back to Marc, Caroline facing the brunt of him. Fully masked and sporting a pretty pink lipstick marc at his cheek (she learned her lesson the first time she kissed his 'lips', how funny it was and how little Marc appreciated it). Whispers in Lottie's ear and let him see how she squirms, how she stops moving altogether because her breathing ceases and she laughsβ light, flighty, not the genuine one he's used to but the one Lottie uses to seem pretty.
Arguably, an old habit she's found hard to kick, all considering their history. It wasn't serious enough to tell Marcβ after all Caroline only kissed her a few times, nothing more, nothing less. Once Marc came into the picture her interest dwindled and attention solely became his. Is his, as they took an uber together, fingers laced and Lottie leaning up against him in the backseat. Is his, as they wander into her apartment and she takes her heels off, whines to herself as she puts her slippers on.
Is his, as he broods and promptly ignores her when she's on her phone texting Caroline that she's home (something he'd be able to see from his vantage point, her back briefly turned to him and her phone bright as all hell). Eventually, when he's continued this charade long enough, Lottie puts her phone face down on her kitchen counter and frowns. ]
( marc both is and isn't good at lying. he's good at it in the sense that, once upon a time, it was what was expected from him on an employment level. (that hadn't lasted — marc spector being a liability has remained a consistent thread throughout his life.) he's good at it too because it's been — in some respects — a key component of his survival. marc doesn't lie, as such, because he doesn't find it particularly appealing nor overly useful; but what lies he tells tend to be obfuscations, avoidances, anything that doesn't require acknowledgement of his own feelings. emotions. his weaknesses that he hasn't been forced to accept.
marc doesn't tend toward jealousy in the way that randall had — he doesn't make up stories about what had happened and what might happen. in the way that jeff had been weirdly, oddly, unfathomably jealous of rob. marc is jealous in all the ways that are ugly and unattractive. in failing to accept the truth.
he'd been jealous — unwarranted, given marlene had been quite clear that she she didn't want anything to do with marc, of that boy toy she'd picked up before he'd decided to fake his own death and run off to mexico. he's jealous in all the ways that are petty and pathetic, and he didn't know caroline from eve, but. everything she'd done had felt designed to get a rise from him, deliberate and frustrating, and infuriatingly enough, lottie hadn't noticed.
marc knows she hadn't noticed because she texts her, merrily, without abandon, after they get home. lottie had laughed, not genuine but it didn't need to be. it was the laugh that she used when she was trying to be attractive, impressive. lottie had paused, attentive in a way entirely unlike her and—.
it'd been frustrating.
there's a part of marc (is it marc—?) that knows it's petty and petulant, the way he draws in on himself and refuses to be. it's different with sunny, marc knows who he is, knows enough to have formed an opinion (dislike) and know just how threatened or not (not) to feel, but her—?
(marlene had never mentioned the whoever the fuck he was she'd dated in between him and— whatever had come after, because she hadn't thought he needed to know. he hadn't, of course, she was right, but—.)
he almost ignores her question, gaze sliding towards her in spite of himself, at the almost abruptly loud noise of her phone being placed down, and marc thinks fucking finally at the action even as his mouth says— )
[ Needy. That's what Lottie always is and always will be. Needy, and embarrassingly so when she steps outside of the loud stuffy Los Angeles bar into the equally stuffy and hot Los Angeles streets. It's warm on her tongue and colors her cheeks just as much as the alcohol running through her system does, makes unlocking her phone hard and daunting. But Lottie does it, like she always does. Opens her texts from Marc and sees the last text she sent (5 minutes ago, typo ridden and a video of Misty doing shots attached) unanswered.
A Lottie inebriated means a Lottie who won't shut upβ she's blown up Marc's phone on and off for an hour now with vague success. Some messages go through and some she's left on her notes app thinking it's the message bar. A lot of it are selfies and blurry photos of the crowd around her, some of it is of Meg and Misty. Some of it is of Esther and Sunny, all of whom tagged along because the hottest influencer meet up is happening tomorrow so of course they'd be here.
Pointedly, she tries to convey the same message: where ar you. Sometimes it's: wtf are u on silen t mode. Others, it's: MARC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ten minutes later it is :( and as she takes off her jacket in the muggy Los Angeles night (still somehow hotter than New York), it is: ]
( marc is equally needy in his own way. it's less overt than lottie's specific brand of neediness — there are few I miss yous, fewer off-the-cuff text messages sent at all hours — not non-existent, just not as many as marc's aware lottie would like. marc's neediness makes itself known at inopportune hours, in messages and calls send and made apropos seemingly nothing, expectant in their being answered immediately, not entirely oblivious to the hypocrisy.
what marc and lottie both share is that they're demanding.
los angeles is one of those places that marc, mostly, hates. it's a city of mixed memories — a team that hadn't worked out (shocking), a relationship that hadn't worked out (shocking), and more than one crisis of self. marc's never acknowledged it, would probably not quite be able to recognise it, but los angeles is where he ends up when he's (sub)consciously decided to blow up his own life again, but this time—.
there's lottie. it wouldn't be the first time he'd be able to look back on everything and, retrospectively, blame it on someone that's entirely not to blame, but for now, lottie person is a good excuse.
even if he's let all of her messages go unreplied to. (he's been busy—.)
if she asks how he's found her, he'll say something about coincidence or luck, he'll avoid mentioning the fact that he's paranoid—, but he doesn't think she'll ask, not based off the way that her typing's deteriorated, not based off the videos he's received. (they're shaky and out of focus, amateur in a way lottie rarely allows herself to be.)
she's hard to miss, green hair as bright as ever and silent, then, he reaches a hand from just beside and slightly behind, fingers wrapping around her arm. it's almost gentle, even if he doesn't quite think about whether he'll take her by surprise. )
[ Challengers came out a month ago and yet here they are, riding off the insane viral coattails of it in the sunniest part of Los Angeles in the most generic tennis court alive. The concept doesn't really work when it's one guy and a girl but the brand they're collaborating with (AKA, the big boss who stuck these two together) today said if it's them, they can do it. So now she's stuck in what feels like the shortest tennis skirt staring at the inspo board full of crops from the movie.
(Wow, does Zendaya look good in a bob..)
Herβ eugh, what does she even call him when she's already labelled him as Fuckboy #11? Partner (ew!)? Collaborator (no, shows too much respect..)? how aboutβ coworker sidles up beside her when her arms are cross just beneath her bust, sunglasses shielding enough of her disdain in the hot sun to ask him, ]
[ Fuckboy #11 strolls over, coconut water in hand, sucking noisily from a straw. Is that how he always drinks? Is he doing it because he's just come up beside the supporting talent and it's likely to piss her off? Who can say. He's brushed elbows (and knees and shoulders and fronts-to-backs and backs-to-fronts) with Lottie Person plenty of times.
She has the follower count to break into the real big shit. He might too, if he didn't get off plenty from watching the likes rise up, the comments on his Lives, a distinct pleasure gained from the attention. He rarely says anything real. He doesn't like people, he likes followers.
Lottie Person also has an ass that doesn't quit, spied when he looks down at the slope of her cheeks beneath her tennis skirt. His shorts are tight, short. Shirt tighter than anyone in their right mind would wear while playing a sport. ]
Is it a Disney thing? [ he drawls. Then sucks on the straw again while he nods toward Zendaya on the mood board. ] She's a Disney kid, right?
[ Then, brightly: ] Hey, you think they'll let me go skins?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ππππ β π¨πππ¬ππ§π―ππ£
[ Well.. It isn't so much clearing her schedule as in just putting his name down on a day and making a show of it, but his appreciation makes her feel all the happier either way. Because in a way, it's cute he thinks she's so busy when half the time her being 'busy' is.. Rewatching everyone's Instagram stories multiple times a day -- ]
cool
[ And she does think it's cool -- so much that she rolls around on her bed for a few moments, weirdly giddy from it all. ]
btw we can always be spontaneous.. we don't always have to plan stuff out!
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I understand your point, though. What if I don't tell you the next time I'm coming for you?
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ππππ β ππππ§ππππ©
[ Now that makes her shoot up from her bed and holler quietly. If it came from someone else, she'd probably toss her phone and go watch more Keeping Up With the Kardashians, but since it isn't some rando she's completely elated. Flattered, and maybe excited?? ]
a goddess? that's the first time i've heard that one
is it the hair?? lol
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your hair, your face, your body
is that too much?
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being horny w/ a knife, but like consensually?
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Well, I suppose.
[ Really, Silco isn't all that interested in the sex part -- that's Awfully intimate, but the knife part? Yeah, that's.... yeah. ]
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ππΏπβ ππππ§ππππ©
[ there was no denying his swift attraction to lottie. there was a lot that he genuinely enjoyed about her. the way she spoke candidly (albeit, with terminology he didnβt always fully grasp), the way she was straightforward and a bit cautious all at once, her general allure? to be honest, he didnβt know exactly how to word the way he taken by her. he was more accustomed to operating by gut than by actual logic or reason, and it likely showed in all his impulses. including this one.
considering his own origins and being a demigod in a period of time where gods were so perceivably β¦ honrty, it likely isnβt a complete surprise that achilles considered himself fairly open as well. so it wasnβt all too weird for him to suggest they try something a little different. though, to be honest, between their discussions, he isnβt sure if heβs prompted this, or they somehow discovered this mutual intrigue together.
whatever the case was, achilles was already sitting on the bed with his shirt off. his pants were still on, if just to ponder over the actual logistics of this. it wasnβt that complicated, but he supposed it was one of those matters where they needed to build up to the tension. any good battle was the same way.
which is why, heβs grasping her hand in his, his fingers going over her knuckles as leans down and places a brief kiss on it. ] So, are we going to do this thing, Miss Goddess? [ itβs a nickname heβs somehow attributed to her. it may have been kind of corny, but he liked the idea of praising her, and calling her as such made him feel closer to her somehow. as if they shared a similar background or life. ]
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Truthfully, it's hard to remember who suggested it first β whether it was him or her.Lottie remembers when this idea got into her own head, clear as day.
Sunny mentioned something Ashley (Meg's horndog weirdo fiance) said to him at the gym when she was bored and nosey... That he wanted to, quote unquote, 'get pegged up the butt by a hot ass chick'. She left Sunny on read after that, even when he double texted her the second he realized what she was doing. Lottie laid in her bed for what feels like hours before googling all her bad (interesting? New?) ideas. There was a period of time where she would stare at her folder of selfies she took with Achilles and zoom in on his face, just wondering. Sweating. Mainly wondering. She couldn't ask her friends about it, couldn't ask her mother, her sisters, or her fans.. So she asked the next best thing.
Reddit.
(She makes a post with a throwaway account that starts with: "I want to peg somebody, what do I do?") ]
Um, um... Sorry, you asked me a question β [ Yes, she has been staring at him this entire time, vaguely wondering what he'd look like beneath her. And then, does she look pretty when she's under him? ] Y-yes, of course. Of course we're gonna do this thing.
[ For the past week she's stayed awake every night thinking to herself, 'Am I going to fuck Achilles?'. Just staring up at her ceiling in nerves and excitement and worries. After her romp on the internet, she feels more ready, more knowledgeable. Still just as nervous. The hand he's just kissed flips and puts his hand atop hers. She's not sure what really compels her, but she brings that hand up to kiss it, too. A lipstick mark of pretty peach is left behind. She lips her lips, gently guides his hand down to hold it atop her bed sheets. ]
I just can't believe we're really doing this.. I'm, [ Her thumb brushes little circles atop his skin, doe eyes looking up at him beneath her lashes. ] excited?
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i'm sorry i am late and lost notifs
UAGFAEGDF YOURE FINE!!! dw
i feel like this is the weirdest time to tag this back, but... cries
AUYGEF it is NEVER a weird time and also dont cry... just accept my tag :mine69:
ππππ β π«ππ¨π©π’ππ£π©π¨
[ Marc's hesitation says it all, confirms what she already figured because she knows him. Knows him stupidly well despite the fact she hardly knows anything important, at all. And really, hearing him just reinforces her 'stupid' decision, to do this. He asks what she was planning on doing and she has to bite back the truth, her own silence hanging heavy in the air. She hadn't got this far, truthfully, in this scenarioβ only got far enough to where he'd finally talk to her.
Because she knows if she went to his 'Mission', he wouldn't. Not unless she was in danger. And really, she hoped he wouldn't think her naΓ―ve enough to believe he'd come β Lottie may be generally new to a lot of life experiences, but she isn't stupid. She fumes quietly, feels her eyes stupidly water because she is both irritated with him, and frustrated with herself. ]
I-I don't know!
[ Is she lying? Is she being honest? She can't even tell, herself, with the odd way her voice warbles but her expression remains firm. Where does she start? Lottie looks up at him, tries her hardest to find his eyes beneath that mask of his but falters, lets her eyes look off to the side because he's still intimidating, still different from the Marc who so casually bares his face to her whenever she wants.
If it were him she were looking at, scrappy and tired bare faced Marc, she might've followed up with 'You're just too busy for me now, so..' She doesn't, though, only lets the indecision on whether she should show on her face. ]
But it's notβ [ Petulantly, ] it's not stupid..
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he winces when he notices the way that her eyes start to glisten and shine with the threat of (fuck) tears, the way that her voice pitches as she answers him (I don't know.) it's not that marc thinks she's naive, it's that he tells himself it'd be different if she was in danger, but she wasn't. he tells himself he would have gone, if he'd been needed, but—.
he closes his eyes and counts to five. )
It was, ( he corrects, tone heavy and unsure and tired. ) The type of people I deal with—, ( he half-explains, gesturing towards the street illuminated only by passing cars and street lights. ) There's a reason I keep my life separate.
( he would say that it's because he doesn't want to endanger the people he loves and cares about, his friends, by inviting his enemies into their lives. it's what all the masked superheroes say, isn't it? the spider-men and the ms. marvels of the world, but moon knight isn't spider-man and it's not true. marc hurts his friends regardless, he doesn't have to invite enemies into his life for that. no, marc's always done a better job at hurting his friends than any one of his enemies ever had.
he keeps his life separate because there's a line, a slippery, thin line that marc's always danced along. it never seems to take much to push him over it and into doing something he'll regret, and he doesn't want anyone to see that. )
The Mission? ( he questions, meaning 'shall we?'. they could go somewhere else — a restaurant, a bar, that one specific coffee shop that's open late because of people like him — but they wouldn't be assured privacy. regardless, he leaves the decision to lottie. )
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(He goes to her front doorstep, walks around in her building whenever she asks him over. He leaves out of her window, or any window he can get his hands on whenever he decides to humor her and leave normally. She's been seen walking beside him throughout the city, has been personally walked to his Mission β has had things delivered for them, to his Mission. Has had him pick things up in her name at random ass restaurants.)
It has never been a secret, Lottie's association with Marc Spector.
(Lottie may not divulge everything, but she mentions him to Misty. Mentions him vaguely to Caroline, when Esther tells her something she doesn't want to hear, when she knows Caroline will fan the flames of Lottie's endless desire to make bad decisions. Esther knows him by first name only, but she's seen Lottie's endless list of Doordash receipts on their company email, seen the notes ("hiii! someone else will be picking it up for me, he'll be wearing all white and in a mask but don't be scared ty xoxo", or "if moon knight walks in that's for meee!! also please put sugar and creamer in the bag, ty"). Has put two and two together to figure her boss has managed to get herself another 'unique' friend.)
Lottie hasn't posted anything on Instagram and hasn't let her know if she should come in to finish off the rest of her packages. Strange, but not wholly unusual. She arrives, anyway, sits at her desk around noon and figures maybe she's out somewhere with Misty and Meg. But it's by 6 o' clock that night, and nothing still, does she think this might be a sign of something terrible. Lottie is a creature of habit, has a problem with oversharing and is perpetually lonely. A day without a text from Lottie is rare, and usually means she's either: having a breakdown (again), or..
In a way, this association is a good thing, it means Esther Dumont has a place, a guesstimate of a time and who to contact, when she arrives at the Midnight Mission.
Only awake from the worry and the coffee she's chugged on the drive here, she enters the building with as much a friendly energy as her nerves will allow. Greets the receptionist, Reese, as she comes to find out, when they get to chatting β something that she knows must be entirely out of place in a 'business' like this, but she only does it to soften the abrupt blow of, 'I need to speak to Marc. It's about a mutual friend of ours and it is very, very urgent.'
She is a startling splotch of yellow in the otherwise controlled hues, the deliberate palette, of the Missionβ her jumpsuit teeters between fashionable and casual, the way it's paired with the heels she wears, a practical low to Lottie's always impractical high. They click heavy against the floor as she paces inside the room Reese had led her into, arms crossed and body stiff, her phone glaring bright in one hand as if she had just recently checked it. ]
π
he's in the middle of something — ""something"", his usual affair of regular criminal punching when there's no zodiac to hunt down, no midnight man to dress up as, and no new leads on who sarnak's working for. it's therapeautic stress relief — when reese gets in touch with him, a short, succinct message over the cowl-mic. she says she wasn't given a name, but explains that the woman in question almost definitely isn't from their neighbourhood, is dressed in actual colour and that she thinks she might be friends with the "(melo)dramatic lady with green hair". marc doesn't disagree.
he hasn't met esther before, only heard the name. he's entirely devoid of expectations before he enters the room, imagines a mini-lottie in appearance if not in personality, simply because he's not sure if lottie would tolerate too much time spent with someone too much like her. certainly wouldn't employ someone like herself as her intern (probably). esther in reality is about halfway to what marc was imagining.
he does the ritual, the welcome to the midnight mission. my name is mr. knight, how can I help? because although they have a mutual friend in common, esther is not a part of this. she has not been to the mission before, she does not know what to expect from him. he does it, too, because in its own way, it's grounding. comforting and familiar. esther explains the problem, and marc can see where she's coming from. if it were anyone else, he'd be skeptical, but lottie? no. not so much.
he says he'll look into it, and offers for esther to stay at the mission if she wants, if she thinks it'll help. there's a chance it's nothing, he thinks, a chance it's just (quote-unquote) lottie being dramatic about something or other, but there's a chance, too, that it's not and marc's been there. he's been in this position before, with marlene, with frenchie, with jeff, with diatrice. with soldier. with reese.
(with almost everyone he knows and cares about, actually—.)
he starts by asking if lottie has any enemies (the exact word he chooses, to be precise, even if he knows the answer will probably be a 'well, there are people that don't like her'), asks if anything else has been weird or off with her, with her routine, and with anyone that's been spending time with her (he half expects an incredulous look at that question, giving who he is and where they are). he asks, too, if there's anyone that's shown a bit too much interest in her — beyond the usual, although frankly, marc's not really sure how he'd quantify that given their very different lifestyles and what passes for 'regular attention' in lottie's day-to-day.
in spite of all that, in spite of the questions, there's a part of him — a large part, the majority, that says as with every other friend and loved one that's been hurt adjacent to him, it's because of him. says that he doesn't need to be asking all of these questions, because he — the fucking idiot — has been dressing up as the fucking midnight man and hitting the homes of the children of the committee. anton mogart might be dead, jeff wilde might be dead, and though coming back to life is no rarity in their sphere, neither of them have (yet), so who else would the new midnight man be? it'd taken greer barely five minutes to figure out, and with the resources available to the committee (and, presumably, their children—).
(maybe taskmaster knows something, he thinks. tony had warned him the last time, didn't want a repeat of marc flying a helicopter into the building he was in. or 8-ball, perhaps, not that jeff ran in the sort of circles the committee did.
or the profile? was he still around? after — everything?)
marc has never claimed to be a good detective: he relies more on brute force, on demanding information from people than calculated studies and deductions. he can do it, though he's not especially skilled — better with crime scenes that have details to work with — and for anything else, he's found he prefers making people talk.
it's just finding the right people to talk. )
π₯°
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not me realizing i've spelt virgil's name wrong in my last tag AUYFLMAFYUE
jgkdfldd
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me typing this not knowing geographically how new york works at all LMAFAYE
that makes two of us lmao IT'S FINE IT'S MAGIC RP LAND NYC
THANK GOD!!!!
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πΈπΈπΈ β πππππ
She's never been into bands, never has attached herself to songs and felt something, has never felt the need to go to concerts unless it was for her sister's sake (read: forced). Whenever someone asks what her favorite song is she always googles whatever is in the top 10 playing on the radio. It means that she is painfully unprepared, painfully lost, when she finds out some of L.A.'s hottest bands are performing tonight at the bar she's scoping out.
Her friends wanted to come (a shocker, even to her, as they are brunch girls and not stay-out-at-night girls), and not one to look unprepared or lost, Lottie has come a night before the intended arrival of her gang so she can look cool and knowledgeable. They won't care, they're her closest friends, but she cares. Clearly, if the way she's just scrutinized the menu for fifteen minutes before realizing uh, there is no menu and she should just order whiskey or something hits her.
She's sat at the bar, at the corner closest to the stage with her whiskey on the rocks in her hand. It tastes terrible, fucking awful really, but she feels so cool. Hopes she looks it, in her chic pink co-ord outfit (with her baby blue seashell purse, her fuzzy strappy heels that lead up to miles of bare leg, lead up to a skirt that barely covers the important bits and a crop top to boot).
Lottie's on her phone half the time, only sparing glances towards the stage, where bands perform nightly. Feels her ears ringing from some particularly rough drumming and high notes from the last band before bracing herself for what seems to be the last β Corroded Coffin. The band that has the luxury of Lottie being two drinks in to witness, the luxury of her leaving her seat and actually meandering into the crowd with a curiosity that can only be attributed to the lettering of their logo. ]
sorry this is so late!!!
eddie knows that this is the precursor to festivals, to the sort of venues where people will need a screen to see his face as he runs around the stage or into the crowd. he's always been the sort of person that lights up when he's got eyes on him, willing to shock or just engage for the sounds of people screaming when he's on his knees shredding on his guitar.
some artists say it's all about the music. and it is mostly about the music but eddie loves the eyes on him, does love the attention.
he's got one knee on an amp, fingers dancing over the neck of his sweetheart (his guitar) when his eyes scan over the crowd and he spots someone who stands out amongst the sea of black and red -- a metalhead's true uniform. she's not wearing it; nope. the outfit too bright, too pink. it's very barbie except that she's got an edge to her that eddie can't place, a little bit of desperation maybe?
so he grins and when the song lyrics hit the chorus, he sings to the 'green-haired girl' instead of the usual 'lonely-eyed girl' he's meant to croon to. and if it's not obvious who he's talking about, eddie makes his way from his usual stage left over to the corner the green-haired girl who's peaked his curiosity is nearly hiding in. and does the crowd grow louder and curious too? yeah. yeah they do. ]
shuffles in for a makeover
oh YES!!!
why would u ever think it was ME who did smth?
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Twilight Vampire Problems
He never crossed that line because he used his venom for subduing superhuman enemies, and Lottie was not that. She was extremely normal, a fraction of his size, and allergic to everything. There was a number of ways this could go wrong. A light dose was harmless enough, a body-wide numbing that wore off with no lasting effects. But if he misjudged andΒ injected too much neurotoxin, it could destroy the tissues of the nervous system or even be fatal. Add possible anaphylactic shock to the mix?
Nope. There was no way in hell he was agreeing to that without running tests. So the preceding week before Sexy Bite Night, Miguel brings a kit from his home dimension. He performs the very clinical and unsexy blood tests (with the sheepish reveal of his former life as an egghead scientist). The advanced lab tech made everything quick, easy and nearly painless. Still, a medical exam doesn't really set the right mood, especially when he was in Working Mode. So it is put off.
A week passes, he runs the numbers to his satisfaction, and makes the jump the day their nights were clear. Miguel approaches Lottie's window by wall-crawling down the building, dressed in a sleek black track suit with a small duffle bag slung across his back. Clinging upside-down beside the window frame, he gives the glass a light knock to let her know he was here. He⦠was not fitting inside unless she opened it all the way. ]
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Lottie didn't see the big deal when she suggested it, until Miguel explained to her just how badly things could go and then she relented: fine. It isn't just a bite. Maybe they should old off and think about it.
What she didn't consider happening was the testing β she ends up feeling like she's at her doctor's than doing intense preparation for a dick appointment. At the very least, the reveal of Miguel being unfairly smart (an egghead scientist!!) managed to make it all worth it. It's something for her to tease him about later when she remembers, how he's using his probable ten billion science degrees for horny interdimensional trysts.
And predictably after a week, she forgets all about it: the tests, the bite, the results. Because she's too busy preparing for him coming overβ it's the one night they both have free from a sudden onslaught of abysmal scheduling and she's obscenely excited when she hears that knock knock. ]
Oh my god, hey, [ She greets him with a giddy sort of smile, oooing at the bits of black she can see from his suit. It clings nice across his frame and even better, she surmises, when he'll crawl through her window (which she opens all the way after a second or two of struggling, standing off to the side to make room for him to crawl through and into her apartment). ]
Come in already!
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π β π«ππ¨π©π’ππ£π©π¨
This time, it's Marc who has found out what Lottie's last straw was and predictably, she tells him nothing of why she's upset. She only types away at her laptop, the one plugged into the nearest outlet sat on his desk. Tonight, it's just them at the Missionβ it'd be mortifying for Marc's Esther (Reese, bless her heart) to be here to witness what they were going to do.
..Well. Not that they're doing much of anything, now, other than letting Marc watch Lottie sit in his office chair, opposite to the one she'd usually take on the other side.
Truthfully, Lottie is almost mad at herself for being so upset, but she remembers that this is Marc's fault for being so bratty and saying whatever he wants. Even when she's prepared a whole outfit reveal for himβ a coat covering up her frame to hide everything fun beneathβ even when she laced up these boots at her legs and will endure the cinch of them for the rest of the night. But instead of letting him appreciate her effort, there she is, stubbornly letting herself exist in this stuffy, vaguely uncomfortable, coat. On Marc's stuffy, vaguely uncomfortable, seat.
So she feels less bad when her phone β bright and glaring at her wrist β demands her attention. Which, she does give.. Readily. Because clearly, she's willing to expend her effort and time for a random on her phone but not Marcβ this is a pointed show she's orchestrating right now, on top of the work emails she's tending to.. The emails she'd usually leave to sit and rot for Esther to sift through. ]
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—not enough downtime. not enough sleep, not enough food, not enough of anything that should matter but marc has never quite been able to convince himself to carve out time for. and so she'd said something, then he'd said something and all at once the mood had shifted. marc, because he doesn't like to talk, would much sooner avoid and deflect and focus on anything else. lottie, because marc's remark had been blunt. unappreciative. not exactly ridiculing, but pointed, as if he doesn't enjoy lottie's outfits even if he doesn't understand them.
it'd been abrupt, lottie's switch from being her in a ridiculous coat, overdressed for the weather with absurd shoes (boots? something) teasing the outfit underneath. coyness had become coldness had become monosyllabic replies if she couldn't get away with staying entirely silent. marc's mood, in turn, had become much the same. sullen silence, brow pinched in a frown, lips pressed together and curving down. unhappy, yes, but irritable. petulant.
she taps away alternately at her laptop and her phone, the clack of the keys and the tap of her nails the only sound in the stubbornly quiet room, marc's gaze flickering to her every time the screen of her phone lights up.
it's infuriating. )
—You're acting like a child.
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Caroline happens to be one of her friends.
She doesn't think she's ever told Marc about the almost-maybe-something they had going, but it comes rearing its head when Caroline makes sure to walk Lottie out when her boyfriend arrives. Sizes Marc up like she already knows everything about him, a casual confidence to her that can only be seen if you stare long enough. If you know what you're looking for. In a move she doesn't expect, she wraps Lottie in a tender hug. Her back to Marc, Caroline facing the brunt of him. Fully masked and sporting a pretty pink lipstick marc at his cheek (she learned her lesson the first time she kissed his 'lips', how funny it was and how little Marc appreciated it). Whispers in Lottie's ear and let him see how she squirms, how she stops moving altogether because her breathing ceases and she laughsβ light, flighty, not the genuine one he's used to but the one Lottie uses to seem pretty.
Arguably, an old habit she's found hard to kick, all considering their history. It wasn't serious enough to tell Marcβ after all Caroline only kissed her a few times, nothing more, nothing less. Once Marc came into the picture her interest dwindled and attention solely became his. Is his, as they took an uber together, fingers laced and Lottie leaning up against him in the backseat. Is his, as they wander into her apartment and she takes her heels off, whines to herself as she puts her slippers on.
Is his, as he broods and promptly ignores her when she's on her phone texting Caroline that she's home (something he'd be able to see from his vantage point, her back briefly turned to him and her phone bright as all hell). Eventually, when he's continued this charade long enough, Lottie puts her phone face down on her kitchen counter and frowns. ]
Are you okay?
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marc doesn't tend toward jealousy in the way that randall had — he doesn't make up stories about what had happened and what might happen. in the way that jeff had been weirdly, oddly, unfathomably jealous of rob. marc is jealous in all the ways that are ugly and unattractive. in failing to accept the truth.
he'd been jealous — unwarranted, given marlene had been quite clear that she she didn't want anything to do with marc, of that boy toy she'd picked up before he'd decided to fake his own death and run off to mexico. he's jealous in all the ways that are petty and pathetic, and he didn't know caroline from eve, but. everything she'd done had felt designed to get a rise from him, deliberate and frustrating, and infuriatingly enough, lottie hadn't noticed.
marc knows she hadn't noticed because she texts her, merrily, without abandon, after they get home. lottie had laughed, not genuine but it didn't need to be. it was the laugh that she used when she was trying to be attractive, impressive. lottie had paused, attentive in a way entirely unlike her and—.
it'd been frustrating.
there's a part of marc (is it marc—?) that knows it's petty and petulant, the way he draws in on himself and refuses to be. it's different with sunny, marc knows who he is, knows enough to have formed an opinion (dislike) and know just how threatened or not (not) to feel, but her—?
(marlene had never mentioned the whoever the fuck he was she'd dated in between him and— whatever had come after, because she hadn't thought he needed to know. he hadn't, of course, she was right, but—.)
he almost ignores her question, gaze sliding towards her in spite of himself, at the almost abruptly loud noise of her phone being placed down, and marc thinks fucking finally at the action even as his mouth says— )
—Fine.
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A Lottie inebriated means a Lottie who won't shut upβ she's blown up Marc's phone on and off for an hour now with vague success. Some messages go through and some she's left on her notes app thinking it's the message bar. A lot of it are selfies and blurry photos of the crowd around her, some of it is of Meg and Misty. Some of it is of Esther and Sunny, all of whom tagged along because the hottest influencer meet up is happening tomorrow so of course they'd be here.
Pointedly, she tries to convey the same message: where ar you. Sometimes it's: wtf are u on silen t mode. Others, it's: MARC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ten minutes later it is :( and as she takes off her jacket in the muggy Los Angeles night (still somehow hotter than New York), it is: ]
i miss you
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what marc and lottie both share is that they're demanding.
los angeles is one of those places that marc, mostly, hates. it's a city of mixed memories — a team that hadn't worked out (shocking), a relationship that hadn't worked out (shocking), and more than one crisis of self. marc's never acknowledged it, would probably not quite be able to recognise it, but los angeles is where he ends up when he's (sub)consciously decided to blow up his own life again, but this time—.
there's lottie. it wouldn't be the first time he'd be able to look back on everything and, retrospectively, blame it on someone that's entirely not to blame, but for now, lottie person is a good excuse.
even if he's let all of her messages go unreplied to.
(he's been busy—.)
if she asks how he's found her, he'll say something about coincidence or luck, he'll avoid mentioning the fact that he's paranoid—, but he doesn't think she'll ask, not based off the way that her typing's deteriorated, not based off the videos he's received. (they're shaky and out of focus, amateur in a way lottie rarely allows herself to be.)
she's hard to miss, green hair as bright as ever and silent, then, he reaches a hand from just beside and slightly behind, fingers wrapping around her arm. it's almost gentle, even if he doesn't quite think about whether he'll take her by surprise. )
—Lottie.
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π€π©πππ§πππ©ππππ¨ π the shoot
(Wow, does Zendaya look good in a bob..)
Herβ eugh, what does she even call him when she's already labelled him as Fuckboy #11? Partner (ew!)? Collaborator (no, shows too much respect..)? how aboutβ coworker sidles up beside her when her arms are cross just beneath her bust, sunglasses shielding enough of her disdain in the hot sun to ask him, ]
..You've seen Challengers, right?
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She has the follower count to break into the real big shit. He might too, if he didn't get off plenty from watching the likes rise up, the comments on his Lives, a distinct pleasure gained from the attention. He rarely says anything real. He doesn't like people, he likes followers.
Lottie Person also has an ass that doesn't quit, spied when he looks down at the slope of her cheeks beneath her tennis skirt. His shorts are tight, short. Shirt tighter than anyone in their right mind would wear while playing a sport. ]
Is it a Disney thing? [ he drawls. Then sucks on the straw again while he nods toward Zendaya on the mood board. ] She's a Disney kid, right?
[ Then, brightly: ] Hey, you think they'll let me go skins?
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